Dear Blog-o-sphere,
I've had a time of major discoveries!
First, it appears that on the ends of the things that are attached to me near my head are small, multi-pronged apparatuses. There I was, minding my own business, doing what I do best, then, BAM! My eyes dart to those... things. I ask myself, "What is this magical thing in my throne with me? It does seems to flail around a lot." I stared at it for some time trying to deduce what it's for. Then (shock and horror!), a second one appeared. Still not quite sure what that are for, but I am working on solving that mystery.
Second, the hairy man and the nice lady took me to see the man in the green onesie again. This time he had another objective in mind. I needed to have my tongue clipped. I believe that his ultimate goal on this trip was to silence my wails for food or someone to wipe up my doodie. They said that I had to have my tongue clipped since it had grown incorrectly, but I debate this. I feel my tongue worked fine before. It flopped about and made a wonderful scream when I wanted it to. "But, it might cause you to have a speech impediment when you get older," they said. Well, I would have none of it! I decided to rebel and not get this elective surgery! That's a slippery slope. First, it's tongue clipping, then tummy tuck, then breast implants, then Rod Stewart-ictomies.
It seems my rebellion was short lived, however. I got my tongue clipped and feel no different than I did before. Soon, I'll have no choice but to belt out "Hot Legs" at the top of my wonderful singing voice.
Then, they took me to this place, woke me up from a peaceful slumber, and some lady started jabbing needles into me! They said it was my "shots" and that I "needed them". I think mommy needed them more than I did, because she almost cried when I got them. I screamed a bit because they did hurt, but not as bad as mommy made it seem.
Next, there is this amazing thing that has happened over the course of my time here. Where once the ground outside of my new humble abode (I liked the decor of my old one better, by the way. Nice shag carpet and everything) was lush and verdant, now it's changed to this powdery white substance that is very cold and a little wet. Of course, I don't get to see much of this stuff up close, since the nice lady and the hairy guy cover me up anytime we go out. But, if I scream enough, they carry me to the thing they call "windows" and let me look at it. It's bright and shiny and sparkles (daddy says, like a vampire. I don't know what he means.) Well, now it's everywhere daddy shovels it away from the house, but it keeps coming back. Mommy is excited about it because she "doesn't have to go back to that hellhole" (again, no idea what that means).
Finally, I've noticed a curious phenomenon. It seems that almost every time I go to sleep these days, I wake up in a different place. First, sleep, then, in the car.
Sleep, in some sort of bright building with things to buy.
Sleep, then in a metal tube that the hairy guy tells me is "30,000 feet in the air". Sometimes, I think he's insane. So, I yelled really loud to let him and everyone else in the tube know this. He was not amused and passed me to the nice lady.
Sleep, somewhere they say is Houston. I got to see Grandma and Grandpa West again and that was nice. I finally got to meet my Uncle Jay and Aunt Ashley. Uncle Jay is just as hairy as daddy is! I also got to meet my great grandpa. He seems like a nice guy. Although he did call me "Britches" a lot. I think it's because I was wearing my good pants at the time. I tried to explain that my name is Jack, but he had none of it.
Sleep, back in the metal tube. Daddy said that we were going back home, but one look out the window told me he was lying again. After all, it was just the sky and that wasn't moving. So, this time I not only yelled to tell him that he was insane, I pooped too. That'll show him! Well, he took me into this small room and started to change me. Then, the room started rocking back and forth, making daddy stumble a bit. Must have been some sort of amusement ride...
Sleep, back home.
Sleep, back in a metal tube. More very loud explaining that daddy is insane. More angry looks from everyone else.
Sleep, somewhere called Washington, D.C. It seems that this is the headquarters of a lot of high paid architects and builders. Everything there is ornate or under construction. Or both. There was this big guy sitting on a chair in a building, a big building with lots of steps and, as daddy put it, "filled with fat cats and pork". I told him that if they got rid of the pork in there, that the fat cats would leave. Or lose some weight. He smiled and kissed my forehead. I also spent some time with my Aunt Sara, Uncle Nick, and cousin Ella. I don't know what it is about the ladies, but they love me. Even the girls at my babysitter's think that I'm the bees knees. I have to tell them to back off sometimes and let the playa play.
Sleep, metal tube. Loud explaining of how hungry I am. Daddy looks for the nearest exit to jump out of.
It seems all of this time and space warping while I sleep is caused by a magical entity called "Jesus" and a time called "Christmas". From what I have gathered, he was born around this time a long time ago along with his buddies Santa Claus and Rudolph (he's a red-nosed reindeer it seems.) Mostly, people celebrate his birth by buying gifts for each other, crippling themselves by falling off of ladders while hanging lights that have nothing to do with Jesus, crippling themselves with debt from the lights and gifts, and eating and drinking to excess (possibly in honor of the spartan lifestyle that Jesus led.)
Daddy made sure that I finished this blog before I could go to bed. I'm very sleepy now. I'll try to blog more often, but I've been very busy keeping daddy up all night crying for food while letting mommy sleep. What can I say? I'm a giver. It's a Christmas present for her.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
A Baby's Lament
Dear Blog,
Once again I find myself in need of venting my frustration. The hairy one and the nice lady have switched my bi-hourly regiment of liquid diet from the divine ambrosia that I was receiving to some sort of poor substitute. It smells a little like garbage juice, you know, the puddle of yuck at the bottom of the trash can when you take it out to the curb and as you put it down it tips over and spills all on your newly laundered pants right before you have to leave for work. I'm not sure what any of that means, but I heard "daddy" yelling about it one day.
Clearly, I didn't like this new stuff, but I thought I would humor my parents (they try so hard to please me, after all). After only a few attempts to grit my gums and suffer through it, I gave up. It tasted foul and, thus, I was forced to do the thing that any reasonable person would do: I started to regurgitate it in a most spectacular manner, all over the two of them, every time they tried to feed it to me, and fuss with out end.
Now, they have switched me to yet another substitute and this one is not so bad. I might still fling it back at them via my mouth just to let them know who is boss and keep them on their toes, but for the most part, I'll keep eating it.
They tricked me last night. One minute, I was sleeping, nice and cozy, on the nice lady's chest. The next: I'm in an unfamiliar place in a dark room, on a nice, comfy cushion. But, (horror of horrors!) I was alone!!! This would not stand. So, after a few seconds of wailing at the top of my lungs, the hairy one comes in and tries to placate me with Mortimer.
Glad you asked. Mortimer is my constant companion. I'm not sure what the technical term for it is (thus the name Mortimer), but it's this device that's simulates my feeding apparatus, but nothing comes out. In a way, it's something that gives me the illusion of being fed without being fed! Brilliant! Now I can "eat" without getting milk hips!
As I was saying, the quasi-ape tried to make me happy, but failed utterly. Finally, the nice lady came in and put me back in my throne where I belong. I go everywhere in my throne, so it only makes sense for me to sleep there.
I've also taken to a fun new game I have devised. When one of my parents is alone with me, and I know another of them is about to arrive, I unleash a cacophony of screams and wails the likes of which have not been heard in a fortnight. Then, when the other parent arrives in the room, I quickly silence myself. The effect of which is that the 2nd parent now thinks the 1st parent is insane for complaining about my crying. It's a real hoot!
Well, duty calls! My diaper has become full and I need for the nice lady to change me. Seriously. It's like Fallujah down there.
Until the future, dear blog.
Once again I find myself in need of venting my frustration. The hairy one and the nice lady have switched my bi-hourly regiment of liquid diet from the divine ambrosia that I was receiving to some sort of poor substitute. It smells a little like garbage juice, you know, the puddle of yuck at the bottom of the trash can when you take it out to the curb and as you put it down it tips over and spills all on your newly laundered pants right before you have to leave for work. I'm not sure what any of that means, but I heard "daddy" yelling about it one day.
Clearly, I didn't like this new stuff, but I thought I would humor my parents (they try so hard to please me, after all). After only a few attempts to grit my gums and suffer through it, I gave up. It tasted foul and, thus, I was forced to do the thing that any reasonable person would do: I started to regurgitate it in a most spectacular manner, all over the two of them, every time they tried to feed it to me, and fuss with out end.
Now, they have switched me to yet another substitute and this one is not so bad. I might still fling it back at them via my mouth just to let them know who is boss and keep them on their toes, but for the most part, I'll keep eating it.
They tricked me last night. One minute, I was sleeping, nice and cozy, on the nice lady's chest. The next: I'm in an unfamiliar place in a dark room, on a nice, comfy cushion. But, (horror of horrors!) I was alone!!! This would not stand. So, after a few seconds of wailing at the top of my lungs, the hairy one comes in and tries to placate me with Mortimer.
Glad you asked. Mortimer is my constant companion. I'm not sure what the technical term for it is (thus the name Mortimer), but it's this device that's simulates my feeding apparatus, but nothing comes out. In a way, it's something that gives me the illusion of being fed without being fed! Brilliant! Now I can "eat" without getting milk hips!
As I was saying, the quasi-ape tried to make me happy, but failed utterly. Finally, the nice lady came in and put me back in my throne where I belong. I go everywhere in my throne, so it only makes sense for me to sleep there.
I've also taken to a fun new game I have devised. When one of my parents is alone with me, and I know another of them is about to arrive, I unleash a cacophony of screams and wails the likes of which have not been heard in a fortnight. Then, when the other parent arrives in the room, I quickly silence myself. The effect of which is that the 2nd parent now thinks the 1st parent is insane for complaining about my crying. It's a real hoot!
Well, duty calls! My diaper has become full and I need for the nice lady to change me. Seriously. It's like Fallujah down there.
Until the future, dear blog.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
A Moment Of Your Time
Dearest Blog Readers,
It is with a heavy sense of humility that I, Dr. Jonathan M West, esq., becomes the newest member of this quaintly titled "Baby Blog". For several weeks now, I have been endeavoring to become the best baby that I can be. Pursuant to this, I have taken up the mantle of "Blog Writer" in addition to my other titles: "PhD", "Professor of Baby Studies, Harvard", and "Poop Factory". Therefore, in between my daily rituals of bowel evacuation, feedings, sleeping when my parents are awake, waking when my parents are sleeping, and transcendental meditation, I will be offering my commentary on the life of a modern infant.
I know that this electronic forum has devolved into a wasteland of mediocrity in the hands of my father, colloquially known as "Daddy", but I'm here to see that this kind of irresponsible blog writing will come to end.
First order of business will be to recall the events of my birth.
I was brought into this world on September 28, 2009 at 12:09pm after being ripped from my mother's womb by a gregarious man in what I now believe was a blue jumper. Prior to that time, I occupied myself with rousing games of tic-tac-toe, preparing my dissertation on the effects of external stimulus on the fetal mind and drawing pictures of horsies on the placenta. I was safe. I was warm. I was happy. Then, without warning, I am taken from my lovely home into a cold and bright and empty area. I see this person with what appeared to be a dead badger on his face, claiming to be my "daddy", and a drugged woman on a slab that "daddy" claimed was my "mommy". Needless to say, I began to scream bloody murder. I was then whisked away and cleaned and prodded, all the while I was attempting to tell the Onesie-clad people that there had been some sort of mistake and would they please stop poking that or trying to put that thing in my rectum. After what seemed like an eternity, my torturers clothed me and sent me into a room with two people claiming to be my "grandma and grandpa". Finally, the sort of people who would be able to take care of my fragile form! But, alas, this brief comfort was also snatched from me as I was returned to the hairy man and the near comatose woman.
The day grows long and the siren call of my liquid diet is nigh. I am on a liquid diet in order to watch my weigh. You can never start too early.
I say adieu, fair readers. I shall continue my story anon.
It is with a heavy sense of humility that I, Dr. Jonathan M West, esq., becomes the newest member of this quaintly titled "Baby Blog". For several weeks now, I have been endeavoring to become the best baby that I can be. Pursuant to this, I have taken up the mantle of "Blog Writer" in addition to my other titles: "PhD", "Professor of Baby Studies, Harvard", and "Poop Factory". Therefore, in between my daily rituals of bowel evacuation, feedings, sleeping when my parents are awake, waking when my parents are sleeping, and transcendental meditation, I will be offering my commentary on the life of a modern infant.
I know that this electronic forum has devolved into a wasteland of mediocrity in the hands of my father, colloquially known as "Daddy", but I'm here to see that this kind of irresponsible blog writing will come to end.
First order of business will be to recall the events of my birth.
I was brought into this world on September 28, 2009 at 12:09pm after being ripped from my mother's womb by a gregarious man in what I now believe was a blue jumper. Prior to that time, I occupied myself with rousing games of tic-tac-toe, preparing my dissertation on the effects of external stimulus on the fetal mind and drawing pictures of horsies on the placenta. I was safe. I was warm. I was happy. Then, without warning, I am taken from my lovely home into a cold and bright and empty area. I see this person with what appeared to be a dead badger on his face, claiming to be my "daddy", and a drugged woman on a slab that "daddy" claimed was my "mommy". Needless to say, I began to scream bloody murder. I was then whisked away and cleaned and prodded, all the while I was attempting to tell the Onesie-clad people that there had been some sort of mistake and would they please stop poking that or trying to put that thing in my rectum. After what seemed like an eternity, my torturers clothed me and sent me into a room with two people claiming to be my "grandma and grandpa". Finally, the sort of people who would be able to take care of my fragile form! But, alas, this brief comfort was also snatched from me as I was returned to the hairy man and the near comatose woman.
The day grows long and the siren call of my liquid diet is nigh. I am on a liquid diet in order to watch my weigh. You can never start too early.
I say adieu, fair readers. I shall continue my story anon.
Been A Long Time...
Yep. It's been a while. A month, really. Sorry about all the waiting and yearning for bloggy goodness, but apparently raising a baby eats up quite a bit of your time. Who knew?
In between the diaper changes and t-shirt changes and cute photo uploads (available on Facebook and shipping for a nominal fee), I do have work and school to take care of. So, it's a busy time for your humble blog writer.
Also, no one told me that babies require this sort of attention all the time, not just the first week or so! It's madness!!
So, to fill in the gaps between the times that I get off my fat, lazy, white blog writing butt and actually write a blog, I would like to welcome our newest contributor to the blog. He comes highly recommended and I hear he has quite a lot to say. In addition, he'll be able to provide amazing insight to the events that occur around Chez West as Carly and I stumble blindly around parenthood.
So, the next blog will be written by none other than... THE BABY!
In between the diaper changes and t-shirt changes and cute photo uploads (available on Facebook and shipping for a nominal fee), I do have work and school to take care of. So, it's a busy time for your humble blog writer.
Also, no one told me that babies require this sort of attention all the time, not just the first week or so! It's madness!!
So, to fill in the gaps between the times that I get off my fat, lazy, white blog writing butt and actually write a blog, I would like to welcome our newest contributor to the blog. He comes highly recommended and I hear he has quite a lot to say. In addition, he'll be able to provide amazing insight to the events that occur around Chez West as Carly and I stumble blindly around parenthood.
So, the next blog will be written by none other than... THE BABY!
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
We've got a baby!!!!
The big day has arrived (a bit sooner than we thought)! More details will be coming in another blog. But Jack is here and healthy. Carly is recovering nicely, and I'm loving all the snuggle time I get! Pictures have been posted on my Facebook page!
Friday, September 25, 2009
NOBODY PANIC!
See, cause people panic when you say the word "preeclampsia," but it's completely not necessary. My blood pressure is elevated and I can't think of a delicate way to say "the protein in my urine is slightly elevated," but it's not bad enough to do anything other than cut the sodium out of my diet, watch my blood pressure, and go on modified bed rest. I'm still going to work, but I have to sit while I teach, and I have to come directly home from work and not go anywhere other than the bathroom. I go back to the doctor on Wednesday (assuming I don't go into labor before then), so I should have more to report then.
An actual baby blog. Who knew?
I bet you are all wondering why I've called you here today.
It's come to my attention that some members of this blogging community have expressed disdain for the lack of baby related topics on this baby named blog. Normally, this kind of insurrection would be dealt with on a personal level and would not reach this blog. However, I must reluctantly concur that I have been rather lean on the baby front. As a result, I have graciously decided to forgo the usual beatings and summary executions of those expressing dissent, and choose instead to give you all the gift of an all baby blog.
