Shakespeare wrote that "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." We've all read it and understood what he meant. However, I wonder if the same rings true for things that don't smell so good...
I feel as though I'd being doing myself and anyone who dare read this blog a disservice if I didn't address the issue of baby...excrement. I'm going to be as civil as possible when writing about this, but in full disclosure, this may be the most excited I've ever been about a blog post.
In my attempt to not completely disgust you, I will challenge Shakespeare's claim by refering to Cassie's "diaper deposits" as "flowers." Hopefully this will curb the reality that are her "brown bombs."
One of the things I love most about being a parent is how quickly your conversations with your spouse change. What once were discussions of dreams and the future, favorite restaurants and movies, and love for one another, now have turned to "Babe, you wouldn't BELIEVE the flower that Cassie just had. It.Was.Disgusting" It's hilarious. I'm convinced if you don't have a sense of humor about it you'll never make it. Luckily, unbeknownst to her, I trained Jesse in the eloquent humor of this ever so fine subject during the first 4 years of our marriage.
There are times in your life where you can look back and see God's direct hand on you, guiding and preparing you for future things that you wouldn't have been prepared for otherwise. I had such a moment on the day Cassie was born. We were in our hospital room, Jesse was resting in bed and it was time for Cassie's first real diaper change. This was it...my opportunity to set the future course of my fatherhood in motion. I was determined to be a dad that helped with the grose stuff. I wasn't going to hand Cassie off every time a flower bloomed. And here was my chance to put my money where my mouth was. Because no one told me, I had no idea that a baby's first flower was so absolutely disgusting. I'll spare you most of the details but it was the Mount Everest of flowers. After twelve dirty wet wipes, flower getting on me, on Cassie's foot, on her bedding, and Lord knows where else, the deed was done. I had done it. And no flower has been even close to as bad. God told me that day that I could handle anything.
Last week, Jesse and I were at work and Cassie was being watched by our nanny who is also one of our best friends. There was much trepidation that day not because work was going to be difficult, or because we hadn't gotten much sleep the night before (which was true), or even because we just missed Cassie so terribly. We were nervous about the day because Cassie hadn't flowered in over a day. Simply put: Cassie was constipated. And it was freaking Jesse and me out. So much so that I found myself telling people throughout the day. "How are you doing, James?" "I'd be a lot better if Cassie would flower." What was happening to me? Why was this all I was thinking about? Work was usually my respite from this sort of thing. But during Cassie's state of constipation, it wasn't just all I could talk about rather all I wanted to talk about. When I finally got the text message that Cassie had flowered and all was healthy, I breathed a huge sigh of relief (and then proceeded to tell everyone in the office).
Whether we are eating dinner, winding up our day with a favorite TV show, Jesse and I both find ourselves giving each other the play by play of the bad diaper change of the day. Our rule is, if you're holding Cassie when she drops a heat bomb, it is then your responsibility to change her. So holding her is a bit of a game of hot potato...sometimes literally.
Let me preface this last story by saying when I change her diapers, I always feel like I am playing a sort of "beat the clock" with Cassie. I always knew that one day...sooner or later...I was going to be switching out diapers, Cassie would wink at me, and then proceed to flower all over the place. That fear came true the other day. I had my first "come to Jesus" moment with being a father. I had Cassie on the changing table, thinking she was done flowering and thus ready for a change. The dirty diaper had been removed and the cleaning up had begun. As I was cleaning her, Cassie released some odor that suggested that her business was not quite finished. Seconds later, the large flower she layed confirmed my greatest fear. I'll again spare you the details, but I'm proud to say I handled the situation. Probably not with the grace that her mother would have, but it was handled. Her onesy was ruined, the changing tablecloth was stained, and Cassie may or may not have been held upside down at one point or another, but at least the situation was handled.
When you become a parent, you quickly realize that this IS parenting. It's going on dates and talking about your child/children the entire time. It's merely shrugging your shoulders when you get flower on you. It's thoroughly studying the real-life brochure the hospital gives you about baby bowel movements and comparing the REAL pictures to what your baby is producing (yes, that happened with us). It's all these things and much much more. And it's especially realizing all these things and never wanting to go back to how things were before. If changing some dirty diapers means I get to spend the rest of my day bragging about my daughter and trying to make her smile, even if only for a second, then call me a gardener and point me to the flowers.
*Side note: you'll notice I spared you any pictures for this blog. If you're a parent, you already know. If you're not...pictures would just scare you away...
Monday, January 21, 2013
Thursday, January 3, 2013
She Be Trippin'
In April of 2011, Jesse and I went to Breckenridge, CO for a week of snowboarding and food. We had a blast. We took a week's worth of winter clothes, our snowboards, and all of our snowboard gear. It was a lot...a whole lot. The walk from the curbside at the airport to the airline check-in counter felt like a mile. My arms felt like they were going to rip out of their sockets. But it was all stuff we needed to bring. After all, it was a week in the snow with all of our gear. That stuff adds up. That was our last REAL vacation. Sure, we've had weekend getaways and trips to our family's river cabin. But Breckenridge was a legit vacation. 
