Back to the Future

Hey Archer,

You may or not have been awake when I kissed your forehead and whispered that I loved you this morning. It's back to the future today as I begin traveling again. And even though it won't be heavy travel until the new year it's still the first week that I'm going to have to leave you for what, in the future, could be days at a time. I figured it may be helpful to give you some tips now that you're the man of the house until I get back.

1) Your mom loves to snuggle. Normally I provide a good portion of these. Snuggle liberally in my absence.

2) Kaya likes to pretend you didn't feed her. She will sit down quietly in front of her bowl twenty minutes after eating and give you her saddest "I sure could use a meal" face. Don't be fooled, it's a trick.

3) Your mom loads the dishwasher all sorts of wrong. Thing is, she believes she's the dish loading master. Don't fight her on it, she'll just get mad. Flip them around when she isn't looking and run it.

4) You're going to have to shoulder the Mellow Yellow load while I'm gone. It's one tall boy a day and you should leave the empty in new and exciting places each day. Mom looks like she's angry about it but deep down she knows this is our thing.

5) Let me know if she brings any guys over that aren't Uncle Rattlesnake or Uncle Emu (code names) and tells you they're an uncle or cousin. Excluding Papa Petey and Pop Pop feel free to pummel the privates of any male that comes over while I'm away.

6) Be patient, calming, and a voice of reason whenever possible.

7) Lock doors and turn off lights. Mom forgets sometimes and she's got a lot of mommying to focus on right now.

That's all I can think of right now and my plane is about to take off. I'll see you soon. I love you very much.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Some advice:

Never cry. Or rather, go ahead and cry but blame it on a rogue dust storm and nobody will be the wiser. Works every time.

~ Your Dad

Reports From The Frontline

Hey Archer,

It's been two weeks already. Can you believe it? It's crazy. Things seem to be going smoothly but I have nothing to base this claim on. These two weeks have been both my introduction to and my entire experience with having a baby. Everyone you speak with has their two cents to give. Even those who understand you have to find out what works best for you will follow that sentiment up with some advice. It's cool though, I appreciate advice and am happy to take bits and pieces of those ideas with me as I raise you.

But nobody tells you about Howitzer Butt.

Oh, they'll tell you that you're going to get peed on or that you'll get poop on you. That you'll become oddly cool with it. That it's different when it's your baby. Won't mind it at all. But that's all they tell you. Perhaps they want you to enjoy the same surprise they experienced the first time a poop mortar was randomly fired out of your baby's butt.

It wasn't always like this. You know, going all the way back a couple weeks to the hospital. There you liked to turn the faucet back on while you were getting a change. Faucet number two, that is. Sure, you peed during changing as well, but I was surprised by the ease with which you turned faucet #2 back on. It gave me a fast lesson in diaper change management. I already knew to block the wang (medical term) with something in case you pee, but this was new and important information.

Especially when, days after we got you home, it wasn't a faucet turning back on unexpectedly but a poop shot across the bows of your changing table while mama had you mid-change. The look on her face was priceless. I was walking in to bring wipes or something, maybe just to check in on the process when it happened and her response, involuntarily, was basically this...

That's from a hilarious Spiderman knockoff that I urge you to watch right now.

But back to Howitzer Butt...

You gave us the warning shot and now we know. Your butt can't be trusted. There seems to be only three settings to your butt.

1. Howitzer Poops
2. 50 cal Farts
3. R&R

Just this morning my training came in handy as you attempted to reach the hallway with your mid-change cannon. But I feel like I'm already on my second tour of dootie and expertly had an impenetrable wipe wall in place.

While I still don't feel like a grizzled veteran of this parenting thing I'm going to chalk this one up as an early victory. I feel like I'm almost there.

That's all for now, buddy. But before I go, a word of advice...

Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will. No Doubt, on the other hand, has hardly ever killed anything. Supposedly just a couple roadies.

~ Your Dad

"Natural Induction" Strategies

Hey Archer

With your hospital induced labor a mere week away your mama was quite worried about needing drugs to induce your arrival. I don't blame her. While I'm the first in line to defend pharmaceutical companies or doctors when people blame them for every societal problem even remotely related to medicine, I also understand and appreciate that things can and probably should occur naturally sometimes.

Enter the Poor Man's Guide to Inducing Labor Naturally.

Step 1: Do your internet and anecdotal-based research.

Does the website naturalmoms4change.org tell you that eating pineapple will absolutely induce labor? Take notes, buy pineapple, prepare for a baby.

Have you any friends who swear that they gave birth eleven seconds after eating a chalupa left-handed? Well then, put down that coffee (Coffee's for closers!) and get thee to a taco bell ASAP! Buy a chalupa, free your left hand for the chalupa, aim your crotch somewhere a baby could safely land, eat said chalupa, kiss your brand new baby.

(Pro Tip: Always carry scissors late in pregnancy in case you find yourself in need of cutting the cord at a Taco Bell. Double Pro Tip: Never run with those scissors)

Step 2: Agree with your wife

She probably has many reasons for wanting that baby out of her stomach-house (medical term) and if she decides that the way to induce her labor is by letting her slap you across the face with bologna then smile and make your first midnight bologna run since college. If you've made late night bologna runs since college I'd like to introduce you to Sally Struthers. Do you want to make more money? Sure, we all do. Now go do it and step your game up to some capicola today!

Step 3: Credit whatever happened the moment before birth as what induced labor

Did you burp real loud before your water broke? THAT MUST HAVE BEEN IT!!!

Step 4: Tell everyone that it's the only thing that worked

Be an insufferable know-it-all about the only tried and true technique to induce labor.

~

Speaking of natural induction methods, here are a few things we tried. Spoiler Alert: None of them worked...

• Pineapple - We ate the shit out of some pineapple. We chose Costa Rican pineapple because it's delicious and because we traveled there recently and now fancy ourselves pineapple experts. Didn't work but was delicious
• Spicy Food - We ate Mexican food, I added hot sauce and hot paprika to things, and any time I had a chance to bring the heat I did it. Also delicious, and also didn't work. But speaking of bringing the heat...
• Lots of Sex - Turns out that having sex is a great way to induce labor. The theory is, and this is an honest to god thing, you need to have it at least three times because the cervix requires that much sperm. I have no idea how this was "proven" but if you're looking for a job and the ability to afford capicola perhaps you should look into sperm research!
• Raspberry Tea - This one is dumb. Didn't work.
• Acupuncture/Chiropractor/Pressure Points - Are you looking for the most expensive way to not induce labor? Then may I introduce you to constant acupuncture and chiropractor appointments. The hip bone's connected to the, knee bone. The knee bone's connected to the, elbone (medical term). The elbone's connected to the, wallet...

Long story short, sometimes you can't do a damn thing to induce your own labor. Nothing will go to plan and you'll never have enough money. Ugh, I think I need to make a bologna run...

Before I go, a little advice...

Life is 10% what happens to us and 90% how we react, 23% hard to shoulder bullshit, 3% pleasant surprises, 79% work, 31% delicious meats and cheeses, 17% alcohol, and, if you're doing it right, it'll all add up to be 100% amazing.

