Merry Christmas from The VanWinkle-Martins!!!

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Goodbye??

We'll blog again someday...right now life is just too damn insane.
Enjoy the archives in the meantime.

-r

Check Us Out!!!!

Apparently our family is so awesome that people are tripping over themselves to give us really expensive baby furniture. We just found out that we were the winners of a contest we didn't even know we had entered on Babble.com. The prize is an uber expensive crib and changing table, because that's what happens when you're totally awesome.

Zee Story of Dr. Hamburglar and Zee Spaded Penis

Well, I did it. I used my son.

Yep. That was me. I did it. And, before you go freaking out on me and thinking, 'How did he use his son? As a wrench to fix a car motor? As fill in for a trapeeze act? As a faux organ grinder monkey to trick tourists out of hard earned money? WHAT?! WHAT???!!!"... Relax. It wasn't like that at all. I didn't involve monkeys (or Davey Jones), weird circus people (again, Davey Jones) or a car motor. It involved Sam, a non-threatening medical condition, and me not wanting to go to work.

That's right. I called in sick using Sam not so much as an excuse, but more like an example, or as I like to put it, a partner in crime. I totally Ferris Buellered via Sam, if you will.

But, the trick to correctly achieving a Ferris Bueller is setting up a good scenario to fake sick or fake concerned. A lot of you readers are probably thinking that using your son to get out of work is pretty low, but let me throw a question at you: Would you rather go to work in the middle of the night as one of your two jobs, and hate every living minute, or would you like to stay home, play with your son in the middle of the night, and assist your wife/husband/partner/rowing instructor with getting some sleep?

I rest my case.

So, with a blessing from my rowing instructor, I sprung into action. When calling in sick, if you just say that you are sick the person you're calling might pose one or all of the following questions:

1) What's wrong with you?
2) Do you have a doctor's note?
3) You do understand that if you don't come into work, you're fired, right?
4) Who are you again?

So, to avoid the embarassing scenario of actually 'lying', you create a scene that is so compelling that it is almost true. In order to do this, you need the following:

1) A telephone.
2) A rehearsed panicked voice.
3) A rowing instructor that will assist/shake their head at you.
4) A baby that will cry like a timebomb as they're having their diaper changed.

First, set the scene. Bring the phone, baby, and rowing instructor close to you. Set the baby on the changing table. Dial the number. On the second ring, remove the baby's diaper, then start breathing heavily. When someone answers, with a breathy but and slightly agitated yet concerned voice, ask for the lead on duty.

While waiting for the phone to go through, ignore your partner's head shaking and begin to pace the room to increase heart rate. When a person answers, move back into the baby, letting the crying be heard loud and clear, then speak quickly saying, "I'MCALLINGINSICKBECAUSEMYSONISSICKANDIDON'TKNOWWHAT'SWRONGANDIHAVETOTAKEHIMTOTHEDOCTORIMMEDIATELY!"

Pause.

Let the worried lead on duty respond and, if you're lucky, say, "Okay, buddy. Good luck." Then hang up, return to the baby, quickly change his/her diaper, and toss him/her in the air for good luck and measure. Continue to ignore your partner's head shaking.

And, that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you set the scene and get out of work.

But, I don't want you to think that I'm ungrateful and teaching my child how to avoid responsibility. Rather, I'm teaching Sam that sometimes, you know, life just moves pretty fast, and if you don't stop and look around once in a while, you just might miss it. Oh, and Sam totally gets a Ferris Bueller day whenever he wants one. And, you better believe that I'm going to be his Cameron. If Sam needs a Ferrari, you better believe I'll show up with one (or a 2002 Nissan Sentra, but hey, it's still vintage), driving cap and all. And, off we'll go to explore Chicago (Kansas City, MO/KS) and possibly be in a parade. I owe him that much.

And, then, there's the aftermath. What to do when you return to work the next evening. This, readers, I was unprepared for.

As I was stocking shelves with broken items, the manager and assistant manager approached me. Part of me knew what was coming, but the other part was hoping that they would fire me so I could go home and see my family (and break something on the way out).

They approached and asked the dreaded question, "How is your son doing?"

Many things raced through my head: 'He's still sick', 'The doctor said that I need to stay home more often', 'Well, funny story, he actually turned out to be an X-Man'... But, no. I knew they wouldn't believe any of it. And since I don't like to lie, I told a story based on truth.

See, Sam was born with a condition called hypospadius. No, it is not what you're thinking. I thought the same thing when I first heard that, too, you know, that he had razor sharp spades that retracted from his hands, not unlike Wolverine's claws, and that he indeed was an X-Man. But, alas, it was something wrong with his penis. And, what makes people more uncomfortable than talking about penises (with the possible exception of talking about vaginas)?

So, instead of merely stating that he had hypospadius, and that he had a doctor's appointment in the morning (which was all true), the following sentence came out of my mouth:

"He's better. He has... oh... how can I put this? You see, when he was born, his PENIS was shaped like this (hold up crooked finger), and because his PENIS is shaped like that, he has problems having BOWEL MOVEMENTS and it hurts when he PEES (re-emphasize the shape of the penis through finger gestures for a little bit longer than necessary)."

And, then, sticking to the Ferris Bueller fashion that had gotten me into these awkward conversations, I added, "And, so I have to leave early this morning to take my son to the UROLOGIST." That part, was actually true, I just added it for good measure.

They nodded, said they hope he gets better, and walked on. Another story told, another broken fantasy about storming out of Target in the middle of the night, throwing things along the way.

As soon as I began to smile, however, irony kicked me in the face. Not only did I not get to leave with almost everyone else at 3am, I had to stay a little longer than anticipated. Thus, Target won... again. And, maybe making up stories is not such a great idea. Hmm... Nah. A night with the family beats a night at work any day. So, suck it, Target!

But, all was forgiven when I was able to get home and cuddle with my son and the rowing instructor before the doctor's appointment. A doctor, who shall now be introduced as Dr. Hamburglar.

For those wondering what hypospadius really is, it is a more common than you think condition in which the tip of the male's penis is bent, and added to that, Sam has cordie(y?, welsh corgy?), which is a little tendon that is pulling the penis down. In severe cases the ureththra can actually go all the way down to the anus, but thankfully, Sam's just kind of looks like a ben mushroom... well, a European bent mushroom, since he has yet to be circumsized.

The one good thing about Oklahoma City is that they have a great children's urology program. You can tell this from the fact that the doctor that will be helping Sam is of Swedish descent, because, seriously, why else would you give up the beauty of Sweden for the life of luxury that is downtown Oklahoma City?

But, before we got to the good doctor, we were treated to a very nice intern. When the intern entered, for some strange reason, I noted that his shirt, like the other intern's in the hall, was wrinkled. I thought it strange because I just assumed that a nice shirt should be ironed, especially if they're a doctor and can afford to have an ironing service. While the good intern was explaining what hypospadius was, he was prodding a very calm Sam, when he began asking about Sam's urinating, what the stream looks like, etc. When we answered that everything was normal, the intern was then shown an example of Sam's urinating prowess, by being peed on by Sam, full stream, thus dampening his shirt, simultaneously answering my question as to why they're shirts were full of wrinkles.

The only question to be asked at that point in time was, "You guys have a locker full of those shirts, right?"
The only answer to be had was, "Oh, yeah. Yes."