I am a benevolent dictator.
Thus, I present to you, my subjects....
JON'S "ALL BABY NEWS" BLOG
1. Carly is pregnant.
I know, big shock! Take your time to recover. She's started dropping now and even had a real weak contraction or two. (For more information on that front, please direct your e-mail barrage to her). The last time she went to the doctor(week 37 ), the baby measured 40 weeks. We're thinking that the boy will be huge when he arrives. If this changes your guess on the baby weight or time, please keep post it in the comments section. She has been going through the milk at a rate upwards of one gallon per 24 hours. I'm having a very hard time keeping up with the buying of it. It helps her now rampant heartburn. Any help on that front would be appreciated. (I have suggested having the baby, but that didn't go over so well...) The upshot of this is that Jack will have bones of steel. I'm hoping for Wolverine-like claws too.
2. The nursery is looking fantastic.
HUGE thanks to Aunt Sara and Grandma Connie for busting your fannies/wrists to get that done. I think it kept us from going too insane and taking it out on each other. I know I said that I might post pictures, but thanks to my @#$%ty work schedule and homework situation, I haven't had any time to take let alone upload pictures. But, this weekend is (mostly) open, so there's a flicker of hope. (Take that at face value. Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment. -ed)
3. Did you know aspirin was once a brand name drug?
NO!!! BAD JON!!! MORE BABY TALK!!!!
3. I mean, we went to a baby class last weekend.
We signed up for this class since it had an infant CPR lesson. Going into it, I thought, "Wonderful, they'll teach me about swaddling, diapering, feeding, how to handle the birth, and all the things that I would need to know. A veritable user's guide to parenting! How quaint!"
Not so much.
We walk into the room about 15 minutes early, and on the screen a video is playing. The instructor is getting things set up and apparently needed to rewind the video. Of a birth. Take a moment and image our horror of walking in to a 9AM class and seeing a baby being un-born. It was... upsetting... But, it did make watching it properly much more bearable.
Other things we learned from this class:
A. Epidurals are great, you should get one (our hospital doesn't offer them, lucky us).
B. I like Ocean Spray Cran-Grape juice. They offered juice refreshment.
C. Epidurals are the bees's knees, you really need to get one.
D. Breastfeeding is complicated.
E. Epidurals are God's gift to all of humanity. Get one now. Right now.
F. Ummm....
G. EPIDURAL!!! NOW!!! GO!!!
H. Don't shake a baby. Shaking your moneymaker still ok.
I. Epidurals are the equivalent of liquid God.
J. Feeling the baby move is the best thing about pregnancy.
Further on point J., every woman in this class said that was the best part of it.
Carly disagrees. Jack hasn't really stopped moving since we first felt him. While it is cool to see and feel the baby, what I think is better is watching the ultrasound every month and seeing my baby grow. That's the really amazing part. Oh, that and the fact that he's really healthy and going to have Wolverine claws. Awesome.
It's come to my attention that some members of this blogging community have expressed disdain for the lack of baby related topics on this baby named blog. Normally, this kind of insurrection would be dealt with on a personal level and would not reach this blog. However, I must reluctantly concur that I have been rather lean on the baby front. As a result, I have graciously decided to forgo the usual beatings and summary executions of those expressing dissent, and choose instead to give you all the gift of an all baby blog.
I am a benevolent dictator.
Thus, I present to you, my subjects....
JON'S "ALL BABY NEWS" BLOG
1. Carly is pregnant.
I know, big shock! Take your time to recover. She's started dropping now and even had a real weak contraction or two. (For more information on that front, please direct your e-mail barrage to her). The last time she went to the doctor(week 37 ), the baby measured 40 weeks. We're thinking that the boy will be huge when he arrives. If this changes your guess on the baby weight or time, please keep post it in the comments section. She has been going through the milk at a rate upwards of one gallon per 24 hours. I'm having a very hard time keeping up with the buying of it. It helps her now rampant heartburn. Any help on that front would be appreciated. (I have suggested having the baby, but that didn't go over so well...) The upshot of this is that Jack will have bones of steel. I'm hoping for Wolverine-like claws too.
2. The nursery is looking fantastic.
HUGE thanks to Aunt Sara and Grandma Connie for busting your fannies/wrists to get that done. I think it kept us from going too insane and taking it out on each other. I know I said that I might post pictures, but thanks to my @#$%ty work schedule and homework situation, I haven't had any time to take let alone upload pictures. But, this weekend is (mostly) open, so there's a flicker of hope. (Take that at face value. Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment. -ed)
3. Did you know aspirin was once a brand name drug?
NO!!! BAD JON!!! MORE BABY TALK!!!!
3. I mean, we went to a baby class last weekend.
We signed up for this class since it had an infant CPR lesson. Going into it, I thought, "Wonderful, they'll teach me about swaddling, diapering, feeding, how to handle the birth, and all the things that I would need to know. A veritable user's guide to parenting! How quaint!"
Not so much.
We walk into the room about 15 minutes early, and on the screen a video is playing. The instructor is getting things set up and apparently needed to rewind the video. Of a birth. Take a moment and image our horror of walking in to a 9AM class and seeing a baby being un-born. It was... upsetting... But, it did make watching it properly much more bearable.
Other things we learned from this class:
A. Epidurals are great, you should get one (our hospital doesn't offer them, lucky us).
B. I like Ocean Spray Cran-Grape juice. They offered juice refreshment.
C. Epidurals are the bees's knees, you really need to get one.
D. Breastfeeding is complicated.
E. Epidurals are God's gift to all of humanity. Get one now. Right now.
F. Ummm....
G. EPIDURAL!!! NOW!!! GO!!!
H. Don't shake a baby. Shaking your moneymaker still ok.
I. Epidurals are the equivalent of liquid God.
J. Feeling the baby move is the best thing about pregnancy.
Further on point J., every woman in this class said that was the best part of it.
Carly disagrees. Jack hasn't really stopped moving since we first felt him. While it is cool to see and feel the baby, what I think is better is watching the ultrasound every month and seeing my baby grow. That's the really amazing part. Oh, that and the fact that he's really healthy and going to have Wolverine claws. Awesome.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
A Rouge's Gallery
Let's get this out of the way first, the baby is fine. Carly is fine. Everything is proceeding as it should be (though not as fast as Carly might hope). The baby has started to drop a little and the fake contractions have started. It's only a matter of time now.
Now, you might say, "Jon, you prodigious exemplar, it's ALWAYS been a matter of time".
A. Yes, that's true. Once the die was cast, the clock started running. Confusing mixed metaphors aside, I've always known that the day would come. And...
B. Shut up, this is my blog.
To enforce the idea of the big day coming, lots of work has gone into the house to make it ready for him. And us. We finally got the floors put in and they are amazing looking. For those of you that have had the pleasure of seeing our house, you'll see the difference almost immediately. For those of you that have not, it's awesome. Just imagine walking on awesome. It's like that. (No, a little less awesome than walking on bubble wrap. Reign it in a little, sparky).
During our various travels throughout northwest Missouri, we've had the (mis)fortune of encountering several individuals that have, for better or worse, had some sort of interaction with our lives. Case in point: We had to buy paint for the baby's room. So, we packed up the truck (car) and headed to St. Joseph. In the Home Depot store in that fabled city, there is a man.
This man is a bastion of customer service. He is a large man, not in a muscular way, but in a "boy, that's either a really big guy or a small truck" kinda way.
His name is Sean (spelling may be different, who knows?), and he sells paint. But, he doesn't sell paint in the typical fashion, oh no. He sells paint in the old school way; the "I don't want to sell you paint" way. His reverse psychology is flawless. If you treat your customers like they are the scum of the earth and not even worthy to look at this paint, let alone buy it, then they will be even more inclined to purchase it.
He's an angry man, full of bile and hated for all things human. But deep down, I know he's got a heart of gold. Shine on you crazy diamond...
The nursery is now a lovely blue color with an off-white trim. If I start to care to put in the effort, I might put pictures up.
Aside from Angry Paint Guy, there are other cases. Mostly there are the various children that I have the... pleasure of sharing my academic career with. First, there's Mini-Skirt Girl.
She's about 19 or so, blond (possibly dyed) and sickeningly thin. The kind of thin that makes other women want to force feed her McGriddles until she pops in a delicious, maple-flavored volcano.
She was in my Biology class over the summer, sat next to me and spent most of the time playing with her hair as the professor lectured. Now, she is in the Accounting I class that meets right after and in the same room as my Accounting II for Majors class.
But her defining feature, is the Holy Mini-Skirt. Much like Superman, the girl has only one outfit: Some form of top, and a denim mini-skirt. One denim mini-skirt. And only one denim mini-skirt. I envision her closet as consisting of flip-flops on the floor, a few sorority shirts hanging on the left and, in a special shrine, the One True Mini-Skirt. Seriously, 9 times out of 10, she wears this skirt. It was Parents Day on Saturday and Carly and I had lunch at Taco Bell. In she walks with her parents... in that same mini-skirt!
Then, Question Girl. You know that one girl that's read one too many books and wants to share her knowledge with the entire class even though the topic of the lecture is only VERY vaguely relevant to the information she wants to impart? This is that girl.
She once asked how the British Parliament worked in the 1700's. In an American History Survey class.
She once told the class that Henry VIII was forced to marry the wife he had left the Catholic Church for and later beheaded. She's read "The Other Boleyn Girl" 500 times, you see....
And finally, Note Girl. She asks to borrow my notes for Statistics class frequently. But, upon further reflection, this is not a bad idea. You see, my Stat teacher is Hungarian. Not descended from; straight up from Hungary. It's going to be a tricky class. My first warning sign was when her name popped up on my schedule. Fair enough, I'm open-minded and can take a little ESL in my coffee.
Second warning light came when she did a head count of the class on the first day. In Hungarian. No big deal, I thought, she's just more comfortable counting that way.
Huge warning lights went up when I caught her second mistake on a problem. At this point, my brain decided that enough was enough and we're going to have to buckle down and learn Hungarian in order to survive this. My body decided to do what it's been told all this time to do: Duck and Cover.
So not only do we have to go through a worthless class, we go through it in Hungarian. I mean, I don't need Stat class to know that when someone says, "80% of Americans want universal health care", I should put on my hip waders. It's like Algebra. Aside from very rarely in pharmacy, when have you ever used Algebra? You certainly can't do much worthwhile with it, like, oh say, pick up chicks.
(authors note: I have no interest in picking up said chicks anymore since I'm very happily married to a wonderful woman. However, the author's past experiences have taught him that great pickup lines do not include, "Hey, baby. I can use the double distributive property to expand polynomials for you." Generally, the result is a massive case of burning eyes caused by a sudden increase of mace in their vicinity.)
Lots more to talk about, but the blog runs long. I'll try to post more often. Not a promise, though.
Now, you might say, "Jon, you prodigious exemplar, it's ALWAYS been a matter of time".
A. Yes, that's true. Once the die was cast, the clock started running. Confusing mixed metaphors aside, I've always known that the day would come. And...
B. Shut up, this is my blog.
To enforce the idea of the big day coming, lots of work has gone into the house to make it ready for him. And us. We finally got the floors put in and they are amazing looking. For those of you that have had the pleasure of seeing our house, you'll see the difference almost immediately. For those of you that have not, it's awesome. Just imagine walking on awesome. It's like that. (No, a little less awesome than walking on bubble wrap. Reign it in a little, sparky).
During our various travels throughout northwest Missouri, we've had the (mis)fortune of encountering several individuals that have, for better or worse, had some sort of interaction with our lives. Case in point: We had to buy paint for the baby's room. So, we packed up the truck (car) and headed to St. Joseph. In the Home Depot store in that fabled city, there is a man.
This man is a bastion of customer service. He is a large man, not in a muscular way, but in a "boy, that's either a really big guy or a small truck" kinda way.
His name is Sean (spelling may be different, who knows?), and he sells paint. But, he doesn't sell paint in the typical fashion, oh no. He sells paint in the old school way; the "I don't want to sell you paint" way. His reverse psychology is flawless. If you treat your customers like they are the scum of the earth and not even worthy to look at this paint, let alone buy it, then they will be even more inclined to purchase it.
He's an angry man, full of bile and hated for all things human. But deep down, I know he's got a heart of gold. Shine on you crazy diamond...
The nursery is now a lovely blue color with an off-white trim. If I start to care to put in the effort, I might put pictures up.
Aside from Angry Paint Guy, there are other cases. Mostly there are the various children that I have the... pleasure of sharing my academic career with. First, there's Mini-Skirt Girl.
She's about 19 or so, blond (possibly dyed) and sickeningly thin. The kind of thin that makes other women want to force feed her McGriddles until she pops in a delicious, maple-flavored volcano.
She was in my Biology class over the summer, sat next to me and spent most of the time playing with her hair as the professor lectured. Now, she is in the Accounting I class that meets right after and in the same room as my Accounting II for Majors class.
But her defining feature, is the Holy Mini-Skirt. Much like Superman, the girl has only one outfit: Some form of top, and a denim mini-skirt. One denim mini-skirt. And only one denim mini-skirt. I envision her closet as consisting of flip-flops on the floor, a few sorority shirts hanging on the left and, in a special shrine, the One True Mini-Skirt. Seriously, 9 times out of 10, she wears this skirt. It was Parents Day on Saturday and Carly and I had lunch at Taco Bell. In she walks with her parents... in that same mini-skirt!
Then, Question Girl. You know that one girl that's read one too many books and wants to share her knowledge with the entire class even though the topic of the lecture is only VERY vaguely relevant to the information she wants to impart? This is that girl.
She once asked how the British Parliament worked in the 1700's. In an American History Survey class.
She once told the class that Henry VIII was forced to marry the wife he had left the Catholic Church for and later beheaded. She's read "The Other Boleyn Girl" 500 times, you see....
And finally, Note Girl. She asks to borrow my notes for Statistics class frequently. But, upon further reflection, this is not a bad idea. You see, my Stat teacher is Hungarian. Not descended from; straight up from Hungary. It's going to be a tricky class. My first warning sign was when her name popped up on my schedule. Fair enough, I'm open-minded and can take a little ESL in my coffee.
Second warning light came when she did a head count of the class on the first day. In Hungarian. No big deal, I thought, she's just more comfortable counting that way.
Huge warning lights went up when I caught her second mistake on a problem. At this point, my brain decided that enough was enough and we're going to have to buckle down and learn Hungarian in order to survive this. My body decided to do what it's been told all this time to do: Duck and Cover.
So not only do we have to go through a worthless class, we go through it in Hungarian. I mean, I don't need Stat class to know that when someone says, "80% of Americans want universal health care", I should put on my hip waders. It's like Algebra. Aside from very rarely in pharmacy, when have you ever used Algebra? You certainly can't do much worthwhile with it, like, oh say, pick up chicks.
(authors note: I have no interest in picking up said chicks anymore since I'm very happily married to a wonderful woman. However, the author's past experiences have taught him that great pickup lines do not include, "Hey, baby. I can use the double distributive property to expand polynomials for you." Generally, the result is a massive case of burning eyes caused by a sudden increase of mace in their vicinity.)
Lots more to talk about, but the blog runs long. I'll try to post more often. Not a promise, though.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Babymoon: Episode 6: Return of the Rambling
Since I don't have all that much to talk about as far as the trip to Memphis is concerned (see Episodes 4 & 5 -Ed), it's back from blog vacation (which mostly involved phoning in blog updates and humorous rants about shoe salesmen) time! Also, it might have to do with the fact that I'm a really lazy blog writer and forgot most of the trip in the thousand days it took me to write this thing. So, to ease you into the transition from hilarious misadventures to my typically solid mediocrity, I present a special feature. And as a bonus, a new interactive portion of the blog. Yes, dear readers, it's time for:
JON'S TOTAL STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS BLOG
First, I think I've hit the point in the Baby Having Experience(tm) where excitement has been bludgeoned to submission by apprehension. I got to thinking the other day that eventually this little bundle of joy and poop will grow up to be a whole, self-sufficient, employed, and hopefully stable (read:non-stabby) human being. But, between those two stages comes the long middle part. The part where he'll be asking me things. A lot of things. Like, "Why is the sky blue?" and, "Why are the goldfish swimming on their backs?" and, "Why does Mommy swear so much when you get home?". Questions that, honestly, I have no real answer to and that certainly will not satisfy a little child's curiosity. I mean, I COULD tell him why the sky is blue (Smurf magic) and where aquatic animals go when they die (the toilet, obviously). But, really, if I tell him those things he'll probably grow up believing that I'm a brilliant man that deserves his praise and respect for my many accolades, super-powers, dashing good looks, killer abs and mean right hook.
