Jamie hangs out with his cousin Eli

The first of many times!

Questions one asks at 1:30 am

What's the correct maneuver for getting a shit-smeared onesie over an infant's head without getting poop all over your baby?

First things first

After months and months and then days and days of anticipation, we finally have an idea of when this baby will be making his official debut.

Tonight Hilary is going to the hospital where they will perform some procedure of some kind that is NOT an induction* to try to help spur things along, and then if nothing has happened by tomorrow morning then she will be induced. The moment, give or take a few hours, is finally here.

* The doctor described it to us in much greater detail, but that's pretty much all I took away from it.

Am I freaking out? I've actually become strangely calm about everything since we passed the due date on Friday, for reasons I can't quite understand. Last week it was all I could think about, but now I'm just kind of in a state of suspended animation.

One thing that keeps rattling around in my brain, as we prepare to welcome our first child to the world, is my, shall we say, less than stellar record the first time I do anything. There is always some sort of mini-crisis attached to any new venture I undertake, or at least that's the way it feels. As in:

- First day as a camp counselor. After 17 years as a staff brat and camper, and my first assignment is at the pool. I am playing around with some of the kids, and I pick one up to throw him (as kids generally seem to enjoy). As I am throwing him, I realize I am heaving him right on top of several other nine-year olds. Mistake #1. Mistake #2? Yelling "SHIT!" as he was descending on top of them. I immediately sank underwater to question my self worth for about 45 seconds.

- First day of college. My first class was at 9 am, so I naturally set my alarm clock for 9:15**. I remember specifically setting it for 9:15 the night before, and never having it dawn on me the inherent problem with my timeline. I realized my mistake in the shower (once again yelling "SHIT!"), rushed to make the last five minutes of my first class, then left immediately to make sure I was at my 10:00 on time. Except I wrote down the wrong section of the class, so I went to the wrong building, and I missed that one too.

** I might do that purposely much later in my college career, but at that time I planned to attend all my classes. Can you imagine such a thing? Just typing that sentence makes me laugh now.

- First day of home ownership. Hilary and I bought a house in April, and within 30 minutes of the movers setting down our last few boxes of stuff, we began a load of laundry in our second-floor laundry space. Unfortunately there was a leak in the hose running from the back of the washing machine to the drainage pipe, and soon water was seeping through a crack in the wall to create several nice water stains on our living room ceiling, which we came dangerously close to having to drill holes in to alleviate the problem. In the first 30 minutes! I'm shouting "SHIT!" right now just thinking about it. Also we screwed up our alarm system and the cops came the next morning.

There are plenty more examples where that came from***, but I don't want to bore you anymore.

*** Of course this includes my virginity, but that's a story for another day or blog.

Sufficed to say, I plan to do some mighty careful stepping when I first get my hands on our son. And maybe I should let the doctor cut the umbilical cord.  

You know when is a bad time to get an email virus?

When everyone you know is awaiting an email from you telling them of the birth of your first child.

For anyone affected, I hope at least the link sent you to a good porn site.

Damn you Yahoo!

We're going to ooooooovertime

Hilary on her due date. You can see the impatience behind the eyes.

Today is November 13, 2011. I am sad to report that our baby is still, as of this writing, resting comfortably in Hilary's belly.

As Hilary likes to say, this baby is already taking after me, waiting until the last minute to get anything done.

People say that having a baby can be very stressful. Well you know what? NOT having a baby when you are expecting one to show up can be pretty damn stressful as well.

We are two days past the due date, and Hilary is partially convinced that our son is going to stay in the womb until it's time to start writing essays for college applications. I think she bought him an SAT prep book at Barnes and Noble today.

This is bad. For me, I mean. Let me explain.

Like my father, I only bet when I know I'm right*. I will often make wagers for large sums (cash or otherwise) when I am so convinced I will win that I care not the consequences of losing.

*This has gotten me in trouble before. Bekah Page, you know what I'm talking about. You asked for it, you got it. Toyota.

Hilary has been worrying for months that our child would decide to hang around past his due date.

Hilary, love of my life that she is, has a tendency to worry about things that never come to fruition. Even though I knew the statistics saying that many first-time preggos deliver after their due date, I still felt like this was another example of her assuming something to be that was not to be.

