The Journey Begins...

People always say that having kids changes everything, that you see the world differently after children come into your life. But advice can only be given and taken, not lived.  A few blurry days ago, I quickly learned that nothing had prepared me for the intensity of what I felt in that delivery room.

I had decided long ago that I wasn’t going to look down.  I have a weak stomach, so I devised a plan that would allow me to be supportive yet comfortable.  I would be the around the shoulder coach, the hand holder, the strong, silenced by immovable fear type.  But in the heat of the moment, as the pushing and the screaming coincided with the contracting and the breathing, I peeked.  And it changed my life.

I watched my son come into this world, dumbstruck with a deluge of emotions.  I was speechless, teary eyed, light headed, and woozy.  I wiped sweaty locks of hair from my wife’s face as I tried to encourage her, my hands shaking and my voice faltering. It was surreal and natural at the same time.

There in that busy room, the source of all my worrying and wondering came out in one perfectly slimed, purple, amniotic package of tiny arms and legs that absolutely terrified me for the few precious seconds before filling the room with a raucous roar.

 

As the monitors beeped and hummed, blending with the primitive sounds of brand new life, the frenzied flow of hospital staff bustled about the room as I cut the cord and officially welcomed my son to the world.

In the calm that followed, the nurses and the doctors finished up and gave our small exhausted family a moment in peace, far and away the best moment of my life. Now the real journey begins...  

The Belly



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As we approach week 38, my wife’s belly has been issued its own zip code.  It swallows shirts and collects dust off of tables.  It attracts, pulling in paint, dirt, and any other substances that come near its gravitational pull.  It’s a force to be reckoned with, fighting zippers and buttons in its quest to be open and free.  It’s round and robust, and it usually arrives a few seconds before my wife walks into the room.

At some point during the 2nd trimester, my wife's body was hijacked, starting with a cute little bump that showed up one morning.  It continued to grow and swell and now it's like a hardened shell. It's like a bumper, coming between us during.....relax, I was going to say hugs.  It doubles as a table, (she makes a mean peanut butter and jelly shirt). 

It makes bending tricky, sleeping difficult, and comfort impossible.  Simple things that I take for granted are out of the question for my wife, like say, tying shoes. It hides things, last night it swallowed a remote control. On a recent trip to Lowes, I thought about suggesting a wheelbarrow for lugging it around, but I value sleeping in the house, and let’s face it, I get away with far too much on this blog anyway.

But through it all, as her belly has swollen beyond anything I would have thought possible, I can’t help but look at it and smile, because I know what's inside, or at least I think I do.  I enjoy talking to her belly, or guessing what body part I’m feeling.  At this stage my wife is ready to be done,as she feels bloated and disgusting.  But I think its sexy.  My wife, her belly, and our child.

Holding...

Kind of stuck at this point, I feel like everyday life has come to a grinding halt as my wife and I hover over the runway in a holding pattern.  We watch movies, hangout with the dogs, and otherwise, well, wait.  We may need to get out of the house, but we're not quite sure where to go.

Planning any type of outing takes strategic timing and maneuvering.  Road trips are out of the question.  Fatigue can set in at any moment, so we have to be prepared.  One minute my wife is racing through the house, folding baby clothes before rearranging furniture in the nursery, bustling with energy while racing up and down the hall.  And then suddenly all is quiet, I find her on the couch, dead to the world, sleeping through another fascinating case of Law & Order.  Just how many episodes of this how exist? 

On Saturday, I found myself talking to the little guy in her belly, singing songs and telling stories--which may be giving him second thoughts about coming out.  We placed our bets as to his arrival.  I’m thinking it’s going to be a couple of weeks, which means two things.  His mother will become increasingly unbearable uncomfortable, and I will work myself into a neurotic mess as I continue to think about D-day.  This is how I spend my weekends.

I did get my truck cleaned up on Sunday, as I prepare to sell my manhood for something more, uh, baby friendly.  Actually this decision didn't bother me at all, as I look forward to seeing a babyseat in the rearview mirror.

