20 weeks. Halfway. One of the things that it has taken me a while to remember is that this whole "9 month pregnancy" is sort of a load of crap. You're (or, more accurately, "she") is pregnant for ten months. That extra month is used to add seasoning.
Anyhow, Kami has been able to feel Little Baby Girl Yasko moving around for a couple of weeks now. Apparently, the most bizarre part of the ultrasound last week was feeling BG move around, but being able to watch it happen simultaneously. I imagine this is not unlike when they try to get the Bug out of Neo's stomach in The Matrix. Less sinister, but accurate, nonetheless.
So last night we're sitting there watching a movie ("Dream House," with Daniel Craig - note: if you're looking at buying a house, more on that later, don't watch movies about how vulnerable the lead character's family is because of the house's history), and Kami goes, "OH! UHHHHH..." and it was real loud like that. So I go into Guy Mode and look at where Kami's sightless eyes are pointed, looking for a huge roach, or a snake, or a wolf in the corner of the room.
Ultimately I realize that BG is moving around, so I leap over to where Kami is sitting and put my hand on her tummy. In a reflection of what is fairly typical of my life, as soon as I get over there to feel her tummy, the moving stops. No feely-baby for me. I know it's going to change in the next couple of weeks, but I haven't been able to feel much in the way of the baby. I have the visual confirmation of Kami's tummy slowly growing, but I'm really looking forward to feeling the washing machine in Kami's midsection.
Kami Update: She's feeling great. The kids Kami takes care of are really getting a kick (ha!) out of feeling the baby's shoulder, or noggin. Funny update: Kami's mornings - within 10 minutes of her waking up - are foggy, anyway. Well, with the addition of Pregnant Brain, they're even foggier. So today here in middle Tennessee, we're supposed to have some pretty bad weather - hail, damaging winds, possible tornadoes. In watching the Weather Channel four minutes after she woke up, they said there was a tornado in Harveyville, Kansas. Kami's foggy/Pregnant Brain response: (in an incredulous voice) "WHERE'S KANSAS!?" As if she had never heard of the Lost Colony of Kansas. When I started laughing, she got defensive, which made me laugh harder. She's not talking to me right now.
Also, quick congratulations to my brother-in-law and his wife (is she my sister-in-law?) on the birth of their daughter Harper last week. Aaron's like my brother, and he's the second one close to me to have a girl in the last month (my buddy Brooklyn Mitch being the other), so they're my eyes and ears on the ground. I do feel bad for their dog, Chester. Gunther and Angus - our two - have been a central part of our lives for the past seven years (we got Gunther seven years ago today. He ate a battery, and he vomited teeth once. They were Chester's teeth. I don't know.) Anyhow, Harper is Aaron & Allison's 3rd child, meaning Chester has been bumped off the podium, and is out of medal contention.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Uh-oh, James' cholesterol
So back in the fall, I got a letter from Vanderbilt telling me I had been invited to participate in a study that measured stress. I have no idea how I got invited to be in this study. Perhaps I just looked stressed, and the Robots identified my markers, and saw that I was stressed, and figured that I could be of use to the Commodores. I don't know.
Anyhow, the hook of the study was that I'd get $50 to answer 90 minutes' worth of questions about my life stresses, and $50 to let someone from Vanderbilt take my blood pressure in our apartment. Good deal, right? I thought so, and I did it. The girl was very disappointed - during the interview part - that I don't do drugs, don't smoke, don't resent my parents, and don't cheat on Kami. So it turns out that I don't have a whole lot of stress in my life, other than general work stuff.
But I got the bloodwork results back today. And those...well, let's talk about those.
My blood pressure readings (taken three times) were all fairly consistent: 124/82 - on the low end of Normal.
My cholesterol, however, was a different story. My HDL (good cholesterol) - in the middle of November - was 34. If your HDL is 35-44, it's "A Little Too Low," and below 35 is "Not Healthy." Also, my LDL (bad cholesterol) was 148, which is smack in the middle of "A Little Too High." My Total Cholesterol was 201 in which, according to the levels Vanderbilt gave me, a healthy Total Cholesterol is 200 or below. So I'm on the edge of being Iffy (which is true in just about all aspects of my life). So some things are going to have to change.
