Maybe I'll get a dog

Okay, so I don't really know anything about the WWE or whatever other professional wrestling organizations out there, nor do I really know any current pro wrestlers, so forgive me my lack of appropriate cultural references.  I mean my memories of wrestling harken back to the Dallas Sportatorium and the Von Erichs. Oh, and I remember a guy called "the Crusher" who would grab an opponents face as they would wave their arms wildly in great agony.  The spectacle of human suffering has always provided great entertainment,  but now I have come to the realization maybe it was all a secret plot by the belly domination agency to prepare us to be docile and accept the fate that awaits us in belly world.  But, I digress.....

The point of this rambling prologue is to issue my quiet cry for help as I didn't realize that the strategic error I made was to do this again so soon.  Last go-round the other progeny were very much grown and therefore more help than harm, hell, they were all driving.  Last time the routine we had was: get food, sit down, get up, get more food, sit, food, apologize (doesn't really matter what for) sit, food, clean, food, bed, sleep, and repeat.

Now my friends, the wrinkle in the well oiled machine that I had become is the FYOT.

What is the FYOT you ask?  The FOUR YEAR OLD TYRANT that now lives in my house.  

You see they have now joined forces to be the baddest daddy beating tag team around.  I. Am. No. Match.

Together they have touched power rings or something and have become a super force that has the ability to sense whenever I'm done with whatever chore I have been doing and get a silly idea I might want to sit down, or poop, or both.  Then as if by magic, something needs to be done, get food, kill a bug, wipe a butt, get food, scratch a back, get food, etc.  And with the superpowers they now possess, they don't have to leave whatever comfortable state they are in, they just use the super voice to summon yours truly.  Did you know that historians studying ancient texts have discovered in many cultures "Dad" means "hurry up dummy and get in here 'cause I need something"?

It's true, look it up 

I brought the belly home early yesterday to grab a nap while I went to retrieve the FYOT from the other minions that cater to her needs during the day.  I thought "hey, I have a few minutes, maybe I'll have a little me time in the loo". As soon as I made myself comfortable I heard the belly yelling.  I ignored it, a few moments of quiet, then yelling again, I ignored it.  A few minutes the yelling again.  Giving up, I exited the quiet room, walked into the belly nest, to which the belly said "oh, I thought you left"

Let that sink in my friends, she thought I left, but kept yelling for me...just in case, I suppose.  Defeated, I simply asked what the belly needed, to which she said, no really she said this, "I was going to show you what somebody posted on Facebook"

If I ever meet anybody that works for Facebook, I'm gonna punch them in the face. 

Any-hoo, I find myself contemplating ways I might tip the scales back in my favor, and I thought maybe a dog might help the estrogen levels around here, but nah, I'd just have to fix it dinner too.  

Ruh-roh Shaggy.....

Well, well, well.....never thought you would see me back here did you?  Honestly I'm not sure I would be either, given my and the belly's advancing age.  But, the lord moves in mysterious ways, and no good deed goes unpunished, so here we are.  We've been under the G-6 high security blackout on the news because the beloved internet says we should wait to announce the news.  We all know that you should refer to the internet on how you should conduct daily life, and who are the belly and I to argue?  I can't say I'm particularly glad we can't talk about it before the magical 12 weeks because all I've wanted to do is to share the news with everyone, but considering we've had a disappointment previously, I understand withholding the info protects the awkwardness of others asking how it's going and you have to break the news that it isn't going...at all.

But enough with the Debbie downer business, we have nothing but good news from the belly-doc, we are at 12 weeks and the little critter is snug as a bug in a rug.  The bastard stick that failed us last week and resulted in a 6-day period of high anxiety and worry by the belly came through like a champ and the wiki-wiki-wiki of the critter-to-be rang out loud and clear. The little flutter that the sonogram tech says is the heart is whirling as it should. So there you have it, we did it again.  The lovely missus is now a belly again, and lord help me.

So, to catch you up.  Here's what we know so far:  this critter is likely going to be known as Arizona, because we have identified the happy time that made this all possible was a weekend trip the belly and I took to the sunshine state.  Let's just say there was romance, mountain climbing and room service involved.  Not necessarily in that order.  Best thing bout the belly is she's ready to get sweaty, and no, not that way, get your mind out of the gutter, seriously.

