Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Home with New Baby

So, about 9am on the third day in the hospital we packed up the mountain of baby stuff with a little help from the hospital nurses, stuck Berkles in the baby seat we had studied over for 30 minutes in the store before finally selecting based on color, and off we drove, headed home with our little bundle of joy.

The little booger even fell asleep on the drive, all half a mile of it. How cute. So, we took the seat inside and put it in the middle of the den, went in the bedroom and went to sleep. Turns out that's a bad idea, but we didn't know babies don't get much oxygen while sleeping in a baby seat. Looked happy to us, and after sleeping no longer than 37 seconds in a single stretch in the hospital, we left him there. Hell, I'd have left him on the roof if I thought he preferred it at that point. And so we all slept. Joyous, wonderful sleep, for a couple of hours.

Then he woke up, which was fine. Time to eat. So, we tried breastfeeding. And here was our schedule for the next 10 days:

Minute 1: Baby cries like it's hungry
Minute 2: Courtney whips out a breast, and somebody, just whoever is close, brings the baby over to feed.
Minutes 3-30: Baby screams at breast as if it's made of actual fire and is burning baby.
Minute 31: Baby magically latches onto breast and drinks for a while.
Minute 60: Baby falls asleep
1Hour Minute 20: Baby cries as if it's hungry...
Rinse, cycle, repeat.

Except sometimes, we skip the sleep part. All total, there is on average negative 432 minutes of sleep per day. In contrast, there are 7 migraines and at least fifty-eleven tears. And keep in mind, the baby can't make tears yet, so they're really all mama's tears. If someone came to our house they would have been justified calling social services, or maybe the police. Social services to say "there is no way these two people can care for a child, they need help." The police to say "obviously someone is coming in here and torturing these people when no one is around. Maybe the Chinese and their advanced methods with sleep deprivation."

So, finally I called BS on this whole situation and make Courtney give me one reason to not give the baby a bottle. In her totally destroyed and mind-altered state she couldn't come up with one in 10 seconds, so I made a bottle, and Berk drank it as if he had just caravaned across the Sahara.

And so that was the end of the great breast-bottle debate in the Willis house. Courtney was not happy and neither was I. We presume all the screaming at the breast meant Berkley was less than amused. But since the first bottle, all cartwheels and sunshine, much better sleep for everyone, etc. So, we stuck with it.

And after 7 days of wearing cabbage and ice packs on her breasts, Courtney's breasts returned to normal from the size of small planets.

Our next challenge was sleep (for the baby). We both used to go to bed at about 11, and sleep for 8 hours, straight. No waking up, no going to pee, nada. Babies are horrible at that it turns out. I slept light and if I woke up I was up for good. So, we went on a search for how to teach Berkley to sleep.

And after trying the cradle thingy, and his bed, and our bed, and a sleep sack, and a swaddle, and the couch, and the car seat again, and even pondering that roof idea, we settled on just dealing with it. We'd feed him about 10, then put him to bed until about 3am, then feed him, then again about 6am. This is not the same as sleeping 8 hours straight.

This went on for a couple of weeks, until someone suggested the novel idea we just NOT feed the baby in the middle of the night. Swaddle him tight, shut the door on the way out, and then walk back in there in the morning. That's it. This sounds very simple. We would feed Berkley about 7pm, change his diaper, put him to bed swaddled like a mummy (I call this baby jail), then close his bedroom door and do our thing until we went to bed. About 7am we walk back into the room and feed him again.

This is NOT so easy. The baby cries. And when you live in a home the size of a postage stamp, you hear it, all.the.time. But, sure enough, after a couple of nights he started sleeping the whole night. And has pretty much done just that every night since.

In The Hospital

Here, in this post, I tell you about our hospital stay. The one directly after the baby was born.

So, squirt, out came baby. And then the fun really began. The doc announced to Courtney that it was time to get the placenta out. By this hour the drugs from the epidural had kicked in, so he could have announced it was time to remove her kidneys with a butter knife and all would have been good. I, on the other hand, had heard some not so fun stories about this little process, and I was NOT drugged up. So, to work he went massaging her belly and being very nice about the whole thing while I stood watching with trepidation. Luckily, this went much quicker and more smoothly than the actual birth, and out came this... thing. It reminded me of a really shiny/silvery gallon sized zip-lock bag with spaghetti sauce inside. I was WAY more interested than I thought I would be. The doc noticed our interest and so yep, he just brought it right up into our faces to check it out. He turned it inside out, so then it was no longer silvery and slick, but instead very much like carpet in consistency, except still reddish purple and wet. So, there you go, time to play with new baby.

We got to hold him for 13 seconds, then we brought the families in to see everything. My 4 parents, my sister and her boyfriend, and Courtney's mom were there. Her dad was on the way.

So, in they all trooped, and the baby got passed around, my sister's boyfriend announced he was happy to be an uncle, and much merriment was had.

Then 15 seconds later, it was time to move to the "not so expensive, not as nice" room. So we all trucked down the hallway to a room to stay a couple of nights. Halfway there the fire alarm went off. Super.

We finally get into this room, everyone heads home, and we're alone, with this baby. We tried to breastfeed. How hard can it be? Take baby mouth, put on breast. Whammo.