Among them:
Eat healthier fats.
Exercise more.
Pull a Keith Richards, and get my genes swapped out.
Because seriously, I have heart disease on both sides of my family. I didn't do myself any favors, what with the overweightness, tendency towards donuts, and the little "Smoking Parliaments" phase I went through in college. It also should be noted that I'm healthier now than I was in November. So it's 8:57pm right now. By 5:30am I'll be in the gym, getting my cholesterol in order.
Anyhow, the hook of the study was that I'd get $50 to answer 90 minutes' worth of questions about my life stresses, and $50 to let someone from Vanderbilt take my blood pressure in our apartment. Good deal, right? I thought so, and I did it. The girl was very disappointed - during the interview part - that I don't do drugs, don't smoke, don't resent my parents, and don't cheat on Kami. So it turns out that I don't have a whole lot of stress in my life, other than general work stuff.
But I got the bloodwork results back today. And those...well, let's talk about those.
My blood pressure readings (taken three times) were all fairly consistent: 124/82 - on the low end of Normal.
My cholesterol, however, was a different story. My HDL (good cholesterol) - in the middle of November - was 34. If your HDL is 35-44, it's "A Little Too Low," and below 35 is "Not Healthy." Also, my LDL (bad cholesterol) was 148, which is smack in the middle of "A Little Too High." My Total Cholesterol was 201 in which, according to the levels Vanderbilt gave me, a healthy Total Cholesterol is 200 or below. So I'm on the edge of being Iffy (which is true in just about all aspects of my life). So some things are going to have to change.
Among them:
Eat healthier fats.
Exercise more.
Pull a Keith Richards, and get my genes swapped out.
Because seriously, I have heart disease on both sides of my family. I didn't do myself any favors, what with the overweightness, tendency towards donuts, and the little "Smoking Parliaments" phase I went through in college. It also should be noted that I'm healthier now than I was in November. So it's 8:57pm right now. By 5:30am I'll be in the gym, getting my cholesterol in order.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
The Verdict
This morning was quite fun.
First of all, to those of you who live in Nashville and drive places: You should be ashamed of yourselves. It's just some rain! What would normally be a 16-minute drive took 49 minutes and got us to the ultrasound room at 8:14 for an 8:15 appointment.
Of course, when Kami's name was called for the ultrasound, I was in the bathroom. If there is one phrase that could possibly sum up my life it's, "I was in the bathroom." I am notorious for watching an entire soccer game, getting up to go the bathroom, and missing two goals. I'll never be an eye-witness to anything important, because when News happens, I'm draining my bladder. So I get back to the lobby, and Kami's waiting at the door with the nurse lady, laughing. Inauspicious beginning.
The ultrasound tech was great. Not at all like that Ben Linus jerkweed from Bassett. She took all sorts of pictures and measurements and whatnot. And now there's 3D ultrasound imaging, which was something I was not prepared for, and burst into a severe allergy attack (the cause for the tears streaming down my face) upon seeing the little face. Still, it seemed like ages went by before we got to the money information - the sex of the baby.
Before we did that, we got to see the heart beat - 148 bpm, very normal - and see about how much it weighed (about three-quarters of a pound). The baby has its back to Kami's belly button, so it was a little harder to see, but much easier for Kami to feel moving around. The baby is also quite dramatic - throwing its hands in front of its face, touching its toes, and generally waving at the camera, all at the same time.
Down to the real info, it was determined that the baby is, in fact, a little girl. This proved that the Old Chinese Wives and their tales were absolutely correct, and you can take all of their tales as fact. Kami and I couldn't be more ecstatic about it. Obviously.
Over at the Good Doctor's office, we found that everything is statistically normal. Her tummy measures at about 21 weeks (whereas Kami is in between 19-20 weeks - I find this to be extremely cute), her heart rate, heart size, bloodwork, all of it, is good and healthy. Going back to the bloodwork we had done at our last visit, there is a very little chance of anything being "wrong" chromosomally (spell check doesn't think that's a word). We're in the "1-in-9,500" chances of all of that.