Then, he'll hit his teens and discover that it's all been one gigantic lie and wear black clothes, eyeliner, and a long mane of greasy hair while writing bad "introspective" poetry and listening to *cringe* Muse....
(Side note: To all of you who have known me for more than 18 seconds, you know I'm a Guitar Hero fanatic. I love that game. As such, I will NOT be buying GH5. Shocking as that may be, the reason is simple. I had a Facebook update that had screenshots of said game featuring the lead "singer" from Muse as a playable character. I don't really need that level of fail sullying my stalwart PS2, thank you so very much.)
Yes, yes, I know. I'm going to be a wonderful father, and I can't second-guess myself all the time, I have to play it by ear and always do what we think is best for our child and I am an amazing slice of triple chocolate man-cake. I get it.
But, it is a big burden to shoulder. And, I know that tons of people have done this before me. It's hard to wrap my brain around it. Once he gets here though, I'll forget all of this, I'm sure. I'll roll up my sleeves, change some diapers, and get over it.
Aside from my self-indulgent whining, things have been pretty calm here at Chez West. Lily kept us up almost all of last night. First, she got her paws caught in the blanket we had on the bed, and screamed us awake. After we got her out of that debacle, a storm kicked up and she flipped out. Then, she wanted to go outside only to find that *gasp* it was raining (she's a dainty lady and hates having her paws get wet)!
School's started back up for Carly, and my classes start on Monday. Not looking forward to getting back in the classroom, but I need to get this over with and get a degree and a real job so I can support my family and stop being a lazy bum that writes blog entries all day (or fails to, as the case may be).
Finally, on to the interactive portion of the blog! Carly wants to get a pool going of when the baby will be here and how big he will be. Please, write your guess in the response portion of the page. Just click where it says "Comments" and type away! Don't copy guesses and the 4th of October is already taken. In all fairness, the baby is measuring about 34 weeks now and the due date is October 10th. The winner will receive a fabulous prize of absolutely nothing but bragging rights and a temporary feeling of smug superiority! (Please note: these prizes will be null and void if you already have an existing smug feeling of superiority or are French.) Happy random guessing!
JON'S TOTAL STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS BLOG
First, I think I've hit the point in the Baby Having Experience(tm) where excitement has been bludgeoned to submission by apprehension. I got to thinking the other day that eventually this little bundle of joy and poop will grow up to be a whole, self-sufficient, employed, and hopefully stable (read:non-stabby) human being. But, between those two stages comes the long middle part. The part where he'll be asking me things. A lot of things. Like, "Why is the sky blue?" and, "Why are the goldfish swimming on their backs?" and, "Why does Mommy swear so much when you get home?". Questions that, honestly, I have no real answer to and that certainly will not satisfy a little child's curiosity. I mean, I COULD tell him why the sky is blue (Smurf magic) and where aquatic animals go when they die (the toilet, obviously). But, really, if I tell him those things he'll probably grow up believing that I'm a brilliant man that deserves his praise and respect for my many accolades, super-powers, dashing good looks, killer abs and mean right hook.
Then, he'll hit his teens and discover that it's all been one gigantic lie and wear black clothes, eyeliner, and a long mane of greasy hair while writing bad "introspective" poetry and listening to *cringe* Muse....
(Side note: To all of you who have known me for more than 18 seconds, you know I'm a Guitar Hero fanatic. I love that game. As such, I will NOT be buying GH5. Shocking as that may be, the reason is simple. I had a Facebook update that had screenshots of said game featuring the lead "singer" from Muse as a playable character. I don't really need that level of fail sullying my stalwart PS2, thank you so very much.)
Yes, yes, I know. I'm going to be a wonderful father, and I can't second-guess myself all the time, I have to play it by ear and always do what we think is best for our child and I am an amazing slice of triple chocolate man-cake. I get it.
But, it is a big burden to shoulder. And, I know that tons of people have done this before me. It's hard to wrap my brain around it. Once he gets here though, I'll forget all of this, I'm sure. I'll roll up my sleeves, change some diapers, and get over it.
Aside from my self-indulgent whining, things have been pretty calm here at Chez West. Lily kept us up almost all of last night. First, she got her paws caught in the blanket we had on the bed, and screamed us awake. After we got her out of that debacle, a storm kicked up and she flipped out. Then, she wanted to go outside only to find that *gasp* it was raining (she's a dainty lady and hates having her paws get wet)!
School's started back up for Carly, and my classes start on Monday. Not looking forward to getting back in the classroom, but I need to get this over with and get a degree and a real job so I can support my family and stop being a lazy bum that writes blog entries all day (or fails to, as the case may be).
Finally, on to the interactive portion of the blog! Carly wants to get a pool going of when the baby will be here and how big he will be. Please, write your guess in the response portion of the page. Just click where it says "Comments" and type away! Don't copy guesses and the 4th of October is already taken. In all fairness, the baby is measuring about 34 weeks now and the due date is October 10th. The winner will receive a fabulous prize of absolutely nothing but bragging rights and a temporary feeling of smug superiority! (Please note: these prizes will be null and void if you already have an existing smug feeling of superiority or are French.) Happy random guessing!
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Babymoon: Episode 5: The Vegans Strike Back
In our last episode, the evil forces of treats were mightily vanquished by the brave Lily...
Onward to St. Louis! While there, we stopped off and visited some friends and their adorable kids. Then, it's off to lunch at this little pub tucked away near an overpass called O'Connell's.
Sometimes fortune smiles on me in the most devious ways. Such as making me go to a party I really didn't want to go to in the first place and meeting my future wife there. Yes, fate is a tricky mistress. She gives freely, but then asks a lot in return. Case in point:
The special that day just so happened to be the Reuben sandwich. For those that don't know, the Reuben is a corned beef sandwich with sauerkraut and Thousand Island dressing. It is the third most awesome sandwich creation in history (the second being the Monte Cristo sandwich: an amazing creation consisting of a ham sandwich dipped in batter, fried, sprinkled with powdered sugar and served with maple syrup or raspberry sauce. And the most awesome creation being the Luther Burger. This burger is the most awesome thing since Lance Uppercut, the cyborg ninja, traveled to Awesometown to fight the rampaging hordes of dinosaur-riding pirates. It is an Angus burger topped with melted cheese and bacon, served on a sliced and deep fried Krispy Kreme doughnut.) Not only did I eat this marvelous creation, I also finished my fries, Carly's onion rings and part of a Coney Island chili dog.
Needless to say, I was about to burst with fatty meat and grease goodness.
So, as we reached Memphis, we found out a disturbing change in the status quo. My father had gone vegan. No meat, no meat-based products, no dairy, no eggs. On the plus side, he is healthier and I'm thankful for that. We did have a tofu dish with peanut and ginger sauce that was pretty good.
After a few days, Carly and I needed a burger... with real meat. Hopping in the car, we sprinted to Red Robin (yum!). I'm not quite sure how the burgers there qualify as "gourmet" as they claim (there's not a Luther in sight on the menu). Not that it was a bad burger, it just wasn't what the hype claimed it to be.
We visited good friends had a lot of good meals and a good time was had by all.
INTERMISSION:
A True Pharmacy Story.
A mother comes up to the counter with her 4 year old son
Mother: I need something for my son here.
Son: HI!!!
Me: Hi!
Mother: He has diarrhea and we need something that'll work.
Son: Yeah, 'cause I've got the squirts!
Hilarity ensues.
Onward to St. Louis! While there, we stopped off and visited some friends and their adorable kids. Then, it's off to lunch at this little pub tucked away near an overpass called O'Connell's.
Sometimes fortune smiles on me in the most devious ways. Such as making me go to a party I really didn't want to go to in the first place and meeting my future wife there. Yes, fate is a tricky mistress. She gives freely, but then asks a lot in return. Case in point:
The special that day just so happened to be the Reuben sandwich. For those that don't know, the Reuben is a corned beef sandwich with sauerkraut and Thousand Island dressing. It is the third most awesome sandwich creation in history (the second being the Monte Cristo sandwich: an amazing creation consisting of a ham sandwich dipped in batter, fried, sprinkled with powdered sugar and served with maple syrup or raspberry sauce. And the most awesome creation being the Luther Burger. This burger is the most awesome thing since Lance Uppercut, the cyborg ninja, traveled to Awesometown to fight the rampaging hordes of dinosaur-riding pirates. It is an Angus burger topped with melted cheese and bacon, served on a sliced and deep fried Krispy Kreme doughnut.) Not only did I eat this marvelous creation, I also finished my fries, Carly's onion rings and part of a Coney Island chili dog.
Needless to say, I was about to burst with fatty meat and grease goodness.
So, as we reached Memphis, we found out a disturbing change in the status quo. My father had gone vegan. No meat, no meat-based products, no dairy, no eggs. On the plus side, he is healthier and I'm thankful for that. We did have a tofu dish with peanut and ginger sauce that was pretty good.
After a few days, Carly and I needed a burger... with real meat. Hopping in the car, we sprinted to Red Robin (yum!). I'm not quite sure how the burgers there qualify as "gourmet" as they claim (there's not a Luther in sight on the menu). Not that it was a bad burger, it just wasn't what the hype claimed it to be.
We visited good friends had a lot of good meals and a good time was had by all.
INTERMISSION:
A True Pharmacy Story.
A mother comes up to the counter with her 4 year old son
Mother: I need something for my son here.
Son: HI!!!
Me: Hi!
Mother: He has diarrhea and we need something that'll work.
Son: Yeah, 'cause I've got the squirts!
Hilarity ensues.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Babymoon: Episode 4: A New Babymoon
As promised, I've decided to write the next chapter of this blog on the subject of our trip to Memphis. Nominally, it's a nine hour drive down there, cutting across almost the entire state of Missouri before even getting near Tennessee.
However, with a pregnant lady and prone-to-seizure dog in the car, the rules change slightly. Under doctor's orders we had to stop every two hours and Carly had to walk around the car three times minimum. As we left our little home, our spirits were as high as Lily. Sadly, things were about to take a turn for the worst.
We stopped in St. Joseph for some breakfast at the local Perkins and had our first required pit stop. We left Lily in the car with the windows cracked and a cup of water. The dark cloud that followed us into the restaurant foretold of the horrors to come. Our first indication of trouble came when the hostess decided to seat me and my PREGNANT wife near the smoking section. Now, I'm no genius (truthfully, I'm more of a super-genius... Jon West- Super-Genius), but even I know that that is a monumentally bad seating idea. But, I suppose our choices must have been between that or sitting right next to the leaking radioactive missile near the kitchen. And, now that I think about it, if I'm so concerned about my wife's health, why are we eating at Perkins?
In other news, some restaurants still have smoking sections.
Then, Carly orders two eggs cooked over medium and dry toast. At this point, I'd like to say that my culinary knowledge when it comes to eggs is limited to two settings: "scrambled" and "burnt to a crisp". So, it should come as no big shock that I have no idea what "over-medium" means. Thus, when the eggs arrive and Carly takes a look at them at says, "do these look undercooked to you?", my response is to look at them, then her with my most knowledgeable face on and very suavely say, "I dunno, maybe."
This put us at a crossroads. On the one hand, it's a very bad idea to eat undercooked eggs. Especially if you're pregnant. If you do, you might as well just go ahead and inject salmonella right into your belly while singing "What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor" at the top of your lungs (or your choice of favorite sea shanty. Yes, sea shanties work best for that sort of thing. No, I do not have personal experience in this. Oh, the things you can learn on those interwebs).
On the other hand, if we send it back, the odds increase dramatically that it will return to us with extra spit. And who knows what song to sing while eating spit covered eggs?
We opted for the second choice. If the eggs were befouled, there was no trace of it. Luckily, my Mammoth Muffin was awfully tasty.
We head out to the car, the dark cloud following us, and fall upon what can best be described as a massacre. Bits of the victims lay strewn about the crime scene like pieces of broken glass. The grizzly evidence before us told the story of the horrific events that happened. Carly and I were at a loss for words over the gruesome scene.
Lily had found the treats we packed for her. An entire weeks worth of dog treats, snarfed up by one fat little dog. And she's just sitting there like the Queen of the World.
The heavy metaphorical cudgel I've been using to bludgeon you called the dark cloud following us turns into the real thing as we hit the road again. It starts to rain on us and we need to roll the window up. So, we try. And try. And try again. Carly's window won't go up! Stupid car! My theory is that Lily's big fat bottom shorted out the electrical system in her mad dash to engorge herself on ill-gotten gains.
The rain pelted down and as it got worse Carly was getting soaked. And then, during the worst part of the rain, I decided to try the window one more time and.... IT WORKED. For no good reason, the darn thing rolled up, saving Carly from 9 more hours of drenching ickyness. Someone was looking out for us...
I also learned that my mutant power is making the rain stop for short periods of time. Of course, it really only works when we pass under an overpass, but every power has limitations.
Lily was banished to the back seat for most of the trip.
In our next episode: Vegans, burgers, and flip-flops! It's Episode 5!
We stopped in St. Joseph for some breakfast at the local Perkins and had our first required pit stop. We left Lily in the car with the windows cracked and a cup of water. The dark cloud that followed us into the restaurant foretold of the horrors to come. Our first indication of trouble came when the hostess decided to seat me and my PREGNANT wife near the smoking section. Now, I'm no genius (truthfully, I'm more of a super-genius... Jon West- Super-Genius), but even I know that that is a monumentally bad seating idea. But, I suppose our choices must have been between that or sitting right next to the leaking radioactive missile near the kitchen. And, now that I think about it, if I'm so concerned about my wife's health, why are we eating at Perkins?
In other news, some restaurants still have smoking sections.
Then, Carly orders two eggs cooked over medium and dry toast. At this point, I'd like to say that my culinary knowledge when it comes to eggs is limited to two settings: "scrambled" and "burnt to a crisp". So, it should come as no big shock that I have no idea what "over-medium" means. Thus, when the eggs arrive and Carly takes a look at them at says, "do these look undercooked to you?", my response is to look at them, then her with my most knowledgeable face on and very suavely say, "I dunno, maybe."
This put us at a crossroads. On the one hand, it's a very bad idea to eat undercooked eggs. Especially if you're pregnant. If you do, you might as well just go ahead and inject salmonella right into your belly while singing "What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor" at the top of your lungs (or your choice of favorite sea shanty. Yes, sea shanties work best for that sort of thing. No, I do not have personal experience in this. Oh, the things you can learn on those interwebs).
On the other hand, if we send it back, the odds increase dramatically that it will return to us with extra spit. And who knows what song to sing while eating spit covered eggs?
We opted for the second choice. If the eggs were befouled, there was no trace of it. Luckily, my Mammoth Muffin was awfully tasty.
We head out to the car, the dark cloud following us, and fall upon what can best be described as a massacre. Bits of the victims lay strewn about the crime scene like pieces of broken glass. The grizzly evidence before us told the story of the horrific events that happened. Carly and I were at a loss for words over the gruesome scene.
Lily had found the treats we packed for her. An entire weeks worth of dog treats, snarfed up by one fat little dog. And she's just sitting there like the Queen of the World.
The heavy metaphorical cudgel I've been using to bludgeon you called the dark cloud following us turns into the real thing as we hit the road again. It starts to rain on us and we need to roll the window up. So, we try. And try. And try again. Carly's window won't go up! Stupid car! My theory is that Lily's big fat bottom shorted out the electrical system in her mad dash to engorge herself on ill-gotten gains.
The rain pelted down and as it got worse Carly was getting soaked. And then, during the worst part of the rain, I decided to try the window one more time and.... IT WORKED. For no good reason, the darn thing rolled up, saving Carly from 9 more hours of drenching ickyness. Someone was looking out for us...