After the intern was drenched with pee, he went to bring in Dr. Hamburglar (name changed due to hilarity, but rest assured, berger is in his name somewhere). The good doctor was a middle aged man, with a a balding, blonde head of hair, and Dr. Ruth's voice, but in baritone. He began to address us on the surgery procedure in which he said,

"Zee skeen vill be slid down zee peenis like a glove, spun around, and re-attached, to feel een for zee missing skeen, after he is zircumzized."

He went on to explain that the surgery is a purely prosthetic surgery, and zat zee function of zee peenis will be normal. When Rachel asked the question about it's use later in life and the function, zee guut doctor began to give us a lecture on the birds and zee bees, complete with hand gestures and illustrations of what a crooked penis might look like going into a vagina.

It was at this point that I had to turn my attention to 'The Sandlot 2' playing on the television, because the hilarity of the Swedish doctor giving a sex lecture, plus the pee covered intern, was a wee (pun intended) too much.

So, in six months, Sam will be healthy, circumsized, and Adam will have to think of other ways to have Sam assist him in getting out of work. A few ideas are in the works, such as:

1) My son's foreskin fell off, because we are European in belief system, we need to go immediately and have it re-attached.
2) My son is holding his mother hostage with crying.
3) We've rented a Ferrari and the day is too nice to spend it with you, so, suck it Target!

Well, something along those lines. Thanks again, Sam



(Above: Sam, Mom, & Dad)

Part Deux: The Afterbirthing

DISCLAIMER: It has been a week since the last segment, and about two weeks since the beginning of the afterbirthing, and due to lack of sleep, the following passage entitled Part Deux: The Afterbirthing might be a little sketchy. But, please keep in mind that though all of the details might not be there, or in order, they did, for reals, happen. For reals.

Edmund Samuel Martin I (the future King of France) arrived very early in the morning on August 27th and leapt into the arms of Adam (still dressed as Dr. George Clooney, PhD/MD/DDS), all the while Rachel tried to recover on the operating table. Whilst upon such table, Rachel asked the anaesthesiologist how he enjoyed his work. She was prodding for information for Adam, because 1) Adam looks good in scrubs, 2) Hospitals don't freak Adam out, and 3) Needs a job that doesn't make his soul die a little. With her new found information, Rachel proceeded to pass out, now whether she passed out from exhaustion or awe inducing medication is still up in the air.

Adam was allowed to wheel the Future King of France down the hallway to the mass of relatives waiting, whereupon they all 'Ooohed' and 'Awwwed', whilst revelling in Sam's ridiculously enlarged testicles (and also, because he was new and cute, kind of like a shiny new car with a ridiculously large steering wheel). Ten minutes into the viewing, a bystander from the group began to ask, "Where's Rachel?". Oh, yes. That Rachel. She recovered just fine and was okay, if not still unconscious.

After a while, the LARGE amount of family kind of milled off, only to return to Rachel's room to check on her. Due to the volume of people, they were only allowed in two at a time, a rule that was quickly broken.

Several things began to happen to Rachel throughout the day, that are not unlike someone like, oh say, Bruce Banner might go through before changing into the Incredible Hulk.

We'll go ahead and start with size. During Rachel's pregnancy, she didn't gain a lot of baby weight. She gained enough to support the baby, and round out the tummy a little bit, but nothing too spectacular... until the afterbirthing. After Sam popped his way out, Rachel began to swell, particularly in the facial and leg regions, not unlike the Incredible Hulk. This was due to her pain medication (not radiation).

Because of the increased swelling and discomfort, her demeanor was effected as well. Since Rachel had a C-Section, she was not able to produce engough milk at the outset, nor was she able to latch Sam to her zipple in a timely fashion, thus resulting in Sam taking formula from a bottle, which began to make her peeved. Add to this the constant stream of people (family, nurses, doctors, photographers & smoking consultants ((more on those last two in a moment) and Rachel trying to entertain guests, the following phrases began to come out of her mouth:

"RACHEL MAD!" and "RACHEL SMASH!"

And, with the swelling and the language down, there is only one thing left. Yes. You guessed it. The Hulk/Rachel's constant need to be topless.


(Above: Rachel post birth)

Again, Rachel was a different person before the birth of Sam. Before, she was modest, and would never think of exposing herself in public. But, when that baby flew out, so did all sense of public decency. Much to Adam's suprise, Rachel had lost all will to conceal herself, thus constantly exposing her breasts to friends, family, and whoever else happened to walk into the room at the time. Adam noted that the most interesting incident occurred when Rachel was trying to breastfeed Sam, and three nurses, not associated with the breast feeding consultant, came in at the same time, and they began to have a three minute conversation, in which, yes, Rachel had totally Hulked out in the nudity sense. So, to sum it up:

Decency: 0
Adam: 1

Rachel's stay in the hospital lasted four days, and during that time, due to constant interruptions from nurses (*cough* family), Rachel basically stayed up all four days, with maybe a total number of ten hours of sleep during her entire hospital stay. And, because of her delerium, she was not always able to understand what was going on.

Enter, the smoking consultant.

Before Rachel new she was pregnant, she used to smoke. And, the day she found out, she quit, naturally. However, on her form for her first doctor's visit, she checked a little box that stated that she had previously been a smoker or "HAVE YOU SMOKED IN THE PAST?". Well, yes. She had. And this one little box of information just so happened to be the only piece of information that followed Rachel and Adam from California. Oh, beuracratic American Healthcare System, you had me at hello.

At maybe eight in the morning, whilst Rachel was pretty drugged up and fancy free (high), a middle aged woman with a very stern expression entered and asked if this was an appropriate time to talk about a serious issue. Before Rachel could answer, the dour women excused herself and said she would come back at a different time. Rachel called out, "Mklkajsdfikelelel" (Translation: No. Hold on, mam. You may speak openly in these quarters.), and the woman turned. She moved in close, and asked if he (Adam) was family. Before Rachel could reply, the woman had produced some pamphlets and began her lecture on how hard it is to quit smoking, but that she could do it, and that she would be better for it. To which Rachel replied, "LKJLK mmm LKSpopop" (Translation: But, mam, I quit as soon as I found out I was pregnant. I'm over smoking. Pop Pop.).

This suprised the smoking consultant, and she then said, "Well, keep at it. And, I know it is hard to quit, so if you need support, here is my card, you can reach me whenever you need counseling."

Then she left, and Rachel and Adam both exclaimed, "WLKJLKGILMLKJD??!" (Translation: WLKJLKGILMLKJD??!).

We will now turn to a character who is more well known than the smoking consultant, but still a mystery to many. This mysterious creature moves quickly, appearing only to the females of the human species, slips into the room, and in an orgy of light, digitalization, and signatures, steals the image of your child, and sells it back to the mother at a bargain price of $9.99 for a dozen. Yes. This elusive creature is known by scientists as 'The Baby Photographer', but known to conspiracy theororists merely as TBP.

TBP arrived early in the morning, after the departure of the males of the human species. TBP swept in while the nurses were working on a sedated (again, high) Rachel, and approached the newborn with its weapons drawn, and began to introduce itself. After explaining to the mother what it does, TBP begins to *shudder* pose the new born by using the vocal weapons of 'Tssking' and 'ChhChhChh', very similar to the sounds Ceasar Milan uses on 'The Dog Whisperer'. After training the baby into a *shudder* pose, TBP begins to photograph and generate a proof sheet for the mother to see. The point of the proof sheet is for the drug addled mother to agree to pictures of the newborn to be purchased (thus, the reason it evades the males of the species), and send it to the one family member that was not actually in 'Part One: The Birthing'.