Good news all around. I didn't sleep much last night, and I couldn't eat this morning. Sitting in the car, I suddenly became both very hungry, and very tired. So we went and ate Mexican food. AND IT WAS DELICIOUS.
First of all, to those of you who live in Nashville and drive places: You should be ashamed of yourselves. It's just some rain! What would normally be a 16-minute drive took 49 minutes and got us to the ultrasound room at 8:14 for an 8:15 appointment.
Of course, when Kami's name was called for the ultrasound, I was in the bathroom. If there is one phrase that could possibly sum up my life it's, "I was in the bathroom." I am notorious for watching an entire soccer game, getting up to go the bathroom, and missing two goals. I'll never be an eye-witness to anything important, because when News happens, I'm draining my bladder. So I get back to the lobby, and Kami's waiting at the door with the nurse lady, laughing. Inauspicious beginning.
The ultrasound tech was great. Not at all like that Ben Linus jerkweed from Bassett. She took all sorts of pictures and measurements and whatnot. And now there's 3D ultrasound imaging, which was something I was not prepared for, and burst into a severe allergy attack (the cause for the tears streaming down my face) upon seeing the little face. Still, it seemed like ages went by before we got to the money information - the sex of the baby.
Before we did that, we got to see the heart beat - 148 bpm, very normal - and see about how much it weighed (about three-quarters of a pound). The baby has its back to Kami's belly button, so it was a little harder to see, but much easier for Kami to feel moving around. The baby is also quite dramatic - throwing its hands in front of its face, touching its toes, and generally waving at the camera, all at the same time.
Down to the real info, it was determined that the baby is, in fact, a little girl. This proved that the Old Chinese Wives and their tales were absolutely correct, and you can take all of their tales as fact. Kami and I couldn't be more ecstatic about it. Obviously.
Over at the Good Doctor's office, we found that everything is statistically normal. Her tummy measures at about 21 weeks (whereas Kami is in between 19-20 weeks - I find this to be extremely cute), her heart rate, heart size, bloodwork, all of it, is good and healthy. Going back to the bloodwork we had done at our last visit, there is a very little chance of anything being "wrong" chromosomally (spell check doesn't think that's a word). We're in the "1-in-9,500" chances of all of that.
Good news all around. I didn't sleep much last night, and I couldn't eat this morning. Sitting in the car, I suddenly became both very hungry, and very tired. So we went and ate Mexican food. AND IT WAS DELICIOUS.
Well, today's the day, isn't it?
Today could not have come any slower, even if it tried. As fast as the first 15 weeks flew by, when at our last appointment they said we would find out the sex of the baby on February 22nd, I thought, "Oh, well that's not far off at all."
But that was a lie. Because February 22nd came as slowly as Opening Day,Arbor Day, and Christmas...combined.
Now we're off. Well, I'm awake, but Kami most definitely isn't. I need to wake her up in about 15 minutes, but I could barely sleep. I'll tell you prospective (and impending) fathers what's up: The Kindle app is invaluable. Because Kami - for whatever reason - sleeps better when I'm next to her. So when she went to bed last night, and I was wide awake and was thinking about playing Call of Duty (because nothing calms the nerves like shooting Russians), it wasn't necessarily going to fly. What I did do was to lay in bed, turn on my side, and read the Turn of the Screw on the dimmest light it allowed. I could still see, but it's not bright enough to keep Kami awake. Of course, Turn of the Screw is really freaking creepy, so that didn't exactly help matters.
Yet I digress. It's 5:50am, I've been awake for an hour with the Bubbleguts because I'm so excited/nervous.
What type of genitalia do I want the baby to have? I don't know. Both genders have their pluses and minuses, if you want to calculate it that coldly. I love the idea of having a little girl, but I could very easily just get totally wrapped around her finger. I like the idea of a boy from the long-standing stereotype that only boys like to play and watch baseball, and for carrying on the Yasko name. A healthy wife who has a baby with ten fingers, ten toes, at least one of the boy/girl persuasion, and I'll be totally happy.
But today...I just can't wait. 2h20m. More later.