I also learned that my mutant power is making the rain stop for short periods of time. Of course, it really only works when we pass under an overpass, but every power has limitations.
Lily was banished to the back seat for most of the trip.
In our next episode: Vegans, burgers, and flip-flops! It's Episode 5!
Friday, July 24, 2009
Big news!
We went to see the doctor today for our baby check up. He said everything was fine and Carly and the baby are healthy. So stop panicking. This is good news.
After taking a look at the ultrasound, we found out something amazing. It seems that our baby girl... actually has a penis.
That's right. We're having a boy! So, stow or return all that pink stuff you bought us (I know you did) because the Wests are having a baby boy!
This is a big mind blower for me. I was so ready to have a girl (not that I'm not thrilled to have a boy). I don't really know what to do with a baby boy (not that I had a clue what to do with a baby girl). I do feel extra proud that I'm going to have a son (not that I didn't feel proud, yadda yadda). He shall be a strapping young lad; rugged, like his father, and strong willed, like his mother. He shall be strong, fast, agile. He shall be smart, confident, and smooth with the ladies (gets that part from me... How you doin'?). He shall be honest and brave. He shall be Levon. He shall be a good man. But, most importantly, he shall love Star Wars!
Now, I know what you're thinking: "Jon? Where can I get leather pants in my size at this hour?"
Good question. Yes, I am excited and scared. The gravity of the situation hit me the other day. I'm going to be responsible for the upbringing of another human being. His entire existence is thanks to me and Carly and how he becomes a dashing young man (in the image of his handsome father) is almost entirely dependent on how we raise him. He'll learn his morals from us (and the Bible. Yay, God!). He'll learn how to walk and eat and perform complicated mathematical equations from us. He'll ask for help from us on the Dewey decimal system. It's a lot of responsibility.
We'll be leaving for Memphis for about a week for a second babymoon. Now, if you're good and behave while we're gone, you just might get a second trilogy out of the deal...
BABYMOON: Episodes 4, 5, and 6? Maybe coming soon.
Oh, and I'll have pictures up soon of the ultrasound.
P.S. When I submitted this blog the first time, the ad that popped up right along side the confirmation page said "Will you have a boy or girl? Take this quiz and find out!"
Too late, Mr. Wants My Information Advertisement. Too late, sir.
After taking a look at the ultrasound, we found out something amazing. It seems that our baby girl... actually has a penis.
That's right. We're having a boy! So, stow or return all that pink stuff you bought us (I know you did) because the Wests are having a baby boy!
This is a big mind blower for me. I was so ready to have a girl (not that I'm not thrilled to have a boy). I don't really know what to do with a baby boy (not that I had a clue what to do with a baby girl). I do feel extra proud that I'm going to have a son (not that I didn't feel proud, yadda yadda). He shall be a strapping young lad; rugged, like his father, and strong willed, like his mother. He shall be strong, fast, agile. He shall be smart, confident, and smooth with the ladies (gets that part from me... How you doin'?). He shall be honest and brave. He shall be Levon. He shall be a good man. But, most importantly, he shall love Star Wars!
Now, I know what you're thinking: "Jon? Where can I get leather pants in my size at this hour?"
Good question. Yes, I am excited and scared. The gravity of the situation hit me the other day. I'm going to be responsible for the upbringing of another human being. His entire existence is thanks to me and Carly and how he becomes a dashing young man (in the image of his handsome father) is almost entirely dependent on how we raise him. He'll learn his morals from us (and the Bible. Yay, God!). He'll learn how to walk and eat and perform complicated mathematical equations from us. He'll ask for help from us on the Dewey decimal system. It's a lot of responsibility.
We'll be leaving for Memphis for about a week for a second babymoon. Now, if you're good and behave while we're gone, you just might get a second trilogy out of the deal...
BABYMOON: Episodes 4, 5, and 6? Maybe coming soon.
Oh, and I'll have pictures up soon of the ultrasound.
P.S. When I submitted this blog the first time, the ad that popped up right along side the confirmation page said "Will you have a boy or girl? Take this quiz and find out!"
Too late, Mr. Wants My Information Advertisement. Too late, sir.
Friday, July 17, 2009
It's been a trying time at Chez West
Ok. So, this may now be the most requested blog I've ever had. You guys are ruthless!
First, Lily is doing fine. She's slowly returning to her usual self (i.e. awesome). Her stumbling has gotten better, so she's no longer Stumblily McGee. Her medication made her a little loopy, but now she's wooing and snorting and always excited to see us again!
Second, Carly's phone is working once again. Words cannot express my deep loathing for AT&T.
But, I'm going to try. AT&T is an evil, corrupt entity that belongs in the darkest pit of Hades.
My bank sent a check to them on the 19th of June. They disconneted our service soon after saying we didn't make the payment. No late fee, no nasty note, no nothing. Just, "Oops, you didn't pay us. DIE, MAGGOT!!! YOUR PHONE'S SOUL IS OURS NOW!!! (dramatization)".
So, I called them. From my phone. Because they ate Carly's phone as a side dish with their daily feast of small children and the tears of the innocent. They reactivated our service and told me that all I had to do was send in a copy of my bank statement showing the payment and all would be forgiven. So I did.
Two weeks later: "RRRRAAAUUUGGHHH!!! NO PAYMENT!! WE FEAST ON YOUR SUFFERING!!! (artist's rendition)"
Today, I called them again. Now they want a copy of my cancelled check. So, I'll fax it in tomorrow. Maybe next they'll want blood. And my death.
Third, Carly called me today at work, crying. She had been nauseous all day and was hurting in her hips, her back, her chest, her stomach, and was crampy almost all over. She called our doctor and then the OB department of the local hospital (which is 2 blocks away).
Then I get the call. "I'm going to the hospital. Can you get off work and come with me?" My very awesome co-workers told me to just go. So, I made a mad dash to the hospital, 30 miles away.
When I got there, they had her in a bed, hooked up to a lot of machines with boops and bleeps and an IV drip and that thing on the finger that I think measures husband's anxiety levels. The nurse said that she was mostly dehydrated and the IV was replenshing her fluids. She said everything was looking good: the baby was fine and squrmy (she had a hard time getting a reading on the heart rate), Carly was healthy and as far as they could tell, nothing was wrong. Except for that pain. They ruled out early labor and did a fantastic job calming my fears.
The final issue was that she was craving the Mexican food yesterday afternoon and last night when we went to see Harry Potter (it's awesome, by the way). Now, you may be saying, "But, Jon, you impressive specimen of manhood, why won't you return my phone calls? Oh, and what does Mexican food have to do with anything, you stud? (call me)"
The gallbladder is quite the interesting organ. One of it's duties is to release bile produced by the liver when the digestive tract has fat present. If you've had too much fat in your diet from, say, Mexican food, your gallbladder may not be able keep up. Then you hurt.
This is what has happened to Carly, we think. It's common in pregnant women, and it will probably go away when the baby comes. So, for now, we now have to try and keep a low fat diet and she needs to rest a lot. To her credit, she's been the one of the most pleasant pregant women that I've ever seen. No weird cravings, no unbearable mood swings.
Now that my two favorite girls are on their way back to good health, Lily's been a little protective of Carly. Case in point: The above picture.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Lily's had it ruff...
Last night, around 4AM, I was peacefully sleeping. As I stood there, laughing at my vanquished foes and looking amazingly ripped in my barbarian garb, a voice called out to me from the ether. "Jon," it said faintly as I hefted my broadsword. "Jon..." a little louder this time. How can a person cleanse the moors of my foes and hear the lamentations of their women with all this noise? "Jon! Wake up, now! Get in here!" said the now panic stricken voice.
Carly was screaming from the other room. Snatching my broadsword... glasses from the bedside table and vaulting over the pile of baby stuff in my way like an Olympic hopeful, I sprinted to the living room. Both Carly and Lily were on the floor, Lily in the midst of a seizure, her legs straight out in front of her, breathing heavily, Carly on the verge of tears. I ran to them, found my phone and told Carly to call the emergency vet line while I held Lily. My main concern was keeping Lily safe, meanwhile making sure Carly didn't go any more hysterical. Lily was unresponsive and I could see she was petrified scared and foaming a bit around the edges of her mouth. Eventually, she started to come back around, slowing gaining control of her muscles. The worst part, aside from the stomach-churning feeling of utter helplessness, was watching her blindly trying to stand up in the middle of her seizure. She was on her belly, her little back legs straight out, trying to get her front paws under her. Slowly, painfully, she managed to get to to a crouch, looked around at me, and her tail started to wag rapidly. She recognized me and was coming around.
The vet told us to watch her and she if she did it again. She slept the rest of the night/morning and seemed fine for most of the day. I was at work, so I can't report on what happened during those hours (pester Carly for a blog!!!) but at dinner, she had another one. We've got her on aspirin 81mg (vet's orders) and we're still keeping an eye on her. Carly's sleeping on the couch, and I've taken to sleeping on the floor right next to her near Lily. It's no Holiday Inn, but I've had worse. It's a good thing I can sleep just about anywhere.
As far as baby stuff goes (bet you thought I'd forgotten the name of this blog), momma and baby are doing fine, if a little scared. I did see the baby move a few times. She's been pushing on Carly's stomach and bladder, so she's a little miserable. I fine too, if anyone cares. I know my place in the pecking order...
Carly was screaming from the other room. Snatching my broadsword... glasses from the bedside table and vaulting over the pile of baby stuff in my way like an Olympic hopeful, I sprinted to the living room. Both Carly and Lily were on the floor, Lily in the midst of a seizure, her legs straight out in front of her, breathing heavily, Carly on the verge of tears. I ran to them, found my phone and told Carly to call the emergency vet line while I held Lily. My main concern was keeping Lily safe, meanwhile making sure Carly didn't go any more hysterical. Lily was unresponsive and I could see she was petrified scared and foaming a bit around the edges of her mouth. Eventually, she started to come back around, slowing gaining control of her muscles. The worst part, aside from the stomach-churning feeling of utter helplessness, was watching her blindly trying to stand up in the middle of her seizure. She was on her belly, her little back legs straight out, trying to get her front paws under her. Slowly, painfully, she managed to get to to a crouch, looked around at me, and her tail started to wag rapidly. She recognized me and was coming around.
The vet told us to watch her and she if she did it again. She slept the rest of the night/morning and seemed fine for most of the day. I was at work, so I can't report on what happened during those hours (pester Carly for a blog!!!) but at dinner, she had another one. We've got her on aspirin 81mg (vet's orders) and we're still keeping an eye on her. Carly's sleeping on the couch, and I've taken to sleeping on the floor right next to her near Lily. It's no Holiday Inn, but I've had worse. It's a good thing I can sleep just about anywhere.
As far as baby stuff goes (bet you thought I'd forgotten the name of this blog), momma and baby are doing fine, if a little scared. I did see the baby move a few times. She's been pushing on Carly's stomach and bladder, so she's a little miserable. I fine too, if anyone cares. I know my place in the pecking order...
Friday, July 3, 2009
Doggy Medication
Ahhh, the Fourth of July.
Our Independence Day.
The day we celebrate our nation's birth by searing dead animals and blowing things up. It's the last part that makes the holiday so rough around Chez West. Our wonderful dog Lily, who is just the best thing since bread decided to come to my house in evenly distributed pieces, is afraid of loud noises, like bangs or thunderclaps.
Which is all we get this time of year. So, when we recently went to the vet to have her semi-whenever-we-remember check up, we asked the vet about how we can calm her down.
During the check up, she was subjected to all sorts of humiliations. And if it's any indication as to how I'm going to be as a father, the answer is: not so great. I felt uncomfortable as he took her temperature. I couldn't watch as he gave her her vaccinations. I cringed as he took a blood sample. I was on edge as the heartworm test came back (negative, thank goodness). I almost fell asleep as the vet spoke to us in one of the most monotone voices I've ever heard. And this is a dog, for crying out loud, not even a human! Not even my daughter!
He gave us some pills to give to her whenever we think she's going to have a rough night. Some doggy downers if you will. She took one last night. It was heartbreaking. The poor dog had no light in her eyes, she stumbled around, and could barely keep her head up. It broke my heart. But, on the bright side, I did get to try out my "stoned Lily" voice. Oh, yes, the dog talks to us.
I would be remiss if I failed to mention the passing of an icon. His performances enthralled millions and brought joy to their hearts. He was underappreciated in my opinion for most of his career, but his ability and passion was never questioned. His work defined a generation.
And it's with a heavy heart, that this blog post is dedicated to him.
An Ode to Billy Mays:
Your yelling made it easy
For us to get to know
The wonderful magic
That is Orange-Glo.
30 second spots
Gave us time to glean,
All the stain fighting power
Of Oxi-Clean
But that short time here
gave us little room
to judge for ourselves
the strength of Kaboom
So, goodnight, Billy Mays
Your passing left our hearts rended,
But, we can fix it
With a dab of Mighty Mendit.
Our Independence Day.
The day we celebrate our nation's birth by searing dead animals and blowing things up. It's the last part that makes the holiday so rough around Chez West. Our wonderful dog Lily, who is just the best thing since bread decided to come to my house in evenly distributed pieces, is afraid of loud noises, like bangs or thunderclaps.
Which is all we get this time of year. So, when we recently went to the vet to have her semi-whenever-we-remember check up, we asked the vet about how we can calm her down.
During the check up, she was subjected to all sorts of humiliations. And if it's any indication as to how I'm going to be as a father, the answer is: not so great. I felt uncomfortable as he took her temperature. I couldn't watch as he gave her her vaccinations. I cringed as he took a blood sample. I was on edge as the heartworm test came back (negative, thank goodness). I almost fell asleep as the vet spoke to us in one of the most monotone voices I've ever heard. And this is a dog, for crying out loud, not even a human! Not even my daughter!
He gave us some pills to give to her whenever we think she's going to have a rough night. Some doggy downers if you will. She took one last night. It was heartbreaking. The poor dog had no light in her eyes, she stumbled around, and could barely keep her head up. It broke my heart. But, on the bright side, I did get to try out my "stoned Lily" voice. Oh, yes, the dog talks to us.
I would be remiss if I failed to mention the passing of an icon. His performances enthralled millions and brought joy to their hearts. He was underappreciated in my opinion for most of his career, but his ability and passion was never questioned. His work defined a generation.
And it's with a heavy heart, that this blog post is dedicated to him.
An Ode to Billy Mays:
Your yelling made it easy
For us to get to know
The wonderful magic
That is Orange-Glo.
30 second spots
Gave us time to glean,
All the stain fighting power
Of Oxi-Clean
But that short time here
gave us little room
to judge for ourselves
the strength of Kaboom
So, goodnight, Billy Mays
Your passing left our hearts rended,
But, we can fix it
With a dab of Mighty Mendit.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Babymoon: Episode III: Revenge of the Fondue
A short time ago in Kansas City, MO...
Previously, our heroes encountered Fred the Shoe Salesman and stopped his evil plot to install himself as dictator. We continue our adventures with our now well-shod duo...
We checked into the hotel and got settled in. Standing right alongside the rather standard bathroom and bedroom arrangements, laid the Holy Grail of our journey. The reason for our monumental trek. The purpose of our sojourn.
The giant jacuzzi bathtub...
Standing there as a beacon of bubbly goodness, bathed in a halo of purest white light, angels singing softly in the distance, it beckoned. We stood for a moment, gazing at this marvel of jets and hardened plastic. Then Carly took a bath. As it filled and she prepared to experience the awesomeness of The Tub, disaster struck. The cold water tap handle broke off. Now, she was cursed to having a increasingly chilly bath. Of course, this would not do, so we needed to inform the front desk. Meanwhile, I, on the other hand, had found another treasure worth mentioning.
The terrycloth bathrobe...
I am firmly convinced that bathrobes are a gift from the heavens. If it weren't socially impolite (and illegal mostly), I would be in a bathrobe all day (plus pj pants, of course). Going to class in a bathrobe. Going to work in a bathrobe. Mowing my yard in a bathrobe. The comfort factor alone makes up for the awkward conversations I'd have to have. "Just gettin' my mail, Mr. Jones. In my bathrobe. You should try it. It's comfy. How's that rash?" See? Awkward. Of course, since that seems totally impractical and breezy, I may have to upgrade to the bathrobe's more dashing cousin:
The smoking jacket...