~ Your Dad

All the feelings

Sweet nugget, you have been here for ten days now. I knew I would love you, but I just wasn't prepared for all of the feelings. I am all at once smitten and proud and protective and oh my god, look at those toes! You are easily the most perfect thing I've ever witnessed. Your journey into this side of my belly was no less dramatic than your journey into the womb.

I had a lovely birth plan, a doula, and every confidence that I could and would do this birth thing as naturally as possible. My original plan was to have you at the birth center. Midwives, a big tub to labor in, essential oils diffusing, calming music playing, no drugs. You know, just like I was supposed to get pregnant immediately after your daddy and I got married and usher you into the world 9 months later. Right. I have no idea why I didn't accept from day one that I had zero control over this story.

Lesson in non-attachment: check.

The birthing center wasn't an option. Mama is more mature than your average first time mom. Whatever. Mama is old. I'm 41 (soon to be 42) and this number freaks insurance people out. So, plan B! Are you amused at my plan making yet? So so funny. The partner OB/GYN office for the birthing  center was recommended to me, and I thought this would be a good alternative. Surely, they would be on board for all my hippy dippy visions of my birth experience. I went and met my doctor very early in my pregnancy and she was lovely. On board, indeed.

As we approached your due date, sweet doctor suggested we have an induction date, just in case. At my age (so very old), complications are much greater with each passing week, so getting you out by your due date was her goal. Mine was to naturally induce labor before that induction date. I'll spare you the details on that. We know how my track record is with the plans.

(Dad Interruption: See this post for my in-depth analysis of natural induction techniques)

We check into the hospital the evening of the induction date, and buckle in for the ride to come. They're going to apply some medicine to my very stubborn cervix, which hasn't dilated really at all, and that should get things rolling. It does actually cause contractions to start, but after many hours, we discover that it's done actually nothing in the way of labor progression. Step 2: manually dilate the cervix. Again, I will spare you the details. You can google it when you're older, or whatever the equivalent thing will be in your crazy technological future. The basic gist is: ouch ouch ouch! and fine, it worked, somewhat. 3cm dilated and serious contractions and now sweet doctor breaks my water. Which, by the way, is an obscene amount of fluid. Seriously, did you order the Olympic sized swimming womb?

Really serious for real contractions at this point! Sweet doctor is now way done with her 24 hour shift at the hospital. Now her partners will be finishing this job. Strangers (though very kind and clearly capable ones) have entered my very much adjusted birth plan. This is a trend one must become very comfortable with, by the way. The amount of strangers who would ultimately see my ladythangs hit record numbers in just a few short days.

After some serious labor that had me doubting my ability to do this without many drugs, hubby calls the doula in. She was bathed in light and goodness when she entered. I don't know what I'd have done without her. She really did calm me, get me into positions to labor in that helped tremendously, helped me breathe, and made me believe again, that yes, I could indeed do this without pain meds. After a couple of hours, the very nice partner doctor entered the room to see how things were progressing. I HAD to be really dilated by now. Contractions were strong and very close together and if this were a movie, we'd be long into the pushing phase by now.

Instead of announcing that we were ready for pushing, he said something to the nurse I didn't quite get, then calmly but firmly, told me that things would move very quickly now. The cord was in a position of prolapse, which basically means that it was between your sweet head and my stubborn cervix. So, every time I had a contraction, the cord was being pushed toward the opening cervix and squished by your head. It's a good thing that cervix was so stubborn, because it still wasn't open enough to let cord through, which would have been a serious scary emergency. As it was, we had only a mildly scary emergency.

New plan (non-negotiable, I had no say in it): emergency c-section. The bad news? This was not the birth experience I ordered. The good news? All I could really think about was making sure you were ok and getting you into my arms as quickly as possible. I didn't care at all about the plan anymore.

You were staring into my eyes just minutes later. Perfect and alert and loudly announcing your presence into the world. You needed a little help getting your lungs clear, but you're a strong little man and you were brought to me while I was still in recovery, your lungs pumping like a champ and so very hungry. You've been so hungry since, and you are growing and changing already, every single day.

As you lie in your bassinet next to me, I can't help but be overwhelmed with the love I feel for you. I'm so grateful that you're mine. I could not dictate your story, though I sure did try. As you grow and become the man you will be, I'm sure I will fight that same struggle of wanting more of a say in your narrative, more influence in the decisions you make. I will do my best to remember that you have your own story to tell. I will teach you all that I can and try to help you to make good decisions, but in the end, you will be the author of your own life. I'm so excited to watch it unfold. Welcome to the world, Archer. You are so loved.

Love, Mama

YESSSSSSS!!!!

TWO. NOSTRILS.

Welcome to the world, Archer. Posts to follow once the whirlwind dies down.

Imminent Arrival

We are officially in single digit countdown days to your arrival. It's hard to imagine that before we know it, you will be snuggling with us out here in the real world, and yet it's already impossible to imagine a world before you. Our lives have been a steady stream of baby preparations, and I think your daddy is nesting even more than I am. He is currently building you a dresser/changing table (the chances of this project being done before you're born are ummm a little on the lowish side) and he has been helping to make your little world so special. Your closet. Seriously, it's better than mine.

He has agreed to, and participated in all of the shopping required for your needs and my wants. This is a big deal. You will learn when you are a little older that mama is the one to go to when you want to splurge on something. I am quite proud that I found your rocking/bouncy seat for a deal though! This is what I will use to counteract his arguments that you don't need another pair of shoes you can't even walk in (have you seen baby shoes? how do you NOT need more baby shoes?) or another decorative and clever thing to hang in your nursery. 

My plan was to have my hospital bag packed by the end of the weekend, but it's not quite ready. It's much more difficult than packing for a weekend away. How can I really know what I'll need when I'm packing for a new life? What if you are too chunky to fit in those sweet little newborn onesies? I realize I won't look and feel too much different than my current state of enormously pregnant right after you're born (which is totally unfair, btw), but will I have more than 2 garments that actually cover this belly? Luckily, we live very near the hospital, and daddy is sweet enough to come back to the house and get anything we need, so that's likely adding to my procrastination.

Still to do:

• Car seat installation (using actual directions, unlike your daddy's first attempt to "wing it", resulting in a hot mess
• gallery wall installation in your nursery
• light hung in nursery*
• Getting you into this world (preferably without being induced because mama no likey all that nonsense. we've had enough help getting you in there, it's your turn to pull your weight, sweet boy)!

This may be the final pre-birth post from me here. I am just beyond anxious excited overjoyed to meet you face to face. We have had such a great time these past 9+ months, I've been so fortunate to feel so well throughout, bonding with you through every kick and hiccup (so many hiccups!). I am ready to share you with the world, and especially with daddy. You've already made us the most proud parents ever.

Love,

Mama

*Once those final touches are in, including your amazing rug, I will post pictures here.

Hearing

Hey Nugget,

All of the baby development books claim that you can hear while you're in there. Not in your first few months, of course. You were still pretty much a blob back then. But now you're basically a fully formed baby. We couldn't be happier with how things have gone during your time in the womb, by the way. Don't think we haven't noticed your two glorious nostrils. Well done, buddy.