But that was a lie. Because February 22nd came as slowly as Opening Day,
Now we're off. Well, I'm awake, but Kami most definitely isn't. I need to wake her up in about 15 minutes, but I could barely sleep. I'll tell you prospective (and impending) fathers what's up: The Kindle app is invaluable. Because Kami - for whatever reason - sleeps better when I'm next to her. So when she went to bed last night, and I was wide awake and was thinking about playing Call of Duty (because nothing calms the nerves like shooting Russians), it wasn't necessarily going to fly. What I did do was to lay in bed, turn on my side, and read the Turn of the Screw on the dimmest light it allowed. I could still see, but it's not bright enough to keep Kami awake. Of course, Turn of the Screw is really freaking creepy, so that didn't exactly help matters.
Yet I digress. It's 5:50am, I've been awake for an hour with the Bubbleguts because I'm so excited/nervous.
What type of genitalia do I want the baby to have? I don't know. Both genders have their pluses and minuses, if you want to calculate it that coldly. I love the idea of having a little girl, but I could very easily just get totally wrapped around her finger. I like the idea of a boy from the long-standing stereotype that only boys like to play and watch baseball, and for carrying on the Yasko name. A healthy wife who has a baby with ten fingers, ten toes, at least one of the boy/girl persuasion, and I'll be totally happy.
But today...I just can't wait. 2h20m. More later.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Old Wives Tale testing
This evening we decided to test out some Old Wives Tales regarding the gender of the Babby, since we'll find out on Wednesday (unless the little thing is shy, and doesn't like to show its privates to anyone - which we'll hope is a trait he/she carries into adulthood - Wednesday notwithstanding).
Old Wives Tale #1: Chinese Baby Gender Predictor
Take the mother's age at conception (29) and the month of conception (October). Verdict: Girl
Old Wives Tale #2: Baking Soda Baby Test
Put some baking soda in a cup, pee in it. If it fizzes, it's a boy (apparently you're all acidic and whatnot with a boy in your belly), if it doesn't, it's a girl (more alkaline).
Verdict: Girl
(Side note: I'm apparently having a boy. I urinated in some baking soda and fizzed like a dadgum 7th grade science fair volcano.)
Old Wives Tale #3: Ring on a String
Put some string through your wedding ring. Hold it over wife's belly. If the ring swings back and forth, it's a girl. If it doesn't, it's a boy.
Verdict: I am either a very still person, or the ring doesn't know. Inconclusive.
Old Wives Tale #4: Cravings
If Wife craves salty foods, it's a boy. If it's sweets, fruit, or orange juice, it's a girl.
Verdict: Girl
Old Wives Tale #5: Eye Test
The eye test is when a “V” or “branches” appear when you pull down the skin under your left eye. If you see a “V” or “branches” in the white part, you’re having a girl. I have a “V”, so one more point for a girl.
Verdict: Girl
Old Wives Tale #6: Hands Test
When the pregnant woman is asked to show her hands, it’s a boy if she keeps her palms down and a girl if she shows her palms up.
Verdict: Girl
Five of the six "tests" we performed came up Girl, with one inconclusive. Wednesday is going to be like National Signing Day here at First Time Father, so stay tuned.
Old Wives Tale #1: Chinese Baby Gender Predictor
Take the mother's age at conception (29) and the month of conception (October). Verdict: Girl
Old Wives Tale #2: Baking Soda Baby Test
Put some baking soda in a cup, pee in it. If it fizzes, it's a boy (apparently you're all acidic and whatnot with a boy in your belly), if it doesn't, it's a girl (more alkaline).
Verdict: Girl
(Side note: I'm apparently having a boy. I urinated in some baking soda and fizzed like a dadgum 7th grade science fair volcano.)
Old Wives Tale #3: Ring on a String
Put some string through your wedding ring. Hold it over wife's belly. If the ring swings back and forth, it's a girl. If it doesn't, it's a boy.
Verdict: I am either a very still person, or the ring doesn't know. Inconclusive.
Old Wives Tale #4: Cravings
If Wife craves salty foods, it's a boy. If it's sweets, fruit, or orange juice, it's a girl.