I had to get in while the getting was good, so I bet Hilary that the kid would come early or on time.

In the immortal words of Rick Perry: "I'm a moron who should never be President."**

**Or maybe it's "Oops."

As you can see, here we are on the 13th, and we are still sans infant, so thanks to his tardiness I'm out a new band for her wedding ring***.

***Junior, as soon as you can walk we're getting you a part-time job to help pay it off.

It's ok though. Our little bundle of joy will be here soon enough, and then all will be right with the world.

Also, I'm going double or nothing on #2.

It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel ...

Hilary at 39 weeks

Today is November 4. Hilary's due date is the 11th, which, if my math is correct, means we only have four days until this baby arrives.

We are in the home stretch. Hilary could go into labor at any moment, and it wouldn't be the least bit troubling -- at least not to the medical personnel.

People ask me how I am feeling, and I feel like I should be honest. So here is what is going through my mind, for the record.

I am excited. My sister lives five minutes away from me, and her daughter is nearly a year old. Every time I go over to visit her she gives me this big gap-toothy grin, and I melt. And my niece does it too! But I only see her once a week or so, so the thought of getting that kind of reaction on a daily basis brings a smile to my face.

I am intrigued. I've heard it said that having a child is the most selfish thing a person can do. It's our own little experiment, conducted in our private little home laboratory. Our child is a lump of clay, and we get to try to shape him into what we think the modern person is supposed to be like. We are God, creating a little man in our own image. At least until McDonalds and Disney take over in a few years.

I am intent. My parents have given me and my siblings everything we could want over the course of our lives. Love, affection, support. I always said to myself that the way to pay them back is to do the same for my children.

I am arrogant. Anyone who knows me knows I am not shy about voicing my opinions, and that I have pretty strong convictions in a lot of areas. I believe we will be able to teach our child exactly what is the correct behavior in every situation.

I am humbled. I am smart enough to realize that I don't know shit, and I'll probably learn over and over and over and over and over that I have no idea what I'm talking about, and our child will forge his own way no matter what we do.

I am mourning. My life, as I know it, is basically over. Yesterday I played Baseball Stars on my old-school Nintendo for four hours in the afternoon, mostly because I knew that four free hours to do as I please will be damn hard to come by pretty soon. Pretty fucking soon.

I am nostalgic. I feel the way I did during the final few weeks of my senior year of college. Even as I enjoyed myself and lived it up the best I could, I felt a giant countdown clock following me around at all times reminding me the party was coming to a close. Responsibility lurked around the corner.

I am optimistic. When I was a camp counselor in college, I routinely slept 3-4 hours a night for 10 straight weeks. I know what it means to function with little to no rest. Surely caring for an infant will be a similar experience, right? RIGHT?

I am unprepared. Yes, the baby's room is in order and the car seats are installed, but those are just materials. Emotionally, I cannot fathom what is about to happen. Even having watched my siblings and close friends do this from a short distance, I feel as unaware of what is coming as the child resting snugly in Hilary's belly.

Finally, I am accepting. No matter how anxious or nervous I get, I can do nothing to alter reality. This is happening. Can we do this? Can we handle it? It doesn't matter. We are doing, we will handle. I know this to be true, even as my brain tries to convince me otherwise.

I keep telling myself things will get back to normal eventually. I just have no idea what that normal will look like.

Building a future Cardinals fan

For the record, I would have been happy with whichever sex our child might be. But nights like tonight ... I can't wait to share them with our son.

Breaking news: Hilary will deliver baby in hospital after taking it easy

There is a great Chris Rock line from one of his stand-up specials (I believe Bigger and Blacker) where he says (and I'm paraphrasing): "You can drive a car with your feet if you want to -- that don't make it a good fucking idea!"

I am reminded of this line today because it seems like some women out there have gotten this notion in their head that having a baby isn't enough of an achievement. It isn't difficult enough, apparently, to push a newborn through your lady parts* -- you have to add a little spice into the gumbo.

*They went over all this in birthing class, but it left my brain almost immediately thereafter.

In case you missed it, last weekend a woman ran the Chicago Marathon while 39 weeks pregnant, then gave birth to a daughter several hours later.