It's time to go to dinner. So, Carly leaves the tub and I grudgingly leave the terrycloth perfection behind. Off to the resturant with a quick side trip to the front desk. They can have it fixed before we get back, and Carly can have a proper bath. It's 4:30 in the afternoon and we're off to dinner. It was the only reservations they had left. We arrive at The Melting Pot which is located on the Plaza, the fancy part of town that caters to the nuveau riche of Kansas City. Every city seems to have these areas, teeming with upper-middle class eateries and boutique stores, mainly for people with more money than any reasonably sane person would need at any given time, and filled with women that would look down on me so hard that they give themselves whiplash and wouldn't give me the time of day in a clock shop.
(Side note: It has been said that getting married is a sure fire way to get women to hit on you. The theory goes something like this: Women see a ring on a guys finger, figures that the guy must not have commitment issues and is therefore an upgrade to their current guy who has yet to ask the question, even though they've nagged them incessantly about it for the past 3 years they've been dating. I have not witnessed this phenomenon myself aside from the geriatric customers I deal with everyday that think I'm a "doll". It's my theory, that the people who made this theory came up with it in order to make themselves feel better about NOT getting hit on by said women, and passing off any interaction with the fairer sex as being "hit on". Further, they should just comb their hair over their bald spot, accept it, and move on. Sometimes a "hello" is just a "hello".)
We travel down two flights of stairs to get to the front counter of The Melting Pot, follow the hostess down a few more stairs and are seated in what can generously be described as a wine cellar, or, as I prefer to think of it, a bomb shelter. Seriously, we must be quite a ways underground. But it's nicely lit, quiet and, for a time, we're mostly alone.
Fondue is amazing, by the way. So brillantly simple, yet so tasty. I can imagine the geniuses that invented it:
"Dan, I have this amazing idea for a new way to eat things. You know how much you like cheese and chocolate?" "Sure do, Bill" "Let's melt 'em down to molten slag and dip bits of bread, veggies and fruit into them." "Hmmmm, slather yummy stuff onto other yummy stuff. Bill, you're a madman... but it just might work! Let's call it something French to really jazz it up. Make it seem fancy and exotic when it's really a pretty simple concept. You know, like lattes or bidets!" "Brilliant, Dan!"
The Melting Pot is a fantastic fondue resturant that serves stylized meals in a romantic and comfortable setting. It's ideal for a quiet meal with a romantic interest, a fun and interactive eating adventure for the family, or simply a place for a good, filling dinner. Soft music plays over the speakers as Carly and I get settled into the private booth and look over the menu.
So, you understand our suprise when our tall and loud waiter comes around the corner, blindsiding us with a hearty, "HEY GUYS! HOW ARE WE THIS EVENING?!?!?!" Jarring, to say the least. Wide eyed we give him a weak reply and give him our drink orders. He happily trots off telling us that he'll be right back to, "get this party started". I wasn't aware that she and I were at a party, but he insisted. So much so that every course was a party waiting to erupt it seems. We asked him if it's cheaper to go with the package deal that comes with 4 courses or to go a la carte and pick what we want. "OH, NO. GO WITH THE PACKAGE DEAL. SOOOOOO MUCH BETTER AND CHEAPER FOR YOU. NOW, WHAT DO YOU SAY TO THE TUSCAN INSPIRED PACKAGE?!?!?"
Later, he told us that this was his last week, since he was switching jobs. To become a car salesmen. I kind you not.
"SO, WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO GET YOU FOLKS INTO THE S'MORES CHOCOLATE FONDUE TONIGHT?!?"
But, seriously. If you get the chance, eat at the Melting Pot. It's nummy. And the pine nuts are amazing.
Back to the hotel. The tap is fixed and Carly gets her bath. I get my bathrobe. And all is right.
Sunday. Nothing much to do today. So, a quick trip to the breakfast bar in the lobby and another long bath for Carly, and out the door we go. Our mission: We needed to hunt down a comic book store that sells games in order to get a new copy of Guillotine.
That last sentence might sound like Mad Libs, but let me explain. For this, you'll need to hop in your DeLorean, go 88 miles per hour and travel back to the weekend of the baby shower/baptism/wedding shower. Carly and I own a card game called Guillotine. As the name suggests, it's a game about the French Revolution. The object is to collect more important noble's heads than your opponents. It's a lot more fun than it sounds (and less revolutiony). We wanted to play it that weekend, but our old copy had gotten wet sometime since we played it last and the wetness had turned to mold. So, no more Guillotine.
Now, come back to last Sunday (or travel ahead to the future, if you want. You have a time machine after all. Incidentally, if you do go, pick me up a hoverboard. They promised me those things by 2015 and I want one. Also, if you see future Jon, punch me in the face and take my hoverboard. That guy owes me money anyway).
We went all over the city looking for a comic shop that was A. open and B. selling games. This being Sunday, most places didn't open until noon. So, here we are, sitting out in front of a comic book store on a Sunday morning. If you had asked me what I thought marrage was 4 years ago, the last thing I would have said is, "sitting in a car with my wife, waiting for a comic book store to open so we could get a copy of our favorite card game." A dream to be sure, but never my idea of reality. This is reason #103234 why I love my wife.
For lunch, we wanted to go to Mongolian barbecue. If you've never had it, go eat it. Now. It's great. Just don't go on a Sunday. They're closed. As we found out.... But that Indian place is open...
Ever since we moved here, we've been searching for a good Indian resturant. In Memphis, we were within walking distance of one and we got spoiled. 5 failed attempts to find one here, and we struck gold. And aside from the guy walking past us with the moccasins on that had Democrat donkeys on them and smelled like aromatherapy candles, it was good. Feasting on curried goodness, we spotted something that, well, was not so good.
The lady in the booth next to us got up to refill her plate at the buffet. She wasn't a big woman. She was mostly non-descript. Plain really. Reading a book and eating her Indian food all by herself, looking quite content to do so. As she walked past, though, something was amiss.
It was a perfect line of sweat.
In her crack.
And we went home.
Previously, our heroes encountered Fred the Shoe Salesman and stopped his evil plot to install himself as dictator. We continue our adventures with our now well-shod duo...
We checked into the hotel and got settled in. Standing right alongside the rather standard bathroom and bedroom arrangements, laid the Holy Grail of our journey. The reason for our monumental trek. The purpose of our sojourn.
The giant jacuzzi bathtub...
Standing there as a beacon of bubbly goodness, bathed in a halo of purest white light, angels singing softly in the distance, it beckoned. We stood for a moment, gazing at this marvel of jets and hardened plastic. Then Carly took a bath. As it filled and she prepared to experience the awesomeness of The Tub, disaster struck. The cold water tap handle broke off. Now, she was cursed to having a increasingly chilly bath. Of course, this would not do, so we needed to inform the front desk. Meanwhile, I, on the other hand, had found another treasure worth mentioning.
The terrycloth bathrobe...
I am firmly convinced that bathrobes are a gift from the heavens. If it weren't socially impolite (and illegal mostly), I would be in a bathrobe all day (plus pj pants, of course). Going to class in a bathrobe. Going to work in a bathrobe. Mowing my yard in a bathrobe. The comfort factor alone makes up for the awkward conversations I'd have to have. "Just gettin' my mail, Mr. Jones. In my bathrobe. You should try it. It's comfy. How's that rash?" See? Awkward. Of course, since that seems totally impractical and breezy, I may have to upgrade to the bathrobe's more dashing cousin:
The smoking jacket...
It's time to go to dinner. So, Carly leaves the tub and I grudgingly leave the terrycloth perfection behind. Off to the resturant with a quick side trip to the front desk. They can have it fixed before we get back, and Carly can have a proper bath. It's 4:30 in the afternoon and we're off to dinner. It was the only reservations they had left. We arrive at The Melting Pot which is located on the Plaza, the fancy part of town that caters to the nuveau riche of Kansas City. Every city seems to have these areas, teeming with upper-middle class eateries and boutique stores, mainly for people with more money than any reasonably sane person would need at any given time, and filled with women that would look down on me so hard that they give themselves whiplash and wouldn't give me the time of day in a clock shop.
(Side note: It has been said that getting married is a sure fire way to get women to hit on you. The theory goes something like this: Women see a ring on a guys finger, figures that the guy must not have commitment issues and is therefore an upgrade to their current guy who has yet to ask the question, even though they've nagged them incessantly about it for the past 3 years they've been dating. I have not witnessed this phenomenon myself aside from the geriatric customers I deal with everyday that think I'm a "doll". It's my theory, that the people who made this theory came up with it in order to make themselves feel better about NOT getting hit on by said women, and passing off any interaction with the fairer sex as being "hit on". Further, they should just comb their hair over their bald spot, accept it, and move on. Sometimes a "hello" is just a "hello".)
We travel down two flights of stairs to get to the front counter of The Melting Pot, follow the hostess down a few more stairs and are seated in what can generously be described as a wine cellar, or, as I prefer to think of it, a bomb shelter. Seriously, we must be quite a ways underground. But it's nicely lit, quiet and, for a time, we're mostly alone.
Fondue is amazing, by the way. So brillantly simple, yet so tasty. I can imagine the geniuses that invented it:
"Dan, I have this amazing idea for a new way to eat things. You know how much you like cheese and chocolate?" "Sure do, Bill" "Let's melt 'em down to molten slag and dip bits of bread, veggies and fruit into them." "Hmmmm, slather yummy stuff onto other yummy stuff. Bill, you're a madman... but it just might work! Let's call it something French to really jazz it up. Make it seem fancy and exotic when it's really a pretty simple concept. You know, like lattes or bidets!" "Brilliant, Dan!"
The Melting Pot is a fantastic fondue resturant that serves stylized meals in a romantic and comfortable setting. It's ideal for a quiet meal with a romantic interest, a fun and interactive eating adventure for the family, or simply a place for a good, filling dinner. Soft music plays over the speakers as Carly and I get settled into the private booth and look over the menu.
So, you understand our suprise when our tall and loud waiter comes around the corner, blindsiding us with a hearty, "HEY GUYS! HOW ARE WE THIS EVENING?!?!?!" Jarring, to say the least. Wide eyed we give him a weak reply and give him our drink orders. He happily trots off telling us that he'll be right back to, "get this party started". I wasn't aware that she and I were at a party, but he insisted. So much so that every course was a party waiting to erupt it seems. We asked him if it's cheaper to go with the package deal that comes with 4 courses or to go a la carte and pick what we want. "OH, NO. GO WITH THE PACKAGE DEAL. SOOOOOO MUCH BETTER AND CHEAPER FOR YOU. NOW, WHAT DO YOU SAY TO THE TUSCAN INSPIRED PACKAGE?!?!?"
Later, he told us that this was his last week, since he was switching jobs. To become a car salesmen. I kind you not.
"SO, WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO GET YOU FOLKS INTO THE S'MORES CHOCOLATE FONDUE TONIGHT?!?"
But, seriously. If you get the chance, eat at the Melting Pot. It's nummy. And the pine nuts are amazing.
Back to the hotel. The tap is fixed and Carly gets her bath. I get my bathrobe. And all is right.
Sunday. Nothing much to do today. So, a quick trip to the breakfast bar in the lobby and another long bath for Carly, and out the door we go. Our mission: We needed to hunt down a comic book store that sells games in order to get a new copy of Guillotine.
That last sentence might sound like Mad Libs, but let me explain. For this, you'll need to hop in your DeLorean, go 88 miles per hour and travel back to the weekend of the baby shower/baptism/wedding shower. Carly and I own a card game called Guillotine. As the name suggests, it's a game about the French Revolution. The object is to collect more important noble's heads than your opponents. It's a lot more fun than it sounds (and less revolutiony). We wanted to play it that weekend, but our old copy had gotten wet sometime since we played it last and the wetness had turned to mold. So, no more Guillotine.
Now, come back to last Sunday (or travel ahead to the future, if you want. You have a time machine after all. Incidentally, if you do go, pick me up a hoverboard. They promised me those things by 2015 and I want one. Also, if you see future Jon, punch me in the face and take my hoverboard. That guy owes me money anyway).
We went all over the city looking for a comic shop that was A. open and B. selling games. This being Sunday, most places didn't open until noon. So, here we are, sitting out in front of a comic book store on a Sunday morning. If you had asked me what I thought marrage was 4 years ago, the last thing I would have said is, "sitting in a car with my wife, waiting for a comic book store to open so we could get a copy of our favorite card game." A dream to be sure, but never my idea of reality. This is reason #103234 why I love my wife.
For lunch, we wanted to go to Mongolian barbecue. If you've never had it, go eat it. Now. It's great. Just don't go on a Sunday. They're closed. As we found out.... But that Indian place is open...
Ever since we moved here, we've been searching for a good Indian resturant. In Memphis, we were within walking distance of one and we got spoiled. 5 failed attempts to find one here, and we struck gold. And aside from the guy walking past us with the moccasins on that had Democrat donkeys on them and smelled like aromatherapy candles, it was good. Feasting on curried goodness, we spotted something that, well, was not so good.
The lady in the booth next to us got up to refill her plate at the buffet. She wasn't a big woman. She was mostly non-descript. Plain really. Reading a book and eating her Indian food all by herself, looking quite content to do so. As she walked past, though, something was amiss.
It was a perfect line of sweat.
In her crack.
And we went home.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Babymoon: Episode II: Attack of the Fred
When we last left our intrepid heroes, they had thwarted the evil machinations of Man Hands Vee.
We had some time to kill before we could check into the hotel, so we decided to head to the mall and pick up some new shoes for me. Of course, it started raining right as we pulled into the parking lot. So, after letting Carly out at the door and parking somewhere near Canada (all I could see was hockey rinks and bears. And I swear I heard the Canadian mating call: "Molson Ice is on sale, eh!"), I headed into the mall myself. We came to the conclusion that the first place we found that sold shoes we would check out.
And it was there that we met Fred.
Fred is an older gentlemen. He sells shoes in the men's section at the J.C.Penny's in the mall. He is dressed in the starndard men's wear outfit at J.C.Penny's: white shirt, black pants, red tie, and of course, comfy, well chosen shoes. Fred is very no-nonsense about his shoes. Fred is scary no-nonsense about his shoes. Don't mess with Fred.
We approached the men's shoe section, and looked at the display shoes for anything in our price range that looked decent. As Carly reached for a nice black model, Fred comes to us and says, "May I help you?" much like a museum curator would to a patron who had his filthy hands streched out to touch the Mona Lisa. "Yes," Carly says, "he needs a black dress shoe. Nothing too dressy. More casual than dressy but still nice looking." I say, "yeah, something like a Biz-Cas-Fri shoe." Fred moves to show me the shoe, ignoring my comment.
Fred is serious about his shoes.
He points to one particular display shoe and says, "This is the best deal in the store. A very nice pair of shoes." At this point, I'm thinking it's best not to question Fred, much like thinking it's best not to poke a sleeping bear with a stick. "Do you have that in a 12?", we ask. Fred tells me that he needs to measure my foot and, doing the next logical thing, walks off to where he measures feet. I sit down, and being in quite the vulnerable position, ask if it's the left or right foot that he needs. He barks, "right", much like a Nazi SS officer would bark at a soldier to march. I'm very glad that I wore clean socks that day. He puts my foot into the little clamp-like torture device that they measure feet with. He then informs me that I've been wrong for years and that I wear a size 12 in sneaker, but in dress shoes, I wear a 10 1/2.
Fred is VERY serious about his shoes!
We pick out a pair of sneakers for me, then it's time to check out. Fred has been holding my dress shoes for me so we could find the sneakers we like, much like a mother holds a newborn baby. As we go to check out, there is a bottleneck at the register. Fred begins to direct traffic as he checks people out, helping us skip a few people in line. No one protests. No one bats an eye. Fred's word is law.
Do not mess with Fred.