Verdict: Girl
Old Wives Tale #5: Eye Test
The eye test is when a “V” or “branches” appear when you pull down the skin under your left eye. If you see a “V” or “branches” in the white part, you’re having a girl. I have a “V”, so one more point for a girl.
Verdict: Girl
Old Wives Tale #6: Hands Test
When the pregnant woman is asked to show her hands, it’s a boy if she keeps her palms down and a girl if she shows her palms up.
Verdict: Girl
Five of the six "tests" we performed came up Girl, with one inconclusive. Wednesday is going to be like National Signing Day here at First Time Father, so stay tuned.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Dadgag
Manly things I do well:
*Take care of Kami.
*Scratch.
*Watch baseball.
*Take the dogs for a walk.
*Take the dogs to the Vet.
*Take out the trash. All of the trash.
*Run the errands Kami does not want to run.
*Grill meat.
Manly things I do not do well:
*Fix things.
*Build things.
*Workout regularly.
*Dance.
Unmanly things I do well:
*Alphabetize things.
*Karaoke.
*Impressions.
Unmanly things I do not do well:
*Dance.
*Touch wet things.
This last one is troublesome to me. I'm pretty much going to make one of the most unmanly sounds you've heard come from a man if I have to touch wet food. Let's say there's something in the garbage disposal, and it sounds like lumberjacks are building a bomb in the sink - I have to get my delicate wife to reach her hand in there, or I will gag. And I mean full-fledged dry heave (sometimes it's a moist-heave, which is as horrific to experience as it is to read the word). I'm not proud of this. ForGod'ssakes I'm going to have a baby, and I can't touch soggy asparagus without retching? That's not good.
But something has changed in the last 18 weeks. I bought an over-the-toilet storage rack last week, and in putting it together (mostly before Kami got home - I'm working on the "putting things together" part of What I Don't Do Well), I dropped a nail in the toilet. Kami was home by this point, assisting in the transport of said object. Still, I reached in the toilet and got the nail out. Keep in mind, there wasn't anything in the toilet but eau de toilette, but still - it was the principle of the thing. Kami was very impressed, to the point of taking the manliness of reaching in the toilet to get a nail right out of the equation.
She hugged me, and said in a thick, contrived Southern accent, "Mah Stro-ong May-an" (which I sometimes think is her being a touch condescending). I didn't feel quite as manly, but I do feel as though I'm making progress, seeing as how, you know, babies make a lot of weird things you have to touch.
*Take care of Kami.
*Scratch.
*Watch baseball.
*Take the dogs for a walk.
*Take the dogs to the Vet.
*Take out the trash. All of the trash.
*Run the errands Kami does not want to run.
*Grill meat.
Manly things I do not do well:
*Fix things.
*Build things.
*Workout regularly.
*Dance.
Unmanly things I do well:
*Alphabetize things.
*Karaoke.
*Impressions.
Unmanly things I do not do well:
*Dance.
*Touch wet things.
This last one is troublesome to me. I'm pretty much going to make one of the most unmanly sounds you've heard come from a man if I have to touch wet food. Let's say there's something in the garbage disposal, and it sounds like lumberjacks are building a bomb in the sink - I have to get my delicate wife to reach her hand in there, or I will gag. And I mean full-fledged dry heave (sometimes it's a moist-heave, which is as horrific to experience as it is to read the word). I'm not proud of this. ForGod'ssakes I'm going to have a baby, and I can't touch soggy asparagus without retching? That's not good.
But something has changed in the last 18 weeks. I bought an over-the-toilet storage rack last week, and in putting it together (mostly before Kami got home - I'm working on the "putting things together" part of What I Don't Do Well), I dropped a nail in the toilet. Kami was home by this point, assisting in the transport of said object. Still, I reached in the toilet and got the nail out. Keep in mind, there wasn't anything in the toilet but eau de toilette, but still - it was the principle of the thing. Kami was very impressed, to the point of taking the manliness of reaching in the toilet to get a nail right out of the equation.
She hugged me, and said in a thick, contrived Southern accent, "Mah Stro-ong May-an" (which I sometimes think is her being a touch condescending). I didn't feel quite as manly, but I do feel as though I'm making progress, seeing as how, you know, babies make a lot of weird things you have to touch.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Oh now this is just...