So the little pink line appeared, and we knew we were off to the races, especially since we now have a four year tyrant running things around here.  Let's see, the emotions we've been through these past weeks:  excited, terrified, happy, sad, tired, worried, overjoyed, panicked, giddy, scared, you name it, we've had it.  But as always the number one way we feel is....tired.

I honestly forgot how bone achingly tired the belly gets during the early weeks.  Like a being at a party were somebody is doing shots and being the life of the party and we you look away for a minute only to look back and they're-passed-out-on-top-of-the-table tired.  No matter, a good nap and the belly rebounds quite nicely. 

Let's see, what else????  Ah yes, the brain drain.

In my experience, the amount of time the belly spends in a state of worry allows just enough time for her brain to process breathing, and maybe finding a place to lay down and that's it. To say the belly is distracted is like calling the Grand Canyon a "cute little ravine".  So far, by my count I have asked the belly "what are you doing?' exactly the same number of times I have immediately regretted asking the belly "what are you doing?"  Listen, let's level with one another, if I mysteriously disappear one day, don't bother looking...I did it to myself.    
Now normally the belly is a fully self-sufficient creature but when in the state of bellyhood, all that crap goes out the window.  For example every time we leave, we now play a little game I like to call "shit, I forgot (fill in the blank) we have to go back to the house!"   And, just to keep things interesting, if we don't play that game, we play "GOD DAMN IT! I LEFT MY PHONE!!!!!!........oh wait, here it is"

The key strategy in these games is to wait until it is nice, calm, and quiet before yelling the catchphrase at the top of your lungs in order to give me a heart attack.  I guess that's what makes these games so much fun.....

If we are going to keep score again this time around, I think the belly is so far ahead already, I will never catch up.

Just to let everyone know, I've started again.......

Join me for some fun at:  http://www.obey-the-baby.blogspot.com

Crunch time

Welcome back sports fans, we're in the bottom of the ninth, 2 minute warning in the fourth quarter, last minutes of the third period( hockey reference for my relatives in the north).  And here's the scene:  everybody just wants it to be over with, done, finished, for the love of God, GET-IT-OUT.

I would like to tell you that the belly's good spirits had flagged, but I can't.  She's as happy as ever, but is ready to stop lugging this thing around.  You may be surprised that for the belly to turn over in bed, it takes roughly the equivalent amount of effort to turn a bus around in an alley.  Nothing for the belly is easy. This is affecting daily life in a thousand ways.  For example, I asked the belly if she had a receipt we needed to return an item.(as we pulled into the parking lot of the store)

The belly looked at me and said rather matter-of-factly:

"It fell on the floor, so I said fuck it"

You see, things that wind up on the floor stay on the floor, 'cause the belly ain't even gonna try to bend over to pick it up.  Although I did see her grab a Popsicle wrapper up with her toes......I guess if the belly has shoes on, it's a no-go.  

What we need to discuss however is something all of you belly vets will undoubtably feel:  guiltious-bellious

This syndrome is the result of severe guilt for what is now the very apparent difficulty of the belly.  It went from a cute little bump with gentle flutters to a monster of a thing that moves like a rolling bowling ball in hefty bag.  you and I can't deny that the belly is working hard at just getting from place to place.  When the belly first asked me to help put on shoes, I thought there was a bit of laziness involved, but really it has become an issue of what it can no longer do.

Watching the belly move around, hell, just looking at the belly makes me feel bad.  I mean really, if I had that  enormous thing hanging from my carriage, i would go directly to the surgery center and demand it be removed immediately.  No matter how much i might do for the belly, I have come to the realization that no matter what I do I cannot alleviate the struggle the belly goes through every day.  

It is big, it looks ridiculous heavy, and I can't even image having to go though every day with all that hanging in my body.  I'll admit that I am he biggest wimp and I can't hold a candle to the strength of the belly in doing this truly amazing thing.  I feel bad, I try to to make it easier,  but there ain't no making it easier,  and that my friends in bellyhood, is why you will feel the the guiltious -bellious just like me.....

A rose by any other name......

Well now belly boyz, it has been a while since I've been here, but surely you understand my predicament. Much to do, and if I'm not steppin', I'm in big dutch with the belly. To say it has been quiet is a bit misleading, because nothing in belly world is ever truly quiet, just moments of serenity between a new crisis. The belly has been getting bigger and bigger, not resisting nature by any means, and it is not that far to the finish line.