But as far as hearing goes, the science says you can hear your mama's voice, maybe mine too. With that in mind I feel like there's something I should let you know about just in case you heard more than we think today.

The world isn't ending just as you're set to make your debut, though it may have sounded that way. You see, we have something called a President. The President leads our country and helps to shape how we experience it. They're always male because of our bigger brains. It's science. Also they've almost always been white, but that's for another conversation.

Anyway, we get two candidates with differing opinions on how to be a good President and then we vote on who we like. This time around there was one candidate who said a lot of nasty things. Nasty things about women, about people of color, about veterans. Really he said nasty things about almost every type of person. He didn't have any experience for this very important job and every time you thought he couldn't get any worse he somehow managed to get worse.

Well, he ended up winning the election and now he gets to be President. Your mama and I are extremely disappointed and considerably worried about whether or not he will run our country the way he ran his campaign. I think I speak for both of us when I say that no matter what happens, and hopefully he ends up doing a serviceable job, we'll work our butts off to make sure that you have a good life regardless.

Here are a partial list of things we will do:

We'll smush on your face and tell you we love you.
We'll give you smooches and make sure you know that we have your back.
We'll pick you up when you fall down.
We'll teach you to be kind to and respectful of others.
We'll teach you that it's called a raspberry and not a zerbert.
We'll give you raspberries.
We'll (I'll) blame farts on you.
We'll fake you out with airplane noises and make you eat gross but healthy food.
We'll teach you math using finger counting like in Stand and Deliver.


We'll trick you with very obvious magic until you get old enough to know better.
We'll try our best to make you love what we love.
We'll (I'll) make you love 90's rap.
We'll shave any Bieber hair you try to grow.
We'll enforce a very strict No Douchebag policy.
We'll (I'll) teach you the keys to UBM (Unexpected Boner Management)
We'll screw some things up but apologize profusely with hugs and kisses.

You can count on us, buddy. So don't listen to the hate. We got this.

Now before I go, a quick word of advice:

If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door. Then close that door so a window will open. Climb out the window unless it's on a second or third floor. Once outside, look for opportunity. Realize it isn't there in Trump's America because you're 1/16th Comanche Indian. Sneak back in and never speak of this again.

~ Your Dad

(Full disclosure: We have no Comanche blood in our lines and I really am trying to stay optimistic about Trump despite the jokes)

Real Getting

Shit is getting real, nugget. How do I know? Laundry.

We're less a month away from your due date but you seem intent on growing faster than planned. I can tell you're impatient and that's normal. You inherited that trait from both of us. Nobody likes to wait but I'd just ask that you hold on long enough to let me finish my work travel and not leave your mama freaking out because I'm at a VA Hospital in Biloxi when she goes into labor. Can I get your word on that, buddy?

Thanks.

Mama couldn't work with the metal shelves in your closet so I was tasked with making some new ones out of wood and brawn. I think you'll like them and I'm quite proud of the job I did. Building is not my chosen profession but as it turns out I can turn an above average wrench. I've built our dining room table, the entertainment center/dog crate, a small set of drawers for my office, and soon I'll have a dresser built for your room. I'm just as surprised as anyone else at how good it all came out and the side effects of building things (increased testosterone production, testicle fortitude, arm hair growth, and hands callused enough to open beers without even really trying) have been well received. 

We've only got a few more big things to get and then we'll be ready to usher you into this world and do our best to not let you grow up to be a douchebag.

I like our chances.

Well, as is my life these days I need to go catch a flight. But before I do, a bit of advice...

The future depends on what we do in the present. Remember that when you're hitting puberty and thinking we have no idea why you go through so many tube socks.

~ Your Dad

Growing a good man

Hey, sweet nugget! It's been a productive few weeks, and you are so big! You now have a stroller (thanks, Nana!), a painted nursery and a crib, but we have a lot to do before your grand entrance into the world. Your daddy and I are doing our best to prepare, but I'm not sure we ever will be ready. Your daddy is fixing your closet up so we can get all your adorable stuff organized (down with wire shelving!), and he is even building you a dresser. We spent all day in a class to learn what to expect during your delivery. We went through all the stages of labor, the myriad of things out of our control, and what we can do to cope with the whole birthing process. The only sure thing I came away with is that I'm more excited than ever to meet you.

I also had pictures taken this week, so I never forget how special having you in my (very big) belly is. One day, I'll show you those pictures and explain that you were once that tiny little baby inside me, just 6 weeks from being born. One of the things I look the most forward to is explaining things about the world to you. I certainly don't know everything, and I won't always be right, but if I can instill in you some basic goodness and empathy, I'll have done my job.

Right now, we are weeks away from a presidential election that has been really controversial. I've been involved in some heated discussions about the candidates and the basic ideas of right vs wrong. People have been offended, have taken a stand for things I can't really comprehend, and have dismissed horrible behavior just to hold their position. I'm probably more involved than I usually would be, because the thought of you coming into this world while our country is being represented by someone who has expressed, almost exclusively, ideas of divisiveness and hatred is too upsetting. I want more for you. It's so important to me that you learn to stand for what is right, even if inconvenient. I'm determined to make sure you know that being a good man means you help to empower and support others. You will meet people in this world who think it's ok to gain advantages by making others feel smaller. My hope for you is that you will be better and do better than that. You will realize for yourself when you are older, that the most enjoyable people to be around are those who lift others up and who bring their own unique flavor of joy that they spread. Raising someone who is capable of being that kind of human is very important to me. It's a big responsibility and I don't take it lightly. You are my most important job in the world. I will make mistakes along the way, but I will always love you and do my very best.

Love, Mama

People's Instinctive Travels Part 3: The Never Ending Story

Hey Nugget,

Just your dad here, picking up where I left off on the subject of how you came to be. It's apparently a very long, multi-post story. But what are you going to do about it? You're stuck in a womb with nowhere to go and nothing to do besides grow (nostrils!) and read this blog.

(On a quick side note, it was exciting to see you on the 3D ultrasound a few days ago. While you were tired and adamant about blocking our view, we were able to confirm that you're a boy, that you take after your old man, and that, thankfully, you have exactly two nostrils. We're very proud of you already, Nugget. Nicely done.)

If you recall part 1 and part 2 you'll know that we're at the point of medical intervention by the Queen City's finest womb whisperer. While we weren't desperate, it was becoming clear we needed help.

OK, we were getting a little desperate.

IVF is expensive and we were getting old. More often than not, people don't have insurance that covers fertility treatments. We were very lucky to have a plan that did cover an amount of fertility treatments that roughly equated to one round of IVF. But that doesn't cover everything.

First you have to meet your deductible. For both of you. That alone could be close to a thousand dollars. Next you have to start getting tested, and hey guess what?! Some tests aren't billable.

So now you've paid for your deductible AND for some additional tests that make sure, to use boner pill commercials as an example, both the hanging tire swing and the football to throw through it are in good working order.