Last week Jesse and I decided to go to St. Augustine (about a 40 minute drive from our home) for 2 nights. We have friends who have a camper there and were more than kind enough to let us stay there. Our agenda was eating and relaxing. That was it. The weather forecast was very favorable so packing was going to be a cinch. We were going to go to dinner for Jesse's birthday the first night, hang out the second day and go to dinner again that night, and come back the next morning. Simple. The one catch was this: Cassie was going. We were excited about our first trip as a family. But I'll admit I was a bit nervous too. I was getting off work at noon on the day we were leaving so I thought we'd be on the road no later than 1pm. When I got home, I began to pack what I thought would be a small bag with just a few things. But as I began to think about it, Cassie spits up on me at least once a day,(it's a special talent of hers) on my shirt and pants. So that turned 2 packed shirts into 6. And maybe, while on the trip, she would spit up on my jacket, so I'd need to bring a couple of those too. Fifteen minutes later, I looked like I was going to Breckenridge all over again. Jesse was the same. Then there was Cassie's luggage. Her clothes were just like ours. But Cassie doesn't just NEED clothes when going out of town. What first was packed was her stroller, then her pack-n-play, and let's not forget her swing. Our little Cassie needs her swing. Actually, Jesse and I need her swing. It's Cassie's natural sedative. Then there were her bottles, burp cloths, diapers, wet wipes, and EEEEEVVVVVVEEEERRRRYYYYTTTTTHHHHHIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGGG else.
So an hour and a half later, when it was all said and done, the back of our SUV was filled to the brim. But we were on our way and we were excited. By the time we got to the camper all Jesse and I wanted to do was nap, but Cassie had other intentions. She was far too jazzed for her first trip to sleep right off the bat. So we unpacked and hung out. The excitement was palpable.
We went to dinner the first night and Cassie was great. She never fussed once. We celebrated Jesse's birthday for the first time as a family and we loved every minute of it.
Later that night we were able to put Cassie to bed at her normal hour, but, being that it wasn't her "normal" environment, her wake up time came early and she wasn't so quick to go back to bed. In short, it was a long night. The next morning we ate breakfast and literally stared out the window for a good hour. It was 11am before we started on our day. Throughout the day I was thinking that it would be better if we cut our trip short. "We should go back home tonight" I thought. Why stay the second night only to go home the following morning? Why not just have dinner in St. Augustine and head home afterwards? It made sense. I proposed the idea to Jesse by convincing her that Cassie would sleep better, and in turn we would too, if she was bsck home. To my relief, Jesse agreed. We were going to go to a fun restaurant of our choosing in St. Aug and casually make our way back home. No fuss, no muss.
After a day of shopping and eating we were exhausted. We headed back to the camper and in my exhaustion, I began re-packing everything. And it wasn't just our stuff that I had to pack up, I had to clean up the camper too. It ended up taking longer than I thought and as fate would have it, as soon as everything was good to go, Cassie got hungry. So once she was fed and changed, Jesse and I were more tired than when we first got back. As we sat in exhausted silence we began to talk about what restaurant we wanted to go to. At this point hunger had been far surpassed by fatigue. Food was a luxury that I would easily trade for rest. Although ever restaurant was one we would typically like, nothing sounded good. We went from eating at an authentic St. Augustine restaurant, to a chain restaurant that we could get in and out of rather quickly, to what we finally decided on: coming into town we saw a Wendy's on the main road. We could eat and be back on the road in no more than 15 minutes and it was exactly on the way home. So that's what we did. We finished off our first trip with our daughter with one of the most depressing dinners we've ever had.
Now that we've had time to reflect on the trip, we truly did have a great time. I'd have to say it was more of a learning experience than anything else though. What I love though is that it doesn't matter where we go for trips now because it's all new to us. A simple lunch at a food court is excited because it's with our daughter. A camper is like a luxurious penthouse suite because we are vacationing as a family. I can't wait to see what our next trip is like. I just hope I don't have to pull a trailer to haul all of our luggage.
Oh, and here's Jesse home after our trip, finally getting that much needed rest:
Last week Jesse and I decided to go to St. Augustine (about a 40 minute drive from our home) for 2 nights. We have friends who have a camper there and were more than kind enough to let us stay there. Our agenda was eating and relaxing. That was it. The weather forecast was very favorable so packing was going to be a cinch. We were going to go to dinner for Jesse's birthday the first night, hang out the second day and go to dinner again that night, and come back the next morning. Simple. The one catch was this: Cassie was going. We were excited about our first trip as a family. But I'll admit I was a bit nervous too. I was getting off work at noon on the day we were leaving so I thought we'd be on the road no later than 1pm. When I got home, I began to pack what I thought would be a small bag with just a few things. But as I began to think about it, Cassie spits up on me at least once a day,(it's a special talent of hers) on my shirt and pants. So that turned 2 packed shirts into 6. And maybe, while on the trip, she would spit up on my jacket, so I'd need to bring a couple of those too. Fifteen minutes later, I looked like I was going to Breckenridge all over again. Jesse was the same. Then there was Cassie's luggage. Her clothes were just like ours. But Cassie doesn't just NEED clothes when going out of town. What first was packed was her stroller, then her pack-n-play, and let's not forget her swing. Our little Cassie needs her swing. Actually, Jesse and I need her swing. It's Cassie's natural sedative. Then there were her bottles, burp cloths, diapers, wet wipes, and EEEEEVVVVVVEEEERRRRYYYYTTTTTHHHHHIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGGG else.
