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Meet The Newest Member of our Family!

January 17, 2013 //
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Tuesday morning began at 2:30am.  I was startled awake by heavy breathing and panting from my wife.  I pried open an eye to see if I was any part of the festivities.  Nope.  A few sleepy brain cells connected, then deduced it was not lust!  It was labor!  So I rolled over and buried my head under the pillow and nodded off again.

(10 minutes later)  Come on Steph, I’m trying to sleep here. Waitaminute!  I roll towards her.

“We’re having a baby today, aren’t we?”

“I think so.”  she replied.

I giggled like a teenage girl getting asked to prom.

The contractions weren’t getting any closer than 10 minutes apart, so I revisited my unproductive slumber.  Steph swayed in the rocking chair patiently waiting for more.  (Here, a knight in shining armor would have been simultaneously rubbing Steph’s back, neck, hips and feet during the pre-laboring.  But this wise serf thought that storing up energy for the hard work ahead was going to bear the best fruit for our labor…and make me look fresh for pictures afterward.)

The sun came up 4 hours later.  The dogs were scratching at the door to be let out.  Worm was lounging in his crib and singing about mama, dada, pop pop, nana, cee, and his future sissy.  (Oh, how I do miss a quiet house in the morning…)  Hospitals don’t like to feed laboring women more than salt water and needles, so we made time for bacon, eggs, and toast.  I scarfed down a breakfast sandwich and launched 5 spoonfuls of yogurt into my trap before it was really time to go.

1 minute contractions, 6 minutes apart.  (Our doctor said we should get to the hospital at 7 minutes apart, but what’s life without a little suspense?)

We show up at the same emergency room parking lot as we did 21 months and 13 days ago.  I circled for an hour and a half looking for the parking space I used for Worm’s birth because maybe it could bring us luck.  (Mom, I’m just kidding…I settled for a spot two cars away.  Close enough.)

“I need my ‘Last of the Mohicans’ soundtrack CD.  Can you get it from the CD case under the seat?” said the laborer.

We’re going to war?  I couldn’t find the CD or the words for “I hope this birth experience isn’t a battle like we had in our first one.”  I swallowed my fear and crossed my fingers for anything better than this time.  With gear in arms, I steadied myself for a positive birth and a healthy wife and baby afterwards.  Though track 5 could get anyone through the battle of birthing.

As we crossed the same street towards the same hospital, Steph had to stop at the same point in the road for a contraction.

“If people won’t stop for a laboring woman in the middle of the street, what would they stop for!” said Steph.

I couldn’t argue with that logic!  Or argue with a mother ready to have a baby!

(The similarities between our two birth experiences ended right there.)

We get into the hospital elevator and a random guy jumps in at the last second.

“Looks like someone’s having a baby.  It’s a good thing you brought a cooler full of beer!” as he looked down at my awesome older-than-me Oscar cooler with the green top that they don’t even make any more and still holds 10 beers with ice and possibly a sandwich if you can perch it just right on top to not squish it but you have to close the lid ever so gently.

“Man, that’s a much better use of the Oscar than my idea of keeping my stolen placentas cold.”  (I kid.  A little.  Ok, I stole one!  Well, I just borrowed it.)

We entered the hospital at 8:20am.

At 10:28am, Addison Zoe was born, aka Smush.  Steph cleared her last time by a full hour.  The next child will probably be born even faster, so I’ll have to prepare for a car or driveway birth.

So far, mother and baby are healthy!

We will tell the birth stories of Worm and Smush sometime in the near future.  And even though they look so much alike, their stories are very different.

Holy Duplicate! It's a Worm Look-a-like! Welcome Smush!

Holy Duplicate! It’s a Worm Look-a-like! Welcome Smush!

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Dear Smush…

January 13, 2013 //
0

Dear Smush,

I know you’re still cooking in the proverbial oven.  Don’t rush to come out.  It’s been in the 40’s at night for us recently and that’s quite a bit colder than the 98.6° and occasional 102° Jacuzzi temps that you’re used to.  (I waited until summer time to be born and I’ll do it again when I have to…)

When you decide to take the wild ride down the ‘chute’, just remember that you can’t go back and do it twice…unless we hang your mom upside down.  The hospital will make you John Hancock some paperwork first, so if you want to relive the birth experience, bring a pen.  Here’s an FYI and I know it’s lame, but when you hit the slide, you can’t put your hands out in front of you to save your face from eating the floor.  You just gotta go head first and pray that the catcher doesn’t drop your pitch.  You’ll see what I mean when it’s time.

