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.

This Hurts

no, i'm not referring to the awful looking patch of skin above my belly button. that, my friends, is my reminder of why people remove belly rings when they become pregnant. don't do what i did, "waiting and seeing" if you have to remove your belly ring until you wake up one day and it has ripped a hole in your skin and you're asking your dad (i do not trust adam to pull things out of my body after the whole hang nail debacle) to get his wire cutters and cut the ring out of your stomach because you've had the damn thing in for so long that it has welded itself shut making a simple removal possible.

no, i'm not referring to that at all. i'm talking about my pregnant belly sunburn. i've been spending the few days i have off from work lounging at my dad and stepmom's swimming pool. i usually wear my maternity tankini to the pool but today, i decided to wear my bikini top from last year, so i could get some sun on my middle-aged, midwest, football fan man stomach so it wouldn't look so pale compared to the rest of my body. bad. i.dea.

when i got home from the pool and removed my cover up, i saw that i had developed a huge red circle on my belly. i forgot that when i'm laying down my stomach is about five inches higher than the rest of my body, which means it got more sun than any other part of me. so now, here i am lying on my back almost completely naked because it hurts to wear clothes. my mom gave me a little robe to wear after i had told her the other day that i walk around the house naked in the middle of the night because i'm too tired to put clothes on. so now that's what i wear when i'm not lying in my bed, yelping everytime the sheets accidentally brush against my skin.

note to self: pregnancy does not make you immune to sunburns....although it may be causing a reduction in brain cells.