So an hour and a half later, when it was all said and done, the back of our SUV was filled to the brim. But we were on our way and we were excited. By the time we got to the camper all Jesse and I wanted to do was nap, but Cassie had other intentions. She was far too jazzed for her first trip to sleep right off the bat. So we unpacked and hung out. The excitement was palpable.
We went to dinner the first night and Cassie was great. She never fussed once. We celebrated Jesse's birthday for the first time as a family and we loved every minute of it.
Later that night we were able to put Cassie to bed at her normal hour, but, being that it wasn't her "normal" environment, her wake up time came early and she wasn't so quick to go back to bed. In short, it was a long night. The next morning we ate breakfast and literally stared out the window for a good hour. It was 11am before we started on our day. Throughout the day I was thinking that it would be better if we cut our trip short. "We should go back home tonight" I thought. Why stay the second night only to go home the following morning? Why not just have dinner in St. Augustine and head home afterwards? It made sense. I proposed the idea to Jesse by convincing her that Cassie would sleep better, and in turn we would too, if she was bsck home. To my relief, Jesse agreed. We were going to go to a fun restaurant of our choosing in St. Aug and casually make our way back home. No fuss, no muss.
After a day of shopping and eating we were exhausted. We headed back to the camper and in my exhaustion, I began re-packing everything. And it wasn't just our stuff that I had to pack up, I had to clean up the camper too. It ended up taking longer than I thought and as fate would have it, as soon as everything was good to go, Cassie got hungry. So once she was fed and changed, Jesse and I were more tired than when we first got back. As we sat in exhausted silence we began to talk about what restaurant we wanted to go to. At this point hunger had been far surpassed by fatigue. Food was a luxury that I would easily trade for rest. Although ever restaurant was one we would typically like, nothing sounded good. We went from eating at an authentic St. Augustine restaurant, to a chain restaurant that we could get in and out of rather quickly, to what we finally decided on: coming into town we saw a Wendy's on the main road. We could eat and be back on the road in no more than 15 minutes and it was exactly on the way home. So that's what we did. We finished off our first trip with our daughter with one of the most depressing dinners we've ever had.
Now that we've had time to reflect on the trip, we truly did have a great time. I'd have to say it was more of a learning experience than anything else though. What I love though is that it doesn't matter where we go for trips now because it's all new to us. A simple lunch at a food court is excited because it's with our daughter. A camper is like a luxurious penthouse suite because we are vacationing as a family. I can't wait to see what our next trip is like. I just hope I don't have to pull a trailer to haul all of our luggage.
Oh, and here's Jesse home after our trip, finally getting that much needed rest:
Monday, December 10, 2012
Time-Out
Apologizing for not updating my blog frequently enough is going to be a trend of mine, I fear. This is the first time I've sat down to write a blog and have no specific story or instance to tell of. I'm simply writing because for the next 34 minutes, I am free to do so.
Time is a luxury now; a comodity that is more rare than even sleep. It is sparce and going faster than ever before. In 2 days, Cassie will be 2 months old and it feels like it's been 2 seconds. She is growing like a weed, sleeping on more of a schedule (though I wish it was for longer periods of time), and is becoming more sociable. In short, she's awesome.
What I'm having a hard time with, though, is time management and coming to the understanding that time is not my own anymore. Another way to put it is letting go of my selfishness. What I'm being asked and needed to do are not hard things. What's hard is that they are not needs of mine. It's been a great experience. God is showing me how much time I waste focusing on me and my laziness (a talent I have mastered). So every day I surrender to the fact that my schedule is simply a wish list. I hope to get things done and if I do, great. If not, there's always tomorrow. Cassie is the boss now and, as cute as she is, will be for the rest of my life.
That's the other thing. She's growing into herself more. She's growing out of that newborn stage, which I know women love for some reason, but for guys it's a tough time. Those first couple weeks it feels like you're holding a dozen eggs out of the carton. Your only mindset is "don't break her." It's great and everything, but my back starting going out because as I held her, I would be so tense and hunched over from fear of her falling through my arms that I think I slipped a disc.
Now though, she is growing and starting to interact with me. She reacts to facial expressions. The other day she half smiled at me and I went to give her $50 just because. I came to terms a long time ago with not being able to buy myself anything anymore, but I am now starting to realize that all she's really going to need to do is look at me and we'll be off to buy her a new porsche...even if she is only 3 years old. This is a trate she gets from her mother. Jesse has one look to get me to buy her something. It could be a milkshake from Chick Fil A or a Rolls Royce. It doesn't matter. It's the same look. And that look has been passed down to her daughter. I'm already poor, I guess soon I'll be broke too.