I’m probably going to be the first family member to greet you.  I’m your dad.  I know you’ll probably come out white like your brother did and look at me confusingly.  Later, I’ll show you that I signed the birth certificate.  But if you need more proof, we’ll make Maury Povich (I’ve got connections.) do another episode of “Is He the Father?” and get the DNA test done.  Also, I’m growing a little stubble on my chin (and working out my arms) for the hospital birth pictures.  I want to look my best, so try to arrive during the daytime.  That way, I won’t have huge bags under my eyes for the photos.

If I faint at your coming out party, look down on your way out so you don’t fall on top of me.  If I’m awake, I’ll either be standing frozen like a deer in headlights or be sobbing like I’ve just watched ‘The Notebook’.  I’ll also volunteer to cut the cord, if you don’t mind.  This time should be a no-brainer for me.  Unlike with Worm, there should be only one cord to think about putting the scissors to.  (I won’t need to repeat this scene:  “Nurse.  It’s this one, right?  Are you positively certain?”)

After I permanently separate you from your mother, you’ll get to go back and meet her!  She’ll be laying on the bed getting the damage repaired.  (Don’t ask.  But I’m sure when you’re older and have pissed her off, she’ll tell you about what she went through just to bring you here and how you should be more grateful…)  This is the person you really want to make friends with.  Why?  Because you’ll be getting a lot of love, warmth, and most importantly, food from this woman.  She’s grown a nice set of milk pumpkins for me you, so grab a blanket and an US Weekly because this will be the place to see and be seen for quite a while.

Worm is your brother.  He isn’t going to be in the room when you show up.  Steph and I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to be at eye level with all of the, um, action.  He’s all about his tools and his workbench right now and our main concern is that he may try to run his version of the APGAR with his plastic hammer and screwdriver.  Besides, if he was at the birth, the hospital would make him sign a bunch of paperwork too.

I hope you’re not allergic to animals because you’ve got two dogs at home, Frodo and Duncan.  They’re both lovable knuckleheads and you’ll get to play with them once you’re sturdy enough to withstand being bowled over during their feeding time.  They’re a couple of clumsy oafs but we love them anyway.  We think you’ll love them too.  For now though, you’ll have to keep your distance.  Dunkie’s farts are lethal!

So that’s us in a nutshell.  Welcome to the zoo your family!  We’re dysfunctional, but no worse than anyone else…I think.

Family Portrait - Good Enough to Hang Over the Mantle...

Family Portrait – Good Enough to Hang Over the Mantle…

 

Oh, one more thing.  We hope that you’ll like your name.  Your mother and I couldn’t make up minds about it until recently.  Then we just got lazy researching and so the most recent first and middle names we wrote down have turned to stone.  There are no ‘clicks’ or exclamation points in them like I really wanted.  But in Klingon, your name means ‘digested serpent arm’ and that’s cool enough for me.  In my heart though, you’ll always be known as Smush.

We love you already and can’t wait to meet you!

 

 

 

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How Old is Your Girl? Oops, I Mean Boy. Are We Androgynizing Our Kids Now?

December 12, 2012 //
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In the wise words of Brittany Spears, “Oops, I did it again…”.

I don’t know if I should be embarrassed or angry.  I get it.  It’s the new millenium, the age of feminized men.  Delicate jawed, pouty lipped, long eyelashed men.  Weepy, emotional, does-this-tie-make-my-belly-look-fat, softy men.  At times, I’m that guy.  But I’ve got an excuse.  I’ve got a full-time position as a SAHD and studies have shown that many long term SAHDs suffer from a flip in the testosterone to estrogen ratio.  (Can I claim disability for this?)  Since I didn’t destroy anything, my boss renewed our contract and in January I’ll be put in charge of another underling…with no pay raise!  I’m a little miffed about it and thinking I may go on strike.  Sorry, just venting…now back to our regularly scheduled program.