As we walk away, I can't help but wish Fred well. He is a stalwart bastion of podiatary excellence. And, daily, he steps on the heels of greatness, arching his way ever upward to the foot of the heavens. Once more into the breach, dear Fred. Once more.
We continued our adventure into foot fetishism by getting Carly a spa pedicure. Seeing as how I have big giant size 10 1/2 (12 in sneakers) hobbit feet, I declined. They guy in the chair nearest me, on the other hand, seemed to get quite the workout on his feet. At one point, she started to slap his feet. I think the lady was massaging his feet, but it sounded like there was a bug on them and she was trying to kill it.
On the TV was an old show, American Gladiators 2000. It was a kids version of the fabled American Gladiators, with dumbed down events (including questions during the Eliminator. Seriously.) I don't remember that being on when I was younger. The date on it was 1995. 14 years ago. Damn, I'm old. But not as old as the kid that took forever on the Eliminator costing his team the victory. And I saw the entire, humiliating defeat, 14 years later. That kid might be a lawyer or doctor or rocket scientist now. He could be on the verge of curing cancer, or getting ready to take the first steps on Mars. But all I'll ever know of him is that he totally blew it on national televison.
As this is a 3 part story there will be a brief intermission:
Things overheard in Kansas City....
Girl 1: "I like anchovies, and I like pizza. So, why do I hate anchovy pizza?"
Girl 2: "Maybe there's something wrong with you."
Girl walking past us: "And, I swear, I looked down and said, "Holy cow! That's infected!"
Stay tuned for Part 3: The End?
We had some time to kill before we could check into the hotel, so we decided to head to the mall and pick up some new shoes for me. Of course, it started raining right as we pulled into the parking lot. So, after letting Carly out at the door and parking somewhere near Canada (all I could see was hockey rinks and bears. And I swear I heard the Canadian mating call: "Molson Ice is on sale, eh!"), I headed into the mall myself. We came to the conclusion that the first place we found that sold shoes we would check out.
And it was there that we met Fred.
Fred is an older gentlemen. He sells shoes in the men's section at the J.C.Penny's in the mall. He is dressed in the starndard men's wear outfit at J.C.Penny's: white shirt, black pants, red tie, and of course, comfy, well chosen shoes. Fred is very no-nonsense about his shoes. Fred is scary no-nonsense about his shoes. Don't mess with Fred.
We approached the men's shoe section, and looked at the display shoes for anything in our price range that looked decent. As Carly reached for a nice black model, Fred comes to us and says, "May I help you?" much like a museum curator would to a patron who had his filthy hands streched out to touch the Mona Lisa. "Yes," Carly says, "he needs a black dress shoe. Nothing too dressy. More casual than dressy but still nice looking." I say, "yeah, something like a Biz-Cas-Fri shoe." Fred moves to show me the shoe, ignoring my comment.
Fred is serious about his shoes.
He points to one particular display shoe and says, "This is the best deal in the store. A very nice pair of shoes." At this point, I'm thinking it's best not to question Fred, much like thinking it's best not to poke a sleeping bear with a stick. "Do you have that in a 12?", we ask. Fred tells me that he needs to measure my foot and, doing the next logical thing, walks off to where he measures feet. I sit down, and being in quite the vulnerable position, ask if it's the left or right foot that he needs. He barks, "right", much like a Nazi SS officer would bark at a soldier to march. I'm very glad that I wore clean socks that day. He puts my foot into the little clamp-like torture device that they measure feet with. He then informs me that I've been wrong for years and that I wear a size 12 in sneaker, but in dress shoes, I wear a 10 1/2.
Fred is VERY serious about his shoes!
We pick out a pair of sneakers for me, then it's time to check out. Fred has been holding my dress shoes for me so we could find the sneakers we like, much like a mother holds a newborn baby. As we go to check out, there is a bottleneck at the register. Fred begins to direct traffic as he checks people out, helping us skip a few people in line. No one protests. No one bats an eye. Fred's word is law.
Do not mess with Fred.
As we walk away, I can't help but wish Fred well. He is a stalwart bastion of podiatary excellence. And, daily, he steps on the heels of greatness, arching his way ever upward to the foot of the heavens. Once more into the breach, dear Fred. Once more.
We continued our adventure into foot fetishism by getting Carly a spa pedicure. Seeing as how I have big giant size 10 1/2 (12 in sneakers) hobbit feet, I declined. They guy in the chair nearest me, on the other hand, seemed to get quite the workout on his feet. At one point, she started to slap his feet. I think the lady was massaging his feet, but it sounded like there was a bug on them and she was trying to kill it.
On the TV was an old show, American Gladiators 2000. It was a kids version of the fabled American Gladiators, with dumbed down events (including questions during the Eliminator. Seriously.) I don't remember that being on when I was younger. The date on it was 1995. 14 years ago. Damn, I'm old. But not as old as the kid that took forever on the Eliminator costing his team the victory. And I saw the entire, humiliating defeat, 14 years later. That kid might be a lawyer or doctor or rocket scientist now. He could be on the verge of curing cancer, or getting ready to take the first steps on Mars. But all I'll ever know of him is that he totally blew it on national televison.
As this is a 3 part story there will be a brief intermission:
Things overheard in Kansas City....
Girl 1: "I like anchovies, and I like pizza. So, why do I hate anchovy pizza?"
Girl 2: "Maybe there's something wrong with you."
Girl walking past us: "And, I swear, I looked down and said, "Holy cow! That's infected!"
Stay tuned for Part 3: The End?
Monday, June 22, 2009
Babymoon: Episode I: The Phantom Husband
Carly and I have decided that it's time to start reading to our baby. On the first night, I grabbed the book nearest to us (it doesn't really matter what I read, the point is for her to recognize my voice). It just so happened that the book I grabbed was Kafka's "Metamorphosis". Now, as I'm reading to them, Cletus starts kicking pretty violently. So much so that I can feel her whack my hand. It seems our baby loves philosophical prose. I expect her to be born wearing a graduation cap and gown, show me her PhD (obtained from online courses she took while Carly was asleep), inform us that she solved string theory on the placenta, and then ask for the car keys so she can go have lunch with Steven Hawking, tell him his theories are bunk and why, then stiff him with the check.
I have high expectations.
The baby's been kicking me a lot lately, especially right after we eat. She likes most of the things we feed her at this point. Or hates them. It's hard to tell which is which. What I don't like, though, is Carly feeling her own belly when the baby's kicking. It's not fair that she bogarts the kicks like that. She gets to feel them from the outside and inside? No, ma'am!
We decided that now was as good of a time as any to get away for a bit, just the two of us, and have ourselves a babymoon. That is, a vacation before the baby arrives. Sort of a spur of the moment thing.
Left Saturday morning kinda early, since we had an appointment to get to. We stopped in St. Joe for brunch, visited a farmer's market for about 10 seconds, bought some monkey bread, (because you can never have enough things that involve monkeys), and headed on.
Our first real destination was the spa. See, Carly's been feeling achy and this in turn has made her happier than is physically possible in this reality. To make her feel even better, we set her up with a prenatal massage. Rubbing the tension away from her shoulders, her legs, right out of her body. For over an hour, she was pampered and made to feel 10,000 times better.
I, on the other hand, was in the waiting room. If you're curious, there are 47 tiles on the ceiling of the spa, the wicker chairs are from Pier One and cost $39.99 (they failed to remove the tag on one of them), and the aromatherapy candles they had lighted smelled like the unwashed feet of a hippie (in case you're curious, that smells like a combination of dirt, patchouli, and a smug sense of self-righteousness).
Then, the all-female employees begin to discuss why their current attire makes their boobs looks too small, or hurt them or make them look like a floozy. Bear in mind, they're around the corner and can't see me. Also, they must have forgotten that I was there, since they offered everyone else that came into the place a bottle of water but me. As this riveting conversation continued and I learned more about the wonderful people in the establishment and their mammary issues, one of them actually paused in mid-sentence and whispered to another employee, "Is there a client waiting?" The response: "No, it's just the husband of a client waiting." "Oh, so anyway..."
Then, I burned my face off with the aromatherapy candle just to get the full painful experience.
But wait... then, after that little gleaming nugget of English excellence ended, one of the fine staff members (I assume Floozy) comes around the corner and, I kid you not, plugs in the little fountain in the entryway. The tinkling sound of the water was like torture. You might even say it was... water torture. On me. In the waiting room. About 10 feet from it. With a face that smells like roast pork and hippie.
In walks a client. She's obliviously one of those women that gets massages and facials every week. I say this not to be stereotypical, since she knew all the women by first name. They spent 10 minutes going over the specialties of each employee and how good they were at their jobs. I know now that Vee (the owner) has hands that are as strong as a man's. I wish I didn't.
She books an appointment later on that day with Man Hands Vee, and trots her way out of the spa. So, now it's just me, Floozy, fountain of Death, hippie candles, Pier One wicker chairs and a year old copy of Blender magazine to keep me and my patchouli smoked ham face company.
But Carly looked the most relaxed I'd seen her in ages. And that's what matters.
What adventures will Carly and Jon have on the rest of their trip? What fantastic foods will they experience? Who will get a pedicure? And what's the deal with the car salesman?
All this and more, in Babymoon: Part 2! Coming soon! Same Carly time! Same Jon channel!
I have high expectations.
The baby's been kicking me a lot lately, especially right after we eat. She likes most of the things we feed her at this point. Or hates them. It's hard to tell which is which. What I don't like, though, is Carly feeling her own belly when the baby's kicking. It's not fair that she bogarts the kicks like that. She gets to feel them from the outside and inside? No, ma'am!
We decided that now was as good of a time as any to get away for a bit, just the two of us, and have ourselves a babymoon. That is, a vacation before the baby arrives. Sort of a spur of the moment thing.
Left Saturday morning kinda early, since we had an appointment to get to. We stopped in St. Joe for brunch, visited a farmer's market for about 10 seconds, bought some monkey bread, (because you can never have enough things that involve monkeys), and headed on.
Our first real destination was the spa. See, Carly's been feeling achy and this in turn has made her happier than is physically possible in this reality. To make her feel even better, we set her up with a prenatal massage. Rubbing the tension away from her shoulders, her legs, right out of her body. For over an hour, she was pampered and made to feel 10,000 times better.
I, on the other hand, was in the waiting room. If you're curious, there are 47 tiles on the ceiling of the spa, the wicker chairs are from Pier One and cost $39.99 (they failed to remove the tag on one of them), and the aromatherapy candles they had lighted smelled like the unwashed feet of a hippie (in case you're curious, that smells like a combination of dirt, patchouli, and a smug sense of self-righteousness).
Then, the all-female employees begin to discuss why their current attire makes their boobs looks too small, or hurt them or make them look like a floozy. Bear in mind, they're around the corner and can't see me. Also, they must have forgotten that I was there, since they offered everyone else that came into the place a bottle of water but me. As this riveting conversation continued and I learned more about the wonderful people in the establishment and their mammary issues, one of them actually paused in mid-sentence and whispered to another employee, "Is there a client waiting?" The response: "No, it's just the husband of a client waiting." "Oh, so anyway..."
Then, I burned my face off with the aromatherapy candle just to get the full painful experience.
But wait... then, after that little gleaming nugget of English excellence ended, one of the fine staff members (I assume Floozy) comes around the corner and, I kid you not, plugs in the little fountain in the entryway. The tinkling sound of the water was like torture. You might even say it was... water torture. On me. In the waiting room. About 10 feet from it. With a face that smells like roast pork and hippie.
In walks a client. She's obliviously one of those women that gets massages and facials every week. I say this not to be stereotypical, since she knew all the women by first name. They spent 10 minutes going over the specialties of each employee and how good they were at their jobs. I know now that Vee (the owner) has hands that are as strong as a man's. I wish I didn't.
She books an appointment later on that day with Man Hands Vee, and trots her way out of the spa. So, now it's just me, Floozy, fountain of Death, hippie candles, Pier One wicker chairs and a year old copy of Blender magazine to keep me and my patchouli smoked ham face company.
But Carly looked the most relaxed I'd seen her in ages. And that's what matters.
What adventures will Carly and Jon have on the rest of their trip? What fantastic foods will they experience? Who will get a pedicure? And what's the deal with the car salesman?
All this and more, in Babymoon: Part 2! Coming soon! Same Carly time! Same Jon channel!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Late Night With Jon
It's very late at night and we're back from Kansas City following one of the most exhausting weekends ever. Carly just finished 2 papers for her classes and I can't sleep. So, I thought, "Aw, heck. I'll blog!" This, my friends, is the result:
Our weekend itinerary:
Thursday
Went to school and rocked out on my Biology test. (score was 102 out of 100. You may applaud now. Go on. I'll wait......)
Came home and CLEANED! We had Sara R coming over as a house guest tomorrow and both Carly and I wanted to make sure she didn't think we were filthy, filthy people or catch some sort of funk by touching a door handle.
Carly's brother, Nick and the other Sara came into town with their new awesome baby girl, Ella. That means she's my niece! I have an awesome niece! Now, you may be asking: "Jon, you herculean slice of eye candy, how awesome is your niece?". I would answer you with, "Why, I'll tell you, marginally attractive reader."
In a bit. First, back to Thursday.
We had dinner with them, which was a catered affair. Pizza Hut is nummy. I ate too much.
I helped change Ella (by that I mean, I watched the "diaper changing tutorial") and watched her get a bath ("baby bathing tutorial"). I got to feed the little tyke and was rewarded for my efforts by her spitting up all over my hand. Babies are so cute.
Sleep.
Friday:
I had to work (boo!). I was supposed to get off at 7pm which meant that I would miss out on the family dinner with Sara, Sara, Nick, Carly, Connie, Mike, Ella, and Kate (yay, Kate came to town!). But, my nice co-worker, Tonya, and my nice boss, Jamie, let me go home early enough to even have a quick shower before going! (had to get all the old people funk off of me.) So, I got to have dinner with all those wonderful people mentioned above. If your name is not on the list, please assume that you are also wonderful, unless you do not leave comments on this blog. Shame on you!
We had pot roast, marshmellow fluff, veggies, muffins, and the best darn corn casserole I think I've had. Pot roast is nummy. I ate too much. Again.
We bumed around, played some Wii, made total fools of ourselves and a good time was had by all!
Sleep.
Saturday (night's all right for fightin'):
Sara R scares me with her "running on the treadmill" nonsense. Just because we have a treadmill in the basement doesn't mean we actually use it. It's like Chunk from the Goonies tied up down there. We know it's down there, trapped, but we don't really acknowledege it.
Carly's baby shower is today. While all of that is going on, Nick and I scamper away to rock out on some Guitar Hero: Metallica. We came back a bit early, crashed the party, raided the food, watched the end of the NASCAR race, and a good time was had by all.
They had fruit, cranberry/orange dip, cake, and baked goods. Fruit is nummy. I ate too much. Yet again.
Carly, Sara R, and I had originally decided to go to the local rodeo today, but after all the rocking and NASCAR, and pink, and baby, and stuff, we decided we were too tired to go. So, we had steak instead. It's an ample substitute, if you think about it. And here we are, in what amounts to the middle of nowhere at the local steakhouse, and they ask us if we have reservations. No, of course not. "Well, it's going to be a wait then. About 15-20 minutes." Ok, say we. I mean, who drives there, and refuses to wait 15-20 minutes for steak? It's not like McDonald's is a good alternative for that, right? To answer our question, in walks 4 guys, they ask us if we're waiting, and find out from us that there is a 20 minute wait. "Forget that! To McDonald's!" they say.
We go home, play a few hands of a awesome card game Sara R brought, and I listened to stories from Carly's college days. And a good time was had by all.
Sleep.
Sunday:
Up at 5:30. Or that was the plan at least. I usually get up about that time during the week to get to school on time. Or that's the plan at least. I usually snooze for about 10-20 minutes beacuse I don't have reservations for waking up. I tell you this because I snoozed for my normal 10-20 minutes when we needed to be out the door and on the road by 6:30. I thought it was a school day. Carly, in her best singing voice with birds in her hair and flowers all around her kindly informs me of this fact before gaily dancing off to the shower leaving the heady scent of strawberries in the air.
So, I scramble to get out of the door, running around like a chicken that has seemed to have suffered the unfortunate bit of bad luck of misplacing its wallet and head.