Now, chronicling the life of a child is very important, but if you will refer to the following link: http://adamandrachelsincrediblebaby.blogspot.com , you will realize the author's problem with posing babies. Yes. It is weird, and strange, and any baby that comes out of a flower (Anne Geddes, I'm looking in your general direction) or is posed in a Sears catalouge, will have serious issues when they are older. They may be cute, but they are now scarred, for they have *shudder* posed, against their little tiny will, for their first picture, and will always be remembered as... That Flower Baby.

Oh, yeah, and also, why pay for pictures when you can go to their website and just download the picture and get that one guy that you know who knows how to use photoshop and take the letters off of the baby's face. Yes, people might think it looks strange, but really, is it stranger than being naked in a flower?

I thought so.

This birthing process has been littered with colorful characters, but none more colorful, or more of the devil, than the lamb in the post birthing video.

On the final day in the hospital, in preparation for you and the baby's first day at home, the nurses will ask you to watch a video about SIDS, and taking care of the baby, etch. Simple enough, right?

Wrong.

The nurses pop in this video, and all seems well. There is a mother, and a new baby, and she's a little confused. She's staring down into the crib, looking at her bundle of joy, but begins to get nervous. What is she to do now that she's home? How will she take care of it.

Enter: The Devil Lamb.


In the crib, there lies a little white lamb. And, because this lamb has been placed in the crib, and it a post birthing no-no, through the satanic power of early nineties CGI, it emerges and begins to give the woman advice. Rather than run (because the Devil Lamb has used it's hypnotic powers to paralyze her with fear), the woman heeds it's advice on how to raise a child and make sure it doesn't die. And, the creepiest part of it all... the woman does it with a smile. That's just how tricky the Devil Lamb is. He may be soft and white and poorly animated, but leave him in that crib, and that baby is as good as toast.

Needless to say, Adam couldn't stop laughing, and Rachel had to close her eyes to watch listen to the film, for fear of popping out her stitches.

If you can survive the Devil Lamb, you can take your baby home. That is the final test of being a mother.

And, so we did. And, when we got home, much like the end of 'Poltergeist' where they wheeled out their television, we got rid of every damn lamb we had.

Thus the afterbirthing has been completed, and new adventures lay ahead for Rachel, Adam, and now, the Future King of France, Sam.

Will Sam be king? Will Rachel ever recover from the afterbirthing? Will Adam ever take off the George Clooney scrubs?

Tune in next week (probably sooner) to find out.

(Insert climactic music here)

Babble

We will now also be blogging on the uber-hip parenting website, Babble Playground. We will still blog on here, but we've moved to their website as well. We will be posting fun pics and videos on there as well, so check it out:

http://babble.ning.com/profile/AdamandRachel

i know, the address is annoying to memorize...so add it to your favorites!!!


-R

I Heart Hilary

And I REALLY REALLY heart Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. Anyone who saw the season premiere of SNL knows why.

-R

more pics...

...But.I Know We've Never Loved This Much

So, yes. Basically everything Adam said about Sam's birth is one hundred percent accurate. So, there's really no need to rehash everything from my point of view. Also, I was wigging out on seven different drugs during the entire thing, so my version may be a little skewed. The best is yet to come, though. The birth process was nothing compared to the days following, which I'm sure Adam will recount. Just remember, although it may seem like he's exaggerating on things....HE"S NOT. All that batshit crazy stuff really has happened.

Sam is doing fantastic. When we left the hospital he weighed six pounds. We found out yesterday at the pediatrician he now weighs 7 pounds! He's growing FAST. He eats nonstop. Constantly. All the time. He's extremely active and it seems his mind is more advanced than his body. We can tell he wants to crawl and talk, and that he's frustrated with his little body's lack of abilities at the moment.

Oh, and um....he never cries. EVER. He's capable of crying, he just doesn't. He's pretty much the most perfect baby ever.

We're very excited because Aunt KB and Uncle Joel are visitng next week, as well as, Nana. The next week we're going up to Kansas City to show Sam off to some dear old friends, and catch a much anticipated concert.

Now time for pictures!!!

Seeing Sam for the second time. I could still only look and not touch, due to my "happy maaadicine"


I know. It's really kinda sexy.


I love these two more than anything.


Bonding Time.


Hair.

Part One: The Birthing

Imagine, if you will, what a day in your life is like. Let us say, for example, you get up, maybe shower, put on your clothes, go to work, eat a lunch, come home, watch television, and then go to bed only to start all over again the following day. So, it is pretty much, give or take a few variables, what doctors call 'a routine'.

Now, with the illustration painted above, one could assume that if one were to be induced into labor on the second of September, then all would be well, and everything would go according to plan. But, since this is Rachel and Adam we're talking about here, nothing is supposed to go along with any sort of plan whatsoever, and one can almost always bet on wacky, wacky shenanigans ensuing.

And, ensue they did.

Let us begin on an unnecessarily bright and sweaty Tuesday morning, via August 26, 2008. Adam had just returned home from a long night of stocking shelves and trying to maintain any scrap of dignity, and was settling into a slumber with a nice gin and tonic. With sleep only minutes upon him, he was roused by a kind of screaming noise that should not be confused with a yelp or a shout, followed by moaning, and then guttural twitching. Adam, eyelids barely touched by sleep, turned over to watch Rachel achieve what scientists like to call the 'cat puking a hairball position', in which she was yelping about back pain. Adam offers a kind word, and then rolls over. Now, before you are to judge Adam, note that this is pretty much more or less the way he has been waking up for the past couple of months, and the moans/groans/pains/complaints have become a part of the Adam and Rachel routine.

Rachel was getting dressed to go out with her father and Starla. Adam was sleeping until he had to go to work. They kissed, she left, he slept, maybe showered, and went to work.

However, before maybe showering, Adam had received a phone call from Terry VanWinkle (in no way related to Rip, but in every way related to Vanilla Ice) stating that he was taking his daughter to the hospital because she was in labor. Adam scoffed because he could hear Rachel and Starla calling out to Adam in the background insisting it was a practical joke. A second phone message followed stating what Adam had already come to expect. It was, a joke.

Don't worry. That bastard universe is about to get the last laugh.

As Adam was in the midst of reading a riveting article about sports mascots and the crimes that they commit (you'd actually be surprised at how many commit sexual harassment, so keep that in mind next time you want your little Sally or Billy hugging the Chicago Bull's Mascot), none other than Terry VanWinkle and crew walked through the doors of the wine establishment exclaiming that they were taking Rachel to the hospital, she's in labor.

Adam laughed it off. They stood in seriousness. The following is an excerpt from actual dialogue that may or may not have actually happened:

ADAM: Very funny.

TERRY VANWINKLE: No, really, she puked before she ate lunch.

ADAM: I'm not falling for that one this time.(Shakes finger at Terry)

TERRY VANWINKLE: No, really, you idiot, her water broke.

ADAM: I'll get my things.