I have to hand it to the belly, she has been taking it all in stride. Me? I'm not sure the activity in the abdominal region would be taken as nonchalantly. Bit-o-advice: do not make references to the critter's movements or the miracle of a living thing growing in your beloved's mid section as anything remotely resembling:
1. Weird
2. The creature from "Alien"
3. A giant gas bubble
4. Freaky
5. Any reference to movies in which the movement eventually ends in the the belly being exploded.

Just saying......

Now, on to the matter at hand. You will be asked to participate in the formation of the moniker of your unborn. You will be given several choices, and then asked to work on your own to determine the label that your progeny will be called for the rest of its life. These are weighty decisions, and you can't be expected to undertake this with nothing less than life-altering implications it will have.

Me? I never really gave names a second thought. If it were my choice we would all just get a number and identification would be easy. Not that names aren’t important for self identity and all, but I have always been of the opinion that names are just a crap shoot.  Personality will take over any name.  For example, one of my good friends is named Jay.  Great guy, smart, kind, real success.  I also know two other Jay’s, one is an idiot, and the other is a complete assbag.  Did the name help or hurt?  Neither.  Names do not matter when all is said and done. 

The belly, on the other hand, DOES NOT SHARE THIS INDIFFERENCE TOWARDS NAMES.  Names are very important to the process of giving our little darling an identity that will define her success in later life. As a matter of fact, the belly informed me it is very, very, very, important to pick just the right one, and you can keep your stupid opinions and slipshod scientific analysis to yourself thank you very much.

I have to admit I always begin the review of the names proffered by the belly with how many mocking names I can make. You know, anything remotely sounding like, rhyming with, or having initials that could also stand for a body part (preferably near the genital area), act of procreation, bodily fluid, etc.  Hey, sue me, I was a shit in grade school.

So after the belly had come up ideas I quickly shot them down with derogatory nicknames. What I didn't realize was the belly was expecting me to offer counter proposals. So I went on a website and picked the name "Katherine".   
Big mistake. 

And by big I mean never-even-seen-the-doghouse-I’m-in-now-big.

It started innocently enough.  The belly and I were watching a little television when she asked again what I had come up with for an alternate to the name she had settled on.  I had been stalling for a week or two with tepid responses to her idea along the lines of “it’s not that I dislike it, I just feel eh about it”

But my time had finally run out.  I had to pony up something.  So I threw out “Katherine”.  I’m not crazy about it(see earlier discussion) but it had a good sturdy feel, classic, timeless you might say.  I didn’t change my gaze from the television, but all of a sudden I felt the heat from her stare hit the side of my face like a blowtorch.  Conversation that followed:

Belly:  “Katherine????” she said, “where in the hell did you get Katherine?” 

Stupid guy:  “uh, I don’t know”

B:  “What do you mean you don’t know”

SG:  “I got it from a list of baby names”

B:  “What list?”

SG:  “uh.. something I saw on the internet”

B:  “Something off the internet”  The belly’s eyes narrowed suspiciously

SG:  “yeah, um, I…uh.. can’t remember which …”

Staring continues, belly has now begun to lean toward me and I get the feeling that she is about to leap from the chair, grab me by each ear, and begin to bash my head against the back of the couch until my skull splits open.  But that just may be the fear talkin’

B:  “Really??? Katherine???  Why would you want to name her Katherine?????”

SG:  “well…I….uuhhh….I…just always liked it, it’s a good sturdy name”

B:  “Sturdy???   Sturdy???!!!  STURDY????!!!”

SG:  “Well I’m not married to it or anything, I just ….”

The belly hung her head in disgust.  As all of you that signaled the last hope I have ever had of giving any input into the name of my daughter. 

So, without any further ado, I am proud to introduce the soon to join us member of the household:

Layla Grace

(Must. Resist. Urge. To. Make. Nickname…………………………..)

Cervix-shmervix

Well we went to the belly doc today with great anticipation. Some time ago the belly had a procedure that evidently had the effect of chopping off part of the innards of my beloved. At the time all I heard was "no sexual activity for 8 weeks" pretty much everything after that was "blah, blah, blah". Now I'm generally in the doc's corner but when you drop a bomb that the previously mentioned procedure can have a very substantial impact on the current condition, well a little heads up would have been nice. Both the belly and I were worried that the cervix had been affected to the point that we now had worry that the critter could fall out at a moments notice, that my brothers is real worry.