It's ok though. I may never have enough money to give her all the things that I want, but I can always give her my time. It's hers anyways.
Oh...and here's a picture of us trying to take our first Christmas picture. This was the best we could do. And for some reason, it's one of my favorite pictures ever.
Time is a luxury now; a comodity that is more rare than even sleep. It is sparce and going faster than ever before. In 2 days, Cassie will be 2 months old and it feels like it's been 2 seconds. She is growing like a weed, sleeping on more of a schedule (though I wish it was for longer periods of time), and is becoming more sociable. In short, she's awesome.
What I'm having a hard time with, though, is time management and coming to the understanding that time is not my own anymore. Another way to put it is letting go of my selfishness. What I'm being asked and needed to do are not hard things. What's hard is that they are not needs of mine. It's been a great experience. God is showing me how much time I waste focusing on me and my laziness (a talent I have mastered). So every day I surrender to the fact that my schedule is simply a wish list. I hope to get things done and if I do, great. If not, there's always tomorrow. Cassie is the boss now and, as cute as she is, will be for the rest of my life.
That's the other thing. She's growing into herself more. She's growing out of that newborn stage, which I know women love for some reason, but for guys it's a tough time. Those first couple weeks it feels like you're holding a dozen eggs out of the carton. Your only mindset is "don't break her." It's great and everything, but my back starting going out because as I held her, I would be so tense and hunched over from fear of her falling through my arms that I think I slipped a disc.
Now though, she is growing and starting to interact with me. She reacts to facial expressions. The other day she half smiled at me and I went to give her $50 just because. I came to terms a long time ago with not being able to buy myself anything anymore, but I am now starting to realize that all she's really going to need to do is look at me and we'll be off to buy her a new porsche...even if she is only 3 years old. This is a trate she gets from her mother. Jesse has one look to get me to buy her something. It could be a milkshake from Chick Fil A or a Rolls Royce. It doesn't matter. It's the same look. And that look has been passed down to her daughter. I'm already poor, I guess soon I'll be broke too.
It's ok though. I may never have enough money to give her all the things that I want, but I can always give her my time. It's hers anyways.
Oh...and here's a picture of us trying to take our first Christmas picture. This was the best we could do. And for some reason, it's one of my favorite pictures ever.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Don't Judge Me
So a lot has happened since my last blog. Work has been extremely busy, the last stages of Jesse's pregnancy was no picnic, oh, and we had our daughter. It's been 5 weeks since our life got turned upside down and it's been an absolutely insane experience. 
I apologize for not updating my blog more, but between rocking Cassie to sleep at 3:00am, trying to remember what day it is, and weeping for no apparent reason, I haven't had much time to sit down at the computer and update you all on the goings on of parenthood.
After 5 weeks, it's hard to pinpoint one specific thing that has changed in my life since having our daughter, but I'll try to sum it up with two words: extreme paranoia.
I have spent more than 20 hours staring at our thermostat trying to decide if setting it at 72 degrees or 73 degrees will cause Cassie to get the flu. I have figured out where the hot spots are in the house and where she can sleep and not have the breeze of the fan hit her face too much. When going on walks with her, I'll hold her hat over her head to protect her from the sun but not let her WEAR the hat so she won't sweat in it.
I stopped in the middle of the "Baby's R Us" parking lot to stare down an elderly lady who I thought took a corner too fast. Keep in mind, she was no where near us, but I thought I should give her the stink eye anyways. When a cashier asked how old Cassie was, every instinct I had told me to say "Shut your face and scan the diapers, jerkface" but thankfully,by God's grace, I was able to answer her with a slight smile on my face.
I pray every night that Cassie will sleep hard and when she does, I can't sleep because I'm not sure if she's breathing or not. My time and efforts are completely consumed by making sure Cassie is as safe as possible. And the craziest, most bizarre part of it all is that I wouldn't change it for the world. I haven't had a good night's sleep in 5 weeks, my hand has been introduced to baby poop more times than I can count, I don't think twice about sleeping in a shirt that has fresh spit up on it, and there have been mornings where I honestly have to stop and figure out what day it is. And I wouldn't change any of it. The sleepless nights abound (though they are thankfully getting much much better), the dirty diapers just keep coming, all the cliches are true. But the one I love the most is the one where all it takes is one look from her and it makes things all better. When she holds my hand while she's sleeping, there is nothing better. I'm not trying to get all sappy, it's just true. That's not to say I'm not going to bring a shotgun to Disney World next time we go. I mean, I don't know what kind of background check they've done on Chip or Dale.
Life has afforded Jesse and me a brand new adventure in the form of a healthy, beautiful baby girl. And if anyone comes within 10 feet of her, I can not be held responsible for my actions
I apologize for not updating my blog more, but between rocking Cassie to sleep at 3:00am, trying to remember what day it is, and weeping for no apparent reason, I haven't had much time to sit down at the computer and update you all on the goings on of parenthood.