Even after 40 years on this earth, both of us tested well within the sweet spot for how well an outy and an inny should work during prime babymaking years. Don't worry, you'll likely inherit those impressive genes along with some of the other truly fantastic attributes your mama and I have. That's how it works. We take a little of me and a little of your mama, mix in a little magic dust from whichever god the parents worship, (in your case the Flying Spaghetti Monster) and next thing you know you're shooting out into this world resembling us and exhibiting a deep respect for grana padano. It's science.

With IVF you go the standard route or spend extra to take things a step further, hopefully ensuring a greater chance at a successful pregnancy. The problem is sometimes that extra step, genetically testing each embryo, is expensive and may or may not be billable to your insurance that you probably don't have. We were lucky in that our insurance coverage would reimburse for that test, but the problem is you still have to pay up front for it. By the time you get the receipt and submit your claim you may already be out of the original insurance benefit. But that's not all.

Your insurance may cover fertility but it's not going to be 100% of whatever they do along the way. You're going to be nickel and dimed to death along the way. Then, something like this could happen:

You're told the genetic test will cost around $2500 to $3,000 because they give you a base cost for testing up to 8 embryos. After the 8, assuming you have more to test, they will charge you $250 per embryo for any sample over the original 8. So when 21 eggs are retrieved and 17 are fertilized properly, you're going to start panicking because sending an extra 9 embryos to get tested is going to cost an extra $2,250. Of course that's if they all grow in the lab properly for the next 5 days, but if you have shitty luck like I do you figure you're definitely going to be on the hook for close to 4k.

Because they don't bill your insurance for you they require a credit card for whatever it is they'll need to charge you. I'd just gotten a job again after a year of unemployment, which meant we had income but hardly anything in the bank. Plus every credit card was maxed. I needed to take what we had and pay down a credit card by 4k so I could count on having that money available and dedicated to making sure we could pay for these tests.

So I chose a card, one that I always liked better than the others for no real reason I could verbalize, and made a payment for 4k. The next morning I was headed to visit my dad for our annual member-guest golf tournament. A great time with lots of golf and quality father son time. On the drive to his place my phone dinged with an email. At the next stop for gas I checked it and found this:

"There was a recent review of your account and credit information. As a result, we have revised the credit limit to $3,050. This decision was based on the information obtained from a consumer reporting agency."

So basically, after paying down my maxed out 7k credit card by 4k they just took the money and immediately lowered my limit to roughly $75 over my remaining balance. The 4K for the test was gone.

And with that I should probably stop. I'm getting the black rage all over again and you need to go to sleep. Grow those limbs, practice breathing, and get mentally prepared for entering the world in the year 2016. A time of civil unrest, proudly uneducated citizens, but yet, far less Justin Bieber than a mere 12 months ago. I feel like we're trending in a good direction and I can't wait to guide you through it all.

So have a great night and keep this advice in mind:

People may be horrible, and often are, but they're always entitled to their wrong opinions. Mock them once they leave, never while they're there. That way, if you have to ever see them again in a social situation, they have no idea how stupid you think they are.

~ Your Dad

model baby

We got to see your face last night, and I know I might be slightly biased, but you're probably the cutest baby ever. We did a 3D ultrasound, and by using some crazy science that I don't understand, they turned sound waves into your adorable face. And your little feet and hands! You love your hands. You had one in your face almost the whole time. You were also holding onto your umbilical cord like it was a balloon from a party clown. Something you'll never have at your birthday parties because clowns are creepy, and there are plenty of scary things in this world we won't be able to shield you from, but clowns aren't one of them.

Seeing you made me fall even more in love with you. You have the sweetest chubby cheeks already! And your daddy's nose. And you are a little stubborn because you hated facing the camera. I even stood on my head for a little bit to try to get you to move. It did not help. Glad you get something from me! Just 10 1/2 more weeks until I get to snuggle with you and kiss that gorgeous chunky face. Even if you are as stubborn as I am, I will always always love you and take care of you and do my best to develop as much patience as it takes to help you grow into a happy human. I feel so incredibly lucky. Thanks for doing your part by growing big, strong and healthy.

 ~mama

People' Instinctive Travels Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

Hey Nugget,

Just your old man here, picking up where he left off on the subject of how you came to be. To recap, we tried everything and nothing but buttsex* seemed to work. 

*Not scientifically proven but try telling that to my heart. 

Anyway, we'd had a couple miscarries and it was time for medicinal intervention, and not the wacky tobacky kind. There are these doctors called, well, doctors, and they specialize in making babies out of thin air. The same way David Copperfield makes a card appear in your pocket, Penn & Teller can put a cut-to-all-hell woman back together again, and Jesus was an expert at finding coins behind ears, these saints will McGuyver a baby for you out of two rubber bands, a Zagnut wrapper, and spoiled plums. It's like wizardry. But we'll get to that part later. 

The first questions we needed to answer were 1) Where do we go for help, and 2) How will we pay for it? I'm not rich, as you can probably tell by how I constructed that last sentence. A Harvard man would know how to get that grammathically correct and he wouldn't have to make up words when his vocabulary fails him. 

So, where to go? In our case there were three options. The largest health system in town has a fantastic place that friends and family have used with success. The slightly smaller rival system has a very well respected center as well. We also had friends who used that facility. To make things even more difficult, there's a third option in town where a local guy named Fast Eddie guarantees a baby "within three months of purchase" and "with relatively similar skin color". Price was right, reviews were terrible. 

We picked the first option and couldn't be happier. Well, that's not true. In fact, that's an overused phrase. We could have been way happier for a variety of reasons: Less expensive, quicker, free massages, Mellow Yellow cans in the vending machines. You get my point. 

For our first attempt at making you we pumped your mama full of hormones and whatnot, attempting to make her ovaries take their loafers off and relax. A relaxed ovary is a happy ovary and a happy ovary is going to produce so many eggs you'll be giving extra to friends. Those friends will be like, "Gross! Why did you just dump them in my hands haven't you heard of a container?" but they don't know how expensive containers are these days, and besides, you're saving for a baby!

So with crazy good egg production comes an increased chance one of the sperms can Kool-Aid Man their way into an egg and make a human. Unfortunately it didn't work. 

So then they offered up a few more options to try:

IUI: This is where they place a tiny robot in the vagina and it does this little robot traffic cop dance that shows the sperm where to look for eggs. Works best on nerdy, rule following sperm and we've already decided you'll be a pro athlete so we passed. 

IVF: That's "In Vitro Fertilization". With IVF the doctor will spend lots of time inside the vagina getting to know it, mapping its many tunnels and surprises. Once they have the topography figured out they can properly spelunk an embryo into the correct spot. More on that later. The embryo, not the spelunking. 

ST: With ST (Shake Treatment) they get a double dose of the dad's sperm and after injecting the woman with it they spin her upside down and use a human version of Home Depot's paint shakers to distribute the sperm in "all the right places". The key to this treatment is knowing when to find another doctor if yours follows up "all the right places" with a high five attempt. Which is how we ended up doing IVF. 

The basic gist of IVF is that the doctor will stop letting your bumbling idiot bodies swing and miss at making babies and do the work for you in a lab. Once they create a little lab baby they might put it right into the mama or they may freeze the baby for later, ensuring they get a good seal on the ziplock because freezer burn is how things like Seal's face occur. 