On the road, making it to the church in Kansas City for Ella's baptisim. Lovely service and I really like their pastor. Also, really nice Hampton Inn there.
We had lunch at a local bistro brunchy place in Liberty and it's really quite good. I had the fish and chips lunch while Carly finally got her chicken fried steak. Fish is nummy. I ate too much. I have a problem.
Sara E's sister's wedding shower. Nick and I scamper away to an arcade and play the heck outta some Time Crises 3 and racing games. Come back, take pictures and a good time was had by all.
Back to the hotel for dinner. We had some Pizza Shoppe pizza and beer and great company. Pizza Shoppe is nummy. I ate too much. My stomach decided enough was enough and checked me into rehab.
And now, we're back home. LONG weekend of family and fun. Exhausting.
So, how awesome is my niece? Well, you are in for a treat! I have a simple and easy way to recreate the experence of hanging around my super awesome niece in the comfort of your own home! Just follow this recipe!
How to make an awesome niece (Ella style)!
Add and mix together in 1/2 qt casserole dish:
1/2 cup liquid awesome
2 drained cans of cut awesome
1 can cream of awesome soup
a dash of awesome sauce
Bake at 350 until golden and awesome.
Sprinkle on fried awesome.
And there you have one awesome niece!
Or green bean casserole.
Whichever. Both are pretty awesome.
Green bean casserole is nummy...
Our weekend itinerary:
Thursday
Went to school and rocked out on my Biology test. (score was 102 out of 100. You may applaud now. Go on. I'll wait......)
Came home and CLEANED! We had Sara R coming over as a house guest tomorrow and both Carly and I wanted to make sure she didn't think we were filthy, filthy people or catch some sort of funk by touching a door handle.
Carly's brother, Nick and the other Sara came into town with their new awesome baby girl, Ella. That means she's my niece! I have an awesome niece! Now, you may be asking: "Jon, you herculean slice of eye candy, how awesome is your niece?". I would answer you with, "Why, I'll tell you, marginally attractive reader."
In a bit. First, back to Thursday.
We had dinner with them, which was a catered affair. Pizza Hut is nummy. I ate too much.
I helped change Ella (by that I mean, I watched the "diaper changing tutorial") and watched her get a bath ("baby bathing tutorial"). I got to feed the little tyke and was rewarded for my efforts by her spitting up all over my hand. Babies are so cute.
Sleep.
Friday:
I had to work (boo!). I was supposed to get off at 7pm which meant that I would miss out on the family dinner with Sara, Sara, Nick, Carly, Connie, Mike, Ella, and Kate (yay, Kate came to town!). But, my nice co-worker, Tonya, and my nice boss, Jamie, let me go home early enough to even have a quick shower before going! (had to get all the old people funk off of me.) So, I got to have dinner with all those wonderful people mentioned above. If your name is not on the list, please assume that you are also wonderful, unless you do not leave comments on this blog. Shame on you!
We had pot roast, marshmellow fluff, veggies, muffins, and the best darn corn casserole I think I've had. Pot roast is nummy. I ate too much. Again.
We bumed around, played some Wii, made total fools of ourselves and a good time was had by all!
Sleep.
Saturday (night's all right for fightin'):
Sara R scares me with her "running on the treadmill" nonsense. Just because we have a treadmill in the basement doesn't mean we actually use it. It's like Chunk from the Goonies tied up down there. We know it's down there, trapped, but we don't really acknowledege it.
Carly's baby shower is today. While all of that is going on, Nick and I scamper away to rock out on some Guitar Hero: Metallica. We came back a bit early, crashed the party, raided the food, watched the end of the NASCAR race, and a good time was had by all.
They had fruit, cranberry/orange dip, cake, and baked goods. Fruit is nummy. I ate too much. Yet again.
Carly, Sara R, and I had originally decided to go to the local rodeo today, but after all the rocking and NASCAR, and pink, and baby, and stuff, we decided we were too tired to go. So, we had steak instead. It's an ample substitute, if you think about it. And here we are, in what amounts to the middle of nowhere at the local steakhouse, and they ask us if we have reservations. No, of course not. "Well, it's going to be a wait then. About 15-20 minutes." Ok, say we. I mean, who drives there, and refuses to wait 15-20 minutes for steak? It's not like McDonald's is a good alternative for that, right? To answer our question, in walks 4 guys, they ask us if we're waiting, and find out from us that there is a 20 minute wait. "Forget that! To McDonald's!" they say.
We go home, play a few hands of a awesome card game Sara R brought, and I listened to stories from Carly's college days. And a good time was had by all.
Sleep.
Sunday:
Up at 5:30. Or that was the plan at least. I usually get up about that time during the week to get to school on time. Or that's the plan at least. I usually snooze for about 10-20 minutes beacuse I don't have reservations for waking up. I tell you this because I snoozed for my normal 10-20 minutes when we needed to be out the door and on the road by 6:30. I thought it was a school day. Carly, in her best singing voice with birds in her hair and flowers all around her kindly informs me of this fact before gaily dancing off to the shower leaving the heady scent of strawberries in the air.
So, I scramble to get out of the door, running around like a chicken that has seemed to have suffered the unfortunate bit of bad luck of misplacing its wallet and head.
On the road, making it to the church in Kansas City for Ella's baptisim. Lovely service and I really like their pastor. Also, really nice Hampton Inn there.
We had lunch at a local bistro brunchy place in Liberty and it's really quite good. I had the fish and chips lunch while Carly finally got her chicken fried steak. Fish is nummy. I ate too much. I have a problem.
Sara E's sister's wedding shower. Nick and I scamper away to an arcade and play the heck outta some Time Crises 3 and racing games. Come back, take pictures and a good time was had by all.
Back to the hotel for dinner. We had some Pizza Shoppe pizza and beer and great company. Pizza Shoppe is nummy. I ate too much. My stomach decided enough was enough and checked me into rehab.
And now, we're back home. LONG weekend of family and fun. Exhausting.
So, how awesome is my niece? Well, you are in for a treat! I have a simple and easy way to recreate the experence of hanging around my super awesome niece in the comfort of your own home! Just follow this recipe!
How to make an awesome niece (Ella style)!
Add and mix together in 1/2 qt casserole dish:
1/2 cup liquid awesome
2 drained cans of cut awesome
1 can cream of awesome soup
a dash of awesome sauce
Bake at 350 until golden and awesome.
Sprinkle on fried awesome.
And there you have one awesome niece!
Or green bean casserole.
Whichever. Both are pretty awesome.
Green bean casserole is nummy...
Friday, June 5, 2009
New Pictures and dreamscapes
Here we are folks, the thing you've been waiting for! New pictures of the baby! The first is a wonderful picture of the baby's face and hand on the left hand side. The next is our baby's spine, clear as day. Then the top of the head. And then, this picture of a very disturbing and creepy man that hangs around our house. And then a Popeye sighting! Very exciting!
We went to our doctor's appointment today. The main reason for our lack of blog posting is that everything is going just fine. Carly is doing well, her morning sickness has gone away for now, and the baby is wiggling like nobody's business! The doctor gave both the baby and Carly a clean bill of health. Not a whole lot of funny things happened this time at the appointment. There were a few things that were said that are not fit me to repeat here... Although we did have to wait this time, and Carly sat next to a very interesting woman...
This lady looked about 30 weeks pregnant and reeked of cigarette smoke. According to my lovely wife, the lady coughs, and says "I guess I should stop smoking." YOU GUESS!?!?! You should have stopped smoking BEFORE you had the baby! Have fun raising your bubble-headed flipper baby!
Anyway, while the doctor was performing the ultrasound on our very healthy and not swimming in carcinogenic smoke baby, she was not very cooperative and wasn't moving much. So the doctor tried to wake the baby and get her to move. Now, he's a smart guy. He got through med school and started his own practice. He sees lot of patients every day. You'd think he'd know NOT to jiggle a pregnant lady's belly. It pisses her off and generally results in the loss of innocent limbs that were otherwise minding their own business.
After we left the doctor's office, we had errands to run in St. Joseph. While we were there we saw the new Star Trek and aside from some technical inconsistencies (of which I could describe in great detail, if you wish) it was good. Except for Tyler Perry. Yeah, he's in it.
Oh, and we picked up a book titled "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies." It's exactly what it sounds like. It's Jane Austen's novel, mixed with the living dead. It sounds awesome. I expect Carly to give a review of it after she finishes it.
Last bit of info: We both have been having strange dreams lately. My dream last night involved Carly buying a Xbox 360, hiding it from my in the basement, and she and our daughter were playing it in secret. When I caught them, they looked at me and told me that I couldn't play.
Clearly, they're stealing my video game playing time.
But, Carly's is SOOOOO much better. A while back she had this dream that she was a mutant like in the X-Men, but her power was that she ran really fast and had blue hair. So, she goes to this gas station, and a man approaches her. She asks "Who are you?" and he responds "I'm the Gas Station Murderer!" Now, that's not the wierd part. Then, he whips out this knife, and starts to poke her. Not stab her, poke her with the knife. Poke, poke. As this is very annoying, she tells him to stop that. As he is an evil murder with no conscience and little regard for human life, he keeps poking her in a very annoying manner. So, she runs away.
No clue what to make of that.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
And the baby was Kung-fu fighting...
Her kick was as fast as lightning!
And yes it was a little bit frightening!
(pardons to Carl Douglas)
So, last night, as we watched So You Think You Can Dance (What?!? Don't judge me!), Carly pauses the show right in the middle of a very interesting audition and flops to the floor. My first thought? "Oh no! Carly's having a seizure! Grab a spoon, make sure she's not swallowing her tongue. Then, grab the camera and post on Youtube!"
Not really. I freaked out just a touch. Then, she lifts up her shirt, exposing her belly. Now, this would be strange behavior if circumstances were normal. Indeed, in a normal relationship, this would be grounds to have her committed. But, no! This is Chez West! And this is perfectly normal.
So, here we are, on the floor, Carly frantically grabbing my hand, trying to put it on her belly. The baby was moving around, and she wanted me to feel it. After a few minutes of little happening and feeling pretty awkward about the whole situation, the most amazing thing happened: I actually felt the baby kick! And it was strong too! Let me tell you, that was an amazing feeling. The girl can kick!
Yes, it was a little bit frightening. It seems so real now. Remember small doses? Yeah, that wasn't so much one of them.
And yes it was a little bit frightening!
(pardons to Carl Douglas)
So, last night, as we watched So You Think You Can Dance (What?!? Don't judge me!), Carly pauses the show right in the middle of a very interesting audition and flops to the floor. My first thought? "Oh no! Carly's having a seizure! Grab a spoon, make sure she's not swallowing her tongue. Then, grab the camera and post on Youtube!"
Not really. I freaked out just a touch. Then, she lifts up her shirt, exposing her belly. Now, this would be strange behavior if circumstances were normal. Indeed, in a normal relationship, this would be grounds to have her committed. But, no! This is Chez West! And this is perfectly normal.
So, here we are, on the floor, Carly frantically grabbing my hand, trying to put it on her belly. The baby was moving around, and she wanted me to feel it. After a few minutes of little happening and feeling pretty awkward about the whole situation, the most amazing thing happened: I actually felt the baby kick! And it was strong too! Let me tell you, that was an amazing feeling. The girl can kick!
Yes, it was a little bit frightening. It seems so real now. Remember small doses? Yeah, that wasn't so much one of them.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
I need more advice!
Jon and I apologize for not writing anything lately, but really, there hasn't been anything to report, baby-wise. I finished the school year and am about to start taking summer classes, Jon is finishing up his first summer class and getting ready to start another one, and that's really it.
I do need some advice, though. I've gotten to the point where sleeping on my stomach is out of the question, and sleeping on my back makes breathing nearly impossible. So I'm stuck on my side, which is fine, except when I wake up (at 2:30am, 4:30am, and then again at 5:30am), my shoulders feel like they've been wrenched out of the sockets. I also have some awesome carpal tunnel, which doesn't help the situation at all, and I'm sort of at a loss what to do. I'd rather not spend the next several months sleeping in the recliner, so anyone, please, what should I do????
I do need some advice, though. I've gotten to the point where sleeping on my stomach is out of the question, and sleeping on my back makes breathing nearly impossible. So I'm stuck on my side, which is fine, except when I wake up (at 2:30am, 4:30am, and then again at 5:30am), my shoulders feel like they've been wrenched out of the sockets. I also have some awesome carpal tunnel, which doesn't help the situation at all, and I'm sort of at a loss what to do. I'd rather not spend the next several months sleeping in the recliner, so anyone, please, what should I do????
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Minor Milestone
I'm now officially 20 weeks. For those of you who still think that pregnancy is 9 months, (as I still would if I hadn't gotten pregnant), that's not exactly true. Human gestation is an average of 40 weeks, which is actually more like 10 months, so I am now halfway done!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Would you like to Super Size your blog today?
Sorry about the delay in posting a new blog. We've been busy little people at Chez West. School started back up for me, and with the work load that they give me, I haven't really even thought about typing on this lappity-toppity box. So, I'll try to make it a JUMBO SUPER SIZED BLOG!!! sunday, SUNday, SUNDAY!!!! You'll pay for the whole seat, but you'll only need THE EDGE!!!
Grr for 2 speeches in less than 2 weeks. But, on to the fun stuff: Baby talk!
This weekend, Carly, myself and Carly's mom decided that it was time to start the registries. And by "we decided" I of course mean, "Carly told me to get in the car and drive where she wanted me to". So, off we go to the bustling metropolis of Omaha, NE, or as we call it, "The City".
Our adventure started by trying to find a Babies 'R US (subtle hint: we registered there!). After a stop at a Toys 'R Us just outside the city, (since, you know, Babies Toys what's the difference?) , we found our destination. It took us a few tries of course, but we got there. To another Toys 'R Us. With baby stuff in it. Then the magic began. We got our little scanner gun and I just lit up like a Christmas tree! I get to play with a laser gun! Pew! Pew! PEW!
No such luck it seems.
Spoil sport...
Anyway, as Carly makes a quick pit stop before the hardcore scanning that SHE's about to do... not me... (although I did check out the Terminator: Salvation action figures and WTH? I thought the movie was R rated. Why are there KIDS toys for a R rated movie? And when did I become so old?!?! GET OFF MY LAWN!) We perused the baby isle.
Then my head started to explode.
You have to clip a baby's nails?!?! Really?!? Never in my entire life did I ever even consider that you had to do that. Yes, I'm dense and stop making that face. You'll freeze that way. We played the "Who can find the most disgusting and unappealing baby food flavor" game, (Carly won by the way) and debated over play pens and burp cloths and what not. Then, we got to the strollers. And boy, was I happy. I get to push the little tyke around in a tricked out, slammin', pimped ride with hydraulics and spinners and neon flashing at the bottom with a 5000000000000 watt subwoofer.
Ok, so it's got suspension on it to cushion the baby. Just give me my fantasy for 5 minutes, ok?
Then... the socks. You see, it's not the big things that concern me about this whole thing. Paying for the delivery or affording diapers and going to school, working late to make ends meet and sacrificing almost everything I have to give, just so my daughter can have the best life possible. None of these phase me in the least. Because Carly and I will get through it together.
No. It's the small things that get me. Her socks are so wee and cute. Holy cow! She's going to wear socks. And I'll have to clip her toenails....
*BOOM*
Head explosion....
Seriously. I had a headache the rest of the day.
Then, more fumbling about trying to find Target (subtle hint!!!). The madness continued there with clothes and bed sheets for the crib and no laser gun action for the daddy. And quite possibly the best insult that my wife has ever thrown out. Yes, even better than Noseface. How about, "Butt Wipe Warmer". Yes, it's a real thing that actually warms your butt wipes before you use them on your baby. But, I wasn't paying attention to her since I was driving at the time, trying to find Target and I thought she was talking to her mother. "What did you just call me?", said I. "I didn't call you anything, I want to put a butt wipe warmer on the registry.", she says.
I died laughing. And now, our favorite insult is Butt Wipe Warmer(tm).
It's amazing what my wife can do even if she doesn't try.