After 5 weeks, it's hard to pinpoint one specific thing that has changed in my life since having our daughter, but I'll try to sum it up with two words: extreme paranoia.
I have spent more than 20 hours staring at our thermostat trying to decide if setting it at 72 degrees or 73 degrees will cause Cassie to get the flu. I have figured out where the hot spots are in the house and where she can sleep and not have the breeze of the fan hit her face too much. When going on walks with her, I'll hold her hat over her head to protect her from the sun but not let her WEAR the hat so she won't sweat in it.
I stopped in the middle of the "Baby's R Us" parking lot to stare down an elderly lady who I thought took a corner too fast. Keep in mind, she was no where near us, but I thought I should give her the stink eye anyways. When a cashier asked how old Cassie was, every instinct I had told me to say "Shut your face and scan the diapers, jerkface" but thankfully,by God's grace, I was able to answer her with a slight smile on my face.
I pray every night that Cassie will sleep hard and when she does, I can't sleep because I'm not sure if she's breathing or not. My time and efforts are completely consumed by making sure Cassie is as safe as possible. And the craziest, most bizarre part of it all is that I wouldn't change it for the world. I haven't had a good night's sleep in 5 weeks, my hand has been introduced to baby poop more times than I can count, I don't think twice about sleeping in a shirt that has fresh spit up on it, and there have been mornings where I honestly have to stop and figure out what day it is. And I wouldn't change any of it. The sleepless nights abound (though they are thankfully getting much much better), the dirty diapers just keep coming, all the cliches are true. But the one I love the most is the one where all it takes is one look from her and it makes things all better. When she holds my hand while she's sleeping, there is nothing better. I'm not trying to get all sappy, it's just true. That's not to say I'm not going to bring a shotgun to Disney World next time we go. I mean, I don't know what kind of background check they've done on Chip or Dale.
Life has afforded Jesse and me a brand new adventure in the form of a healthy, beautiful baby girl. And if anyone comes within 10 feet of her, I can not be held responsible for my actions
Monday, September 3, 2012
Birthing Class
In this blog I am going to attempt to convey to you what this past Saturday was like for Jesse and me as we spent EIGHT hours at a birthing class. I'll tell you now that I am going to fail at this miserably. There is no possible way to articulate with words that which is "the birthing class." But alas, I will try.
Lets start with the teacher. She wore Birkenstocks. There's nothing more that I really need to say about her other than that. I could say that she was way...WAY too free with her body, modeling a birthing position longer than most women who are actually in labor. I could say that she tried to tell joke after joke while her voiced trailed off to barely a whisper so by the time the punchline came you had no idea what she was saying. I could say all those things and more, but I won't. All you need to know is that she wore Birkenstocks.
The class itself was in a rather small room. We were there with 6 other couples. We lined the perimeter of the room, all sitting in bean bag chairs. The man that sat across from me was as typical of a police officer as you could imagine. He was my favorite in the class because his discomfort with the chair and with the awkwardness of the entire situation was written all over his face. It was awesome. I stared at him a lot. I also stared at one of the mothers who was insanely serious about the class. She was hanging on every one of the teacher's words. To no surprise, she was that one student who, when everyone else was dying to leave, kept asking question after question (think back to your college days. You remember that person, don't you?) My 3rd favorite was the guy sitting to my immediate right. I didn't like him at first. He could not have been more disinterested in the class. I'm pretty sure he would've made a run for it several times if he didn't think his wife would kill him. But when it came time to practice putting the diaper on the pretend baby, he shined. I'm not saying the diaper I put on the doll was perfect, but this guy's was awful. Not only was it bad, but rather than try again he decided it would be a better idea to take one of the wet wipes and fashion it around the baby's head to make it look like a bandana. This might not sound funny to you, but when you've been sitting in a bean bag chair for 8 hours listening to your hippy teacher telling you jokes you can't understand, a baby with a bandana is hilarious.
Now more about the bean bag chairs. I've glossed over them but I'd like to give them some attention now. Let me say this: you haven't lived until you've sat in a bean bag chair for 8 hours straight. At first thought they seem comfortable, but they end up enveloping you to the point where you can't move at all. Any attempt to adjust your position in the chair brings some much noise (bean bags can be loud) that you draw the ire of everyone in the room. The girl that I mentioned earlier, you know, the teacher's pet, gave me a death stare more than once because I interrupted the very important "to play music or not play music in the hospital room" portion of the day. From that point on, no matter how uncomfortable I was, I refused to adjust. The sound that came from the chair was too deafening to risk it.
I could go on about the class. It was 8 hours of pure comedic material. But I'm not going to go any further simply because a lot of it isn't appropriate. For instance, I'm not going to talk about the videos we watched and how there were cameras in places that no camera should ever go. How the women in these videos showed things that usually require a 2 drink minimum. I'm going to make no mention of how all the men had to give their wives hand massages while the lights were dim and the teacher played new age "crystals will heal you" type music. (That might not sound weird, but you try doing that with 12 complete strangers). No, I won't talk about those things because I have class.