This morning I read about an artist who plans on installing the birth of her first child as an art exhibit** at a gallery in Brooklyn.

**What hipsters are going to see this exhibit? 

I am not here to judge these two ladies' choices. I imagine both care about the health of their baby*** a great deal. It's just hard to imagine doing anything that might make a complicated and taxing process even more so. Our idea of spicing up Hilary's labor is not packing a bag for the hospital until two weeks before the due date (and even that sounds unlikely).

***Running a marathon would seem the more obvious way to inflict physical harm on an infant, but I'm thinking being born in an art gallery would do more long-term psychological damage.

As humans, we seem predisposed to testing the limits of our capabilities, and in many ways it is that spirit that has transformed us as a species. Where we were once cave dwellers, now we are free to stare at TV and computer screens every waking hour. We've come so far.

I'm all for pushing ourselves to do the impossible, but I think Rock may be right on this one -- this don't seem like a good fucking idea at all.

Junk in the trunk

What are you talking about Dad, there's plenty of room for luggage in there!

There are many things I never thought I would do in preparation for having a child. Taking a breastfeeding class is probably one*. Repainting a room that was already a boy color (blue) -- that's definitely one.

* We have taken two classes in preparation for childbirth/rearing, and both involved ample images of women's naked breasts. It seems to me the hospitals providing the classes expect us to be adults about it, and outwardly I try to be ... but there is definitely a part of my brain that is still directing my eyes towards them like a sniper taking aim. I may be having a child, but it's clear to me I still haven't grown up.

Cleaning out my car? I didn't think I'd do that for anyone, let alone an infant. After all, who's he going to complain to? But I'm trying to start fresh here, so I set about to clean out my Camry for the first time since I moved to Atlanta in 2004. Oh who am I kidding -- this is the first true cleaning for this car since I got the damn thing in the summer of 2002**.

**What is wrong with me, you ask? It's not just that I'm messy, or even that I'm lazy, though I'm certainly both. It's more that I am ... unaware. If I took two seconds to look at the state of my car I might have done something about it at some point, but it honestly just never crossed my mind. If someone said to me, "What are you doing to do about the mess in your car?", I'd probably stare blankly at them like they'd just asked me what's the best method for growing cherry tomatoes.

I suppose I have cleaned bits and pieces of the interior of the car over the years for the sake of my passengers, but the one area that has been almost completely untouched, save a bunch of sporting goods, is my trunk. Junk, there be in my trunk.

And what useless crap completely necessary items did I find while cleaning it out this weekend?

Take a look:

Someone's going to have to teach our son to be a man, and that someone may be me

Once I found out we were having a son, most of my time spent imagining the future focused on all of the sporting events we would go to one day.

It was only recently it dawned on me that, in addition to teaching my son to swing, kick, shoot, and pass, I'm also going to have to teach him to be a man.

Only one problem with that -- I'm not sure I know how.

Oh sure, I can teach him some of the tricks of the trade: how to play cards, how to get unlimited extra men on Super Mario Brothers, how to treat a lady*.

*And I promise I will do it in a way that is less embarrassing than the instructions my father gave me, which mostly involved ordering for my female friends at Wendy's on the way to Mississippi State basketball games.

But when it comes to the real manly stuff, I am currently feeling a bit out of my depth.

I was reminded of this fact the other night, when Hilary discovered a snake in our garage. This snake wasn't anything for Samuel L. Jackson to shout about; it was perhaps a little over a foot long and maybe a few centimeters thick. It was basically an overgrown worm.

Still, it was a snake, and as the man of the house, it was my responsibility to resolve the situation.

So I did what I always do when faced with a difficult task, be it car, home, or serpent related -- I called my dad**.

** I could have asked my mom, but I have a feeling I already knew her recommendation. One time we were driving out to camp, and she swerved -- violently -- to avoid hitting a squirrel that had just run out onto the road. Several minutes later, a snake appeared on the road. My mom proceeded to run right over it, then backed up and ran over it again. 

My dad is my safety net. And it occurred to me as I was preparing myself for man-on-snake combat, that someday my son may want to do the same thing, and I'm going to want to be able to give him helpful suggestions.