So with the continual cooking of the child I helped create in Kami's tummy, I find myself looking at parenting styles. So when I read this Wall Street Journal article, from a lady who wrote a book called "Bringing Up Bebe" trying very hard (and very unsuccessfully) to say that she does not necessarily want to be French, I was intrigued.
The core of the book is summed up with this quote from the WSJ:
When American families visited our home, the parents usually spent much of the visit refereeing their kids' spats, helping their toddlers do laps around the kitchen island, or getting down on the floor to build Lego villages. When French friends visited, by contrast, the grownups had coffee and the children played happily by themselves.
She manages to probably irritate not only her American audience ("You American Pigs have no idea what you're doing" - paraphrased, of course) AND her French audience ("Rest assured, I certainly don't suffer from a pro-France bias. Au contraire, I'm not even sure that I like living here. I certainly don't want my kids growing up to become sniffy Parisians." - Word for word). Impressive.
Anyhow. The way Mrs. Druckerman seems to explain it, every household with a child is like Wal-Mart at noon on a Saturday. If I go into a Wal-Mart at noon on a Saturday, I will rip my hair out and urinate on the pogo sticks, just out of spite. From the article - and yeah, I'm thinking about getting the book, and just this simple fact irritates me to no end - there are two options: Raise the Tasmanian Devil, or raise a psychopath.
As long as you're not there when the psychopath comes to collect his due, it's a much quieter parenthood - and I am terrified to admit that I rather enjoy a quiet existence, something that I can pretty much write off come July, until 2030. There has to be a happy medium between what Druckerman describes as an American parenthood (ironic, for someone who does not currently live in America) - and a French parenthood, where they just leave their kids alone and let them figure out how to do crap on their own. I suppose the big difference is the level of engagement, and avoiding the whole Just Doing Things For Your Kids Because It's Easier Than Trying To Deal With Them.
But what do I know? I am very happily not-French, and I don't have a kid (yet).
The core of the book is summed up with this quote from the WSJ:
When American families visited our home, the parents usually spent much of the visit refereeing their kids' spats, helping their toddlers do laps around the kitchen island, or getting down on the floor to build Lego villages. When French friends visited, by contrast, the grownups had coffee and the children played happily by themselves.
She manages to probably irritate not only her American audience ("You American Pigs have no idea what you're doing" - paraphrased, of course) AND her French audience ("Rest assured, I certainly don't suffer from a pro-France bias. Au contraire, I'm not even sure that I like living here. I certainly don't want my kids growing up to become sniffy Parisians." - Word for word). Impressive.
Anyhow. The way Mrs. Druckerman seems to explain it, every household with a child is like Wal-Mart at noon on a Saturday. If I go into a Wal-Mart at noon on a Saturday, I will rip my hair out and urinate on the pogo sticks, just out of spite. From the article - and yeah, I'm thinking about getting the book, and just this simple fact irritates me to no end - there are two options: Raise the Tasmanian Devil, or raise a psychopath.
As long as you're not there when the psychopath comes to collect his due, it's a much quieter parenthood - and I am terrified to admit that I rather enjoy a quiet existence, something that I can pretty much write off come July, until 2030. There has to be a happy medium between what Druckerman describes as an American parenthood (ironic, for someone who does not currently live in America) - and a French parenthood, where they just leave their kids alone and let them figure out how to do crap on their own. I suppose the big difference is the level of engagement, and avoiding the whole Just Doing Things For Your Kids Because It's Easier Than Trying To Deal With Them.
But what do I know? I am very happily not-French, and I don't have a kid (yet).
An Annotated Guide to a 17-Week Baby
Today marks the 17-week, uh, mark of Baby Yasko's Great Escape. What's happening there, baby?
The skeleton is changing from soft cartilage to bone. He/She weighs as much as a turnip. He/She is starting to develop sweat glands (which, if he/she is like his/her daddy, the sweat glands will never stop working. Hell, I'm sweating now.)
BabyCenter says to buckle up - and it's guano crazy to think that people don't automatically just put their seat belts on.