I will say this: I'm glad it's over and through it all it made me even more excited to soon welcome Cassie into the world. There were several times during the class where I looked at Jesse and just smiled. It wasn't the class but rather what the class represented - we were one day closer, one less obstacle to go through to having our daughter. We are praying and trusting that God will ready us for something that you simply can't prepare for in an 8 hour class.
Lets start with the teacher. She wore Birkenstocks. There's nothing more that I really need to say about her other than that. I could say that she was way...WAY too free with her body, modeling a birthing position longer than most women who are actually in labor. I could say that she tried to tell joke after joke while her voiced trailed off to barely a whisper so by the time the punchline came you had no idea what she was saying. I could say all those things and more, but I won't. All you need to know is that she wore Birkenstocks.
The class itself was in a rather small room. We were there with 6 other couples. We lined the perimeter of the room, all sitting in bean bag chairs. The man that sat across from me was as typical of a police officer as you could imagine. He was my favorite in the class because his discomfort with the chair and with the awkwardness of the entire situation was written all over his face. It was awesome. I stared at him a lot. I also stared at one of the mothers who was insanely serious about the class. She was hanging on every one of the teacher's words. To no surprise, she was that one student who, when everyone else was dying to leave, kept asking question after question (think back to your college days. You remember that person, don't you?) My 3rd favorite was the guy sitting to my immediate right. I didn't like him at first. He could not have been more disinterested in the class. I'm pretty sure he would've made a run for it several times if he didn't think his wife would kill him. But when it came time to practice putting the diaper on the pretend baby, he shined. I'm not saying the diaper I put on the doll was perfect, but this guy's was awful. Not only was it bad, but rather than try again he decided it would be a better idea to take one of the wet wipes and fashion it around the baby's head to make it look like a bandana. This might not sound funny to you, but when you've been sitting in a bean bag chair for 8 hours listening to your hippy teacher telling you jokes you can't understand, a baby with a bandana is hilarious.
Now more about the bean bag chairs. I've glossed over them but I'd like to give them some attention now. Let me say this: you haven't lived until you've sat in a bean bag chair for 8 hours straight. At first thought they seem comfortable, but they end up enveloping you to the point where you can't move at all. Any attempt to adjust your position in the chair brings some much noise (bean bags can be loud) that you draw the ire of everyone in the room. The girl that I mentioned earlier, you know, the teacher's pet, gave me a death stare more than once because I interrupted the very important "to play music or not play music in the hospital room" portion of the day. From that point on, no matter how uncomfortable I was, I refused to adjust. The sound that came from the chair was too deafening to risk it.
I could go on about the class. It was 8 hours of pure comedic material. But I'm not going to go any further simply because a lot of it isn't appropriate. For instance, I'm not going to talk about the videos we watched and how there were cameras in places that no camera should ever go. How the women in these videos showed things that usually require a 2 drink minimum. I'm going to make no mention of how all the men had to give their wives hand massages while the lights were dim and the teacher played new age "crystals will heal you" type music. (That might not sound weird, but you try doing that with 12 complete strangers). No, I won't talk about those things because I have class.
I will say this: I'm glad it's over and through it all it made me even more excited to soon welcome Cassie into the world. There were several times during the class where I looked at Jesse and just smiled. It wasn't the class but rather what the class represented - we were one day closer, one less obstacle to go through to having our daughter. We are praying and trusting that God will ready us for something that you simply can't prepare for in an 8 hour class.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
The Mastermind
There wasn't a lot going on this week in the world of pregnancy. Jesse is futher along, Cassie is kicking like crazy, and the due date is now officially less than 2 months away. The school year began this week so Jesse is back to teaching so there's been a bit of an adjustment there as far as her schedule goes. For the most part it's been steady as she goes.
I did realize something this week. You might even say I had a bit of an epiphany (or as Smee from "Hook" said "Lightning has struck my brain"). It all happened when having 3 different conversations this week that all had a similar footnote.
When talking to my friends Tommy and Kelly (both adults, mind you) I, also an adult - some may argue the opposite though - uttered the following sentence: "Did somebody toot?" I, a 32 year old "man" said the word TOOT! Who says a word like that? Only a parent to their young child. The problem is, I'm not a father yet. What's even worse is it was said as natural as any other word I might say on a regular basis. How did this happen? Why would I say "toot" when I'm not even a father yet? I'll give you the answer in a moment.
Sometime this past week Jesse was telling me about her pains from Cassie growing. I asked Jesse the following question - and again, I was being completely serious - "Does your tummy hurt?" TUMMY! I said "tummy." Who says that? I know who says that - parents of young children. BUT I'M NOT A FATHER YET. Before I know it I'm going to be combining the two and saying things like "Boy that burger isn't sitting right. My tummy hurts and I have the toots!" I mean, why not? And why stop there? Maybe next time I stub my toe on the coffee table I'll say I have a case of the "ow-ies." Or should I just go for broke and drop my r's and say "bettoo" instead of "better" and so on and so forth. Where will it end?