So goes our life during these days of anticipating and planning, with each day passing as we wait.  My weekends have changed drastically, as I kicked things off Friday by watching the baby care dvd we received during our class, only this time I didn’t laugh.  With my wife catching up on her lesson plans, I watched intently, unable to control myself from saying "aww" as the little baby took his first breaths. I’m kidding of course, I watched arm wrestling on Spike Tv, drinking beer and eating a raw steak, smoking a cigar while curling cinderblocks with my free hand.  I’m still a man, I think.

Quick Thoughts...

Week 36 is here.  Yesterday, my wife went to the doctor for her now weekly check-up.  It seems our little beano is doing just fine and could stay put for up to 5 more weeks.  I’m hoping for two, my wife is hoping for yesterday.  His head has dropped and he’s in position, confirming that yes, that was his little rear end we felt the other night after dinner.

He’s an active little guy, wriggling and moving in his cramped quarters, causing his mother a bit of discomfort at times.  The nurses have tried to guess his weight upon arrival, one has said to expect an 8lb baby, the other said 6lbs.  We’ll go with 7.

My protective instincts are kicking in too.  Over the weekend we went to see Lincoln, impressive considering it was 2.5 hours long.  During the previews, which involved many loud scenes with explosions and gun shots, my wife put her hand on her belly and whispered that our son was bouncing and jerking.  Well that was all I needed to hear as I was ready to leave, or ask the theatre to take it down a notch when she grabbed my hand, shaking her head no. 

On a side note, I hope I never become that parent, the one who writes letters to the editor, complaining about a loud rock concert downtown after dark, or starts a petition to have all sharp edges removed from knives.

Anyway, I can’t believe that the end is in sight, or rather the beginning.  It’s been one heck of a ride, and now I’ve focused my worries on the delivery.  Deep breaths...I wonder if they offer men’s Lamaze classes, or if it’s to late to attend?  The other day I said something to my wife about how the stress of the upcoming labor was getting to me....yeah I'm an idiot. 

Knocked up, New Year’s Eve, and Pee Pants.

Wow, still recovering from last night.  Things got a bit fuzzy after dark. I remember enjoying delicious homemade calzones, watching a movie, and falling asleep well before the ball ever dropped.  What a night!

The movie Knocked Up was on, and I must say, watching it with my pregnant wife gave it a completely different feel.  Instead of just another silly comedy, I found myself relating more to the baby book references, the doctor’s visits, and the conversations about pregnancy than the crude guy humor I remember enjoying so much.  And still do of course...

After the movie, we briefly tuned in for the party going on in Time’s Square, both of us thinking how lucky we were to be on the couch instead of out in the cold watching performers we would have passed on the street without a second thought.  By 10pm my wife was out, spending the waning moments of 2012 in a snoring slumber.  I didn’t fair much better, my eyes growing heavy as 11 rolled around. Adios 2012.

In the morning we woke up, and I immediately began stripping down the tree, happy to reclaim the living room that had been held hostage by the barrage of Christmas decorations since Thanksgiving. Then it was time for the dog’s run.  My wife wanted to join us and I was glad she wanted to come along, except that, well she's very pregnant, and slow. 

She waddled along admirably, and I commend her for her stubbornness stick-to-itiveness, but I tend to worry about her well being.  Not to mention the bathroom breaks.  The other day after using the bedroom bathroom, she made it as far as halfway down the hallway before stopping at the other bathroom to pee.  I was genuinely shocked as I watched it happen. 

And it's no different with the dogs.  On the trails she’ll drop trou like a woman who has long since abandoned any worries of what others may think.  When she has to go to, there's no question about when she's going.  I stand on the trails, leash in hand, bowing my head in defeat when she tells me she peed her pants just a little bit.  Pee pants, a term that is used much too frequently in our house, much more frequently than say, lingerie.

Lost & Found

The other day I noticed that my wedding ring was gone.  I'm not exactly sure how I lost my wedding ring but to be honest I'm surprised I kept it this long. I knew sooner or later that I would manage.  I've notified security at work, searched the house and my truck but it hasn't turned up, and now I'm in a bit of trouble. 

As an expectant father, this has me a bit worried.  I'm really good at two things, losing stuff or breaking stuff....Hmm break the baby or lose the baby?  Not great options.  What if I lose the baby?  Well let's see, I set him down  near the produce section but then they announced that sale on beer....Seriously, if I can manage to lose a ring, that was on my finger, who’s to say I won’t lose a helpless baby?