I’m at the park this morning and I see two children, somewhere between 2 and 30 years old, and I think ‘Hey, a couple of girls for Worm to practice pickup lines on’.  He doesn’t go up to either of them and I figure he’s just minding his own business (or looking for a good stick to poke them with.)  And then I start chatting up the nearby mom of one of the kids.

“Worm loves to dig in the sand and pile it in the buckets.”  I say.

She replies “For a while, I couldn’t get my son out of the sandbox.  Now, he’s into the jungle gym.”

Son?  Where is he?  Maybe he’s in daycare now?  Or his dad has him?  Because all I see in front of me is one boy.  Mine.  It takes me 10 minutes of conversation with this mom to figure out that the ‘son’ she is talking about has been here the entire time!  I wipe the sleep out of my eyes and look again.  I don’t believe it.  (“Inconceivable!” as the great philosopher Vizzini would say…)

It’s a good thing I didn’t open my mouth too soon and say something stupid.  Whew!

0 for 1.  Next kid.  Worm and I head over to the swingset and see a dad pushing his little creature in the swing.  I look in the basket and see a child with its hair tied into a hamburger-bun-or-whatever-women-call-it on top.  Remembering that I’m not in India and that chances are slim that a boy, especially one of caucasoido-anglo-northernEuropea-something descent would be wearing a girl’s hairstyle, I assume I’m looking at a wee chickadee.

“How old’s your daughter?” I ask, thinking that she is the same age as Worm.

“Ahem!  My SON is almost two.” along with a pursed lip smile stretched over his gritted teeth.

Whoops!  Hoping he has the memory of a goldfish, I point to the bike leaned up against a nearby tree and ask this dad about the quality of the baby bike seat.  0 for 2 today.  (Good thing I didn’t take a third pitch, eh?)

You know how when you’re at the playground and you’re just not quite sure of what you’re looking at?  Hmm.  Is that a boy or a girl?  (I would have sworn on my second child that those two kids at the playground today were girls.  It’s a good thing I didn’t wager.  It would be terribly awkward to explain to Steph during labor and delivery that Smush’s new owner wants me to videotape him catching his new prize and cutting the cord.)  You perk up your ears and listen for the parent to say something like “Hey Joey boy, stop slamming your face into the merry-go-round.” or “Lisa Ann, don’t you know that little girls should practice good posture daily?  Put that book back on your head and walk this way.” to doubly confirm your suspicions of whether or not the kid you’re looking at owns a Y chromosome.

Parents, make sure the people around you don’t have to guess your progeny’s gender.  Don’t embarrass your kids or other adults or get other adults to inadvertently embarrass your kids.  There are ways to avoid these potentially scarring and indelible moments from occurring (unless you’re punishing your child on purpose).

Situations like this next one, happen every year in American homes all over the world (It sounds more grand this way.):

Your son, little Junior, has been constantly mistaken for a girl for the first 13 years of his life.  (Part of the reason is that the hand-me-downs he wears come from his older sister that YOU forced on him because you wanted to get double the usage out of them.)  His physique is obviously not a big ego boost for him and he’s become a teenage mess trying to understand why he doesn’t look glisteningly mannish like the Chippendale models on the freeway billboards.  (You live in Vegas, ok?)  So he goes to the local gym and buys a case of steroid injections with his allowance money that YOU gave him.  He shoots up every day, builds boatloads of muscles and his voice drops.  Then using his practicality inherited from YOU (remember the hand-me-downs?), he refills the steroid needles with heroin because he wants to get double the usage out of the hypodermics.  Now he’s a ‘roid raging heroin addict and it’s all your fault.

Don’t be stupid and turn your child into a heroin addict.  Play by the rules.  Boys should be seen and not heard look like boys and girls should look like ballerinas, princesses or fairies, or something like that.