The 3rd and final straw that led to my great epiphany was the other night when I was looking for something to watch on TV. I went to see what was on Disney (which should've been my first clue) and saw that "Good Luck Charley" was on. YES! But wait, I had already seen it. Wait...I had already seen it? What was I doing? Granted, "Good Luck Charley" is one of the best shows on TV and if you don't watch it you're missing out ("Mama's havin' a baby child"). Why can I quote Disney shows? And why am I disappointed when I have ALREADY scene an episode? What.is.happening.to.me???
Then it hit me: for the past 4 years, Jesse has been grooming me for fatherhood. She has changed my vocabulary and my TV viewing habits BEFORE we have even had our first child. Genius. Pure genius. I didn't even know it was happening. All this time I just thought that Jesse was this incredibly cute and innocent girl because that's who she is. That may be true but she's also been calculating and cunning as well, all without me even knowing it. I mean, look at me. Even as I've been writing this, I've wondered if I had to toot. Not pass gas, not break wind, not flitter, or even farrrr, ugh I can't even say that last one anymore.
You know what, though? I'm happy she's done it. Nothing has made me more excited about having our daughter than being 100% certain that Jesse is going to be a great mother. And now, thanks to her, I'm on my way to being a father. Even if that means using some silly words and being force fed "Wizards of Waverly Place." Though I don't think that's on anymore. Ugh, there I go again. I'm happy to do it because it means I get to partner with the greatest mother-to-be on the planet. Bring on the toots.
(you like how I spun that right there?)
I did realize something this week. You might even say I had a bit of an epiphany (or as Smee from "Hook" said "Lightning has struck my brain"). It all happened when having 3 different conversations this week that all had a similar footnote.
When talking to my friends Tommy and Kelly (both adults, mind you) I, also an adult - some may argue the opposite though - uttered the following sentence: "Did somebody toot?" I, a 32 year old "man" said the word TOOT! Who says a word like that? Only a parent to their young child. The problem is, I'm not a father yet. What's even worse is it was said as natural as any other word I might say on a regular basis. How did this happen? Why would I say "toot" when I'm not even a father yet? I'll give you the answer in a moment.
Sometime this past week Jesse was telling me about her pains from Cassie growing. I asked Jesse the following question - and again, I was being completely serious - "Does your tummy hurt?" TUMMY! I said "tummy." Who says that? I know who says that - parents of young children. BUT I'M NOT A FATHER YET. Before I know it I'm going to be combining the two and saying things like "Boy that burger isn't sitting right. My tummy hurts and I have the toots!" I mean, why not? And why stop there? Maybe next time I stub my toe on the coffee table I'll say I have a case of the "ow-ies." Or should I just go for broke and drop my r's and say "bettoo" instead of "better" and so on and so forth. Where will it end?
The 3rd and final straw that led to my great epiphany was the other night when I was looking for something to watch on TV. I went to see what was on Disney (which should've been my first clue) and saw that "Good Luck Charley" was on. YES! But wait, I had already seen it. Wait...I had already seen it? What was I doing? Granted, "Good Luck Charley" is one of the best shows on TV and if you don't watch it you're missing out ("Mama's havin' a baby child"). Why can I quote Disney shows? And why am I disappointed when I have ALREADY scene an episode? What.is.happening.to.me???
Then it hit me: for the past 4 years, Jesse has been grooming me for fatherhood. She has changed my vocabulary and my TV viewing habits BEFORE we have even had our first child. Genius. Pure genius. I didn't even know it was happening. All this time I just thought that Jesse was this incredibly cute and innocent girl because that's who she is. That may be true but she's also been calculating and cunning as well, all without me even knowing it. I mean, look at me. Even as I've been writing this, I've wondered if I had to toot. Not pass gas, not break wind, not flitter, or even farrrr, ugh I can't even say that last one anymore.
You know what, though? I'm happy she's done it. Nothing has made me more excited about having our daughter than being 100% certain that Jesse is going to be a great mother. And now, thanks to her, I'm on my way to being a father. Even if that means using some silly words and being force fed "Wizards of Waverly Place." Though I don't think that's on anymore. Ugh, there I go again. I'm happy to do it because it means I get to partner with the greatest mother-to-be on the planet. Bring on the toots.
(you like how I spun that right there?)
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Picture This
Jesse and I did something this week that I was trying to avoid with all my heart. But we got an offer from some good friends that was too good to pass up. So we did it. We took maternity pictures. I've never understood maternity pictures. You're doing a whole photo shoot of something that doesn't quite exist yet. The pictures are taken just a couple months before the baby is born and then you have to do it all over again. What's the point?
I've seen many pictures of butterflies. There are even butterfly catchers (which I think is a class taught in home-schools across the country). But I've never seen any pictures of cocoons, have you? That's basically what this equates to.