BabyCenter also warns the preggo that their dreams may start to get nuts. This is information of which I possessed a working knowledge. Every morning that we've been married, we have told each other what we dreamed the night before. My dreams are heart-breakingly simple. I was looking for an orange tie, found it, and woke up. I got on stage with Jay-Z and rapped with him, and you know what else? Security not only did not stop me, but I BLEW THE ROOF OFF THE SUCKA.
Not so with Kami. She dreams things that would keep Stephen King awake. Severed torsos (torsoes?). Tornadoes that have faces and scream fire. Cruise ships that get out of the water, hike up their skirt, and run across the ocean. Bonkers. I'm glad she's the one who's pregnant.
Among the dreams that BabyCenter says are common are baby animal dreams, "sexy encounter with old flame" dreams, and dream-cheater dreams. Sweet wife, if you have the second type of dream, please just keep that to yourself. I've been an unrepentant dream-cheater for years - apparently in Kami's subconscious, I'm the guy from American Psycho.
The skeleton is changing from soft cartilage to bone. He/She weighs as much as a turnip. He/She is starting to develop sweat glands (which, if he/she is like his/her daddy, the sweat glands will never stop working. Hell, I'm sweating now.)
BabyCenter says to buckle up - and it's guano crazy to think that people don't automatically just put their seat belts on.
BabyCenter also warns the preggo that their dreams may start to get nuts. This is information of which I possessed a working knowledge. Every morning that we've been married, we have told each other what we dreamed the night before. My dreams are heart-breakingly simple. I was looking for an orange tie, found it, and woke up. I got on stage with Jay-Z and rapped with him, and you know what else? Security not only did not stop me, but I BLEW THE ROOF OFF THE SUCKA.
Not so with Kami. She dreams things that would keep Stephen King awake. Severed torsos (torsoes?). Tornadoes that have faces and scream fire. Cruise ships that get out of the water, hike up their skirt, and run across the ocean. Bonkers. I'm glad she's the one who's pregnant.
Among the dreams that BabyCenter says are common are baby animal dreams, "sexy encounter with old flame" dreams, and dream-cheater dreams. Sweet wife, if you have the second type of dream, please just keep that to yourself. I've been an unrepentant dream-cheater for years - apparently in Kami's subconscious, I'm the guy from American Psycho.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Gospel Music and Popcorn
As part of my current job responsibilities, I am in charge of our yearly Black History Month events - something I'm incredibly proud of. Over the last two years, we have been able to have some pretty incredible events, from a culinary historian to the Senior Historian at the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center.
The first event of 2012 was Thursday night, and we had a celebration of sacred African-American music with a local church in which there were 58 members of the choir and an amazing pianist.
So Kami had to take one of the nibs she nannies to dance practice and thus showed up a few minutes late. As she sat down (in front of me) the choir was going full blast into Great Is Thy Faithfulness...upon which the little avocado-sized being in Kami's tummy started "popping like popcorn," as Kami put it. It's been happening more and more frequently, but not as...uh...effervescent as it was during that choir.
The first event of 2012 was Thursday night, and we had a celebration of sacred African-American music with a local church in which there were 58 members of the choir and an amazing pianist.
So Kami had to take one of the nibs she nannies to dance practice and thus showed up a few minutes late. As she sat down (in front of me) the choir was going full blast into Great Is Thy Faithfulness...upon which the little avocado-sized being in Kami's tummy started "popping like popcorn," as Kami put it. It's been happening more and more frequently, but not as...uh...effervescent as it was during that choir.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Guide me, O Babe Ruth
So today I turn 32 years old. It's not all that bad, but there are some key ways I know I'm getting older.
*Just about all of my favorite athletes are younger than me.
*My ten-year college reunion is this year.
*The players that signed college football letters of intent yesterday were born when I was in high school.
*I have been driving for half my life.
So it's easy to get down. Especially waking up with knee pain, needing to use the nose hair trimmer (and it subsequently sounding like a weed wacker upon insertion to my nose), contemplating wearing ear plugs to concerts, and yelling at the television - these are ways I know that I'm just flat out getting older.