(That was mean of your dad to say, by the way. Always remember that I say many things as jokes and would never hurt someone's feelings on purpose. Unless they deserve it, of course. Seal is probably a good person and I'm no Bradley Pitt in the face department either. But back to the story. I'll make up for this later by holding the door for a broad, or something. Oh wait! I had a gimme in the karma bank from the other day. I told someone with truly ridiculous hair that I liked it because I could tell they worked hard on it and were more than likely quite proud of it. So I'm even!)

((And probably like, a saint or something.))

(((It was a woman and she made her hair into the shape of a hat. It was flawless execution but pretty ridiculous nonetheless.)))

But one reason they might freeze an embryo instead of immediately putting it inside the mama is that sometimes you can have two seemingly healthy people who get pregnant but can't stay pregnant. And in that case they can do an additional test of embryos to determine whether or not they're good or bad. If they don't do that test, and simply dump (medical term) the embryo straight into the mama there's a big risk that the embryo was destined for miscarriage right from the get go. That just leads to another soul crushing moment a few weeks later and delays the chances of a baby yet again.

We were a great example of those types of potential parents, having less of an issue getting pregnant as we had staying pregnant. So we got tested to see if we had any genetic issues hiding in our bodies that would, to quote from the journal Annals of Obstetrics and Gynecology, "cause a Jeff Dunham". It turns out we had no such issues, my own genetic makeup scoring a perfect 100 on the Aryan Scale. Your mama's was pretty good as well.

This all means that we were ready for our first round of IVF. But right now it's probably time you take a break from reading and get back to growing all your important parts. A little advice before I go...

If you don't know the answer on a test, a good strategy is to go with C. If it's not multiple choice, or a question asking you to write down your favorite vitamin, you're screwed and you should write in a hilarious answer you can brag about while everyone else is graduating.

~ Your Dad

All the Things

Nugget,

I know your daddy's been working on a follow up to his last post, but he's taking a long time, so I figured I'd interject with some slightly sappier, definitely not-as-funny but true thoughts. You have gotten seriously active in the past month or so, and its exciting and makes me giggle and sometimes a little startling. It's a reminder that there are all these things we still have to do and an increasingly short amount of time in which to do them. 

Birthing class: your daddy and I will sit all day in a class that talks about what to expect the day we finally get to meet you. I'm curious to see how long it takes until daddy gets that glazed look over his face because he hasn't quite embraced the reality of you. I mean, he is very excited and thrilled about your arrival, but I just don't think it's as real to him because he doesn't get to feel your constant presence like I do. I think he's actually a little jealous about that. I would be, anyway.

Stuff: Oh. My. God. All the stuff. Crib and stroller and things for you to sit in, and bounce in, and gates so when you're mobile, you don't fall down stairs and soft things for you to wear and to sleep on, and things to carry you in and wear you with, and cute things for you to be surrounded by when lying, sitting, sleeping, and things to stimulate you and fascinate you, and keep you from being upset during tummy time, and things that make feeding you easier, and to monitor you, so you're safe, and all the things to encourage you to be thinking, empathetic, healthy and strong. And some of that stuff will be gifted by sweet friends and family who will be generous and lovely, but some won't, and your daddy gets all crazy about the prices of things (that is definitely his job because it's not mine) even if it's something I think is super necessary and he doesn't get it. It's a LOT of stuff.

Your room: This is fun, and while I have a lot of it planned, I know that some of it will come together organically. I painted it the perfect color I had in my head (after daddy painted it a color I thought was the one in my head but it was actually a gross baby blue color once it was on the walls and I hated it). This will also require some stuff. Like curtains - specifically black out shades, because I want you to be able to sleep. I want us all to be able to sleep. And your closet is currently filled with a great many things that don't belong in there, like christmas stuff and an air mattress and random daddy memorabilia, and those horrible wire shelves that need to be replaced with actual useful shelves and rods on which to hang all your adorable soft things.

Also, there are currently men dismantling our porch so it can be rebuilt. A tree fell on it a little more than a month ago in a storm, and it's finally getting fixed. It should only take a couple of weeks (or so I'm told), so I'm really hoping that's true, and the threshold we carry you over in 3 months is solid and beautiful and not at all filled with holes or remnants of splintered wood.

There is more, but I'm already a little overwhelmed. Frankly, I know that even if we check off all the things that need to get done before your arrival, we still won't be ready. How could we be ready for a whole new universe? It's fine, we'll learn and work it out together, sweet boy. You'll have us and we'll have you, and really, that's enough.

People's Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm...and In Vitro Fertilization

Hey Nugget,

Strap in for a long one.

Lots and lots of things have to go right for you to come out ready to drop Blue Steel on everyone. It's a journey and we had a long, expensive one to get where we are today. Nobody knows that more than your mama. She's had to bear the brunt of the duties, carrying you around in her belly, getting wands shoved in what you'd typically prefer to be wand-free zones, countless needle sticks, and the fear that goes along with wondering if all the efforts are ever going to pay off. Or, worse, going through everything and having them not pay off, which has happened a couple times now.

We waited until we were married to try having you. Lots of people wait until they're married to have kids because that's what their religion tells them to do. We didn't have that problem because the Flying Spaghetti Monster just wants you to be a decent human being. Well, that and to eat a lot of pasta. No, ours was more of an Uncle Sam issue. Having a baby is expensive business and I wasn't about to pay out of pocket for $200 Advil or get surprised with an extra $2,000 because the anesthesiologist decided to bring a resident along without asking. We wanted to be insured to help with costs and access to quality health care, ultimately ensuring you'd come out poppin' and lockin' with the best of them. Which is also why I play Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo for you every night once your mama falls asleep. Sometimes I mix in classic clips of Rerun too.






But back to how you came to be...

We got married almost five years ago. We kicked off our efforts during the honeymoon. I won't go into details but maybe this American Medical Association graphic will help explain it.


I know that's a very scientific explanation but some day you'll understand.

So during that first month we got pregnant! It was very exciting. Especially since we waited so long to meet each other and get ourselves into position to start trying. There's this pesky little problem where it becomes harder to have children as you get older. We weren't getting any younger, buddy. It was go time.

As the first trimester comes to a close you can begin telling family and friends with more confidence because the statistics will tell you that your risk for miscarriage drops considerably. Well, during the 11th week we had some concerns that something wasn't right. With a couple trips booked for the coming weeks we decided it was best to lay our concerns to rest with a visit to the doctor. In heartbreaking fashion, because we felt like we were only a week away from locking in that baby, we found out the baby stopped growing around 6 weeks. We just didn't see the symptoms until week 11.

There's nothing that can prepare you for that kind of news. It's a special kind of devastation.

In the coming days, weeks, and months, we learned that maybe there were fibroids causing the problem. That would suck to find out, but in a way it could have given us something to hold on to as a reason for the miscarry. Meaning, next time we'd be fine because we could remove them. Ultimately they proved to be harmless and we left with no reason for our bad pregnancy luck.

After the proper recovery time we were ready to give it another go. In fact, with how quickly we got pregnant the first time we thought for sure it'd be easy.