Here are five tips on how to keep your kid from being gender-confusing to the world:

  1. Dress your child in pink if you’ve got a girl, and blue if you’ve a boy.  (This is pretty simple people.  The colors are there to avoid the Crying Game guessing game.  Follow this until boobs and mustaches form on your little one.  If boobs and a mustache grow on the same little one, see a doctor. Got it?)
  2. If you know your boy is a little effeminate or your girl wears a lot of flannel, add the word “boy, buddy, son” or “girl, sister, daughter” to every sentence when speaking aloud.  (It puts other parents at ease.  For example, “Hey Matthew girl, pick up your bicycle.  Bring it in the house, young daughter of mine!”  It’s perfectly clear that this parent is using the unisex version of the name Matthew for their daughter, yet it’s no surprise to other parents that this Matthew is a female.)
  3. Don’t name your children after inanimate objects found in nature.  (“Come here Parkbench, I’d like you to meet Treeroot.”  Huh?  Other moms and dads will sit around for hours staring at your kid trying to figure him or her out.  I know we’re in California and we’re more subject to the atypical naming conventions that abound with treehugging hippie nature-loving heavy potsmoking alternative-healthseeking parents.  So until the androgynous look is outgrown, use a name that leans strongly to the right or left like “Mike” or “Jill”.  Afterwards, you can call them “SlowlyBlazingGrassLeaf” for the rest of their lives.
  4. Cut your child’s hair.  (Buzz cuts for boys.  Shoulder length or longer for girls.  Don’t think about it, just do it.  Chances are that you’re still debating whether the ‘Jennifer Aniston’ do will gain your favor in daycare and whether or not the ‘Bieber’ will still look good when baby’s got boogers dripping and a 9-tooth smile.  It doesn’t matter right now.  Let them screw up their own hair, attire, and lives when they get older.  But, until then, keep it simple.
  5. There are only four tips, ok?  I can’t think up another one right now.  I’m tired and need a drink…I mean a nap.

So there you have it folks.  And for those that need a picture to burn into their brain, please see an example of what NOT to do.  (I purposely photoshopped the image as poorly as possible so that my dad with bad eyesight can see that it’s not a real wig.  His blood boils when I do crazy stuff with Worm in real-life.  Here’s to you keeping your hypertension in check, dad!)

If Your Son Shows Up to the Playground Looking Like This and Other Parents Continue to Mistake Him for Her, There May Be a Problem You're Just Not Seeing.

If Your Son Shows Up to the Playground Looking Like This and Other Parents Continue to Mistake Him for Her, There May Be a Problem You’re Just Not Seeing.

 

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Movember, I’m Not Done With You Yet

November 30, 2012 //
0

30 days ago today (It sounds better written this way.  Trust me.), I decided to make an unprecedented move towards growing facial hair.  Not feeling like the man I once was, it was time to do something so primitive, so testosteronically charged that in the span of one month I would cement my position as dad, man, and leader of my family.

Movember, the month of mustaches, was my opportunity and I seized it with gusto.

I’ve never grown a mustache before.  Ever.  So when the first week of Movember passed and I had nary a hairy, I got nervous.  I questioned my self and doublechecked my secret compartment for the dynamite and a pair of grenades.  What was wrong?

Then, the type A personality kicked in.  I needed to set some goals and direction for my ‘stache.  Things took off from there.

The ultimate goal:  The Magnum P.I.

The Pinnacle of Facial Hair Perfection

The Pinnacle of Facial Hair Perfection

Lofty, yes.  But Tom Selleck’s perfectly coiffed mustache became the sex symbol of the 80’s.  It was the star of the show, and poor Tom was forever standing in its shadow, both literally and figuratively.

A Distinguished Look From the 1930's. The Clark Gable.

A Distinguished Look From the 1930’s. The Clark Gable.

Wanting to give my mustache some time to blossom into greatness, I waited another week.  I sprouted a few more follicles and excitement set in.  It was time to break out the tools.  I sculpted my whiskers a little at a time and, lo and behold, a more Clark Gable look presented itself.  Not bad, I thought as I tugged at my soup strainer.  A veritable rebirth of the 1930’s actor…only this time in Indian.

I could deal with that.  I slicked my hair back and completed the dashing look for a week or so.