Now that I'm having a baby - or at least being present while a baby I have fathered is born - that's one more step on the timeline. I'll be 37 when he/sheis born starts school. I'll be 50 when he/she graduates from high school.
But someone made me feel better. And that person is Babe Ruth.
Why Babe Ruth? Because his birthday is four days after mine, and at Age 32, he did the following:
Played in 151 of 154 games. Led the American League with 158 runs. Led the AL with 137 walks. Led the AL with just 89 strikeouts. Led the AL with a .486 on-base percentage. Led the AL with a .772 slugging percentage. Led the AL with a 1.258 OPS. Let the AL with a 225 OPS+. Why was his slugging percentage (and as a result, his OPS and OPS+) so high? Because 1927 was the year that Babe Ruth - at age 32 - hit 60 home runs, a record that stood until Roger Maris hit 61 homers in 1961 (in more games) and subsequently Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, and Barry Bonds hit more.
Here's how it broke down:
April: .333/.507/.588 - 4HR
May: .349/.473/.774 - 12HR
June: .382/.510/.829 - 9HR
July: .423/.549/.793 - 9HR
August: .256/.407/.656 - 9HR (slacker)
September: .368/.468/.896 - 17HR
17 homers in a month! Five of those 17 homers came against the Red Sox in two days (Sept 6/7). And he hit seven homers in his final nine games of the season - when he was over halfway to 33 years old.
Am I Babe Ruth? I eat just about like he did, so I continue to honor his legacy. But keep in mind, at age 32, Babe Ruth turned in one of the best performances in baseball history.
Also happening on February 2:
The National League is founded (1876)
James Joyce is born (1882)
Ayn Rand is born (1905)
Grand Central Terminal - my absolute favorite place on earth - opens (1913)
Pretentious chef Ina Garten is born (1948)
Sid Vicious dies (1979)
White Stripes break up (2011)
*Just about all of my favorite athletes are younger than me.
*My ten-year college reunion is this year.
*The players that signed college football letters of intent yesterday were born when I was in high school.
*I have been driving for half my life.
So it's easy to get down. Especially waking up with knee pain, needing to use the nose hair trimmer (and it subsequently sounding like a weed wacker upon insertion to my nose), contemplating wearing ear plugs to concerts, and yelling at the television - these are ways I know that I'm just flat out getting older.
Now that I'm having a baby - or at least being present while a baby I have fathered is born - that's one more step on the timeline. I'll be 37 when he/she
But someone made me feel better. And that person is Babe Ruth.
Why Babe Ruth? Because his birthday is four days after mine, and at Age 32, he did the following:
Played in 151 of 154 games. Led the American League with 158 runs. Led the AL with 137 walks. Led the AL with just 89 strikeouts. Led the AL with a .486 on-base percentage. Led the AL with a .772 slugging percentage. Led the AL with a 1.258 OPS. Let the AL with a 225 OPS+. Why was his slugging percentage (and as a result, his OPS and OPS+) so high? Because 1927 was the year that Babe Ruth - at age 32 - hit 60 home runs, a record that stood until Roger Maris hit 61 homers in 1961 (in more games) and subsequently Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, and Barry Bonds hit more.
Here's how it broke down:
April: .333/.507/.588 - 4HR
May: .349/.473/.774 - 12HR
June: .382/.510/.829 - 9HR
July: .423/.549/.793 - 9HR
August: .256/.407/.656 - 9HR (slacker)
September: .368/.468/.896 - 17HR
17 homers in a month! Five of those 17 homers came against the Red Sox in two days (Sept 6/7). And he hit seven homers in his final nine games of the season - when he was over halfway to 33 years old.
Am I Babe Ruth? I eat just about like he did, so I continue to honor his legacy. But keep in mind, at age 32, Babe Ruth turned in one of the best performances in baseball history.
Also happening on February 2:
The National League is founded (1876)
James Joyce is born (1882)
Ayn Rand is born (1905)
Grand Central Terminal - my absolute favorite place on earth - opens (1913)
Pretentious chef Ina Garten is born (1948)
Sid Vicious dies (1979)
White Stripes break up (2011)
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