A Good Day for a Birthday...

Today isn't my first day trapped in a womb, but I've come to realize that I'm dying to get out.

Sure, it's warm and cozy, and yes, I'm getting fed on the regular. I’ve floated through the first two trimesters blissfully forming limbs and thoughts, blubbering along as my fingers materialized right before my eyes. Or maybe the eyes came first. Honestly, it's been madness. How am I to know?

I just want out.

Let me explain. There are two types of babies in this world: those who choose their birthdays and those whose birthdays choose them. And while it's been a nice ride, minus the jalapenos and the fatigue and morning sickness (my sincerest apologies), I am more than ready to do my own heavy lifting, thank you very much.

Two hundred and seventy-five days, give or take. Enough is enough. I know from previous adventures that there's nothing north but that buttery voice that rocks my world and rocks me to sleep, so I kick a flip and head south.

Yeah, I feel bad, okay? Especially when she says “oof,” and things go sideways as we tumble over. Trust me, I have no intentions of hurting her, and it sets me back a bit with all the moaning. But she's spent so much time bemoaning how I've wrecked her body that I figured, what does it matter in the end.

Wait. Another voice nearby. A familiar, oaf-like bellow that belongs to an utterly useless lifeform. Honey. Aside from constantly asking if everything is okay, Honey makes no major contributions to my well being. In my abundant spare time, I’ve made a mental image of Honey, with big droopy ears and panicked, wide eyes and thumbs where one should have ears. Honestly, I’d be thoroughly amazed if Honey can tie his own umbilical cord, and I have some serious doubts about Honey's emotional readiness for my homecoming.

Okay, things are happening. I get myself righted and plunge ahead. I’ll spare the details, because I’m not sure you honestly want to know what I have to go through here. Let’s just say that making a human—a particularly gorgeous one at that—is a lot like making a pie. There’s going to be a big mess left in the kitchen afterwards.

I know I'm getting my point across because it is complete chaos out there. Yelling and tripping and hysterics because that big dumb Honey is being a bonehead. At this point I'm thinking how if Honey isn't going to help out he can at least get out of the way. He's quite terrified, and I cannot properly convey just how thankful I am that I haven't been stuck with him for all these months.

Okay, now or never. I hunker down and get to work. Screams. Shrieks and sheer terror as it's all systems go here. Again, my apologies. My gracious host has been nothing but accompanying and maybe one day we can look back on this with nostalgia instead of nausea. But as of now? This is happening. How long did she plan on hauling me around, anyway? It's checkout time.

Just a we're getting somewhere, new voices emerge. A big commotion. The clatter of utensils. This cord is...ugh...it's holding me back, because I can see! I can see daylight. I push onward, a bit surprised that it's s now a two way street. My host is pushing too, hard, and I'm somewhat offended. I'll have to remember to voice my concerns later. 

I fight through the goop and the mess and the glint of light becomes brighter and brighter and…

Oh goodness it's freezing! Go back! Go back! Retreat! What was I thinking? Now they're yanking at me, tugging on my soft, mushy head and jostling me silly. All I can make out are shadows and figures, more painful lights and then I realize one of the round orbs belongs to that deep voiced oaf. 

They've handed me to Honey!

No. I shriek. Oh boy do I shriek. And with all this room, I just go wild. Because my fate has been sealed. I've left the safety of my burrow only to be end up in these cold, cold, oafish hands. What is he doing, anyway?

Wait…

Wait a minute. Oh, that’s nice. I know that voice. That lovely voice. I tilt my face up, blinking and sniffling as I make out a new blur. A sweet, angelic, very exhausted blur. Honey touches me again with his ice hands and I let him have it. But then I'm against her chest. Mom. Sweet mom is here.

And I am warm.

Thirty-Five Reasons Why I Love My Wife

I wanted to do something nice for my wife's birthday so I decided to post just a few reasons that I love her. Well, thrity five. But I didn't want to do the whole, she's smart, beautiful, and sexy stuff--which of course she is--I wanted my list to be more original. So here, in honor of her um, 29^th birthday, I present......Thirty-Five reasons Why I love my wife...

1 She’s a Yankee.  With my southern charm and her love of Macintosh Apples, our son is destined for greatness…

2. She’s stubborn. Very stubborn. Being in foreclosure, the house we now live in took forever to land and I can't remember how many times I was ready to just say forget it. But she persisted. It dragged on for months and months but because of her it finally happened.