NOT whammo. We turned, pinched, contorted, and the baby was just getting more and more angry. So, we gave up, and a little while later a nurse came in. She showed us how to do it right, and baby drank a little and went to sleep. Parenting is so simple.

10 minutes later, baby started crying. Well what the hell little man? You ate, your diaper is clean, you're all wrapped up and warm, nothing is wrong. And so on it went, through the night. Happy and sleeping a while, crying a while. Not a lot of sleep was had. It should be noted that for those without children that a baby crying in the room with you is roughly equivalent to someone exploding a 50 megaton nuclear bomb. Courtney was exhausted. I was pretty tired myself. About 6am, we sent the little guy to the nursery and slept in bliss for a few hours.

About 9, they brought him back to have more breastfeeding lessons. It went pretty well, and he ate a while and went to sleep. Through the day people came by and we told the same birth story over again and again. And the baby just sort of did his thing. Cry, sleep, pee, poo, rinse and repeat.

That night, we're alone again, and here we go. We want to be with the baby, but there was not much sleeping happening. And we try to breastfeed, but it isn't going all that well. The baby is best at screaming at us.

So, back to the nursery the baby goes, and to sleep we go.

Throughout all of these 3 days, it should be noted that Courtney is having to wear these gigantic maxi pads with an ice pack in them. I have no idea how she was comfortable or slept for one minute.

Also, if everyone did get settled and about to sleep, someone, anyone would barge in the room and want to test the baby's hearing, or make sure Courtney is drinking water, or something. Pure craziness.

Next morning, it's time to go home. They have circumcised the baby, we're all packed up, and down to the car we go. We live about 3 blocks from the hospital, so it's a short drive.

And upon getting home, the little man slept hard for a few hours. We all slept, more exhausted than we've ever been.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

So We Have This Baby....

I haven't posted since well before our baby was born. This should be your first indicator of what it's really like to have a baby around the house. I'll take time over the next couple of weeks to talk through the ups and down, but mostly just hilarious reality of two people who were obviously built to be an aunt and, uncle bringing a baby into the world.

Today, I'll catalog the birth experience.

If there was one thing Courtney was terrified of, it was the act of pushing a 8-10lb baby out of her naturally. Or having surgery to remove said newborn. And I felt this was a completely justifiable fear. I'm sure there are husbands out there who tried to help their wives out by saying things like "It won't be so bad" "It'll be over before you know it" or "It's been happening for thousands of years.." Not me. I agreed wholeheartedly that it would likely be awful, painful, and scarring to the psyche. For this reason, we both agreed, and informed anyone within earshot that there would be massive drugs administered in the Willis birthing suite at Forsyth Hospital.

We were right! The big day came, then went, and no baby. So, we waited a week or so, then scheduled an induction. Super. Everyone said this would make the labor process even longer. Just Courtney was hoping for: a few more hours of agonizing pain. So we drove over to the hospital at 6am, checked in, and got hooked up to the labor-inducing drug, Pitocin. Nothing happened.

Sure, the little monitor went up and down, up and down. But no pain, no contraction feelings, no baby. So, the doc finally came in around noon and suggested he "break her water" to speed things up. "Super" we said. "Is it time for drugs?"

He says "Well, it's still likely to take several hours, so let's wait until you need them." We went along with the doctor's suggestion.

He took this big plastic hook, shoved it up inside of her, and broke the water. I sort of expected a gush of liquid. Didn't happen. Sort of nothing happened. For a few minutes. Then WOAH.

Contractions came like the breakers at Waimea Bay. (for the geographically challenged, that's a big surfing spot in Hawaii with huge waves...) My normally placid, angelic, Christian wife transformed into a fire-breathing monster. With every subsequent contraction over the next ten minutes, she demanded more and more loudly for the drugs.

The anesthesia team finally showed up to get to work. About this time, the OB doc decides the hear rate on the baby is not rebounding quickly enough to contractions, and puts Courtney on oxygen.

So, she's hurting more and more with each contraction, and she's on O2, and she's pissed. She's jerking the mask off of her face because it feels constricting, and she's demanding the baby be removed by c-section, NOW.

So then, the OB gets the super idea to place a heart monitor on the baby's head and check to be sure the umbilical cord is not around the baby's neck. This apparently hurts. By Courtney's reaction, this is about the same as having your foot removed with a butter knife. And, at this point, the contractions are for real. Courtney is coming 2-3 feet up off of the bed with each round.

Remember those anesthesia guys? They keep having to pause each time Courtney has a contraction, which is approximately every other breath. So they're not making a lot of headway.

So they turn her on her side to get the meds flowing into her epidural, and this one nurse, who I have not seen all day, non-chalantly says "she looks ready, we should probably check her cervix." So, she just reaches up in there like she's checking the stuffing in a turkey, and says, "oh wow, it's time. Baby is here." She says this in same tone of voice I would announce it's time to get more gas in the car. So, not too wound up, I'm betting to keep Courtney calm.

Courtney hears, and it the opposite of calm. Instead she begins to repeat her mantra for the day "IT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN THIS WAY. THIS IS NOT THE PLAN!!!" She's crying, upset, screaming with each contraction, and the scene has gone from serene to pure chaos.