Based on my experience so far, this will consist of two simple words of advice: "Google it."***

***Which is entirely similar to my three-word medical advice: "Drink some water."

Googling has probably saved me well over $1000 dollars this year in repairs to my car and washing machine. But is it manly? I want to be my own Google, capable of providing answers without consult of the Internet. I'm just not sure how I'm going to make that happen, short of signing up for shop class at a local high school.

There is one thing I did learn from the snake-removal process though that I hope to pass along, but before I get to that let me give the play-by-play of how it went down.

My dad's solution to getting rid of the snake was to grab a big broom, then vigorously sweep the snake into the street. That seemed reasonable enough. But not knowing if the snake was poisonous (what am I, an ophiologist?), I wanted to protect myself first. I grabbed my hiking boots, then thought to get my work gloves, but realized they were in the garage. Past the snake.

Shit.

No problem though -- like MacGuyver (or at least MacGruber), I adapt. If I can't get my work gloves, I'll use the next best thing, or at least the next closest thing to me in the kitchen -- oven mitts!

Getting a good mental picture of my look? No? Ok, how about an actual picture:

Snake removal attire (broom sold separately)

Honestly, look at this poor bastard. That's your dad, kids!

Here's the thing though. It got the job done. The score read Micah 1, Snake 0, and I never let the fact that I looked like a complete imbecile slow me down, nor keep me from posting the above photo despite certain-to-follow ridicule. And that's the lesson I hope to impart to our son. If you are comfortable in your own skin, everything else can be dealt with.

Maybe I can't teach him how to build a deck, or rebuild a transmission, or grill the perfect burger (ok, that one I probably need to work on). But if nothing else, hopefully I can teach him to have self-confidence.

Google can take care of the rest.

For Your Consideration -- Thanks

If there is one trait our son (and any future children we may have) seems certain to get from his parents, it's a nasty contrarian streak. Hilary is hard to convince to do anything -- she likes to come to decisions on her own. As for me, I am always questioning why things are done a certain way, and wondering whether a better option might be available.

This is relevant to today's blog post, because I have a been stewing on something for a couple years, and I think it's finally time to spill the beans.

It is time to stop writing thank-you notes.

Have I lost you already? Bear with me. By no means am I saying I want to stop thanking people for giving me (or anyone in my family) gifts. They are certainly not necessary, but certainly ARE appreciated.

No, what I want to do is revolutionize the WAY in which we thank people for their thoughtfulness.

Let's get real here. While there are exceptions to this rule, most thank-you notes are a waste of everyone's time. In the case of weddings/bar mitzvahs/babies, there are typically so many to write that they all become boiler plate:

Dear Gift giver,

Thanks so much for the egg-slicer/fountain pen/woobie. It will really come in handy when we want to make tuna salad/stab a bad guy/figure out what the hell a woobie is. Hope all is well with you!

Love,
Gift receiver

It's poor form, but at the same time, so many do it this way that most people barely glance at the thank-you notes they receive, simply because their expectations are so low.

This may not matter too much when you are thanking people for wedding gifts, but from what we are told once our baby comes we will be short on time for everything we need to get done.

Which is why, at the risk of dealing yet another blow to our already-beleaguered postal service, I unveil my plan to the world:

Skype-you notes

Did I just blow your mind?

Here is how it works: instead of going through the motions of writing a half-hearted note that people will discard and forget immediately, we will set up a time to Skype with the people we want to thank. In this way, we can thank them for their gift in person, and, as a total value-add, they will actually get to SEE THE BABY, otherwise known as the whole reason they got us something in the first place.

That's win-win right there, people. You get the same gratitude for your kindness as before, only now you get a smiling (or, more likely, vomiting) baby instead of three or four completely forgettable sentences.

I realize the elderly not everyone is armed with the latest in technology*, so for those who don't have video Skype as an option, we will still pursue the old fashioned method**.

*Though there is probably a public library very close to your home. I'm just saying.

** Also we will do this if Hilary does not see eye-to-eye with me on this topic. But she should, because I am right.

It's the 21st century. It's time to stand up to the Stationary Industrial Complex. Technology has already allowed us to get rid of landlines, books, and having to face awkward stares at adult video stores. It can do the same for saying thanks.

Thanks.