Then I was laid off work.

A year later I was still looking and we'd cashed out everything we had to stay afloat. Family and friends came to the rescue at necessary times and we just couldn't even think about trying to get pregnant without insurance or income.

Enter your dad's new job and a brand spanking new insurance plan some 16 months after the layoff and 20 months since the miscarry. It was time to start mashing privates with a purpose (OB/GYN term) again. We were confident it would happen quickly.

Over the next 8 months we carefully watched the calendar, trying our best to get our grind on at all the appropriate times. Maximizing our chances for conception was the name of the game and boy did we play alllll the positions. Ughhhhhh.

Sorry, Nugget. Got a little off track there. Where was I?

Oh yeah...

Here are some things that we tried:

• Hoisting legs up in the air. As if gravity was our only problem. GET. DOWN. THERE. YOU. STUPID. SPERMS!
• Pillow under the butt. Another gravity-based adjustment to our typical efforts that did nothing more than look dumb.
• Special Positions. You know, because of the angle of the dangle (common anatomy phrase).
• Lik-m-Stiks. Supposedly you can lick a small lipstick-like tube and then hold it up to your eye, like a jeweler inspecting a diamond, revealing a certain type of go-time crystallization that means start Marvin Gaye on repeat and get to work.
• iPhone apps. Those are basically just calculators for math you can do in your head.
• Yelling at the belly. This was my idea. "You WILL become a baby! I WON'T SAY IT AGAIN MEOW YOU BECOME A GODDAMN BABY!" 
• Acupuncture. In hindsight we should have gone to a professional because I only had small nails available and zero idea where they were supposed to go. 
• Post-Coital Jazzercise. Get up and groove that sperm into the egg! Ultimately we didn't give this one as much of a chance because you want to perform Jazzercise in a leotard, arm bands, and whatnot, but typically you want to perform sex without all those things. Unless you're Jazzercise role-playing, which got old for us a year into our relationship. Too much back and forth into and out of leotards to sustain this method properly.
• Buttsex. They say the closest distance between two points is a straight line and I thought maybe it would provide a clearer shot at our objective. Turns out doctors claim this is impossible. Jenny McCarthy and I disagree, but we moved on to other methods nonetheless.
• Praying. We didn't do this personally but mama's mama made sure to pray for us. I'm sure many others did too. This is a delicate subject because it clearly does not work but many people believe in it. If praying worked we'd all be rich, married to models, living forever, and nobody but those dirty Swedes would ever have a rough go in life ever again.

After none of this worked for eight months we magically found ourselves pregnant again! Buttsex? COULD BE! But we were happy regardless of the method that somehow worked.

Until six weeks later we were back in the ER and pretty much knew we had a problem again. It was confirmed with a blood test that saw hormone levels were going the wrong direction and we again found ourselves on the receiving end of life's cruel backhand.

It was after this attempt that we brought in the big guns. No, not that big gun. I'd been bringing that from the get go. I'm referring to the fertility experts in our area. We sought out the biggest and baddest fertility doctor in our town and I punched him in the face to exert my dominance and show I wasn't a punk. Didn't realize this wasn't applicable outside of a prison and had to apologize profusely before he offered to take us in for a consult.

But that's all for another post. As always, a bit of advice before I go:

Don't go chasing waterfalls. Please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to.

~ Your dad

Funny Eggplant

You're now 24 weeks and the size of an eggplant! That's pretty big, so it feels ok that my belly is so big and round. Eh, who am I kidding? I love my bump. It's the most fascinating thing I've ever experienced. I feel like after you're born, I may actually miss this time, when you're nestled in there. Perhaps I will be too busy with you to consider these things.

We're in Asheville, and your daddy has some work stuff to do for another hour, but then we get to just hang out and walk around with Kaya and eat yummy food. Food is super important in our family. You'll learn pretty quickly that a lot of our plans revolve around where the best place to eat will be. Get ready, baby taste buds (Which are developing right now, according to my many pregnancy apps)! You will not be subsisting on nuggets or hot dogs. Anyway...Asheville.

 This is where daddy asked me to marry him and we were planning your big exciting life from the very start. In fact, his ability to be awesome with kids and the way we agree on how to do all sorts of parental things was a big factor in loving him so much. You'll find out soon enough, but your dad is kind of amazing. I guarantee he will make you laugh more than anyone else you'll meet for at least a few years. Once your social circle grows, maybe you'll meet someone else hilarious who won't also have to sometimes tell you to stop shoving things in your mouth/ears/eyeballs, so you'll appreciate them more. Until then, he will be your go-to comedy source. Which is fair, because I'm pretty sure you will remain our main source of comedy for many years to come. Keep growing, sweet boy!

~mama

Fancy Foot Work

The past week has been really exciting. We were at the beach with your aunt and cousins and you really started moving! I think you love the ocean like mommy does, you were super active when we were sitting and listening to the surf crashing on the sand. You've actually been moving around for quite a while now, but you're hanging out in a spot that's been making it a little more difficult to feel...until now. Now, it's game on. I'm loving all the bumps and kicks. You've also had the hiccups a couple times, which just makes me giggle.

All of this ninja training you've been doing in there is pretty amazing, and I know as you get bigger and stronger, it's going to get more intense. Just try to keep the rib kicking to a minimum, ok, nugget? I'm sure daddy will be thrilled if you get his mad soccer skills, but we can work on that when you're on the outside. There are no soccer goals to be had in there. I'll give you some goals to work for, though. Be big (but under 10 lbs. please), be strong, be healthy. Be a good eater and sleeper. Be the very best things your daddy and I can pass on to you. Be compassionate and kind. No matter who you wind up being, you already are the baby I've been waiting for my whole life, and you will be loved. Unconditionally.

~mama

They Come In Waves

Hey Nugget,

Another post?

Yes, sometimes they come in waves.

See how I did that? Tied in the title that fast? It's one of the many things your old man is good at. Some of the others are tricking 3yr old children into thinking I've pulled my thumb apart, judging people based on their names, pretending I'm still fast, having bad luck, the robot, adding an "Electric Boogaloo" to the end of any movie sequel with a 2 in the title, hip thrusting, avoiding Tyler Perry movies, leaving sick burns in facebook comments, and creating absurd lists of things I'm good at.

But really what I wanted to talk about is how it's probably time you start thinking about how you'll make your mark on this world. Will you blaze a new trail, making the world a better place? Or will you disappoint your parents and some day become a Jeff Foxworthy fan? It's important to consider and I have some thoughts on the matter.

You're too late to the Earth party to get lucky in real estate. There's nothing good left at this point and nobody in your family is sitting on more than a half acre of land that's mortgaged out the butthole (real estate calculation).