Remember the anesthesia guys? they announce that the drugs take a minute or twelve to take effect.

Courtney has a fit. They double the dose and pump harder. One looks at the other and says "the button" in reference to the self-administered button for more anesthesia. The other docs just gives a no not to wave him off. I wonder why. The OB doc then makes an off-handed comment "I think we need to hurry up and get the baby out, and there may not have time for the meds to take effect."

HA! Courtney comes unraveled. This is her worst nightmare. And we all hear about it. He's saying push, she's saying no. It's a battle of wills.

The baby wins. Apparently, when the nurse said it's time, she really meant "it was time 20 minutes ago." Courtney loses, and has to push. Or at least tell us she's pushing, because it turns out she's been pushing all along.

The meds finally take effect, and the next round of contractions are "not so bad."

So I get assigned a leg to hold back. I thought this meant just hang on to the leg. No, it means pull the leg back to where the knee is beside her ear. and much to my surprise, this means I'm face to face with a vagina. (Courtney's of course)

And here comes a baby. I had sort of planned on "peeking in" on the whole vag area. Not an option. It's facing UP. Anyone in the room has to look at it.

And two contractions later, baby.

It was really just that simple. And everything since has been just as easy.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Due, or something like it.

Today is the "due date" for the baby to be born. What a crock. So I did a little research and it turns out "due dates" were originally calculated in the mid 1800s by a German doctor. (280 days) And no one has thought to re-calculate based on modern medicine and diet, different races, regional differences, or anything. Pure silliness.

So I did some more research, and there actually have been some studies done on Caucasian, American women recently. Like, since 1980. And they are pretty consistent. The average is really closer to 288 days. That's an extra week and a day, boys and girls. So for all of you who are "overdue" keep those numbers in mind. Maybe you're still early, just like Courtney and Para.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Alien vs Mommy

So, if you want to know what life is like for a 37 week mother and her unborn fetus inside, I can give you a simple script for your reading pleasure:

Mother To Be: "Ouch!"
Anyone Nearby: "You okay?"
Mother To Be: "Baby Kicked Me."

Mother shifts positions, rubs belly where she has been kicked, alien looking foot possibly protrudes from belly, mother goes back to what she was doing, and people nearby are either mesmerized or run for the exits after seeing the foot about to break through belly skin.


Mother To Be: "Woah Baby!"
Anyone Nearby: "What?"
Mother to Be: "Baby is Hurting Me, I can't breathe."

Mother shifts positions, breathes hard, goes back to what she was doing.


Mother To Be: "Ooh."
Anyone Nearby: "What's up?"
Mother To Be: "Braxton Hicks Contraction."
Anyone Nearby Thinks Internally: "I have no idea what that means, but it sounds and looks painful."

And on we go, hour after hour, day after day. I picked up one of those "What to Expect When You're Knocked Up" books yesterday and it said "...although you may want to hold your doctor at gunpoint and have her induce labor at your next weekly checkup, do not, your baby's lungs have yet to finish developing."

We don't have a gun (as far as you know) but I think I'm starting to understand why that sentence is in the book.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

A Happy Woman is a Floating Woman

We just got home from a week at Myrtle Beach (or as I call it: Gatlinburg at the Sea). Every year we go with a big group down there and stay for a week. Good times. This year I was skeptical. I mean, it's like 4 weeks to due date, and as I may have mentioned before, there are no cities in the 5 hour drive between my house and MB. But, the doctor said it's fine to go, and away we went.

And a wonderful thing happened: the swimming pool. This house has a really nice pool. If I could post pictures in here I'd show you, but Blogger is acting like one of Jerry's kids, so imagine a pristine, clean big pool that looks out over the dunes then the ocean.

During the past few weeks, the Willis pregnancy (hers, not mine) has gone from "hey, come feel the baby kick, this is way cool" to "Damn baby, get off my bladder, ribs, and longs for a minute." She has descended into a struggle to get comfortable, breathe well, and sleep well.

But it turns out a swimming pool solves most of those problems. The added buoyancy takes some of the baby's weight and moves it around to places that are, well, good. And with the right type of float, sort of shaped like a hammock, she can lay in there and sleep on her belly. So, I'm happy to announce that I drove 10 hours round trip to figure out that pregnant ladies should stay in the swimming pool. If I had only known this earlier I would have added to the list of home improvement projects. Just what everyone with a toddler needs, right?

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Behind The Curve? What Curve?

I recently read Courtney's post on all the things she hasn't done to prepare for our baby's arrival. And I pondered it for a few days before coming to this conclusion: so what?

Let's discuss these birthing classes. My buddy Jason and his wife went to one, and he said it was taught by a total crack-head who made them watch a birth (afterbirth included) on tv and then told them all that if you don't breastfeed your baby it's child abuse. Uh, nay. Not going to happen. I work in the hospital. Dozens of poor women come in there every day who haven't had the first day of prenatal care, and haven't even heard of a birthing class and by what I can only determine is a miracle of luck over and over, a healthy happy baby pops out. And all without the first new-age breathing technique. Bring on the drugs, forget the hippie-fied seances.