3 She’s not afraid to get her nails dirty.While she can be a girly girl, she can also get her nails dirty. She went into the house thing with a pick ax and sledge hammer. The girl is a workhorse, I came home last year when she was on winter break to find she’d tore and power sanded the faux wall paneling from the kitchen.

4. She’s good at decorating. I am not.

5. She’s patient. In a house with two dogs, a toddler and me, patience has never been more virtuous...or something. I have a tendency to be neurotic, and she has a tendency to laugh at me.

6. She’s my best friend. I can drink a beer with her and I can joke around. Well, mostly. Sometimes I'll show her a youtube clip and she'll give me the blankest of stares, but still...she's cool.

7. She doesn’t like sports. This one may be just me, but I secretly enjoy that she doesn't know a pick and roll or a post route. She  just picks the pretty team.

8. She’s short. I like short girls. Maybe because it's nice to be needed  (to reach something from the shelf).

9. She’s unintentionally funny. A long time ago, before we were married, my wife and I walked into restaurant to have a drink. Sitting at the bar were two guys who'd obviously spent some time in the gym. My wife strides right past them, tosses a quick glance there way and says, "Hey tight shirts" just like it's their names before turning to the bartender to order a drink. I kinda knew right then we were getting married.

Oh, and her dancing. Now that is good stuff.

10. She can drive a straight.

11. She gave birth to this fella. -->

12. She's an excellent mother. Goes without saying.

13. She loves dogs. This one may be the foundation of our relationship.

14. She doesn’t take me too seriously. Sometimes we get in fights--shocking, I know--and she’ll let me go off on a rant. (When I’m worked up I can have epic arguments, by myself. *Remember, neurotic?). Suddenly I'll notice her just looking at me, like, Are you finished? And I’ll be like, Yup.

15. She can cook. It was maybe on the third helping before she told me her lasagna was vegetarian.

16. She’s a little bit snobby. This is good because it keeps me from picking up stuff from the curb. And today only some of my clothes come from the Goodwill.

17. She’s supportive I’ve been seriously writing for four years now. And she’s never told me to stop, even when I’m being a freak.

18. She speaks her mind. Back to that tight shirts thing…

19. She thinks I’m smart. Got her fooled.

20. She loves the outdoors. Our ideal evening usually involves a fire pit out in the backyard. And usually she's the one starting the fire...

21. She’s outgoing. And then some. With me being the more introverted one, it's nice to have her balance things out.

22. She respects me. And I her. We can have a disagreement or even an argument. But that doesn’t mean we don’t like each other.

23. She’s a teacher. Okay, yeah, when we starting dating, I did like telling people that I was dating a kindergarten teacher. But now, as I watch her with our son, I’ve learned to use those little teaching moments too.

24. We can be kids together. Both of us enjoy kid books, movies, and taking notice of those everyday little things that make life so special.

25. We can be old folks together. And then sometimes we're in bed watching reruns at eight. Okay seven.

26. We can be lame together. See the above. No shame in our game.

27. She can be the hard ass. I kind of need to work on my stern Daddy voice, but in the meantime she’s holding things down…

28. She’s sentimental Remember that time....?

29. She’s getting better with age. Seriously

30. We’re in this together. And we both understand that. Sometimes we're like a well-oiled machine, as one of us will toss the dirty diaper over a shoulder and into the waiting hands of the other. Gross? Sweet? It's all a blur...

31. We have inside jokes. Again, years ago we were on a date, waiting in line at the movie theater and there was this guy in front of us wearing this horrendously short shirt over an equally horrendously long shirt. And to this day, when I’m getting dressed and the shirt feels a little, drafty, I’ll turn around and ask her if I have movie-theater-guy-shirt. The guy is famous in our house.

32. She didn’t marry me for my money. Of this I am 99% sure.

33. She didn’t marry me for my good looks. Of this I am 98% sure.

34. She didn't marry me for my car. I drove a 92 Honda when we met. Nice.

35. She married me for me.

So there. Just a few reasons I love my wife. We don’t have the perfect marriage, but I think the perfect marriage is imperfect. What my wife and I have a pretty good thing. One that I hope keeps on and on... So here’s to tight shirts, short shirts, and many more shirts to come…

Party Time...