Want to be a juice mogul? Well guess what? The cranberry rep has already raped that village dry (industry phrase) and cranberry is in every juice now. Are you going to find a brand new fruit to juice? In 2016? I don't think so. Acai? Baby please. That's just a foreign blueberry and NObama would have you believe it's here legally when we all know it's a gay terrorist fruit brought here for no other reason than to destroy our core values and way of life. Hashtag Not Hashtag In Hashtag My Hashtag America. #NailedIt

We hope that you'll be athletic. Hell, we anticipate that you'll be athletic. Your mom was a great gymnast and is currently a fantastic stretcher (official yoga ranking) while your dad is literally the best at everything. Don't fact check me, I'm your dad. But please don't get too attached to stupid sports that won't pay you generously should you go pro. I'll buy you badminton paddles and the required child molester shorts they wear, but I wont' like it and neither will the ladies in your life.

That being said, don't think all hope is lost. It's 2016 and pool companies still advertise pools by propping up examples on the side of rural highways. There's a chance, you just have to think it through.

So what about becoming the next big sign mogul?

Currently there's a phenomenon occurring where one type of sign design has taken over certain segments of society.

Have a church?

BOOM! Church sign!

New apartments are finally leasing?

BOOM! Now Leasing Sign!

I mean, get a load of this sign design!!!!

They're everywhere. Get in on the ground floor. (Of the sign business, not the church. Elevation is a racket.)

OK, it's time I leave you to serious business (TWO NOSTRILS) and give you some advice before I go.

When life gives you lemons I would seriously vet those lemons before using them for anything. It's a weird thing to be given for free, lemons, especially out of the blue. Better to slap the lemons out of life's hands, kick life in the nuts, and run away just in case. Zig and zag should there be bullets fired.

~ Your Dad

Preparations

Hey Nugget,

Sorry I haven't checked in for a few days but I've been busy preparing the house for your arrival. We ordered special paint for the walls in your room. It won't be bad for you or your mom to breathe in because during its production they had a team of trancendental meditators send positive thought mantras into the mixture. We have plenty of other things, either picked out or narrowed down for selection, that will complement your existence once you go all Ferris Bueller and breach the fourth vaginal wall (Hat tip: Joe Speaker for that line which is a reworking of one I hesitated to use and, quite frankly, isn't as good. Enjoy the Almost Parent bump, Speaker. Could be tens of people!).

I even got down on my belly and crawled around looking for danger and didn't for one second pretend I was a sniper. Me carrying a broom stick and making "PEW PEW" sounds was a total coincidence. I've bolted everything to the wall and thrown away all of the dangerous vegetables we had in the refrigerator just in case. In case of what, you ask? How about you just pipe down and worry about growing those two nostrils. You hear me, buddy? TWO. NOSTRILS. Very important.

I also have plans to smoke some meat this weekend. But that doesn't really do anything for you beyond make your dad happier. A happy dad is a better dad and even though I don't have to dad too hard right now it's important to get in the right frame of mind. I ate yogurt, berries, and granola for breakfast all week so that I lose a few lbs and won't get winded during my sleepstyle freestyles. 

We picked out an Australian doula to help keep your mom comfortable and calm during your arrival. She comes with the added (assumed) benefit of knowing how to handle herself around crocodiles. That shouldn't come into play but one can never be too sure. Plus it's fun to listen to an Aussie say "no" so I'll be making her do that as much as possible.

There will be plenty of reading up on things as we get closer to your due date.  I need to know how to bathe you without screwing up. How to best swaddle you. How long I can swear in front of you before worrying your first word will be "horseshit". I need to know how to properly brainwash you into loving everything I love while making it seem to your mother that I'm being fair and balanced. You know, the basics.

Well, I have to go work. But as always, a bit of advice:

The later you get to class, the earlier you get to leave.

~ Your Dad

Names

Hey Nugget,

Were you curious about why we call you Nugget right now? Wondering why out of all the NBA teams we settled upon Nugget instead of Piston or Laker? It was weird, but every time we settled upon a name Dikembe Mutombo would show up and swat it out of the way before giving us his famous finger waggle. You can't argue with Mutombo. You can sex Mutombo (Safe for work), but you can't argue with him. You won't be named something dumb. Not in my house.



You have to be very careful with names. People tend to resemble the names they're given. Just look at this all-star list of lacrosse names and see if you can keep your douchebag meter from pinging so hard you'll only hear one long tone.

There are ebbs and flows to names, and I don't mean "flows" like the amazing sleepstyle freestyle "flows" that I'll be dropping on your crying ass like hot fire in the middle of the night come December. No, I mean there are ups and downs to name popularity. Many parents get trigger happy with a popular name in the same year and next thing you know their little Morgan has four classmates with the same name. (Don't worry, parents of a Morgan. In this example the other Morgans are all uglier and dumber than your Morgan.)

They may be good names but they become flashes in the pan very quickly.

It can happen in just about any facet of life. One minute the creators of Jazzercise are on top of the world, making bank every time you slip on some tights and bounce around to Yakety Sax. The next minute they're cry-squatting to Chick Corea in one of the few remaining Jazzercise locations. Hell, I bet at this very moment the "Name a Cloud After Someone" guys are using their last $5 for a hot'n'ready pizza and trying desperately to figure out how else they can leverage clouds.

What I'm saying is you have to be strategic.

Some names should have been blocked at the hospital because they simply aren't names.

"No, you can't add an apostrophe to your child's name. No, if you can't add one why do you think we would allow you to add two?"

"That's just four names mashed together. No." 

"How will anyone ever get the name Lisa out of Lhxiah? Your child would be relentlessly mocked. No."

We're likely a few short months away form the first baby girl named after the eggplant emoticon. It's gotta stop. Not just because the eggplant is widely used as a penis emoticon but because names are important and they stick with you. You want the Jason Bourne of names, not the Remo Williams.

Which is why we tried very hard to think of something for you that could be a little bit unique but fall short of being ridiculous, resulting in death by a million high school nut punches. It wasn't easy and in the short term your awesome mama took to calling you Nugget. We'll whisper your future name to you when nobody is around but in every other situation you'll be called Nugget until you are coaxed out of the womb during your Portuguese water slide birth by our certified scuba doula.

As always, a bit of advice:

A nut-punch is a great way to make fun of someone with a dumb name.

~ Your Dad

A Very Different Voice

Hey, sweet boy. I thought I would chime in here before your dad got too out of control with random hip hop and sports references, to assure you that there is a sane voice in the family. Yes, I am the one carrying you around in a tiny swimming pool in the middle of my body. It is a fascinating thing, growing a human. I know that lots of women have had a rough time of it, this whole pregnancy thing. It was a tricky road to get here, but for me, this part is pretty great. Every morning, I get to wake up and realize all over again, that my body is no longer my own. You are very obviously taking up some serious real estate, and I love it.

There will come a time, when you are out in the world, making messes and saying inappropriate things (you'll get that from daddy) and you will see me looking at you with a far away look in my eye. I'll be remembering this time, when you are just a tiny nugget, barely big enough to kick me hard enough to feel you (thanks, placenta, for being in the way of that magical fluttering), and I will be in awe that you have grown to be a walking, talking being. This will last well into your adulthood, I'm sure, because I am so fascinated by it. You are amazing already. While I am so excited to meet you in December, I am also a little bit happy to have you all to myself for a while.