We did take a hospital tour. Very interesting. Reminded me of the hospitals I spend my time in, but for smaller people. They showed us a "birthing suite." I had been hearing this term get tossed around, and for some readson I envisioned the suites I stay in when I travel. Not exactly. When I go on a business trip I have 2-4 rooms to MYSELF. In this suite, 4 mothers are all giving birth in the same 4 room suite. It's a little trick they're playing with the words so they can bill you more. Maybe it's a suite because there is a bed for you and the baby in that one room, plus a tiny couch for sleeping. All in all it was a pretty nice room, but after hearing question lady (you know this woman, brings a paper full of questions to ask about everything under the sun when we're all just trying to get through the tour. Probably sat at the front of the class..) ask how long you get to stay, I found out that as soon as you deliver, you're OUT, and down to a much more drab, economical room. Super.

I admit it, I have been reading "What To Expect The First Year." It's on the bed-side table, and most nights I open it up and read something at random. Last night I learned that some babies have colic, which really just means they cry a lot, and you should not abuse them if this happens because babies...cry. Thank you, Arlene Eisenberg, you are a sage.

A pediatrician, before the baby is even born? Seriously? I have probably seen 50 different doctors in my lifetime, I'm sure Baby Willis will do the same. Whatever. I'll take whoever is in the building that day. Or I'll just call some friends and ask who they use, then wham, we're done. I've got news for you: it's all of you crazy parents demanding unnecessary tests and procedures that got us in this health-care mess to start with. Now Obama has to bail us out, for about $3000 in taxes per adult. That's 1000 boxes of girl scout cookies I could enjoy! Think I'm crazy? Read on:

I have no input on the childcare issue. If she works, we will get some childcare. Preferably a nanny type caregiver. If not, no problem.

I'll leave you with some wisdom:
We spend the first twelve months of our children's lives hoping they will hurry up and walk and talk, and the next Twenty-four years telling them to sit down and shut up!

Monday, June 15, 2009

Babies Mean Projects

As we get closer to actual baby due date (5-6 weeks I reckon) the need to complete the "projects" increases. Mostly it's self imposed pressure, since I'm pretty sure I'll be busy after the baby is born doing baby things. I do not know what those things are exactly, but people say babies take a lot of time. So, there has been getting the baby's room ready, getting a playroom ready, etc, etc.
And this is really a manageable set of projects. But then we had to get new gutters because our old ones were done and causing the roof to rot. So then that meant replacing the fascia board around the house. Then painting it. Then painting the house where the old gutters were. And the list goes on, and on.
Did you know I also have a real job that does not involve babies? As I prepare to use of some vacation to help take care of the Parasite, that means I have to get all of my little work ducks in order. My projects have to be organized, or preferably finished. So I've been working a little (or a lot some days) extra to get those wrapped up.
Tomorrow is our 6th baby shower. This time at my office, where I know about 4 people and my wife knows zero. I hope we get some burp cloths. We only have 313671283.
All this has led me to realize that babies mean a lot of work and you lose time for yourself long before the baby is ever born. I'm actually looking forward to those weeks at home taking care of an infant. I think it'll be less work than preparing for one.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Shower #2, Now I Need to Clean

Last night we had the first baby shower where males are present. Our friends Joy and Ben opened up their home to several friends and we had dinner and drinks, and for a few minutes we opened presents while everyone watched.
We got a couple of interesting "swadding" wraps. Sort of like a baby sleep jail. Apparently you wrap the baby up real tight with these cloths, then they sleep, unable to move anything. Sounds great to me!
We also received quote a few great books. I'm going to read those today. Sure, they're baby books, but they looked interesting enough for me. One was about Wild Things, and one was about Curious George, and I love both of those topics in general.
I'm sure once baby Para is born everything will fall into it's place, but right now I have to admit that we have way more stuff than house and garage. So, today I'm going out to the garage to throw stuff away, clean, and organize so we can take more stuff that is in the house and put it out there.
Have a great Saturday.

Thursday, April 30, 2009


We've had exactly one baby shower. AND already we're in need of a bigger house, and another car.


I can't even write any more on this subject right now. I have to go put several of my favorite belongings on the front porch for the Vietnam Vets to pick up so there will be room for baby furniture.

Monday, April 20, 2009


I love getting gifts for the baby. Courtney posted a few good ones.

My favorite gifts so far are:

Baby Crib and Changing Table - I was going to find this one on Craigslist, so I feel very lucky to have such a nice bed and changing table for little Para. I was a bit astonished at what Cribs cost. One at Rolly's, a baby store near our house, cost $2000. I hope it guarantees full nights of sleep for everyone in the house. Ours did NOT cost $2000. We could have bought 4 cribs and 4 changing tables for $2000. But still, having new ones, and having them match, is really nice.

Elvis Onesie - This requires no explanation if you have a brain. Elvis is the King. Whether we have a boy or girl, I will have them in this thing all the time. Rocking it, of course. It's a hand me down from Angela at work, and I will have a hard time returning it when Para outgrows this little piece of Heaven.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Everybody's Growing

I've noticed that quite a lot of couples who are going to have a baby use "we" do describe the pregnancy.

"We're pregnant."
"We're going to have a drug-free birthing process."
"We're going to breast feed."