Grr for 2 speeches in less than 2 weeks. But, on to the fun stuff: Baby talk!
This weekend, Carly, myself and Carly's mom decided that it was time to start the registries. And by "we decided" I of course mean, "Carly told me to get in the car and drive where she wanted me to". So, off we go to the bustling metropolis of Omaha, NE, or as we call it, "The City".
Our adventure started by trying to find a Babies 'R US (subtle hint: we registered there!). After a stop at a Toys 'R Us just outside the city, (since, you know, Babies Toys what's the difference?) , we found our destination. It took us a few tries of course, but we got there. To another Toys 'R Us. With baby stuff in it. Then the magic began. We got our little scanner gun and I just lit up like a Christmas tree! I get to play with a laser gun! Pew! Pew! PEW!
No such luck it seems.
Spoil sport...
Anyway, as Carly makes a quick pit stop before the hardcore scanning that SHE's about to do... not me... (although I did check out the Terminator: Salvation action figures and WTH? I thought the movie was R rated. Why are there KIDS toys for a R rated movie? And when did I become so old?!?! GET OFF MY LAWN!) We perused the baby isle.
Then my head started to explode.
You have to clip a baby's nails?!?! Really?!? Never in my entire life did I ever even consider that you had to do that. Yes, I'm dense and stop making that face. You'll freeze that way. We played the "Who can find the most disgusting and unappealing baby food flavor" game, (Carly won by the way) and debated over play pens and burp cloths and what not. Then, we got to the strollers. And boy, was I happy. I get to push the little tyke around in a tricked out, slammin', pimped ride with hydraulics and spinners and neon flashing at the bottom with a 5000000000000 watt subwoofer.
Ok, so it's got suspension on it to cushion the baby. Just give me my fantasy for 5 minutes, ok?
Then... the socks. You see, it's not the big things that concern me about this whole thing. Paying for the delivery or affording diapers and going to school, working late to make ends meet and sacrificing almost everything I have to give, just so my daughter can have the best life possible. None of these phase me in the least. Because Carly and I will get through it together.
No. It's the small things that get me. Her socks are so wee and cute. Holy cow! She's going to wear socks. And I'll have to clip her toenails....
*BOOM*
Head explosion....
Seriously. I had a headache the rest of the day.
Then, more fumbling about trying to find Target (subtle hint!!!). The madness continued there with clothes and bed sheets for the crib and no laser gun action for the daddy. And quite possibly the best insult that my wife has ever thrown out. Yes, even better than Noseface. How about, "Butt Wipe Warmer". Yes, it's a real thing that actually warms your butt wipes before you use them on your baby. But, I wasn't paying attention to her since I was driving at the time, trying to find Target and I thought she was talking to her mother. "What did you just call me?", said I. "I didn't call you anything, I want to put a butt wipe warmer on the registry.", she says.
I died laughing. And now, our favorite insult is Butt Wipe Warmer(tm).
It's amazing what my wife can do even if she doesn't try.
Monday, May 11, 2009
A conversation from this weeked...
Me: Jon, have you ever actually held a baby before?
Jon: Of course I have.
Me: When? Whose baby?
Jon: I held my cousin Sarah when she was a baby.
Me: Dude, she's 16 now. Did they sit you down in a chair and then put her in your lap?
Jon: Shut up.
Jon: Of course I have.
Me: When? Whose baby?
Jon: I held my cousin Sarah when she was a baby.
Me: Dude, she's 16 now. Did they sit you down in a chair and then put her in your lap?
Jon: Shut up.
Friday, May 8, 2009
And the winner is....
Well, not so much the winner, more the front runner. The doctor is 70% confident that he knows what gender our baby is! But, more about that later. Take a peek at these wonderful new pictures! See, this time the doctor took actually took these, so the quality is much better than my sub-par attempts.
During the visit this time, I got the chance to try out the baby-listening-device thing. I rooted around for a bit, caught a heartbeat a few times and got REAL excited. That was before the nurse told me that it was Carly's heartbeat. Then, I actually got the baby's! Pretty cool to hear my own child's heartbeat with my own hand (and the doctor's very expensive Fisher-Price looking equipment. The baby says "Moooo". Wait...)
Ok, so without further ado: The baby's gender! See, I know all of you who read this thing really want to know what the kid's gender is. So, I'm going to tell you!
After this really neat story about what we assume was an intern that was in the room. Poor girl didn't have any idea what was going on as soon as the doctor entered the room. We had a lot of trouble looking at the ultrasound and seeing anything like a baby. So, the doctor handed the camera to the intern to point it out to us and, now that she's in the spotlight, she had no clue what was on the ultrasound. So, here's what you're looking at. The pictures show, if my layout is right, the head of the baby in picture one (on the right), the baby's legs, the ultrasound machine (fantastic shot of that!), and the top of the baby's head twice! Very exciting stuff!!!!
Now, then. The REAL moment you've been waiting for! Our baby is very likely to be a....
GIRL!!! 70% sure!
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
My apologies
I would like to apologize for that...um...whatever you would call that thing Jon posted. He saw "Nelson" and got a little over-excited. It happens sometimes, and I just wait for it to pass and then we can go on with our lives.
But like he said, there's not much news. Turns out that all that tiredness and grossness was a sinus infection. Again. I went to the doctor to get some antibiotics, because I simply can't afford to be out of school for another whole week (and how dumb would it be to miss during the last two weeks of school?). Luckily for me, Keflex is safe for pregnant women and so is Flonase! While I was at the doctor yesterday, I saw my chart on the computer, and they've definitely got "Active Problem: Intrauterine Pregnancy" on there. See? I'm infected with a parasite.
The fun news is that I weighed myself this morning, and I still haven't gained any weight. I'm expanding pretty well, so it doesn't bother me so much - at this rate, I'll weigh less after I deliver than I did before I got pregnant!
We'll definitely be back on Friday with more ultrasound pictures, and hopefully this one will have news!
P.S. I don't know if anyone else had this problem when they were wearing maternity clothes, and maybe it's because I'm so dang short, but every maternity shirt I have requires a cami underneath it to make it appropriate for school. While it's true that certain things are more...impressive...these days, that doesn't mean I want everyone to see!
But like he said, there's not much news. Turns out that all that tiredness and grossness was a sinus infection. Again. I went to the doctor to get some antibiotics, because I simply can't afford to be out of school for another whole week (and how dumb would it be to miss during the last two weeks of school?). Luckily for me, Keflex is safe for pregnant women and so is Flonase! While I was at the doctor yesterday, I saw my chart on the computer, and they've definitely got "Active Problem: Intrauterine Pregnancy" on there. See? I'm infected with a parasite.
The fun news is that I weighed myself this morning, and I still haven't gained any weight. I'm expanding pretty well, so it doesn't bother me so much - at this rate, I'll weigh less after I deliver than I did before I got pregnant!
We'll definitely be back on Friday with more ultrasound pictures, and hopefully this one will have news!
P.S. I don't know if anyone else had this problem when they were wearing maternity clothes, and maybe it's because I'm so dang short, but every maternity shirt I have requires a cami underneath it to make it appropriate for school. While it's true that certain things are more...impressive...these days, that doesn't mean I want everyone to see!
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Stop yer grinnin'...
Not much going on on the baby front. Carly is perpetually tired and hungry. I feel bad for the poor girl.
But in MUCH more important news (please note, if you are here for baby news, please close your browser window now): Those of you who have been faithful to my personal blog back on MySpace might recall a very important post I did on a certain event that occurred about a year ago. This earth-shattering event caused such a tremendous uproar that it rocked the very foundation of our society. I urge everyone still reading this blog to go into their closets, squeeze into their leather pants, whip out that Aqua Net you've got stashed away for "special occasions" and dust off that "Screaming for Vengance" t-shirt, because it's time once again for:
ROCKLAHOMA 2009!!!!!
www.rocklahoma.com
32 massive bands with massive rocking and massive hair including Warrant, Winger, Twisted Sister, Anthrax, Night Ranger and, yes, Great White!
And headlining this epic assault on your rock nerves, the ultimate in hardcore rockitude...
NELSON!!!!
Rock on, my friends. Rock on...
We now return to our baby blog.
But in MUCH more important news (please note, if you are here for baby news, please close your browser window now): Those of you who have been faithful to my personal blog back on MySpace might recall a very important post I did on a certain event that occurred about a year ago. This earth-shattering event caused such a tremendous uproar that it rocked the very foundation of our society. I urge everyone still reading this blog to go into their closets, squeeze into their leather pants, whip out that Aqua Net you've got stashed away for "special occasions" and dust off that "Screaming for Vengance" t-shirt, because it's time once again for:
ROCKLAHOMA 2009!!!!!
www.rocklahoma.com
32 massive bands with massive rocking and massive hair including Warrant, Winger, Twisted Sister, Anthrax, Night Ranger and, yes, Great White!
And headlining this epic assault on your rock nerves, the ultimate in hardcore rockitude...
NELSON!!!!
Rock on, my friends. Rock on...
We now return to our baby blog.
Monday, April 27, 2009
More pictures
Here's a few rare pictures of us. Not "rare" as in non-cooked steak, but as in it does not happen very often. So, yes, marvel at our greatness and cuteness. Well, not OUR greatness and cuteness... more, Carly and Lily's greatness and cuteness. And some ugly homeless crazy person touching my beautiful wife's belly.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Pregnancy Decorum
It seems that when confronted with a pregnant woman, some people completely lose their minds and their sense of decorum and propriety and will say whatever assy thing comes into their heads. Here are some actual things that have been said to me:
"My kid woke up 5 times last night. I hope you have a kid that can't ever sleep."
"You're due in October? That's some terrible planning, don't you think?"
Me: "I'm about 15 weeks, so I'll be due in October"
Student: "Yeah, as long as nothing bad happens."
Seriously? First of all, why would you hope that a kid has trouble sleeping? Not only is that rude to me, but that can't be pleasant for the child. Second, no, it's not terrible planning. Stuff happens when it happens, and it doesn't matter when it does. I'm thinking that no matter when I'm due, people would think it was poor planning. And finally, there are no words for that last one. I actually started laughing when he said that to me because I was so shocked and dumbfounded. Some of my other students nearly had to be restrained because they were so furious that someone would say something so insensitive, but I just had to laugh.
Anyone else have any fun stories? Please share!!!
"My kid woke up 5 times last night. I hope you have a kid that can't ever sleep."
"You're due in October? That's some terrible planning, don't you think?"
Me: "I'm about 15 weeks, so I'll be due in October"
Student: "Yeah, as long as nothing bad happens."
Seriously? First of all, why would you hope that a kid has trouble sleeping? Not only is that rude to me, but that can't be pleasant for the child. Second, no, it's not terrible planning. Stuff happens when it happens, and it doesn't matter when it does. I'm thinking that no matter when I'm due, people would think it was poor planning. And finally, there are no words for that last one. I actually started laughing when he said that to me because I was so shocked and dumbfounded. Some of my other students nearly had to be restrained because they were so furious that someone would say something so insensitive, but I just had to laugh.
Anyone else have any fun stories? Please share!!!
Monday, April 20, 2009
And the winner is...
...peppermint gum. How weird is that? I really honestly tried the crystallized ginger, but when I took a bite and very nearly upchucked from the taste, I decided that wasn't the best strategy for me. Turns out I just hate the taste of ginger. We went to Whole Foods in Omaha yesterday (much to Jon's chagrin) to find the ginger, and I don't know what kind of racket these crystallized ginger people have going, but the cashier tried to sell us on the HUGE FREAKIN' TUB of the stuff. Seriously? Do people really need/use/like it that much???
So besides the aforementioned nausea, I've discovered some other really fun pregnancy side effects that no one (even the baby book) bothered to mention. You know how all girls have at least some amount of peach fuzz on their faces? My face is getting fuzzier. Luckily, the hair on my face is completely white, so I'm the only one that would know it (unless I were to...oh, I don't know...tell everyone on the internet?), but it's still kind of weird. Also, since it seems that everything my body does is on overdrive right now, I've had to completely stop using conditioner in my hair lest I start looking like...well, Jon. Plus, excess ear wax. I did a minor amount of poking around on the internet, and it seems that this ear wax thing is fairly common, just not something that gets either noticed or mentioned all that much. The worst thing that's happening, by far, is that the hormones are making me crazy in my brains. I'm having all sorts of weird dreams, and a lot of them have to do with people I haven't even thought about in many, many years. I don't like it! There is a reason I forget things, and when I do forget something, I'd rather it stayed forgotten.
Not all of the side effects are bad, mind you. I had to get a manicure the other day because I simply cannot keep up with my nails. These bad boys are a bit out of control. And though my hair is a bit oily, it feels thicker and is growing at an exponential speed. My energy is also getting much higher, which is a nice change from needing to sit around and stare at the wall with my mouth hanging open all of the time, which is what I was doing my first trimester.
So I'm feeling much better, and thank you to everyone who had nausea remedy ideas. I still feel like it's sort of lurking right around the corner if I loosen my grip on my package of gum even for a second, but hopefully it will be completely over in a week or two.
So besides the aforementioned nausea, I've discovered some other really fun pregnancy side effects that no one (even the baby book) bothered to mention. You know how all girls have at least some amount of peach fuzz on their faces? My face is getting fuzzier. Luckily, the hair on my face is completely white, so I'm the only one that would know it (unless I were to...oh, I don't know...tell everyone on the internet?), but it's still kind of weird. Also, since it seems that everything my body does is on overdrive right now, I've had to completely stop using conditioner in my hair lest I start looking like...well, Jon. Plus, excess ear wax. I did a minor amount of poking around on the internet, and it seems that this ear wax thing is fairly common, just not something that gets either noticed or mentioned all that much. The worst thing that's happening, by far, is that the hormones are making me crazy in my brains. I'm having all sorts of weird dreams, and a lot of them have to do with people I haven't even thought about in many, many years. I don't like it! There is a reason I forget things, and when I do forget something, I'd rather it stayed forgotten.
Not all of the side effects are bad, mind you. I had to get a manicure the other day because I simply cannot keep up with my nails. These bad boys are a bit out of control. And though my hair is a bit oily, it feels thicker and is growing at an exponential speed. My energy is also getting much higher, which is a nice change from needing to sit around and stare at the wall with my mouth hanging open all of the time, which is what I was doing my first trimester.
So I'm feeling much better, and thank you to everyone who had nausea remedy ideas. I still feel like it's sort of lurking right around the corner if I loosen my grip on my package of gum even for a second, but hopefully it will be completely over in a week or two.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Ginger, The Professor, Mary Ann...
I stopped off at the local (by that I mean 29 miles away) health food/herbal products/tree huggin' hippie/ginko biloba/placebo store this morning trying to score some crystallized ginger for the mom-to-be. Her morning nausea is getting bad, so anything seems like it will help. Not knowing what in the world I'm looking for (aside from the aforementioned crystals), I ask the shopkeep (who I swear is part giant) for some. I felt a bit like an addict asking for my hit. "Hey, man. You holding any crystal ging?" I ask in my best casual non-drug-seeking tone. The guy said that the only way it comes is in huge tubs. HUGE freakin' tubs of crystallized ginger. "Yo, Home Slice, hook me up with that!" I say to the good shop's proprietor. He then tells me that they had to stop carrying it since no one wanted HUGE FREAKIN' TUBS of ginger. My response? "Dang, yo, that's whack like crack." So, I had to settle for the chew kind of ginger candy. Tastes a lot like a chewy Red Hot. We're gonna try it out tomorrow morning since she doesn't have to go to work and can sleep it off.
In other news, I've been promoted to the rank of "Senior Picture Uploader" for this baby journey. So, requests for picture can be placed here. No promises that I'll take them, and no promises that I'll post them if I do, but it's nice to get some feedback. We're attention whores at Chez West.
Finally, only 22 days left to get your vote in on if the baby will be a boy or girl!
In other news, I've been promoted to the rank of "Senior Picture Uploader" for this baby journey. So, requests for picture can be placed here. No promises that I'll take them, and no promises that I'll post them if I do, but it's nice to get some feedback. We're attention whores at Chez West.
Finally, only 22 days left to get your vote in on if the baby will be a boy or girl!
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