If I'm being honest though, the reason that I didn't want to do this has nothing to do with the fact that maternity pictures don't make sense to me. It more had to do with the fact that I may be one of the most unphotogenic people in the world. I started off strong as a kid. The problem is that I peaked way, WAY too early. The best picture I've ever taken was my class picture in the 5th grade. I mean it. To this day it is still my favorite picture of myself (pictures that don't have me in it I've never given much thought to). My hair was perfectly coiffed, I was wearing my favorite shirt, and my smile was more charming than Zach Morris.
I remember looking at this picture for the first time and thinking "I've officially arrived." The very next year, though, was a different story. I'm not sure what happened but I went from looking like the coolest kid in school to the nerdiest person you've ever seen in your life. In retrospect, I suppose my 6th grade picture was a better representation of who I really am, but still. (I don't have this picture but if you ask my sister, I'm pretty sure she carries it around in her wallet) Since then, every picture has been a downward spiral to complete and utter embarrassment.
There may be no worse picture than my 9th grade band picture. One could argue that just taking a band picture is asking for trouble and I suppose you'd be right. This picture is on a whole new level. Every once in a while my sisters will bring out this picture to remind me of my darkest days. It's a constant source of mockery for my family. And I'm defenseless to their attacks. There's nothing I can say to justify the picture whatsoever. Simply put: it's the worst picture ever, as you can see for yourself.
With good reason, I feared the aforementioned maternity photo shoot.
With much trepidation I agreed to the maternity photo shoot. As expected, Jesse looked beautiful in every picture. She's never taken a bad picture. I on the other hand looked like someone smiling while trying to keep their tongue from hitting the top OR bottom of their mouth. (try it and you'll know what I mean) As we did the photo shoot, I was sweating. People were staring. My inner monologue was telling me that I might as well be in my band uniform. But we made it through. Jesse had a blast and it wasn't exactly torture for me either. Once we got the pictures something completely unexpected happened - I loved them. This started out as something to do for Jesse and ended up being a complete blessing for both of us. Even though Cassie isn't here yet, seeing these pictures makes it seem as though she is. I'm so grateful to Logan and Brittany for taking these pictures for us. They did an amazing job. I can't wait 'til we have our first official "family" portrait.
On another note: for those of you who read the "nailed it" post, here is the finished rocket ship. It was worth shooting Dave in the hand for.
ALSO: any and everyone can leave comments on all posts now. So if you've tried before but couldn't, you should be able to now. Thanks for reading
I've seen many pictures of butterflies. There are even butterfly catchers (which I think is a class taught in home-schools across the country). But I've never seen any pictures of cocoons, have you? That's basically what this equates to.
If I'm being honest though, the reason that I didn't want to do this has nothing to do with the fact that maternity pictures don't make sense to me. It more had to do with the fact that I may be one of the most unphotogenic people in the world. I started off strong as a kid. The problem is that I peaked way, WAY too early. The best picture I've ever taken was my class picture in the 5th grade. I mean it. To this day it is still my favorite picture of myself (pictures that don't have me in it I've never given much thought to). My hair was perfectly coiffed, I was wearing my favorite shirt, and my smile was more charming than Zach Morris.
I remember looking at this picture for the first time and thinking "I've officially arrived." The very next year, though, was a different story. I'm not sure what happened but I went from looking like the coolest kid in school to the nerdiest person you've ever seen in your life. In retrospect, I suppose my 6th grade picture was a better representation of who I really am, but still. (I don't have this picture but if you ask my sister, I'm pretty sure she carries it around in her wallet) Since then, every picture has been a downward spiral to complete and utter embarrassment.
There may be no worse picture than my 9th grade band picture. One could argue that just taking a band picture is asking for trouble and I suppose you'd be right. This picture is on a whole new level. Every once in a while my sisters will bring out this picture to remind me of my darkest days. It's a constant source of mockery for my family. And I'm defenseless to their attacks. There's nothing I can say to justify the picture whatsoever. Simply put: it's the worst picture ever, as you can see for yourself.
With much trepidation I agreed to the maternity photo shoot. As expected, Jesse looked beautiful in every picture. She's never taken a bad picture. I on the other hand looked like someone smiling while trying to keep their tongue from hitting the top OR bottom of their mouth. (try it and you'll know what I mean) As we did the photo shoot, I was sweating. People were staring. My inner monologue was telling me that I might as well be in my band uniform. But we made it through. Jesse had a blast and it wasn't exactly torture for me either. Once we got the pictures something completely unexpected happened - I loved them. This started out as something to do for Jesse and ended up being a complete blessing for both of us. Even though Cassie isn't here yet, seeing these pictures makes it seem as though she is. I'm so grateful to Logan and Brittany for taking these pictures for us. They did an amazing job. I can't wait 'til we have our first official "family" portrait.
On another note: for those of you who read the "nailed it" post, here is the finished rocket ship. It was worth shooting Dave in the hand for.
ALSO: any and everyone can leave comments on all posts now. So if you've tried before but couldn't, you should be able to now. Thanks for reading
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