Then last week, I was feeling a bit frisky.  Too frisky.  I got a little loose with the razor and uncovered a pre-millenium Eddie Murphy mo.  (It came out of the blue and I’m still reprimanding myself for the cuts I did and did not make.  On the plus side, when I need a laugh I just look in the mirror…)

I’ve got to give props to the men that sport a lip curtain.  It takes work and effort to maintain.  You can’t just put a baseball cap on it and roll out the door.  A mustache desires your attention like a supermodel desires a Big Mac.  You must cater to its whims and fancies.  It’s the center of attention and draws people in like a religious cult.  That being said, the added effort is worth the reward.  I got more looks from men and women in the past 30 days than I have all year long.  “Wow, you’re interesting to look at!”, “Stop looking at me.  I’m uncomfortable with your oozing manliness.” “A brown Clark Gable?  He’s way more handsome than the original!” and “Are you one of ‘those’ movie stars?” are the words I read from onlooking eyes.

Since I had such a good time being able to tickle my tongue for the past month, I may just drag this prodigious pushbroom on my profile just a little bit further into the year.  I’ve finally become the man and father for Steph, Worm, and soon Smush, to look up to.

Gavin – 19; Dad – 10 (I’ve reclaimed my manhood and dadhood!)

The Only Thing That Could Make This Picture More Manly Would Be A Mounted Deer Head On the Wall.

The Only Thing That Could Make This Picture More Manly Would Be A Mounted Deer Head On the Wall.

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#2, Now That We’re Getting Friendly, Can I Give You a Nickname?

November 15, 2012 //
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We just had our 30 week ultrasound and we are excited!  There’s a little girl in mommy’s belly (and coincidentally, Worm tells us he has a baby in his belly, as well) and she’s doing great.  According to the statistics, her head is normal size (50th percentile) and more oval-shaped than round (a good thing for women birthing the boring way), her arms and legs are freakishly long (95th percentile), and she’s rocking a mini-mohawk (8th percentile).  The bubbling cauldron of ultrasound images stirred up by my distorted mind form a baby as tall as Worm with blue-dyed hair and piercings.  So indelible is the vision, that anything other coming down the chute and “Oh, I don’t think that one is ours.” may be my insert-foot-in-mouth response to the doctors holding her up for me to see.

I love her already, curved barbells and all.  For the past 8 months that I’ve been bearing the wife’s empathetic baby weight, the nausea, the tiredness, the dancing on my bladder and ovaries, my baby girl and I have bonded as only an emotionally unstable gifted and caring father and daughter would.  And yesterday after the ultrasound, I had a fatherly revelation of sorts (this time it wasn’t one of the many that come after “Shit, I probably shouldn’t have done that.”).  #2 now has a nickname to one day despise, like when she’s walking across the stage to pick up her college degree and mom and I are in the audience screaming it out at the top of our lungs and the crowd is erupting with laughter and jeers…We will tell her afterwards that she should be grateful that we didn’t nickname her “bubby wubby pants”.

The pet name of the newest member of the family will heretoforth move from “#2” to “Smush”.  As of this day, 2012, Thursday (I think) November 15th, I now pronounce you husb…I now christen thee Smush, mother of none, daughter of dad, sister of Worm, and the female-version of the master of the Universe!

From today until eternity (or until Steph the Supreme Commander says otherwise), you shall be the Smush.

Other nicknames in the running, but ultimately NOT chosen:

  • Wormette
  • Slug
  • the Cuddly Wuddly Wompa Monster
  • Cutiest Patootiest Lovie Bear Sweetsie Muffin Dandy Candy Pansie Rose Petal…I couldn’t even type that without vomiting…twice.
  • Chainsaw Massacre slasher chick

When you look at the ultrasound pics below, think Empire Strikes Back “Han Solo Frozen in Carbonite” scene.  Ah, you can see Smush’s face now, can’t you?

With Nose, Lips, and Chin Pushed Up Against the Womb, What Other Nickname Would She Have?

 

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How the Little Monster Saved Halloween

November 6, 2012 //
3

Children are precious gifts that radiate purity that most of us adults have long since purged from our bodies.  Every creation, natural or man-made, is wondrously new and exciting to them.  Life exists in a world filled with magic and splendor amplified only by the one true way to live, being sensorially submerged in the present moment.

One of the major treats of being a dad (other than getting poop under my fingernails) is watching my son (and soon, daughter) morph into something beautifully human.  I get the opportunity to experience the nuances of life through another pair of eyes.  It’s as if I get to be reborn.