As they rushed off to the hospital, Adam made the necessary calls to mothers, and began cleaning the store. Incessantly. Because he was so nervous. All Adam could think was, "Holy crap! It's coming! I'm going to be a dad in real life!" and "Why couldn't the little bastard popped out while I was at Target?!"

Luckily, Adam's boss is a super nice guy, and came in and covered while Adam went home, maybe showered, changed, cleaned up the room, and drove straight to the hospital.

It is at this point in the story that it should be noted that Rachel had been hoping to go into labor on August 2 or before. Of course, she wasn't going to, but she hoped. And, so every Friday she would go to her doctor hoping she would be induced, and every Friday the doctor would say, nope, one more week. At this point, the protagonists had given up and settled into the fact that they were going to deliver on the 2nd.

But, again, the universe just kicked it's massive feet up on some massive galactic desk, and laughed, all the while smoking a massive cigar made up of one thousand suns.

At the hospital, Rachel was pumped and ready to deliver. With her hair nicely done, and a smile on her face, she checked all of the machines and they were all saying that she was having contractions. 'Yay', she thought. 'This isn't so bad. I'll be out of here in no time.

Cut to 16 hours later.

Yeah, that's right. 16 bloody, godforsaken hours later.

Now, for the sake of the reader to get the full experience, here is a list of events leading up to the birth.

7:30pm. Family begins to arrive. Happiness reigns supreme. Bets are taken on when she will deliver. The earliest bet is midnight. My bet (and the right one) was around 6am.

8:15pm. Labor begins to hurt. Scratch that, really hurt. Rachel needs drugs. Adam goes for tacos.

9:00pm. Too much family have arrived. Rachel more or less has a nervous breakdown while trying to pee. Family are asked to wait in the waiting room. The contractions keep coming.

9:03pm. The nurse allows Rachel to finally have a bed pan, yet, because of the pain, and the fact that she actually can't go to the bathroom, she denies the bedpan.

Final Tally:
Adam - 1.
Bedpan - 0.

10:09pm. Due to the amount of drugs in Rachel's system, she begins having a discussion with the first nurse about going to Six Flags over the weekend.

10:11pm. Adam must overcome his fear of public toilets, due to the aforementioned tacos.

10:52pm. Upon the first nurse leaving, Rachel declares loudly to her that she should go to Six Flags, leaving the bystanders in the room speechless.

11:30pm. Dr. 'DeathCharge' Bethel (wouldn't that be a great band name?) is called and is informed that Rachel is still dilated at 1 centimeter.

11:42pm. The epidural is issued. Rachel loses feeling in the right side of her body only. She begins to itch. Adam begins to scratch that itch with the comb he combs his beard with.

12:01am. A call is put out to Krista and Joel on their arrival time.

12:10am. Joel calls a drug addled Rachel back to tell her the following joke:

Joke: What do fat people and brick walls have in common?
Punchline: Mexicans lay them both.

12:30am. Nana and the Dude arrive. Nana informs Adam that Rachel will probably have a C-Section.

2:15am. Joel and Krista arrive. Standing over a practically comatose Rachel, Joel tells another joke.

Joke:Two men are talking in the bar sharing their sob stories.

One man says, "I had the worst Freudian Slip the other day." The other man responds, "What is a Freudian Slip?"

"You know, it's when you mean to say one thing, but you say something else that reveals what you are really thinking about. Like the other day I was at the airport and this really beautiful lady was helping me. Instead of asking her for 'two tickets to Pittsburgh', I asked her for 'to Pickets to Tittsburgh."

The second replies, "Oh, now I know what you are talking about. It's like the other day when I was having breakfast with my wife. I wanted her to pass me the Orange Juice, and instead I said, "BITCH, YOU RUINED MY LIFE!"

2:16am - 7:00am. People get sleepy, and find weird places to sleep. Joel is sent home for acting up.

7:00am. The dreaded nurse Brandy (like the song) shows up, pisses off Rachel, rest of the natural world (Adam).

7:10am. Dr. 'DeathCharge' Bethel shows up and declares a C-Section. Rachel begins to panic. Everyone (and I do mean EVERYONE) gathers around to comfort Rachel. Rachel's two irrational fears (1. Premonition that she is going to die at the age of 25. 2. Fear of death during childbirth.) begin to take hold. The following equation is formed:

C-Section + Sleep Deprived Family Members x Multiple Fears of Death = A Batshit Crazy Way to Spend 7:10 in the Morning.

7:15am. Over sized clown/thug scrubs are brought in for Adam. The women comment on how sexy Adam is in the scrubs. Adam takes the comment to heart, and spends the next hour pretending to be George Clooney.

7:17am. The anesthesiologist is brought in. Adam decides that he's going to now be George Clooney, the Anaesthesiologist.

7:20am. Rachel gets her junk shaved. People (but not all people?) disperse.

7:28am. Rachel is shaved, prepped, and wheeled into surgery.

7:35am. Surgery begins. The following conversation takes place in a three minute time span:

RACHEL: I'm scared.

ADAM: Everything will be fine. I'm here.

RACHEL: Quick, start listing off different kinds of food that I can now eat.

ADAM: Buffalo wings with ranch, carrot sticks with ranch, pizza dipped in ranch...

RACHEL: Now list alcoholic drinks I can now have!

ADAM: A vodka gimlet, margarita, Kettle One, Slurpees with run in it...

RACHEL: (aside) The doctors are going to think I'm an alcoholic! (mild panic)

ADAM: That's okay, I'm sure they hear it all the time.

RACHEL: NOW LIST CAKE!

ADAM: Uh, red velvet, chocolate, vanilla, german chocolate, red vel...

SAM: WAAAAAAHHHHH!

RACHEL and ADAM: WHA??!!

7:38am. Sam arrives.

After that, it was smooth sailing. Sam was born into the world at 6.6 pounds, 18.5 inches, with a giant pair of balls and a penis that was attached to itself. Yes. Sam was born with fucked up junk. But, it is actually more common than one would think, and a surgery at six months will make everything normal.

The only catch is that Sam will be European for a while.

And, now ladies and gents, I would like to introduce you to our son Sam.


(Pictured Above: Pure Awesomeness)

Stay tuned next week for part two in our 'Birth of Awesome' series, which will bring back such audience favorites as 'Doped Up Rachel','Adam as George Clooney, The Nurse', and the duo of 'Background Grandmas'.

End blog.

FYI

Just to let you know...

SAM'S ON HIS WAY!

More to come...

end blog.

Fell In Love With A Boy

It was a February night in Norman, Oklahoma.I was pulling into the apartment complex where my new friend, Chase, was having his viral video themed birthday party. A tall figure in a blue dress and bright red wig jumped in front of my car.
I slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting him.The tall figure disappeared and reappeared as I made my way up the stairs into the apartment. He didn't say a word, he just lifted up his blue dress where the word "firecrotch" was written across his flesh colored tights. "This is my brother, Adam", said Chase, "he's supposed to be Lindsay Lohan".
I laughed. Loudly. Perhaps more than I should have.

Inside the apartment, I tried to strike up a friendly conversation with this strange boy in the red wig. "So.....,' I started looking for something to say, 'Chase tells me you live by Mellow Mushrroom in Fort Worth. I love that place." He just shrugged and replied "yeah." Then he looked away as if he were searching for something better to be doing. I was perturbed by this guy who was apparently too cool for school. "And.... that's apparently the only conversation we're going to have tonight. Nice to meet you," I said through a sarcastic smile, as I spun around to find someone who would seem like they enjoyed talking to me.