Well, I don't use "we." I'm well aware that Courtney is going to be the only one pushing, getting up to breast feed (if she chooses to do so) and if she wants drugs during birth, I'm all for it. I wouldn't try and pass a kidney stone without some drogas, so I certainly don't expect her to pass a child the size of a cantaloupe without Dr. Feelgood.

BUT, I have also noticed there is some "we" in pregnancy. We were sleeping a ton, and not we're not. We have to up twice a night to pee. Well, I didn't know I had to pee, but since she's getting up and I wake up, I find out I have to pee. We also are very hungry, even 30 minutes after a meal.

This hungry thing is all new. What, do I have a tapeworm? She's the one with the parasite inside of her. I have nothing aiding me in the consumption of this extra meal (or two) per day. And so for the longest time I did the part of a good husband and just ate along with her, happily telling her how cute she was as her belly began to grow. Then, last Monday I went to the Y to work out. That morning I had noticed I was having a *really* hard time getting into my pants. I was just shy of 200 lbs. 200 lbs! That's 50lbs over the weight at which I graduated college 10 years ago. Holy crap! It's 25 lbs over the weight I was, oh say... 6 months ago.

So, although it may not be the more popular decision at this point in "our" pregnancy, I'm cutting out the extra meals, and losing back down to my normal weight. I mean, 200lbs is just ridiculous, and I can't afford all new pants AND a bupivacaine injection on delivery day.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Courtney Has The BEST Students

We've been talking about daycare, Courtney staying home from school with the baby, and all that jazz. Someone had given me some info that daycare is like 800 million dollars per week. So, I decided that was plainly ridiculous and made a few calls around the Dash. Daycare is about $150 per week. Now that's doable. So, I emailed Courtney to let her know the good news that she could keep working if she so chose (because a teacher makes approximately $3 more dollars than that per week after taxes, buying pencils for everyone in class, and buying uniforms), and I got a response that basically said "I'm applying for a job bagging groceries."

Courtney came home looking like she had participated in the Tet Offensive.

I lost our digital camera, so I'm going to have to give you an approximate visual:

I asked "What happened at the work place today?" Were the kids just bad?

She replied "No, they were just normal."

To which I replied "Normal means bad?"

To which she replied "They just get up and walk in and out of the room, talk outloud all the time. Take each other's stuff and play keep away, wrestle in the middle of the floor, and then sometimes, it gets worse."

WHAT? In school? During class? I had some classes with the common folk in seventh grade, and none of this happened. Kids were crazy, sure. But they weren't this level of disrespectful. We would have been smacked around like a ping pong ball.

So we talked about it some more and the problem is in the rules. You can't beat these kids anymore! You can just send them home. Boy, if I was the principal around there we wouldn't have a discipline problem. There wouldn't be but about 6 kids left in class: the ones who want to learn.

My take away from all of this was two things:
1) The parent has to teach the discipline, so I guess I'll be teaching little Para to sit up and act right.
2) It's time to let the school administrators start beating kids in school again. If you don't spank the kids, this will happen:

Monday, March 23, 2009

Cashier, Ditch Digger, Whatever

I have to admit I get the same responses as Courtney when I tell people we're not finding out the sex of our baby, the color of the baby's room, and the fact we wouldn't dress our child in exclusively pink or blue even if we did know the sex: utter disbelief.

But honestly, dressing a little girl in pink all the time is silly. It's a baby, not an Easter Egg. I give two examples for your review:
1) Pink Baby
2)Non-pink Baby
Baby 2 is way more fun. Everybody knows it.
We also get quite a lot of flack for not having the ultrasound tech tell us what the sex of the baby is going to be. Well, see above. If everyone knew we were having a girl, we'd have 368 pink outfits, 48 pink blankets, and a room full of pink toys, in an ORANGE room. That would be just super, now wouldn't it?
Lastly, I would like to give my wife a little advice when people seem flabbergasted by her decision to not eat everything in sight and gain 80 lbs, or to have an Orange room, or not find out the sex of the parasite. I'll give it in scene format:
Scenario One, You're Not finding Out?
Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "What are ye havin?"
Courtney: "A baby"
Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "I mean a boy or a girl."
Courtney: "Don't know, it's not out yet."
Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "Well, you can find out before hand!"
Courtney: "We decided to be suprised, maybe a sack of money will fall out instead! Wouldn't that be a great suprise?!"
Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "I couldn't imagine not finding out..."
Courtney:"Yes, but then again you work a cash register/shovel all day, I'm betting there are TONS of things you couldn't imagine."
Scenario Two, You're Too Skinny!
Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "How far along are you?"
Courtney: "I was almost checked out and headed home"
Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "I mean with the baby."
Courtney: "Oh, 24 weeks."
Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "What, you're WAY too skinny, you need to eat."
Courtney: "Well, I sent some pictures in and I've been hoping Victoria's Secret will call me next week for their catalogue. When they call I don't want to be all, you know... fat."

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

We Have A Layette! We Have a Layette!

Well, I think we have a layette. Honestly, I have no idea. I do know that last week we took a little trip after work over to BabiesR'Expensive and registered for a bunch of things. And I do mean a bunch. Two hours of my life are gone and I cannot have them back. I may actually be dumber after this experience. Hard to believe, I know.