My wife is a bit more sentimental about the whole thing.  To her, the wedding band was a symbol of our union.  It was the ring she gave to me when we said our vows and its a symbol of our love.  I plan on replacing it, my finger feels naked without it.  I keep rubbing where it used to sit.  But still, it’s just a ring, and I’ve never been fond of jewelry.  I love my wife with all my heart and cannot wait to start raising a baby boy with her; shouldn’t that be all that matters?

Update!!!

Christmas Past...

My childhood Christmas memories hold a special place in my heart.  I think back to them with a rosy glow of nostalgic magic that grows fonder with each passing year. I remember the gifts, the electric excitement of the season, but perhaps most of all, i remember the traditions.  

Every year on Christmas eve, our family would head to church to enjoy a quaint little dark candlelit service where we’d sing carols and rejoice over the true meaning of Christmas. We said sir and ma'am, spoke with British accents, and donated our gifts to charity. We did none of that, but that's how I envision the made for tv movie. 

On the way home, we took the scenic route, driving past the most heavily decorated houses before my favorite part, the paper bag luminaries that lined the street and continued for what seemed like miles.  Staring out the window, I felt the holiday spirit rush through me as we passed the candle lit bags on the street.

My Christmas memories have always been special and I cannot wait to enjoy magical Christmas moments with my son.  But for this last childless Christmas, with my very pregnant wife in tow, I became determined to relive my Christmas past.

The weather should have been the first indicator that things weren't going according to plan.  Starting in the morning, a steady, unrelenting rain began soaking the yard.  Next, the thermostat began clicking, unable to turn on the heat pump and leaving the house at a balmy 57 degrees. But I wasn't going to let it get me down, I didn't need heat, I was warm with the glow of Christmas.

That evening, after dinner and gifts at Mom’s house, my wife and I arrived at the church just a few minutes late.  The street was blocked off, but after following the detour, we found the parking lot filled to capacity.   Well it has been over 20 years since I attended the Christmas Eve service, I thought.  And then things got weird...

We were greeted by ushers standing outside the sanctuary, who informed us that the church was filled to capacity.  I thanked the nice man, who leaned in close--for a split second I think he was going to offer us scalped tickets to the service--informing us that there is a screening room, where we were welcomed to watch with other slackers who arrived late.  We're shown to a room where, sure enough, there are around 15-20 folks watching church on tv.  This is also where got the third or fourth "I told you to leave earlier."

Desperate to stick to the plan, I dragged my wife inside and began watching what had to be the lowest definition broadcast in television history. I’ve seen reel to reel footage of Civil War veterans that was of better quality than the picture on the screen.  But that isn’t the point…what was the point?  Oh yeah, it's Christmas, and I was looking forward to the luminaries on the way home, still determined to relive the magic of the past.

We made it through the sermon (which is the most important part, right?), and decide to make our exit.  After whispering one last, I told you we should have come earlier, we walked up the aisle of the small room and made our escape. 

On the way home we approached the hill and I looked for the candles.  All was dark.  The road that lit the way home from Christmas Eve church so many years ago had been turned off, perhaps due to the rain, but maybe due to time.  I took a deep breath, trying to keep my spirits up.  My wife looked at me, a smile full of pity on her face, and said:

“Honey, it has been over twenty years.”

And she’s right, it was a long time ago.  Things change, they come to an end and that's part of life.  I’ll always have those special Christmas memories from my childhood to cherish—they’re a part of me and who I am.  And now I look forward to forging new traditions with my wife and son.  Hopefully we will provide him with great memories that one day he will look back upon and think....those were the days.

Small & Mighty...

With all of the big changes happening in my life, it’s the little things I’ve been noticing lately.  For instance, last night I was doing laundry (doing laundry as in I got the clothes into the washing machine before getting sidetracked), when I noticed a small white bottle of detergent claiming to be “Small & Mighty”. 

The bottle was labeled Simon’s.  Well isn’t that just the cutest thing? (Yes, this is how I talk now) I thought, staring at the bottle, a goofy grin on my face as I was still holding pair of dirty boxer shorts in my hand. 