Ten minutes later.

Standing in the kitchen, I watched as he dipped a chick-fil-a nugget into cheese fondue. "That's really gross", I said to him, with a disgusted look on my face. "It is gross, isn't it?" he replied. Then he smiled, and even though I didn't want to, I found myself smiling back.

We were (un)intentionally inseparable the rest of the evening. Always going outside to smoke at the same time. Dancing next to each other during each Queen song. Trying to take pictures of each other when we thought the other one wasn't looking.Taking several jell-o shots together. We both hated the orange and deemd that it tasted like "orange dentist".

After that night, we never went a day without communicating. Just through letters at first. Hundreds and hundreds of letters. By May, we had shared our first kiss. By October we were engaged and both swore to tell no one. By January we found out we had created life. Now, exactly a year and half later, we're back where we started. Our child will come into this world just down the road from where we first met.

When Sam asks me if I believe in love at first sight, I will answer by saying "Absolutely. I fell in love with your father the moment I met him." When Sam asks me how I knew he was the one, I'll simply respond "He had me at Firecrotch."

Due

Rachel here. Adam is probably not going to be making an appearance in the blogging world for awhile, seeing as how he now works eight days a week. So, for now you all are stuck with me, the cranky pregnant girl. Updates:

1.) I had my baby shower last Saturday. It was super fun, super cute,and super exhausting. I'm not going to post any pictures from the shower on here because I have turned into Mama Cass and will not be posing for anymore photos unless they are from the shoulders up.

2.) I now see the doctor on a weekly basis. Every Friday, it's Dr. B and me. The last visit revealed that I had gained three pounds in one week and my uterus had grown 2.5 cm. This means, that I have managed to gain 40 pounds in 8 and a half months. I better be having a 38 pound baby.

3.) I am now considred "full term" and will be having an examination on Friday to see if I'm at all dilated and if there is any progress. In the meantime I've been googling ways to naturally induce labor. They include:

*Nipple Stimulation- I figured this would be perfect because I just bought my breastpump and wanted to take it for a test run. So, last night, I set the pump up and let it do its thing. All was going well until milk actually started coming out of me. It freaked me out too much, and I put the pump away.

*Walking- This is a great suggestion for someone who doesn't live in a state where it's 104 degrees outside. I can barely walk to my car without sweat pouring down my back, let alone around the block. So, I decided I would start walking around the mall. It's air conditioned and there's always a bathroom near by. The problem with mall walking is everytime I go I end up buying things. Once I ran out of baby things to buy, I started shopping for Adam, and doing THIS:


Ring, ring, ring...

Adam (at work):Earlywine Cellar and Spirits, how can I help you?

Me: Hey hon, what size pants do you wear again?

Adam: Huh? Why?

Me: I'm buying you some pants at Gap.

Adam: Do I need new pants?

Me: Sure. Now what size?

FIVE MINUTES LATER

Adam (recognizing me on caller id): Yeeeess??

Me: How do you feel about v-neck t-shirts?

Adam: I don't know. I've never tried them.

Me: Well, I'm at Express and they have some really cool looking ones. I'll buy one for you.

Adam: Don't buy it now, I have gift card that we can use.

THREE MINUTES LATER

Adam: Hello again.

Me: Hey, sorry, one last thing...do you want a vest to wear with that v-neck shirt? I found a really cool one back at Gap.

Adam: Go home. Now. Put everything down. I'll come back with you tomorrow. Do not buy anything else.


SO, I've pretty much been banned from the mall, which means no more walking. Which has led me to the next thing on the list...

*Jumping up and down- Hahaha, right. That lasted about four seconds.

And Finally...

*Pleading with the baby- I didn't see it on any list, but I've figured it can't hurt. I talk to Sam everyday and remind him which direction he needs to be going in. I tell him that Mommy is in a lot of pain, and surely he doesn't want to hurt Mommy. I tell him if he ever wants siblings he needs to come out NOW because I'm very close to making this my first and only pregnancy. Then I make Adam talk to him. He always responds more to Adam's voice than he does to mine. I have a feeling that right there is setting the tone for the rest our lives as parents.


I'm working very hard on being patient. I know this may come as a shock to those of you who know me, but I am NOT a patient person. I feel like I'm staring at a present that I can't open. I can't wait to meet my little boy. I'm looking forward to his birth more than anything in this world. I can't even look at other babies now without tearing up. I feel like I'm SO close to holding him in my arms yet still so freaking far away.

Only time will tell. I know for sure he'll be here by the first of September, which isn't too terribly far away....so until then, I think I remember seeing a bottle of Castor oil in one of the cabinets somewhere...........

Riding In Cars With Cash

Remember that scene in 'Ferris Bueller's Day Off' when a young (and not yet nebbish) Matthew Broderick is explaining to the general audience how to fake sick and skip school by listing such tips as, "When you're bent over, moaning and wailing, lick your palms"?

Well, I took Mr. Bueller's advice the other night, licked my palms moaning and wailing, and called in sick to work. However, by sick, I mean I called in pregnant and possibly delivering.

But, then, you remember that part in Ferris Bueller when he says if you fake a stomach cramp that will get you a nervous mother and you could wind up in a doctor's office? Well... I faked a labor pain, and that's exactly what I got. Or rather, Rachel did.

A little backstory, if you will...

Last weekend Ramona and Greg were out of town, and Rachel and I had the whole house to ourselves. However, I had to work all weekend, and that is never fun. So, on Monday night, I decided to call in sick to spend some time with Rachel. I phoned up Target, and explained to them that my fiancee was experiencing labor pains and that we have to go to the hospital. Half of that was true, so it didn't really feel like lying.

However...

Later in the evening, after settling in to watch 'Sweeney Todd' followed by a paranoid and drug fueled Ashley Judd in 'Bug', everything changed.

I believe that now is the appropriate time to reveal that Rachel has a secret power. She is like a watered down version of an X-Man, or to a less nerdier and more sexy extent, a real life Patricia Arquette from 'The Medium'. She sometimes gets these feelings of insight, where others just get feelings of indigestion. Earlier in the evening, she turned to me and said, in complete seriousness, "I don't think you should go to work tonight."

She had been having contractions all night, that part was true, but when she went to relieve herself due to the awesome power of Harry Connick Jr.'s acting in 'Bug', she came out of the bathroom shaking. Needless to say, it wasn't from Harry's powerhouse performance, but because she was bleeding.

Needless to say, we freaked the fuck out.

When a woman finds blood in her last trimester it could mean a few things, like there is something wrong with the pregnancy, but it can also mean that she might be going into labor.

How could she be going into labor now? It wasn't time, we didn't have everything we needed, everyone was out of town if we were to deliver, and I hadn't purchased the matching Batman and Robin costumes that Sam and I are going to wear around the house on a daily basis. How could nature do this to us?

We called the doctor for what to do. It is here that I would like to mention again how cool our doctor is. She actually called us back with a diagnosis at 2:30 in the morning. That diagnosis was, "Go to the hospital."

Now, when a doctor tells you to go to the hospital, what is your natural reaction? That's right, it is to get up and go. But, because we are Adam and Rachel, that is not our natural reaction. The natural course for Adam and Rachel is to clean the house, and clean the house we did, all the while having the following repetitious dialouge:

Adam: I'll clean! Get ready! Are you okay?!