We started off by going to the Baby Registry counter and getting all "set up." That's what the chubby lady behind the counter said she was gonna do: Get us all "set up." Getting set up takes no less than 30 minutes, 29.8 of which she's just steady talking. This is not my style. I do the talking, you do the listening Precious. She told us about everything in the store. Showed us magazines with pictures of things... that are in the store. She showed us how to work the bar code scanner. For five minutes. Seriously? Grocery store workers use these things, I think we've pretty much got it. Point, bleep, spend someone else's money.

Finally, I just got up and left mid-sentence. I couldn't take it anymore. I figures I'd go check out the cups with the baby names on them for inspiration. I'm now liking "Crystal" if it's a girl. I'm hoping everyone in school will call her "Charity" or "Tiffany" for short.

We finally wrestled the scanner/bleeper out of Precious' hands and went to work. We got: A little chair a baby can sit in, another chair that the baby lays in and stops crying, a chair a baby eats in, a chair a baby rides in in the car, a chair you push a baby around in, another one for pushing a baby around, and then finally we got a chair to bathe the baby in. Obviously having a baby requires a lot of chairs. I had no idea. Hopefully the baby will walk someday, but I'm doubting it will need to with all the chairs we're going to have.

We also registered for clothes. I think this is a layette. For a while I thought a layette was something french babies used to fight with. But now I understand I little better.... as long as a little better = zero. But either way, we bleeped lots of unisex clothes. Orange, blue, yellow, green, brown, BLACK AND GOLD. Later I found out we registered for mostly boy clothes. Come to find out girls clothes are all pink and frilly. Retarded. We won't be getting any of those, even if we do have a girl. If we wanted to have Nellie Oleson we'd just rent the DVDs.

When it was all said and done we closed the store down that night. My life is really changing. I'm going from closing Finnegan's Wake and Opera House down to closing down BabiesRExpensive. So be it.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Hello? Has Anyone Seen My Wife?

Seriously, who or what has inhabited the body formerly occupied by Courtney? If you read her blog (over there on the right) you'll see I was at the ACC Tournament this weekend. And that was a great time. But while I was gone someone came in our house, snatched my wife up, and replaced her with some sort of person who cleans, paints, and is generally self motivated.

This was quite a gift in reality. I'm the "do-er" around here. Gutters need replacing? That's me. Cars need washing: Esteban. Kitchen floor dirty: still this guy. Something need to be moved: guess who? So for me to come home and find this whole room cleaned out, then painted was something else. I liken it to the Christmas I got a go-kart AND a jam box. "Ain't nuthin gonna break-a my stride... Nobody gonna sloooow me down. Oh no... " Anyhow, although happy I was pretty confused.

A quick Google search finally led me to the promised land. She had mentioned something about "nesting" last night. I had no idea what nesting was, so being a man I immediately ignored that sentence while she spoke it. But here, let me google that for you: Nesting.

So yes, Courtney is officially pregnant today. Last night I saw the results of her preparing a way for a baby by beginning to build a nursery. And last night I felt the baby kick me through her belly. So, now we have proof. I think I better start a college fund.

Friday, March 6, 2009

New Ultrasound Pictures

Baby Willis pictures are below. Before too many people get wound up... we didn't really ask to find out the sex, although apparently one can tell about now. Something about a turtle head of 3 lines. no idea. Anyhow, here we go: Para (short for parasite remember) at 19.5 weeks, I think.

Baby in 3D.

Baby hiding.

Foot. Reminds me of Pele's foot.

Arm flexing. Show it off baby!

Raising arms up over head. Looking for a high five. Give a baby a high five.

No idea. Arms, leg, proof of evolution?

Baby head, with fish eye. Sort of looks like Bill Cosby.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Why Do People Turn Into Retards Around a Pregnant Lady?

So, I was reading Courtney's blog (because see that's what I do:read hers, then respond here) and I was laughing at her story about Nigel saying she was different (fat), and not understanding it's because she's pregnant. It got me thinking about the truly retarded things people seem to do around a pregnant lady, or maybe someone they think is pregnant, but maybe isn't.

First, what's up with touching a pregnant lady's belly, when you don't even know said pregnant lady? Hello... invasion of privacy.

Second, is there some sort of reason why the most important question on God's green Earth becomes "how many weeks are you?" I've started answering this one with my age in weeks, rather than how many weeks pregnant Courtney is. It goes like this:

ME: I'm going to be a Dad.
CRAZY PERSON: Oh no kidding! How many weeks are you?
ME: (In the voice of a three year old) I one thousand, seven hundred, and thirty weeks.

Lastly, there is this small matter of, uh, growth in the mother. And if the past week or two is any indication of the future, the growth is on. My wife looks pregnant, and I love it. But one time, someone looked pregnant, and I DID NOT love it.

It was my first day at a new job and my boss was asking me where I'd like to go to lunch. And so, noticing her pregnant belly (I'd estimate 7 1/2 months) I said, "Oh I don't have anything in mind, do you have any particular cravings?" To which she replied in a bit of a confused voice "Well.... no." Shit. I was so wrong. She had been pregnant, a few years back... So, I thought a second and said "Because on Mondays I usually crave a burger or something greazy."

