Going Public

We told our friends on Thanksgiving Day. Just before unleashing our small horde on our pile of food fit for a much larger horde (burp, scuse me), Ms says something along the lines of “Um, you’ll probably notice that I won’t be drinking today…” What followed was what is commonly referred to as a pregnant pause. Doubly so this time. What followed that was squealing. People were happy. Hugs were given and received. Then we ate too much. Ms is currently trying to fall asleep with her feet elevated. Why? What we suspect are pregnancy dizzies. This seems to be a strong indicator that she’s into her second trimester. One third done. Holy crap. In other news, I have no idea how baby clothes work. The sizes I mean. I went to price a onesie for Critter — about whom we’ll know more on Wednesday — and it was like “Select a size” and the options were something like 000, 00, 0, and 1. I JUST WANT TO BUY A BABY WRAPPER. I hate buying clothes for myself, and now I have to pick clothes for a person I haven’t ever seen before?! What foulness is this?!? Anyway. Off to … well, I almost hate to confess this, but I’m off to google baby clothes. To see if there’s a primer out there....

I keep looking

I keep looking at my blossoming wife expecting to be surprised or nervous or something, but I’m not. It seems like absolutely the right thing. I take this as a good sign.

Special Relativity

a few minutes back… Ms: I’m already making plans for Critter’s … oh, I guess third Christmas. Because she’ll be old enough to understand some things but not really know what’s going on. Mr: Oh? Ms: Yeah, like put Elf on a Shelf around the house in awful positions. Mr: Like butt fuckin’ Mensch on a Bench! Ms: Exactly! Or sitting in the corner of the litter box with little peppermints scattered around! A few minutes before that… Ms: Yeah nobody’s not going to know I’m pregnant wearing this! Mr: Just tell them you have adult onset spina bifida. Ms: What? No! analysis and conclusion We are horrible people who will destroy our child, but I am apparently that much more horrible. *kermit...

Hold On and Let Go

When I was growing up, I frequently heard my mother says, “I forgave __________ during my first pregnancy,” “ I got over _____________ during my second pregnancy.” The people in question were often those that had done her wrong in the past (Edie Morrison for stealing Mom’s boyfriend, Bruce Rodgers, her senior year of high school, etc.). Over the years, I have assumed that pregnancy must be a time of great perspective and reflection. I saw gestation as a time when the enormity of the biology at hand causes other things to be trivial and meaningless. Thus, I have been going through this First Trimester and seeing if there are things I need to “forgive” or “let go.”  I would think that I would have a few more things to “release” compared to my mother. After all, she was married at 23, had me at 27 and followed up with my brother when she was 32. When I was 23, I was a bartender at Hooters in Santa Monica. When I was 27, I was newly married and performing nightly at The Second City. When I was 32, I was divorced, living in Tampa, going through a health crisis, and dating an actor. So you know, there should be all sorts of baggage in that time.  Lots of stuff I need to let go, and move on from, and realize that my life is taking on greater importance. Yet there really isn’t.  There were a lot of things that I held on to for a very long time. Not making it as an actor in LA was tough, but I got over it. The crappy way my ex-husband decided to turn-tail and haul-ass was the topic of a couple of years of therapy, but I now regard him with the same distain as stepping in dog shit – a disgusting inconvenience that was ultimately scraped off all at once leaving some annoying bits in the tread. I don’t really have anything I need to get rid of or let go of or any of that stuff. In fact, if I had to take a serious look at my life and try to pinpoint when I unloaded a lot of excess baggage, it was probably right before I started dating Mr. Forty. Huh. My therapist would be so proud. Perhaps in my state of “I’m really good with myself and my relationships and my past,” I got a little overzealous with goodwill towards others. Case in point – One of my exes. With the exception of the poo on my shoe that some might call my previous marriage, I have a pretty good relationship with guys I’ve dated.  The relationship before Mr. Forty didn’t end well, but some people have to have a scorched earth policy to keep their street cred of being tortured and miserable – so I respect that and keep my distance. Most of my other exes are absolute peaches and I’d set them up with anybody. In fact, one of my exes was one of the first to know about Critter.  I’m dying to tell another, because I know he’ll be thrilled (and make an excellent uncle – which was always the extent of his parenting aspirations).  And then there’s my Beautiful Disaster. The Beautiful Disaster and I had a few really good years together – really good.  We even attempting living together, which lasted exactly the course of the lease.  I adore this man. He...

Crickets

What a weird few days. We seem to be in a sort of holding pattern right now. By which I mean Ms seems to be feeling not so well and so so tired most of the time, but there’s nothing really new to report. As far as I know anyway. Ms looks about like she looked last week, at least to my eye. It’s like there was an initial foomp in her body and right now it’s waiting for Critter to catch up. We’re not entirely sure what week we’re in, because, er, symptoms don’t seem to be lining up with what the sonogram tech told us. That means we’re not sure if we’re at the stage of a grape or a strawberry yet, or whatever the hell the fruit chart says. No more visits to the doctor until December. No great realizations about what it means to be parents. A couple more people know now (hi!) but the numbers are still low because of that idiotic first trimester convention. Pretty sure Critter doesn’t have a tail any more. I’m still rooting for a tail. A real one though, not some nub. Ok, I’m not really rooting for a tail. According to reports from Ms, even the Doozers seemed to lay low for much of this week. Did we ever explain the Doozers? Pregnancy cramps? Construction site? Doozers from Fraggle Rock building mysterious structures all down in there? This is how Ms and I talk. Anyway, it’s like we started this to chronicle all the interesting, challenging, funny, dreadful, or wonderful things that happen in a pregnancy and just a couple weeks in we get a week in which Ms is scraping the bottom of the energy barrel and I’m sick. Nothing communicable, don’t worry. So, we press on, I suppose. Next week we’ll probably have uterine barrel roles or something like...