There's still plenty of time, until there isn't

Hilary is 31 weeks pregnant now. On Saturday we went to Babies R' Us to look at car seats and changing tables, and didn't make a final decision on either. I concluded the trip with my mantra from this pregnancy:

"Don't worry Hilary, we still have plenty of time to make a decision."

This is still true, but on Saturday we both remarked that we are getting darn close to the point where we can't say that anymore.

PANIC!

It's cool though.

Macy B. is right - don't waste a minute

My father had many words to live by as I was growing up, but the one expression he was probably most famous* for was one he said every year to the kids at summer camp: "Don't waste a minute."

This was great advice, especially for kids trying to pack a year's worth of sexual experience into four short weeks at camp (not anyone I know, of course), and it has been words Hilary and I have tried to live by this summer as we head towards the birth of our first child.

* One of my favorite stories ever is the time I was at dinner in Philadelphia with my cousins Frank and Mary, their daughter Francie, and her college roommates. Frank asked two people at the table what it was like growing up with a famous father, looking at me and one of Francie's friends. I started blathering about whether or not my dad is actually famous (he's not), and who might consider him famous (a selection of Southern Jews and Delta employees), and the one time he was featured in the New York Times (it did have a front-page blurb, to be fair), yada yada yada. I must have talked for ten minutes, easy. Then I turned to her roommate to ask who her father was, to which she simply replied: "Dean Smith". Not much of a sports fan, my cousin.

The end of summer 2K11 coincides with the approximate date that Hilary can no longer travel long distances, so over the past month or so we have tried to take advantage as much as we could of our ability to travel free and unfettered.

Two weeks ago we went to Boston to visit my sister, who is due the day before Hilary, and her family. It was a lot of fun, and a glimpse into our relatively-near future as they have a two-and-a-half-year-old son who is a nonstop ball of energy from sunrise to sundown. I don't know how they keep up with him on a daily basis, but I guess I will freak out find out soon enough.

This past weekend we went to Austin (not to be confused with Boston), a city very near and dear to my heart but a place I really haven't gotten to spend quality time in with Hilary. We've been once together, but that was for a friend's wedding when most of our time was spoken for. Her other visit was to see her sister who lived there at the time, and they ate at Cheesecake Factory, and that's all you really need to know about it.

This was my chance to show her the Austin I knew, which is to say, OH MY GOD WE HAVE TO EAT AT LIKE FIFTEEN DIFFERENT PLACES IN 48 HOURS!

Fortunately with Hilary being very pregnant and it being a billion degrees outside (I'm only exaggerating slightly - it was 110 degrees on Saturday), eating was just about the only thing we could do. For those who know these sorts of things, we ate at El Arroyo, Kerbey Lane, Texadelphia, Guero's, South Congress Cafe, and last but not least, the Salt Lick. Kids, if you read this someday, daddy promises to take you to all of them.

Both trips were great, but the whole time I couldn't help but feel like a death row inmate eating his last meal. Is that a bit morbid? Let me put it more like this:

My last semester of college, I had the time of my life. At the same time I was completely aware that college was a special time I would miss greatly once it was over. Life wasn't going to end, it was just going to be different**. I feel much the same way now, and more and more so as our son's birth draws nearer. I am sure once we are on the other side of this thing I'll look back on this point of view and laugh, but for now it's still something I just cannot fathom. Responsibility. How can we be old enough to be ready to care for another life?

** Example - my first job in Boston it was raining one day, and I got soaked walking to work because I didn't own an umbrella. Someone asked me why I didn't have one, and I answered that when I was in college, if it rained, I just didn't go to class.

This coming weekend we are going to Jackson to celebrate my grandfather's 95th birthday, and once we come back from that we are done traveling until this baby is out.

The countdown is on, whether we are ready or not. We better make the last couple months count.

The build-up continues

Hilary at 26 weeks*

We passed 26 weeks on Friday. While there is still a good amount of time before Hilary is due, we are trying to get out in front of a few things we want to accomplish before the baby comes. And by we I mean Hilary wants them done, and I have no choice but to acquiesce because she is pregnant.

One of those things is re-painting the baby's room. On the one hand, the room is a perfectly-acceptable light blue color, typical for a baby boy (says I). On the other hand, it has sailboats as a border around the top of the room, and, well, see the previous paragraph.