Take it from me. Pregnant women don't usually want to be touched, asked how many weeks they every five minutes, and don't presume someone is pregnant until you've been given some proof.

Friday, February 20, 2009

17.5 Weeks and Illusion Reigns

So, undoubtedly if you're here you've seen the pictures Courtney posted of herself as she begins to show a bump. I swear, it's just a bump. In those pictures she looks like someone moved the decimel and she's 175 weeks pregnant. I'm THAT bad of a photographer. I somehow found the one angle, setting and pose where she wouldn't look anything her day to day self. In reality, she has this very cute little pooch, sort of like starving kids. Except starving kids aren't cute. They're supposed to look sad.
And since we're at 17.5 weeks, I should mention how nice those 17.5 weeks have been. For 10 weeks she slept, ate normally, and never pooped. Then I went out and got her some Senekot and she's been a farting, pooping, eating machine who actually has been awake because her energy magically came back. It's like having a brother! Except a brother who looks good naked.
She's also gotten a little spunky. for instance, since her pregnancy has been worry free (well, mostly) she's got it in her head we'll be going on the annual Myrtle Beach vacation to this place in her 35th week of pregnancy:

But the problem is that it's far to Myrtle Beach, and I envision us delivering in Orangeburg, SC, where the airport looks like this:

That would be just SUPER.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

The Future Pele

Courtney has mentioned something about feeling the baby kick once or twice. Ever since then I've been shouting into her abdomen, begging the child to keep up the workouts. We need to get college paid for, you know. I also happened to have played a little soccer myself, so I know there are some great things about being a soccer player, like the hot chicks who flock to your side (see Courtney, for example). For more examples, I provide visual proof:

Girlfriend of German star Tim Borowski.

England's Ashely Cole has a girlfriend named Cheryl

Steven Gerrard dates this chickie:

As I was posting these pics, it dawned on me... what little Para is a girl? Well, we already know it'll be great looking, and she'll certainly play soccer. I think there's some sort of requirement for American kids these days to play soccer. So, I guess I'll just hope chicks this hot are attracted to her!

Saturday, February 7, 2009

My Cravings

Being a male, I only have two basic cravings, and they never waver in intensity nor are they replaced. I crave sex, and beer. Everything else is done to get me to one of those.

Now that WE'RE pregnant, my two favorite past times have taken a back seat to the one thing that completely rules this house: sleep. Sweet, precious sleep. Courtney and Para (short for Parasite) need lots of it in order for Para to grow. Plus Courtney is doing this musical and that makes her tired. But don't mistake this as complaining, I'm supportive. And I like to sleep so it's a win on that front for me.

But there's this ONE little thing.... see attached video:


Yep, just like a freight train every other night. The next night it's much lighter, maybe more like a little pop... with every single exhale. So, I'm not getting so much of the sleep. And you can't really leave the woman you impregnated to go sleep in another bed. That's just wrong.

So, not a lot of sex when both people are dead tired, and certainly not a lot of "Hey, let's go out and have some beers!"

But, according to some things I have taken the initiative to read, I'm in luck on the sexual front. According to today's preeminent guide to pregnancy: Men's Health magazine, women are actually MORE aroused in the second trimester of pregnancy than their every day non-pregnant life. And according to this other website I saw (pregnancy.org or something random like that) I saw, men often find women most attractive as they start to chow a little belly.

YES, I'm headed into the bedroom to wait for the action to begin...

And about the beer, I'll be going down to the ACC tournament with a bunch of guys, so that will take care of itself.

Thursday, February 5, 2009


I think our OBGYN charges about $1500 for prenatal care and delivery. I think when we figure in the amount spent (well, the amount the insurance company is spending), and the monthly appointments, we figure there must be quite a lot to having a baby, especially to the monthly check-ups. But in the end as long as we answer "no" to these few questions

"You been dizzy?" No.

"You been sick?" No.

"You been bleeding?" No.

"You been drinking and driving?" No.

they let Courtney pee in a cup, check her for preclampsyia and send her on down the road. I mean hell fire! Why can't they do an ultrasound every time we go? It's free to do, except for the jelly. I don't even want a professional to read it, I just want to look at the little one. They only get out "the duck" and look at her cervix. NEWSFLASH! Nothing going on up there yet!

Well, I have to admit I didn't even go to the last appointment. It's really a woman's world, and us men are about as welcome as a fart in a romantic bath for two. They only have one Car and Driver in the whole waiting room. I read it three times. The reast are all those "parent-noia" magazines Courtney spoke of in her blog.

I thumbed through a couple of those. Wow, really super. I've been wondering what colors in the nursery might be best suited to stiulate our child's imagination... Seriously? I couldn't care less. Want to tell me something interesting? Tell me what colors make babies sleep through the night. I don't care about the best way to discipline a 2 year old who says "mine" all the time. He's TWO! He just learned "mine" 8 seconds ago.

Anyhow, all in all the OBGYN is a fruity place that you get about two good things out of: pictures of your fetus, and someone to make the catch on the big day. If they didn't make so many mistakes and have to carry a gazillion dollars in malpractice insurance, they'd have all the money in the world.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

In The Words of Weird Al, "Eat It"

For starters, I'm not an idiot. So NO, she's not getting fat. I say eat everything in sight, and bring me some if you're getting take out. And bring some ice cream with that, please.