Rachel: (Constantly shaking) IIII''''MMMMM FFF-III-NNNN-NNN-E. K-K-K-EEEEEE-PP C-C-LL-EANNNING.

Adam: All right! I'll clean! Get ready! Are you okay?!

Rachel: (Still shaking) IIII''''MMMMM FFF-III-NNNN-NNN-E. K-K-K-EEEEEE-PP C-C-LL-EANNNING.

Adam: All right! Don't freak out! I'm cleaning! Are you ready?!

Rachel: (Practically convulsing) Y-Y-E-SSS. I-I-S EV-EV-EV-ERY-TH-TH-THING C-C-LEAN?

Adam: (Optimally freaking out) Okay, okay, okay! Let's go! Let's go! Okay. Okay.

Rachel: (Strangely calm?) Let's roll.

From the phone call until we left, that was a half an hour increment of cleaning, grooming, makeuping, camera wrangling, and back and forth banter of, "I'm not freaking out! You're freaking out!"

The drive to the hospital (despite my speeding) was actually quite calm. When we arrived, we immediately checked in, and were seen by the doctor. The nurse did a check up, and well, she confirmed something for us.

And, the next day, we finally had what we had been waiting nine months for.

Here's a montage:








That's right. Our new carseat.

Oh, and everything was all right with Rachel. She was just spotting.

It is safe to say two things:

1.) This was the first time I had actually called in sick with a made up excuse, only to have it actually happen.
2.) Rachel is an X-Man.

Coincientally, her psychic powers also saved me from one very long day, because I had forgotten that I had to open my precious wine store Tuesday morning, and if I had gone to work, I would have worked for almost sixteen hours straight, with maybe three hours of sleep over a 48 hour period.

The lesson here is that the next time you decide to pull a Ferris Bueller, make sure your signifigant other isn't pregnant, or else, you'll wind up in a doctor's office.



End blog.

Still Pregnant

I hope my super sexy stomach and even sexier belly ring scar never,ever, ever go away.

Police Academy 7: Steve Guttenberg's Last Assignment

The other night I had a dream that the baby was a muppet. And, he liked me. It was probably the best dream I've ever had. If the baby doesn't come out like a muppet, I'm not going to lie, I'll be a little disappointed. I'm just saying, if the baby happens to be made of felt I'm only going to love it that much more.

In other news, Rachel and I have just come back from our first excursion to Kansas City. The point of the trip was pure business, for pleasure has left us long ago. And, by business, I mean Adam trying to get a job. Wait, what? What job could possibly be in store for a theatre major? Well, the answer is obvious. There is only one logical thing a theatre degree can bring you: a career as a police officer. That's right, soon you just might hear, "Freeze! Adam Martin, FBI." (The FBI part is supposed to be said/read like Billy Dee Williams trying to mack as well as sell you a Colt 45.) But, first, I have to become a police officer. Thus, the business trip to Kansas, where Adam took part in the Lawrence Kansas police recruitment test. In preparation, Adam has racked his brain (skimmed through a book from Borders), become more observant (watched more television), and has taken up running (kind of) and weight lifting (sort of). So, instead of walking into the test as a 135 pound puny mortal, I walked, head held high, as a 138 pound demi-god, ready to put criminals and standardized testing in their place. Needless to say, I arrested arithmetic, read the Miranda rights to reading, and murdered (in the line of duty) memorization.

Because the twelfth grade standardized test said that I was capable of being a policeman, the city of Lawrence extended me an invitation for an oral (not that kind of oral, but still funny) interview a week later. Thus, I was able to return to the majesty of Kansas City two days later (the only reason I had to leave was to work one day at my precious wine cellar), not to mention call in sick to Target (Who, coincidentally, thought I quit and were surprised when I showed up for all of my scheduled shifts, which raises the question, what makes you think I quit when I keep showing up for work? But, I digress...)But, wait! Adam and Rachel are brokity-broke-broke, how were they able to get Supercop back to Kansas City for a twelve minute interview? The answer is simple, dear readers: unused airline vouchers that were supposed to be for our wedding back in February, that coincidentally, added up to the number of dollars to fly Adam. Thus, free baby, free flight.

Now, going for the oral (quit giggling) examination is a very nerve wracking ordeal. This interview could make or break my candidacy. This one interview, according to my book skimming at Borders, is the most difficult, because you sit in front of three to four officers and they all evaluate if you have what it takes to be a cop. So, for preparation, I orally (STOP!) interviewed myself all night at the wine shop, lifted weights/ran (slept in), and bought a snazzy new shirt and tie with a year and a half old gift card from Express (the middle American version of Marc Jacobs). With everything in place, what could go wrong? I mean, I had a free airline ticket, free clothes that actually fit, a free place to stay, and Robocop's body. Yes, I was pumped. And, then it happened. The omen.

The night before the interview, I had the pleasure of staying with Krista and Joel, and was engaged in an exhaustive game of Risk, when Krista offered to iron my shirt. Being a man, and naturally saying, "Why didn't you offer earlier, that's your job as a woman, isn't it?", I graciously accepted, and she began ironing away... for almost an hour, which, even for a woman, is dedication. The next morning, I rise early, shower, mooch from my hosts' shaving supplies, and go to grab my shirt, only to find it crumpled on the ground. Now, you can call it fate, or you can call it Krista, but the moment I saw that, the only thing I could think was, "Holy GodFearingShit... I'm screwed."

Joel was gracious enough to wake up and drive me to my interview (after all, he is the host, and technically that is his job, but, I didn't want to point that out) that morning. We arrived early, ate a small breakfast at McDonald's, and then I went in for the interview at the police station. Now, I don't know about you guys, but when I think of police officers, I think of three things:

1. Cops.
2. The Police Academy Movies
3. Reno 911! (Which is basically a combination of the two aforementioned)

So, it goes without saying that my natural inclination is to expect to be interviewed by Steve Guttenberg, Bobcat Goldthwait, and that guy from 'Reno 911!' who wears those really short shorts. I mean, who wouldn't, right?

But instead of meeting this:



I ran into this:



+



Yes. That's right. Not even Hightower was there.

I mean, I can handle Hightower, at least he had a sense of humor, but former linebackers who read that I was a theatre major could only be thinking one thing: Sissyboy. Not even my newly shaved head and Robocopian physical demeanor could save me from the following conversation that would inevitably ensue later in the day when they were reviewing their notes:

Linebacker 1: What did you think of applicant 54739?

Not Hightower: 54739? Oh, you mean Sissyboy?

Linebacker 1: Oh, that was Sissyboy?

(LAUGHTER IS HEARD THROUGHOUT THE PRECINCT)

Linebacker 1: But, seriously.

I was articulate. I was thorough. I was not, however, a meat-head. Twelve minutes later I walked out in a daze, feeling not like Robocop, but a bloody, limbless Peter Weller before he became Robocop. You can never tell with those interviews, which is partly the point, but right then I pretty much resided in myself that the smooth Billy Dee phrase of, "Freeze! Adam Martin, FBI." will forever be replaced with the booze addled and teeth grinding phrase of, "For an extra fifty-nine cents, you can upgrade that to a large."

The decision to proceed will be made in two weeks. And, that will make for an interesting blog.

Until then, some baby news.