So, with help from Uncle Will, we set out yesterday to repaint the room in a light yellowish-green, and despite my sister's disparaging remarks about our painting talents, I think we did a pretty decent job.

It's not totally finished yet (it's further along than the above pictures), but so far I'd say it almost looks like it wasn't done by a couple of complete idiots. Suck it, Hannah.

* This photo reminds me of those "Spot the five differences" games from Highlights Magazine and game consoles at the local pub (though their respective content is, ummm, slightly different). Here's what one of those might look like. Can you spot the five differences?

Watch what you say?

In addition to thinking about how our lives are going to change in the immediate aftermath of having a baby, I have also started contemplating what it's going to be like when our child (and future children) becomes an actual person and we have to try to shape his future behavior.

I have been thinking about what we want to teach our child - which things are important, and which really aren't.

For example: I find cursing to be perfectly acceptable. I curse slightly less than the cast of Deadwood, and I have absolutely no problem with profanity being used in any social setting. Yet seemingly, once our son reaches an age where he can parrot back the words we use, I'm going to have to start watching my language, right?

I'm not stupid; I understand why, from a social standpoint, it isn't wise to allow your six-year old to drop F-bombs with impunity. But I don't like having to pretend something is bad when I myself believe otherwise. To me, cursing is not like alcohol or drugs - there is no danger of physical harm when used improperly or in excess.

This came up the other night in a discussion at a friend's house, when I was announcing my intention that from now on, the popular new children's book Go The F@#$ To Sleep would be my baby gift of choice*.

*I'm totally serious. Any of my friends and family expecting a baby in the future, you can also expect this tome in the mail shortly. No thank you note required.

My friend maintained that she would never read that book to her child, no matter his age, whereas I would not only read it, I would relish reading it. It's amusing! He'll never know the difference, so what does it matter? I could read him Penthouse Forum letters as an infant, and as long as it helps lull him to sleep I'd consider it fair game.

Then again, maybe I'm looking at this the wrong way. Maybe curse words are wonderful precisely because they are illicit:



If our son never learns these words are any different, maybe he will be denied a helpful tool in his communicative box. Plus, I'd hate to deprive him of a watershed moment of his childhood - the first time you remember hearing your parents swear**.


We were in Long Beach, MS, for a friend's bar mitzvah. The hotel we were staying at was also hosting a high school math competition, which meant tons of high school students looking for mischief. At around 3:00 in the morning the phone rang, which my mom answered wearily. To the best of my recollection, this was the conversation:

Mom: "Hello?"
Caller: "Do you have any potato chips?"
Mom: "What?"
Caller: "Do you have any potato chips**?"
Mom: FUCK you. (Slams phone)

This was roughly my reaction. 

And by the way, potato chips? I guess that's what passes for a prank call at a high school math convention.

I love that memory. I cherish the fuck out of that memory. Who am I to deprive my son that kind of momentous occasion***?

*** If I had to wager, I'd say his first memory of foul language will come either from watching sports with his papa or (more likely) driving in traffic with his mama.

Regardless of the relative merit of individual terms, what I most want to instill in our son is that while words are important, it's the meaning behind them that matters much, much more.

And as long as he knows that, I'm content to allow him to exercise his first amendment rights.

Look Ma, we built a crib!

The raw materials (so to speak)

Micah examines the instructions.

Something looks amiss here...

The middle page of the instruction guide is missing. Internet to the rescue?

Problem solved. Ta da!

In other 11-11-11 news...

If you are unavailable for the birth of our son, you could always amuse yourself with the latest bit of cinematic magic from Adam Sandler:



I feel pretty confident that both events will include some trauma in the groin area.

It's a ...

20 Weeks

Hilary at 20 weeks

After we hit the 12-week mark and began to share the news with friends and family, there was really nothing much to look forward to until our 20-week appointment, when we would have the ultrasound that would tell us the sex of our future child.

That appointment is tomorrow. All the anticipation and appointments so far have been like watching a movie version of our life from the sidelines. We are now about to find out the sex of our child, and then it starts to get real.

My internal monologue has been pretty interesting over the past few weeks. I have these little conversations with myself every few days, that seem not very far off from a scene in Good Will Hunting:

"You are having a baby."*

"Yeah, I know."