Suddenly I was holding a small and mighty little guy in my arms, reading him our favorite book before rocking him to sleep.  I could feel is soft little baby skin and smell his little baby head--oh wait, those are my boxer shorts…which quickly brought me back to reality.

But it’s things like this that make everything so real.  Sure, my wife’s large belly is a constant reminder of our son’s impending arrival; over time I’ve grown accustomed to it, maneuvering out of its way when we pass in the hallways, constantly touching it and talking to it when I see her.  But this, a little bottle of detergent, is tangible proof that we will soon be doing laundry for three. 

John Denver and The Muppets

The sounds of the season make Christmas all the more enjoyble, and it seems everyone and anyone has put out a Christmas album at some point.  Elvis, Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, and Nsync have all made Christmases more enjoyable over the years. Well, three out of four anyway.

For me, nothing reminds me of early childhood Christmases like The Muppets.  That’s right, the Muppets.  In 1979, the stars aligned as John Denver, along with Kermit, Mrs Piggy and the rest of the Muppet gang collaborated on a Christmas album that has stood the test of time.

The album takes me back to a special place, to a small house where a Kerosene heater warmed the living room, a rotary telephone was fastened to the wall in the kitchen, and music was played by setting a needle onto the grooves of a record as it turned at 33 revolutions per minute.

My sister and I would sing along to this record as we bounced around the room with spirited excitement, feeling the Christmas magic in the air (it may have been the fumes from the kerosene).   Family and friends would stop by and we would welcome them in from the cold, inviting them to sing along as we decorated the tree.

Money was tight and times were tough, but our troubles were forgotten--if only for a night--as we sang along to our favorite Christmas album.  We played it over and over again, as Mom would flip the record when the needle began its rhythmic bumping on the label.  A little bit of heat, The Muppets album, a few neighbors, and we had ourselves a party.

I'd help my mother with the decorations, as she would always save her Christmas cards and use them to decorate the house, I still remember looking through the cards that felt like a lifetime ago in my four year old mind.

Later, as I lay in my bed, too wound to sleep, my sister and I would listen for Santa’s sled up on the roof, singing the songs from the album that were still fresh in our head.  Did you hear that?  My sister would say, and I would try my best to hear the sound of the sleigh on the roof.

Not long ago, at an estate sale just down the street from my house, I was flipping through a crate of dusty albums when sure enough, I came across the familiar cover.  I opened the sleeve, and for a moment I was back in that small house from my childhood, singing songs and decorating the tree.  I held onto the album, unashamed as I walked through the house with my childhood treasure tucked under my arm. I ended up paying two bucks for the record, and as I walked out with the record I couldn't help but wonder if its previous owner enjoyed it as much as I had.

As an expectant father, I can't wait for my son to experience this album, the full experience.  From the crackling sound of a real record, to the timeless songs that I loved as a child. Not to mention the great singing voices of The Muppets. I look forward to enjoying this classic with my son, and hopefully it can spread its magic all over again.  But I'll have to make it clear, if he makes fun of The Muppets he's grounded.

Male Pregnancy Hormones - What's Going On?

I’ve been reading about the changes men undergo during pregnancy.  Yes, men.  Although I fully understand that we get the better end of the pregnancy deal, it seems that we do in fact, go through some changes as well.  As the female hormones run rampant in my wife's body,  I was surprised to find that--in an effort to prepare for my role as nurturer--my levels of testosterone, competitiveness, and aggression will continue to decrease by roughly a third once the baby is here.  

Maybe this explains why I’ve hardly watched any football in the past month.  Or the fact that I was really excited about watching Christmas movies last weekend.  I'm not saying that I've become feminine, but this morning I caught myself performing “jazz hands” while getting dressed for work. 

It all makes sense now, last week when I found myself thinking that my truck was impractical, or the other day when I thought I could really go for a salad.  Words such as cute or adorable, have replaced grunts or mumbling.  What is happening to me? 

I’m even planning artsy craftsy projects.  Over the weekend, I bought a wooden plane for the baby's room that I plan on painting.  What’s wrong with that you ask?  An expectant father planning a project for his son. Well nothing, until...

“You’re going to paint?”  My wife asked, following up with, “You’re going to spend more than two minutes on something and pay attention to detail?”

