Dog’s Life

22 03 2011

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You really can’t complain if you’re Charlie…


A Couple of Firsts and a Last

13 03 2011

The baby, currently referred to as “Cinnamon Bear,” received his or her first piece of mail.  The lucky little stinker, it was not just a letter but a package, sent by Auntie Ceci and Uncle Hal.

Here is what was inside:


Baby clothes look really small until you have a baby growing inside of you.  Then, suddenly, they seem awfully big…

In addition to receiving Baby’s First Mail, I also debuted the first of my maternity clothes.

This was entirely due to gas and bloating.

I am rather long-waisted, so it’s hard to find shirts long enough for me when I am not expecting.  Now that I am some weeks pregnant, it doesn’t take much of bloat to push my stomach right out the bottom of the shirts I usually wear.  I discovered, however, that some maternity shirts are like very long, very stretchy regular shirts.  I am a fan.  I may never go back to buying tank tops and t-shirts from anywhere but the maternity section.

And the Last:  tomorrow will end my First Trimester.  By Tuesday, I will be 14 weeks pregnant and moving on to the next stage of this adventure.  I am feeling rather scared and superstitious again, since it’s been 3 weeks since my last midwife appointment, but luckily I have another appointment on Tuesday.  If all goes well, I will have some reassurance as I begin the Second Trimester.

I understand that I get to look forward to: more heartburn, more back pain, less sleep, more trips to the bathroom, and fewer of my regular clothes fitting me.

I also understand that it will all be worth it the second I feel the baby move.

It’s sounds like a crappy trade-off, really, but I can’t wait.

They Say the Darndest Things…

13 03 2011

For a long time, the funniest comment Jason had made regarding parenthood was during a conversation in which he was trying to convince me that he could work from home and care for an infant.

Me: What happens when you’re on a conference call and the baby is screaming?

Jason: I’ll just wheel it into the other room.

Me: They don’t come with wheels.


Equally amusing was his suggestion that I shouldn’t pump at work: “It’s a 45 minute drive each way,” he explained.  “Just pump while you drive.”


Last night, Jason asked what I was doing.  I told him I was researching baby carriers, and he wanted to know what a baby carrier was.

“You know,” I told him.  “Like a backpack but for carrying a baby.”

“We have plenty of backpacks,” he said.  “We really don’t need another one.”

“Well, baby carriers are meant for carrying an infant.”

“Oh, it’s silly to buy one when we have so many packs,” he insisted.  “We can just put it in one of those with some blankets around it to keep it from falling out.”


Today, I had been practicing with the wrap my sister-in-law sent me (along with the recommendation that I practice with the cat – clearly not understanding the half-feral nature of my resident feline).

Jason saw the yards of material and asked what it was.

So I demonstrated.

Wolverine seemed confused as I attempted to get him into the baby wrap...

...but there was no confusion when I tried to make adjustments - he was out for blood.

Okay, so here’s the deal: I totally make fun of my husband for the seemingly crazy and un-parent-like comments he makes regarding the care of our future offspring.

But the thing is?  I’m the one putting a cat into a baby carrier.

Sweet Dreams

5 03 2011

Jason and I have had a few lazy, movie-watching days lately, as my energy level has been at zero and Jason is always ready to join me for a couch-sitting marathon.

Recently, we watched the new Adam Sandler flick, Grown Ups.  Not a bad comedy.  Until it revisits you in your dreams…

I go to the hospital nursery, accompanied by a nurse, to see my newborn baby.  Behind floor-to-ceiling windows, a half-dozen swaddled babies lay scattered on the carpet, napping quietly.  Instantly, I recognize my own baby: the twenty-pound giant with the Elvis-style pompadour.  That’s right.  The giant, ugly beast of a freak of nature.  To my credit, in my dream, while recognizing the freaky unattractiveness of my offspring, I do not feel any revulsion or disappointment, I go to him immediately and cradle him with love.  On waking, however…


I hold Rob Schneider fully responsible:

Imagine Rob Schneider's head pasted onto an infant's body, and you will understand the horror of my dream...

I will be carefully monitoring my movie-watching from now on; give me only movie stars whose attributes are fitting for an attractive newborn.

On the other hand, when I look at this photo of Jason, I wonder if I can really blame Rob Schneider after all…

My Baby Daddy

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