Monday, January 19, 2009

The Toilets of Oconee

So without doubt you've heard or read Courtney's account of our trip down to Clemson and the scare with the cramping/bleeding. Yes, I was scared, no I didn't check game scores from inside the RV, and yes we have some great friends who were very good to us during a difficult situation.

But, the rest of the story must be told, for that's why you're reading THIS blog! First, here we are! Second row up from the "BI" in Bi-Lo. right behind the kid in the white t-shirt.

I'm in the second row of stands, at halftime, enjoying CJ Spiller say something completely incomprehensible (this kid is on the Dean's list? no way he can read..) about the ACC Championship he wants to win. Okay, I'm really enjoying the Rally Cats... 31 seconds until the second half starts.

I get a text from Courtney. It says "Bad News..."I feel similar to when a doc calls me in the middle of an operation and says "XYZ is broken, come in here and fix it before the patient wakes up." Except this is much more powerful, because I actually care. I take 2 seconds to make a plan. I realize I did not bring a doctor, so I have no plan. I am then Carl Lewis sprinting. I jump over our friends without excusing myself. I am Jim Brown, splitting Coach Gaudio's wife and daughter like I'm going through a defensive line (sorry, folks) and running halfway around the coliseum to find her... crying. This isn't new, she's a cry machine. I say let if flow.

I'm a do-er. So, we hustle her over to a nurse, and they summon an ambulance. While we wait they take a bit of a history. You know what a history is, right? Name, age, symptoms, what did you eat today, has this been happening lately, astrological sign, who did you vote for, etc... She gives all the answers. I'm taking mental notes, and thinking "this isn't good news, please let her be confused." I stay quiet and do lots of arm and head rubbing. I am petting. I stop petting because that's probably annoying. I tell her it's going to be okay. I know I'm going to be okay no matter what. I don't know about her. I lie and say she will. The ambulance shows up and we take a short ride to Oconee Medical Center, the hospital in Seneca. I have no idea where any of this is, we're in the sticks...

Anyhow, I get her registered and then they tell me what ER room she's in. I just go back there like I own the place... but there's no Courtney in there. I give a quick knock and step in room 16, taking mental note that 16 is my lucky number. NOT TODAY. Where is she? AND WHAT IS THAT GOD AWFUL SMELL? I call her name thinking there's no way they put her in a room with a rotting corpse. She's in the room next door. Whew, let me out of here.. I go through the door, and everything becomes clear. Or should I say tears came to my eyes? It some how, some way, smells worse in there. In the history, it dawns on me they never asked "when did you last go #2."

So yes... we drove 4 hours, shopped at an outlet mall, bought her new black shoes, ate a crappy lunch at said outlet mall, sat through half a Clemson basketball game in the best seats known to man, then took a 15 minute ambulance ride... so my wife could take a massive Pericolace induced dookie in the Oconee hospital ER restroom. Two movement later (sort of like a symphony orchestra, yes) problem solved. We got an ultrasound to confirm "I gotta poo" cramps feel just like "I gotta problem" cramps. Hey, it's all about the journey.

I love my wife (who will be increasing her fiber intake), my unborn child who looks a bit like those Grateful Dead dancing bears, and my friends who went pretty far out of their way to make sure we were okay and taken care of.

Go Deacs!

Saturday, January 17, 2009

The Amazing Expanding Boob

So last night we spent another couple of hundred dollars on "belly accommodating" clothing. I was pleasantly surprised at the, uh, "prettiness" of the clothing available. Of course, one had to leave Target and head to an actual maternity store to find clothes that don't look like they were made for the Virgin Mary. Maternity Store = more expensive. YAY!

Today I'd like to inform you on the breast growth situation. Did I say growth? I was mistaken. There is an explosion of breast in my house. See below for reference. I very much respect my wife, so I won't be posting any pictures of her heavy hangers, but I have found one picture of a very similar female before and after being pregnant for your reference.

Isn't this quite the windfall? I mean WOW! How much fun am I going to have with these?

I'll tell you how much fun:

These new breasts should come with a sign that says "Touch Us, You Die." Apparently, they're sore, all. the. time. So, while the amazing growing breast is fun to see, I've finally learned that I'll be touching them about as often as I'll be touching Heidi Klum's.

Friday, January 16, 2009

Maternity Clothes

Maternity clothes... ah the joy of comfort while you grow.

Here, I name things more expensive than buying a whole extra wardrobe called "maternity clothes:"

1) An aircraft carrier
2) 50 Cent's house
3) A new baseball stadium
4) An interstate highway bridge
5) A divorce...

So, with that list mentioned, ever how expensive, I'm very much looking forward to Courtney wearing maternity outfits. I have found the following pictures of women in maternity clothing for my own personal reference of what I have to look forward to:

This looks like it's going to be pretty super!

Did I mention her breasts are getting HUGE? What a benefit! More on that later.


Hello everyone. I thought it might be important to let all of our friends and family in on the other half of the story. Courtney is doing a great job telling you or pregnancy/baby preparations from her point of view. Here's my side (or the rest) of the story.