“Yep, I’m going to paint the wings red, and maybe put some stripes on them.  Not sure about the propeller…”  I caught myself coordinating the color scheme of the plane with the curtains.  Dear God, how did this happen?

I’m very comfortable with myself, but some of these feelings are very new to me.  I’m excited, very excited, and now if it wasn’t enough to have a pregnant woman in the house, in a way we have two.

I may not be showing, and I'm pretty sure I'm not carrying a baby, but how am I supposed to interact with other males without blurting out which exfoliating cream was on sale last weekend?  I'm not far away from the following scenario:

“Hey Pete did you see the game Saturday?”

“No, but you know what I did catch?  The commercial-free airing of A Princess For Christmas on The Hallmark Channel.  It was adorable!”

Okay, hopefully it never gets that bad, but I did watch Home Alone instead of football on a Saturday night, (My team had just lost to its rival and is out of the post-season anyway), while eating ice cream on the couch with my wife.  We were only a cucumber facial mask away from a pajama party sleepover...

Oh well,  I suppose I’ve never been the manliest of men anyway.  I don’t hunt, I don’t watch UFC, and I have a blog; so maybe the hormones didn’t need much help to begin with.

You, me, and baby make….six?

My house is a zoo.  Between our two dogs and our one cat we are only a goat away from charging admission.  Now as we prepare to welcome a human to the mix and even up the pet to person ratio, I can’t help but wonder, is it too much?

We try to make good decisions.  We pay down our credit cards, we rarely eat out, we don’t rent furniture.  But for some reason we collect pets.  I wish I could blame this solely on my wife, but to be honest, I’m a sucker for a dog.

Our household could already be described as overwhelming at times, add the pending chaos of a brand new baby to the mix and things should get interesting. I’m sure that Baby Simon, from the warm confines of the womb, is already well aware of the sound a doggie makes.

Our oldest dog, Bruce, has already taken to sleeping in front of the crib. My wife and I feel like he knows what’s going on and looking forward to the new addition.  He’ll be the baby’s best friend, no worries here.

Where's the baby?

The cat is just a cat.  He’s in, he’s out, and he’s pretty low maintenance, we don’t even have a litter box.  If there’s food in the bowl, he’s all set.  At times I forget we even have a cat.  He and I pretty much go our separate ways.

Whatever...

This leaves us with Mason, the loose cannon of the house.  I’ve documented many of Mason’s escapades and he will, and does, keep it interesting.  Mason is a spoiled brat, the worst kind of a pest there is.  When we first found out we were expecting, we hoped the 9 months would give him time to mature.  We’re still waiting…

I made snow!

I’m hoping he will surprise us, but there has been little evidence of this in our trial runs.  Children put him on edge, he just can’t seem to figure them out.  Usually when friends drop by with children, Bruce will welcome them, at times too enthusiastically, wagging and wiggling with excitement.  Mason however, will circle the kid, sniffing while inspecting the small unusual being, ready to bolt or let out an annoying bark at the first sign of danger.  As an expectant father, I worry how our wild child is going to react to our real child.

He has made some strides though, and one day he just may be a normal dog. But I would like to see him settle down a bit before I bring home a helpless child.  In the meantime, I need to do a better job of keeping the stuffed animals off of the floor.

Better With Age...

I can't say that I’ve always had my exceptional musical taste. When I was 11, David Lee Roth parted ways with Van Halen and started a solo career.  His "world tour" led him to Roanoke, Virginia, where my father decided to take me for my first concert.  The big night arrived and after combing our matching mullets to perfection, we headed to the show for a guy's night out.

Never having been to one of these things before, I was wide-eyed with excitement as we walked past all of the sights in the parking lot on our way into the packed civic center.  We passed all sorts of characters, this was 1986, and most in attendance looked like the villains in those high school movies my sister watched.

Inside, the opening act was Cinderella, a typical 80’s hair band with lots of make up and really bad vocals.  It was loud, extremely loud, almost as loud as that crash up car derby my father had taken me to the previous year.  We found our seats but I’m pretty sure Dad let me break the no caffeine after 2pm rule, so I had to use the bathroom.  We fought our way down the steps, making our way once again past shady characters with jean jackets and long hair.   I stayed close, thankful to be near my dad in the midst of all of the hooligans.