~mama

Travel

Hey Nugget,

Your dad boarded yet another airplane today. I have a very good job but it does require that I spend more time away from home than I'd like. The good news is that all of this travel helps us afford things you need to thrive in 2016. There's the organic foodstuffs, nurtured gently to perfection by left handed yogis. The bedding, woven on Tibetan mountaintops by three blind grandmothers using the same method for over 65 years. And let's not forget your stroller, handmade by Jesus Christ himself.

Yep, it's hard to find anything uniquely American these days. One could argue that you're going to be uniquely American, but your mother has Russian and Irish in her background and I've got handsome and athletic in mine. So I'm no mathmetator (industry term) but you're going to be both 100% born and bred in the U.S.A. as well as 1/8th Russian, 1/8th Irish, 2/3rds Handsome, 92% Athletic, and 4.2L Choctaw Indian.

Pretty crazy, huh? You'll have so many different backgrounds in your DNA that you might just make the perfect assassin, able to move throughout any part of the world without sticking out. Of course, you'll prefer Kung Fu instead of a weapon, should you find yourself in a hot spot. It's been pretty well established that having the ability to say, fly into someone's body and make them implode from the inside like Neo in the Matrix, is really a distant second place to front kicks and palm strikes. The only drawback to relying on Kung Fu is that every bad guy is also an expert. It'll come down to grit, determination, and maybe a well-timed leg sweep. I'm positive you'll do just fine.


But I digress.

Hopefully it'll only be a short period of time after you're born before you get to take your first trip. If it's on a plane let me warn you about a disturbing trend I'm noticing lately. The Federal Aviation Administration has decided that on every flight over 30 minutes in duration there shall be an actual bag of shit sitting near the air intake for the plane. Crew members are expected to move it periodically so you have a few breaks, but basically it'll smell like shit every so often. I don't know what the endgame is but they do NOT miss a flight. So there's that.

Anyway, I should probably let you get back to making elbows and kneecaps out of thin air. Enjoy your time in the womb and if your mom lets me I'm going to hijack the belly buds to introduce you to De La Soul very soon.

As per usual, a bit of advice...

If someone from a cell phone mall kiosk tries to engage you in conversation when you aren't even looking at them you are legally allowed to throat-punch them. You don't have to apologize or anything. Also, don't go to malls.

~ Your Dad

Development

Hey Nugget,

You're probably upside down right now. Your mom is doing yoga and at this very moment she's probably punjabing into a full round-off, or whatever they call those moves. She says you like it but I don't know if that's true. Kick three times if you hate it. Or just kick once. Basically, just kick. She's dying to feel you moving around in there. You were pretty active during your ultrasound and while I'm no expert I do believe you were practicing a golf swing. Smart. Practice is the name of the game. Well, that's not true. It's called golf. Practice is how you become good at golf. Or other things. Any things, technically.

Just don't decide to become good at something dumb, ok? I'll always have your back but it'll be easier on your old man if you don't decide you want to dedicate your life to interpretive dance. But I'll give you a break for now as it's probably more important that you focus on the big things you have ahead of you. Like developing eyeballs, a brain, two nostrils...

So while you develop, your mother and I will be developing this blog. I'll probably write more than she does because I've always written more than she has. She did have a blog back when it was cool, though. It's sort of why we got together, actually. It's a long story and I don't even know if you have working ears yet so I won't bore you. Other astute individuals might point out that you won't be able to read this from the womb either, but what do they know with their stupid three quarter length white lab coats, fancy degrees, and stupid haircuts?

On your behalf I shall now share the early bounty of onesies we've received in anticipation of your arrival. Let this serve as a warning to those who were considering a purchase. The bar has been raised. You'll need to step your game up.

As always, a bit of advice on the way out...

Hold doors for broads.

~ Your Dad

(Probably don't call them broads either, but you know what I mean)

((Or you will once you're grown up))

(((Don't grow up too fast, by the way. Grow the proper speed. We have high ceilings but acromegaly is not all it's cracked up to be)))

The World Today

Hey Nugget,

So you may be, based on your latest ultrasound, busy happily smashing your face into your mother's placenta. Or that could be very wrong anatomically. I'm no expert. But needless to say you had your face all smushed up against something in her belly and we couldn't see a perfect profile of your face like we hoped.

Is your nose going to be small or gigantic? Does it look like a button or a butt? Are those the only two options, I'm not an ultrasound specialist? I do know that you want to have two nostrils. Anything more than two or less than two and you're in the minority. Please don't be a minority.

As it turns out we're in the year 2016 and lots of people still can't figure out that we're all the same people. It's getting out of control and I find myself wishing that some of the adults out there acting a fool had the kind of raising your mother and I have planned for you. Full disclosure? You're going to be raised to be a kind, thoughtful human who understands that a different shade of skin or differing opinion about our complex world doesn't mean it's fightin' time. It actually may be "huggin' time" but let's not discuss the intricacies of attraction before you're born. I mean, I totally will, but you're barely the size of a banana so that can wait.

Let's boil it down to this:

Don't be a dick.

~ Your Dad

So, We're Pregnant!

Hi Nugget,

You're not a fully formed baby yet, lacking the size and physical features necessary to live outside of the womb. But that doesn't mean you can't hear me type to you on blogger. At least that's what our doula said, if I'm not mistaken. Or maybe it was our shaman? It's hard to remember which of our completely unnecessary, and expensive, fertility coaches said that. But it's probably true so don't fact check me.

You see, we've spent a lot of time and money getting you to this point and, to be quite honest, you could have been a girl as easily as you became a boy. Don't make me get into the medical nature of how a penis forms instead of a vagina but best believe it involves the position we "did it" (medical term) in as well as the magical mix of DNA that both your mother and I bring to the table. For the record, I had everything to do with your good things and chances are reasonable that any of your future bad qualities are a result of your mom's avoidance of meat during your pregnancy. Well, she welcomed one type of meat but until you're 16 or so I refuse to discuss it with you. Even then you're going to regret asking.

The truth is that I'm very excited you're a boy AND it's worth noting that your mom is actually smarter than I am. But please don't tell her I admitted that. Also don't tell her that sometimes when I'm in the car I pretend it's 2am, you're up crying, and it's my turn to calm you down and get you back to sleep. I definitely don't (read: DO) plan on freestyle rapping you back to bed. I even figured out what I'm going to call it.

Sleepstyle Freestyle.

As in, "Awwww, you know what time it is! It's Sleepstyle Freestyle time! It's 2am and you won't stop crying, your daddy's wicked tired and you know he be dying, for slumber, and if we lived down under I'd pass you a Fosters and hope that it helped with, your slumber, it's bedtime, and you should shut up, start sleeping, and apologize for all that you're keeping..."

Listen, it's a work in progress. As much as I love rap it has become exceedingly clear that I'm a terrible rapper and an even worse freestyle rapper. But I think it'll help entertain your old man while he's pulling diaper and scream duty during the middle of the night. So take it in stride and don't forget that no matter how bad things get I am always willing to embarass myself for you.

Ok, I think I've covered everything I wanted to cover. But do keep in mind that I reserve the right to write more, delete what I've written, and hide behind an IP address if this gets too embarassing.

Can't wait to meet you!

~ Your Dad