Rachel is currently caught up on all of her testing, and despite a small scare where she might have contracted gestational diabetes which would have resulted in what doctors seriously call 'a fat baby', she's a-okay. Everything is on some right course, and Sam will be here soon. Which is exciting.

To close this post, here are some highlights/observations from the past week:

1. Krista and Joel are probably the coolest people I know (and also live in the coolest loft in the coolest part of Kansas City, which also makes me hate them).
2. The best bar-b-que I've ever had is from a gas station.
3. Museums don't like it when you climb on their shuttlecocks.
4. Although you may be able to learn English from watching the Police Academy movies, it is not a great reference for being an actual police officer.
5. Risk is a very long game, and possibly endless, and that is why your best bet is to fortify Australia and wait for the right moment to unleash the fourth sequel to Crocodile Dundee on an unsuspecting world.
6. Hellboy (Wanted) was pretty terrible.
7. Babies cannot be made of felt.
8. Both Joel and I had a crush on Tina Turner as children.
9. Kansas City feels like home.
10. In a drum off between a bunch of dirty hippies and an inner city drum squad, it is safe to say that the hippies got served (and hired to drum for a wedding)... Yes, this really happened.
11. Kansas City does not have Cash (see below).


(Fat dog full of hate.)

So as not to end with a picture of Cash, here is a picture that I believe sums up the moment:



(We did not die of dysentary, however, we do need an axel.)

End blog.

Thang 1 and Thang 2

Well ladies and gentlemen, the time has arrived. We know the sex of the baby. That's right, we're having a

What? Did you think I would tell you at the top of the article? Did you not think that there was an interesting story to go with the news? Well, dear readers, you should know us better by now. There is never not a complicated/ohmygod/holyshitballs story to accompany what should be a simple excursion. Thus, the basis of our whole relationship.

So, here we go:

Because the government has allowed us to have a free baby, we finally were able to set up an appointment yesterday. The beauty of yesterday was that Rachel was off, and I had to go to the wine store at 3, with an appointment at 1. There would be plenty of time to make sure things were okay...

Ha.

At 9:45 in the morning I called a new place of employment (that's right, I'm technically working three jobs) and they informed me that I had to go immediately into Norman to take a drug test. Okay, no problem. So, I leave Rachel, depart to take my drug test, and found it a simply painless procedure, with the exception of me not having to pee when I had to take the test, thus allowing for some actual pain to squeeze a little out. *

* keep note of these events as there are more pee related incidents to describe.

Upon entering the testing room, it was a ten by ten room with floor to ceiling windows in an office park with only a toilet in the corner. How quaint. I wasn't allowed to flush, wash my hands, or throw anything in the garbage can (and by garbage can, I mean on the floor). I squeezed what little I could out, praying that I didn't have to take it again, or sit around in this freakish example of a room gone terribly, terribly wrong, and drink water under supervision. Luckily, there was enough juice, and that was that.

So, I drive back home.

We had an hour to go, and so I decided to have lunch while Rachel was getting ready. Sitting quietly at the table, like a gentleman, reading the latest issue of TIME Magazine (i.e. Cracked.com), I see a head peek around the corner.

"What are you doing?", I calmly inquired to the head.

"Nothing. Keep eating", the giant head replied.

Fair enough, I thought. So, I continue to read about the economy and the conflict in the Middle East (i.e. concealable flasks that you can wear to a baseball game so people don't know you smuggled in your own booze), when all of a sudden, Rachel comes running at me with towel and some moisturizer. And, for all of those that know me, you know I can't stand the following 3 things:

1. Lotion/Moisturizer
2. Gum under a table, chair, or any other piece of furniture, not excluding sidewalks, telephone poles, and walls.
3. Lemurs.

And, since I'm being attacked with number 1 on my list, I did what any man would do.

Run screaming out of the house.

And, so, being chased into the front lawn, a standoff ensued, as Rachel tried to put tanner on my face to "give me some color", while I tried to fend her off with my wits (i.e. the used popsicle stick I had just finished). I kept repeating to her that I was standing in the midday sun, and if I stood there for ten more minutes I would have a tan. But, apparently, that's not good enough, so she forced me into the house, and sat me in a chair, and began to remove my shirt. Now, it has been speculated that while the shirt was being removed, I was yelling at practically crying. That rumor is not true. I suffered with a silent dignity, and in no way shape or form held my freakishly long arms over my head for far too long so that Rachel couldn't pull my shirt off.

Here's my problem with self tanner. It doesn't work on me. Neither does a real tan. The reason being, is that I spend a lot of time crafting my look on the following three things:

1. Late 70's punks, with pale skin. Not to exclude drug addled David Bowie and Iggy Pop.
2. Mimes.
3. Lemurs.

And, when I have self tanner on, I only look like the following:

1. Dirty.
2. George Hamilton.

And, so it was. My pale punk face died, and the strangely dirty faced boy emerged.

Another battle lost.

The importance of the above story was for us to have a little fun before we went to the doctor. We were both a little worried as to what might happen. Would it be okay? Would it be twins? Would the due date be pushed up?

We didn't know.

So, filled with a nervous stomach, and Rachel with gas, the tanned duo embarked back to the block that Adam had just taken his drug test at.

Upon seeing the nurse, we realized that all was okay, and all was on track. This was a great relief to us, as we wanted to make sure everything was in good shape. Rachel is healthy and on target, and that let some of our worry go (not to mention some of Rachel's gas). Then, the doctor entered. A small lady in her 70's, with a black head of hair, hunched shoulders, and yellow teeth stained from the corn cob pipe she smokes, she informed us that she has delivered 12,000 babies. Naturally she was our perfect doctor. I mean, what lady smokes a pipe? We didn't get a guy with a mustache, we got her. She could bend you with her mind, step on your body, deliver your baby, and smoke a corn cob pipe all the while.

Awesome.

She proceeded to ask if we knew the sex. We didn't, so she said, hey, lets go poke around in the ultrasound room and see what we could find.

I think we both screamed 'YAY'.

Before we went into the room, we made a bet to see what it would be. Rachel bet it was a boy. I bet it was a girl. The condition of the bet: If it is a girl, Rachel has to come with me to see 'Hellboy 2: The Golden Army'. If it is a boy, she doesn't.

Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for.

The lights are dimmed. The nurse is on standby. Rachel's belly has been slimed. And, the picture reveals:

Two heads?

WHA?!!!!

"I think I see two heads. One down here and one up here. Or something. I don't know. I think its twins."

At this point, we were both doing a combination of the following:

1. Laughing hysterically.
2. Crying hysterically.
3. Silently dying inside.

But, the doctor wasn't sure. So, of course, that only means one thing. Drive to a hospital immediately for an ultrasound to see what the hell is going on.

At least we get to know the sex(s?) today. So, there's that.

At this point, Adam has to be at work in 30 minutes, so he calls in late. Driving to the hospital, low on gas, a lot of things were running through my mind. Here is an example:

"Twins? How did that happen? Is this a joke? I mean it runs in my family, but I didn't really think it would run through me. Or, what if it isn't? What if it is a tumor? Or worse... a floating head with a spine attached? If it is a head, is it alive, and being only a head does that mean it has psychic powers and is controlling the other baby? What if it can soon grow to control me? What the hell is going on!!??"