Inside the bathroom, I noticed smoke coming from one of the stalls, why are their two guys in there?  And then the smell hit me.   Something foreign and very distinct, something I wouldn’t smell again for quite a few more years.  My dad whisked me out of the bathroom, the conversation went something like this:

“Dad, what was that smell.”

“I’ll tell you later.”

I never did find out what that smell was that night, but the concert was great.  I’m pretty sure we left before the final encore, but it was a great time of bonding with my dad.  I learned a lot that night as well.  On our way to the concert, I remember thinking how grown up I was going to a rock concert.  When we left, I was overwhelmed and grateful that I still had a few more years of being a kid.

Growing up, my musical taste was all over the map.  From David Lee Roth to The Fat Boys, most of us experience with all types of music as we age. I’m a product of the 80’s, so I can’t say I’m proud of everything I listened to, but we had our classics. I still perk up when I hear Michael Jackson, Madonna, and Prince.

Today’s music is, well, not classic.  Some of this stuff is bad.  Really, really bad.  Maybe I’m just old, but what fills our pop radio airwaves is beyond awful.  I’m lucky in a way, my son will have missed the Justin Bieber stage. While I feel like I dodged a bullet, I worry what else is coming. The sad truth is that one day a fledgling singer will list JB among his influences…..and they won't mean James Brown.

What kind of concerts will I have to endure?  Somewhere, there’s a 7 or 8 year old kid practicing singing or rapping or something that I haven’t been subjected to that is going to cost me money.  His mother will post his/her singing on youtube and then it will go viral.  After that the kid will become a global icon and be forced into my household via my kid.  I may have to shell out $40 or $50 bucks to hear said kid perform in 10 years.  I will go to work humming and singing these awful songs that are stuck in my head after constantly hearing them.  These are the things that keep me up at night.  

My only saving grace is that we’re having a boy, but there's still cause for concern.  Maybe I can just force him to listen to Led Zeppelin like my father did after our David Lee Roth experience, and hope everything else will work itself out.

Are we there yet?

The long road of Pregnancy

We’ve now entered the stretch that I was warned so fervently about.  Early on, people would ask how my wife was doing and I would respond enthusiastically.  She’s great!  I often wondered why women would scoff at this, or look at me as if I was a lost puppy.  Just wait, wait until the fun part begins. 

I laughed, thinking to myself, no, not us.  My wife is carrying this baby like a boss.  We haven’t experienced anything close to the horror stories I’ve heard from friends and family members, or that guy from the Do It Yourself website forum.

It was too easy, I was beginning to look for a stork circling the house.  My wife complained little, joined me to walk the dogs, and was basically her sweet, lovely self.  She had none of the weird food cravings and aversions that are so common with pregnancy, and life went on as planned.  But then, when I wasn’t paying attention, it happened.

I woke up one morning and my wife’s belly had ballooned overnight.  It hung out of her shirt like a WalMart shopper.  She rocked back and forth, trying to roll out of bed.  No more fun and games, my wife is pregnant!

Just last night for instance, I glanced over at the counter and noticed a glass of orange juice and a jar of pickles on the counter.  She ate a plate of lasagna that would make Michael Phelps jealous.  We have two containers of ice cream in the fridge and a heating pad in the microwave.  At 6:36 this morning, she asked me what I wanted for dinner tonight.  Time to hunker down, this is what I was warned about.

Climbing into bed with a pregnant woman is like fitting into a puzzle.  I have to find an unused place in the bed and be sure not to move any of the strategically placed pillows.  There’s snoring, peeing, shifting, swelling, sweating, and moaning. 

Her ankles are swollen and puffy, her wrists hurt, her back aches.  On one occasion, I woke up to her leaning against the doorway, giving herself a back massage in the middle of the night.

With two months still to go, I hope it doesn’t get much worse. (Go ahead, laugh)  In all honesty, we have been lucky, but pretty soon I will be putting my wife’s shoes on for her and pricing motorized carts.  So to all who have been through this already, please, let this expectant father blindly go the rest of the way without knowing just how much worse things can get.  Who knows? Maybe this little guy will decide to make an early exit.