You don't really think about all the problems, until you read(damn you google) or the belly doc drops a bomb on you that the belly might have to have bed rest and you are permanently barred from the happy place. Now we spent a two week period worrying about whether we need to make the belly pose a 12 week handstand. Cooking a baby is no walk in the park, I can tell you that. The belly has been pretty mellow lately with no big problems, so when the worm of worry gets placed in her ear, it burrows straight into the brain.

But all was good, the cervix was the proper length, as demonstrated by the doc in a gesture of forefinger and thumb, although when representing distance, hand gestures should generally be avoided. The cervix is adequate, and that is all we needed to know.

The belly took it all in stride and asked few questions. Me I wanted to shout, " what he f**k, doc? Could you not give us a little more heads up on the whole 'complications' issue"? But right now I seem like the only hysterical one. The belly is in a state of bliss, and although I'm not complaining, I have a hard time switching gears. Now that we are in the 30th week, my trepidation has been nullified by the belly's relaxed state. She has chilled to the point that I really don't recognize her anymore. She is on the downhill slide and dropped the non-stop anxiety of losing the critter almost entirely.

So with the indeffirence of the preggo-doc, we are in the home stretch, we aren't nervous about the outcome of the pregnancy, we are now shifted into the "do we have enough shit" mode.and judging by the advice of others, we do not have nearly enough short.

I got blisters on me fingers

So I know it has been a while, but what can I say.... I am to tired to type. You see, the belly has been tired and lethargic, but that has not translated into rest time for your brother in bellydom. Last weekend the belly asked me "are you going to get started on the baby's room?". Now my friends you must understand that no question posed at this point is actually a question. No, no, no, no, a question at his juncture is simply an order, a call to action, an ultimatum. You may be fooled into thinking that a question is an opportunity for you to explain how you will spring into action when it is closer to necessity, but you would be wrong. So very wrong.

Now let's talk about the baby room. It has to be exactly what the belly has envisioned. This would be simple enough if the belly was able to explain precisely what it wanted, but you will not be that lucky. You with get have exposed photos and strips of magazine pages that are meant to give you guidance. It is up to you to take these scraps and create the perfect baby room. Now I know what you're thinking.... The baby has absolutely no awareness of the surroundings, but you have to remember the baby room is not even remotely for the baby, it is for the belly, by the belly, and from the belly. It is the manifestation of the motherly love realized into shades of blue, white and pink. You see, the baby room is the one thing the belly can control at this point, and man o man you better get your paintbrush out and get to steppin'. I have now refinished the previously purchased dresser. Painted the ceiling and walls, and moved anything that is not baby centric to other parts of the house.

The ironic thig is that we have an ample supply of room, but the baby has already occupied a big chunk of real estate and she hasn't even been born yet. I mean really, do we need to spend this much time on picking out the lampshade? Chances are the belly will keep the critter close during the first few weeks so why do I have to kill myself getting just the right shade of gray? The belly doesn't concern itself with these practicalities. The room must be prepared and must be just right. I have now busted my ass getting the right layer of latex paint on every conceivable inch of the new room, and I. Am. Tired.

Tired not because I don't want a pretty room, but because I would have waited until a much more sane "notice to proceed" was issued. One that aligned a little closer to the due date. The belly, however, wants to get this facet of the future hairless squirrel locked in, finished, completed, done...

So my back, hands, and gluteus muaximus are tired and sore. Small price to pay in my book, cause I am in the "good husband/daddy" category. Not the "sorry-worthless-doesn't-care-I-don't-know-why-I-agreed-to-procreate-with-this-miserable-bastard" category.

You want to know how to avoid trouble: do what the belly asks you about, nothing more, nothing less. You will be tired, but consider it training for when you have to step up and care for the little poop machine. The point being that you better set down your beer and start creating the room that will make the belly happy. And let me clear up an important misconception. You are not actually ever being asked for your opinion. Your job is to nod and say "sounds good to me". If the belly wants a specific color on the walls, you schlep yourself down to Home Depot and tell them to mix you up a gallon of the subtle shade of gray.

So the baby room is done, the refinished dresser is firmly ensconced, and I avoided the urge to try to offer
the male perspective. I am all good with the belly, finally.

The belly: 974
Me: 3