Plus the aside:

"I'M LATE FOR WORK! I CAN'T AFFORD TO BE LATE TO WORK WITH TWINS/A PSYCHIC BABY HEAD ATTACHED TO A DISEMBODIED SPINE, PLUS IT'S SIBLING ON THE WAY!"

Not to mention the fact that with the thought of twins, all I could hear in the back of my head was Flavor Flav yelling 'TWINS!!!' in the way only Flavor Flav could yell, when he saw Thang 1 and Thang 2 on 'Flavor of Love 3'. (By the by, he ended up with Thang 2, so that left me with the comforting thought that there will be hope for my twins (or the one that wasn't a disembodied head).

Rushing into the hospital, paperwork was filled, and we were led to the ultrasound room where the tech had put in overtime to see us, and our new adventure began. With Rachel slimed, he went to work, and this is what he found:




That's not a twin. That's a single baby. And, it is healthy.

And you see that?



Yeah. Those are the manbits. It's a boy. A bright shining boy.

The panic was over. Everything was as it should be. There was no tumor, or psychic head, just a little boy, leaving Adam to go and see 'Hellboy 2: The Golden Army' by himself.

But, let's see that again.




Yep. That's a big dong.

Peace began to settle in as we enjoyed the sonogram. It as a great time. I heard the heart beat for the first time that day, and I find out that I'm going to have a son. Oh, and that he's coming on September 1st.

Wait, what?

Yeah. HE'S COMING SOONER THAN EXPECTED!

Holy hell. Let the panic begin again.

And, that, dear readers, is another chapter in the family life of Rachel and Adam.

Oh, one other thing. Remember that pee story. Well, when I arrived at work I usually bring a book, a water bottle, and my cd's. And, another fortunate event of the day was that my good friend Dusty visited me at the store. He even brought in a hard hat, but that's another story. However, he did inform me that the water bottle that I've been drinking out of is a piss jug for hospital patients. This was confirmed by Dusty's laughter, his sister's laughter, and later in the evening, Rachel's laughter.
It was the only thing in the house, and it was sterile. We all make mistakes. But, that still wouldn't be the weirdest thing that I've ever drank out of... but, that's another story, too.

So...

Let us recap the day:

1. Always drink water before a pee test.
2. Do not necessarily drink the above said water from a pee jug, unless that is all that there is in the house.
3. I look like George Hamilton.
4. Even though a psychic, disembodied head would have been awesome, it was just not meant to be. Not yet at least.
5. Our doctor could take your doctor.
6. The baby is landing sooner than anticipated, leading to increased level of panic attacks.
7. If anyone wants to see 'Hellboy 2: The Golden Army', let me know.
8. It's a boy.*

*with a supposedly big dong

End blog.

Pretty Things

I've been working less hours these past couple weeks, which is good and bad. It's good because I'm not as tired, but bad because I spend the rest of my time shopping (and by "shopping", i mean "looking at and sighing wistfully") for baby things online.

A few of my favorites:


North South diaper bag by Nest.
I love it because it looks like a purse and comes in a yummy lemon color. So much better than that freakin Petunia Pickle Bottoms brand I see everywhere.



The Market Sling by Serena and Lily.
Who am I kidding? There's no way I'll have enough time or patience to wrap one of those traditional baby wraps around my body. They look way too complicated and a little to hippy-ish. This sling is a perfect alternative.



Moses Basket by Restoration Hardware.
It's on backorder until June 28th, but I'm ordering it as soon as it comes in. I already got permission from the (not in the eyes of God) husband.



Diaper Dude diaper bag.
Adam picked this out for himself. Can you tell?

Funny Games and Kevin Nealon

Today. Today is the first day that I have fully realized that I'm going to be a father in almost three months. And, it hit me where it hits a lot of other budding fathers... alone, in the baby aisle at Target... while saying, "Jesus Christ, I hope my kid isn't as ugly as that one on the box." Because, man... there are a lot of ugly babies. A lot. And, they're on advertisements. I don't understand this. In every other way, advertising in print, television, and film requires people to be up to the public standard of beauty, but apparently, some babies fell off the radar (not to mention through the ugly tree when the stork dropped them on their heads).

I suppose people are under the impression that all babies are beautiful. This, sad to say, is not so.

Per example:

This glassy eyed lass seems to have abandoned all hope in humanity while posing for the camera.


He may be a little whippersnapper now, but binge drinking and the old addage, "Would you like fries with that?" are all that's in store for this tot's future.


And, finally, this little tyke, well. Someone posed him. Posed him for a life of mediocrity, and a penchant for JC Penny.


Now, I suppose in a way these babies are cute. But, let me ask you: Are you smiling because they bring that smile to your face for being babies, or because you know that when they walk, they'll probably have a tendency to walk into things?

I rest my case.

Now, I used to think that all babies were beautiful, too. Rachel said that it wasn't true. And, with the scientific evidence illustrated above, I'm prone to agree with her. Which only means, that we're going to have an ugly baby.

Which brings me to my next point:

Point No. 2: I'd rather have an ugly baby than this kid:



His name is Devon Gearhart, but for the purposes of this article, I will call him by his character name from 'Funny Games', George Jr.

Here's a brief synopsis of 'Funny Games': Two rich white kids terrorize an affluent couple and their son in the Hamptons for no real reason.

Now, I'm sure the kid is all well and good in real life, but in the movie... well... he basically gets his parents killed due to his inability to seek help. Here he is, a sprightly young boy, and what does he do when he escapes? Yes, that's right. Rather than use a phone at the neighbor's house, he decides to hide behind the side of the neighbor's piano. Never once does he yell, "Stranger danger!", but instead climbs the stairs and hides behind the side of a piano in the neighbor's house! If this were my child, I would have told/taught them to run, seek help. He didn't even hide in a closet. Who doesn't hide in a closet? I hide in a closet when psychos/Rachel are chasing me! Isn't it human nature to hide where you can't be found? He could have at least tried to hide under the piano, or put a blanket over himself, but, this kid, no.

Granted, this movie is really about how Americans can be spoiled cowards who do not know real fear, but still, it brought to mind how I want to raise my child. And, that is with a sprinkle of common and a dash of sense.

Now I suppose that this means that not only will I have an ugly baby, but a nonsensical ugly baby as well.

On the bright side, at least our ugly, nonsensical baby will be covered by SoonerCare. That's right, folks. Free baby. The one good thing the government has ever done for us. And, in less than a week, we will know the sex. So, start placing bets, and remember to cut me in on 10% of the action. The general consensus is that it is going to be a girl. But, I'm still holding out for a boy, simply to see the look of shock/awe/dissapointment/whatthefuck on Rachel's face when it turns out to be an ugly, nonsensical baby of the not so fairer sex. I write this out of love because I'm curious (as a scientist, mind you) to see how Rachel can handle two of me.

In other news, I did end up getting two jobs. Granted the two jobs don't even equal one job in pay, but I suppose that will go with the lifestyle of having an ugly nonsensical male baby. Welfare is step number three in the job spectrum, and thinking about it, maybe that's where I want to be in the first place, because according to the interweb, ugly babies are models. And, who's heard of a model on welfare?!

Point match.

Final scientific equation:

Baby + Huggies Contract = Unfortunate.

Baby + Welfare = Unfortunately poor yet beautiful baby.

Final note:

Read this:



Finally. Someone who understands.

End blog.