The night before my son’s first birthday party he was puking his little guts out. We’re talking a mixture of sour milk and—okay, well maybe the ingredients aren’t crucial, but the point is that our little guy was sick at the worst possible time.

On the morning of his party, he seemed to be doing better. He had some color and was keeping food down. So the party went on as planned. A few friends and family with kids cancelled to be safe which meant more cupcakes for me. And the dogs. Mason stole three cupcakes and a half of a cheeseburger.

At one, Simon still doesn’t understand the concept of gifts. I’m mean, you could wrap a bottle and he’d be thrilled. But he received some great gifts nonetheless. Like this

So year one has been a success. We have four teeth, well three and a half. We like to wave, point, say Mama and Dadda, and have recently discovered what makes us a boy. He likes the real phones and not the fake ones, and the sleeping in his own crib? Well, we have our good nights and the bad. No complaints here. We’re healthy and loud and keep things around the house interesting.

For Dad, this first year has been one of a long winding learning curve, one that he's--me, I'm doing the third person thing here--still trying to get the hang of but with each day he’s feeling more comfortable in his role of Dad.  We're learning together here.

So much has happened in this first year, but I fell like things are really just beginning. The personality on our little guy, he's one funny dude. And we're just getting started.  I remember people always telling me, wait until they start crawling or wait until they start talking. They said it like it was a bad thing.  Well, I look forward to the walking stage, the running stage, the screaming stage, all of it. Bring it on. Let the good times roll.

Our first party...

On Saturday my wife and I took Simon to his first birthday party. Not his party, but a friend’s little girl who was turning three. Now Simon’s only 9 months, and last time I checked he’s a boy...both of these facts are a relief to me...

The party was at a place called Romp and Roll, basically a padded jungle gym that was a cross between a psyche ward and gymnastics center. Oh-freaking-boy, I thought when I was told we were doing this. My daddy terror alert paranoia spiked to severe, with thoughts of Simon getting popcorned into the air by a cannonballing kid. What can I say? My anxiety is creative, as are my verbs.

We walked in and were told to take our shoes off. Wouldn’t you know it I hadn’t I prepared. Now on top of being worried about kid foot fungus finding its way to Simon’s mouth, I just so happened to be wearing a crummy pair of socks that were a little thin in the heal. It was laundry day. When everyone arrived, we were invited into some sort of clubhouse, passing under a four foot door where we sat down and were given a refresher in courtesy and manners. One little girl didn’t get the memo. More on her later.

I sat there, all Billy Madison style as we all acknowledged the birthday girl and waited for the pleasant sing songy woman in the tie dyed shirt to open the curtain. Seriously, she milked this curtain thing until I could hardly contain myself. Just let us in already! We—I mean they, want to play. Rules, rules and more rules. We get it, no pushing or shoving.

Finally, just before I staged a coup, the curtain parted and we stormed the padded playground. I took a breath, this was it, the first time I’d been thrown into the fire. I stood with my son in my arms.  A cautious, perhaps borderline panicky dad of a 9 month old—it was time to sink or swim.


Leaving the slug trail..

My wife motioned for me to put him down. I widened my stance, looked around, and then set my fearless little guy on the mat. And there in the midst of the storm of knees and elbows, as kids flew and flailed past us with a total disregard to crawling babies, he just began laughing. He climbed the padded blocks, chewed on the mat, and left what was called a “slug trail” of drool as he crawled around from one attraction to the next, his father’s shadow hovering over him every step of the way.

I loosened up and had a good time. I even agreed to get in the bouncy house with Simon and Mom, which he loved of course. But you wanna know the best part? With everything going on, all the colors and pads and music and kids flying around the room. Guess what he saw and made an immediate bee line towards? The basketball goal. Yep, he saw those balls bouncing and flying towards the rim and he started right for it. It was the highlight of my day.

Oh, and back to that little girl. Or should I say that little menace. I had my eye on her, as she broke in line to get in the jumpy house, stole the bouncer Simon had worked so hard to crawl over to, and when she ate her pizza, she looked up to me with a look that basically said, “Yeah, and what are you going to do about it?” Well played Blondie, but guess who’s not invited to Simon’s first party? Yeah, feel the burn.

We left early, little Simon was well overdue for a nap and was getting overwhelmed. Overall, it was a great time, even if we were only there for an hour. I have a lot of parenting to do before I’m ready for big parties, that’s for sure, but it was a well needed glimpse into what’s in store.