Worm, You’re Quite Possibly the Least Scariest and Most Huggable Monster In the Universe!

This Halloween we didn’t buy enough candy, we destroyed our pumpkins and we forgot to cook up any caramel apples.  With the hustle of life with a toddler, the wife and I did not get or make any Halloween outfits for ourselves.  We even waited until the last day of October to fetch one for the Worm.  Spider or monster?  And even at 4pm that same day, we were debating whether or not Steph should return home sans costume.  I tried to make amends with myself for the half-hearted attempt, but gnawing inside was the idea  that I could have done more to make my favorite holiday what I wanted so badly for it to be, memorable.

The pint-sized outfit accompanied Steph home from work.  And just as soon as the little monster was stuffed inside, all of my holiday shortcomings disappeared and I forgot about our imperfect Halloween.  The Worm had me entranced.  The twice discounted and finally clearanced costume became his skin.  Where there were once small hands, two furry little claws happily snatched at candy from the bowl.  His floppy new feet skipped across the kitchen floor, all the while jiggling the sewn-in polka-dotted pot belly on every step.  Giggles, squeals and laughter were this monster’s fierce sounds and it filled the house with its infectious energy.  The blue costume became the embodiment of all that defines the spirit of Halloween for me and as quickly as Worm absorbed the new threads as part of himself, he consumed me as well.  I could not take my eyes off of him.

Halloween has a special place in my heart.  I have fond memories of the fall season and everything about it resonates in me.  I still get giddy when the season approaches and melancholic as it leaves.  So seeing the joy on Worm’s face this past Halloween brought up those great memories and feelings from years gone.  That evening, Worm and I shared a moment so similar yet so different, that I’m stuck with a loss of words to describe it.  On the surface, I not only saw him, but saw my own childhood as well.  And underneath, I recognized a sliver of myself that would carry on in him after my body has completely failed.  The very definition of fatherhood was as apparent as the little blue monster standing in front of me.  It touched me so hard that I was crushed by its magnitude.  I realized in that moment I had been born again.

Gavin – 18; Dad – 7 (You really made this Halloween special Worm!  Thanks!)

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Adios, Upper Lip! Hola Movember!

October 25, 2012 //
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Sans Mustachio…

I just finished watching a documentary called Mansome.  If you’re a man and you haven’t seen it, you may want to cue it up on Netflix.  My wife made me watch it, I swear.  (I think she’s trying to tell me that I’ve lost that edge…) An hour and a half later, I didn’t know whether to do some pushups and beat my chest, or thread my chest and buff my nails.

Now that I’ve had some clarity (and some tequila, mas fina), I see the path in front of me.  I need to feel like a man again.  I need to prove to my wife that I still have “it”!  And the only way to feel like a man is to do something manly (other than visiting a strip club).  So, I’ve decided that I am going to grow a mustachio for the month of November!

Do I know what a mustache on my face will look like?  Hell no.

Am I afraid of not being able to recognize the guy in the mirror?  Hell yes.

Have I ever left facial hair on my face for a whole month?  I don’t think I’ve ever left facial hair on for a whole week.  I just hope that no one will be calling 911 next month saying they’ve seen Bin Laden in San Diego…that would not be funny.  Unless they followed up with “…and he’s quite dashing in person!”  Ok, that’s still not funny.

In case you were wondering, I’m not the only person who thinks growing a mustache for an entire month is a great idea.  There’s a movement called Movember that raises awareness for men’s health issues, such as testicular and prostate cancer.  This annual event happens every…wait for it…November!  All you have to do is start November 1st with a clean face and then unchain the beast until December!

Mo is slang for mustache.  Vember is short for November.  Put the two together and you’ve got 30 days of wooly good times!

Put a bunch of “mo’s” in a room together and you’re going to get something done.  Something.

I’m looking for a few good men to join the fight against diseases that affect us men!  (It doesn’t matter where in the world you are…you can still join my team.)  Let’s raise some money for charity!

My team is called “The Hairy Worms” in honor of…wait for it…our very own Worm and for the other young Worms of the future!

Click this link to JOIN US or DONATE!

All proceeds go to the Movember organization.

Related Links:

Movember Website

The Hairy Worms

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