"I know, but seriously. This baby is happening."

"Yeah, I know."

"NO. SERIOUSLY. IN FIVE MONTHS YOU ARE GOING TO BE A POTENTIAL TARGET FOR HUMAN FECES ON A DAILY BASIS."

*When you talk to yourself in your brain, do you address yourself as "You" or "I"? Or do you even say your name? I think I normally say you, unless, like in real life, I am trying to make an important point. "Micah, you have GOT to get your car's AC fixed, it's 100 #@^& degrees outside."

As I have stated before, I am certain we are having a girl. We will be happy with whatever we get, of course, and it's not like one will really be any different or better than the other. Each sex comes with its own problems.

As I see it, you really want a daughter, up until she's about 11-12 years old. Then never again.

For a boy, you really don't want one until they reach 11-12. Then they're pretty much cool after that.**

**Here's a short breakdown:

Boy Issues, pre-age 12:

Learning to own and operate a penis

Propensity for damage to objects, animate (self, others)

Propensity for damage to objects, inanimate (THAT BASEBALL CARD YOU JUST RIPPED WAS WORTH $1,000, JUNIOR)

Boy Issues, post-age 12:

Wrap it up tight

Girl issues, pre-age 12:
Stop being so cute all the time or grandpa will have a heart attack!

Girl issues, post-age 12:

Dealing with Friends

Dealing with Enemies

Dealing with Frenemies

Dealing with Enemiends

Body issues caused by every magazine/TV show/movie on the planet

Keeping various body parts off the Internet

Tomorrow, the last piece of the puzzle comes into play, and then we will really start imagining what life is going to be like once he/she is born.

This is really happening.

Frequently asked questions about our pregnancy

Today Hilary is 13 weeks, and we have started spreading the news (relatively) far and wide.

After many phone and Skype conversations, I've come up with a brief FAQ to help those who have heard the news but we haven't had a chance to talk to yet:

1. When is the baby due?

A few years back, there was a period of six or eight months where for some reason, I found myself looking at the clock exactly when it read 11:11 all the time. No fooling, I'd say it happened at least five times a week. And I wasn't looking for it on purpose either, I would just happen to glance at my computer, or my watch, or the clock on my car's dashboard, and there it would be, 11:11. It started happening so often that I briefly entertained the notion that I was the subject of a Truman Show-esque movie or TV program before realizing how crazy that would be.

Why do I bring this up? Because Hilary's due date is November 11, 2011. That's right, 11-11-11.

I'm still pretty sure there's nothing fishy going on. Mostly sure, anyway.

2. Are we going to find out the sex or wait to be surprised?

We are going to find out. Isn't it a surprise whether you find out the sex at 20 weeks or when the baby shoots down the pipe? Hilary is a planner -- there is no way she can wait until November to find out the sex of the child. As for me, I already know it's a girl.

I have had this conversation many times with many people, but I will rehash it briefly here. I don't believe in God, but I do believe that there is some sort of order to the universe, and part of that order decrees that the more you like sports, the more likely it is you will have daughters. I like sports more than anyone else I know, therefore, come November I expect to be unwrapped a lot of pink baby gifts.

3. Are you aware that girls can like sports too?

Yes, I am aware. I am also aware that even if I have a boy, it doesn't mean he will share the same love of athletics as his papa. And the truth is, OF COURSE I don't care if it's a girl or a boy -- at the end of the day, all I want is a healthy baby, and whether they like sports or not is immaterial, just as long as they hate cable news networks.

I would love a son to share my obsession with, but that's just not the way the world works for the sports fan. We could have ten children*, and they will all be daughters.

* We won't

4. How is Hilary feeling? Is she having any cravings?

So far, she's doing pretty good. She's been pretty fatigued, but she's not a night owl to begin with, so that's not too much of a change. She goes to bed at 9:30 now instead of 9:45.

As for cravings, we're still waiting to see if anything stands out food wise. So far all she really craves is for me to TURN OFF THE TELEVISION SO SHE CAN GO TO SLEEP.

Any more questions? Let us know.

A moment to remember

Today was the day we finally broke the seal on our big news. After going to the doctor this afternoon for our first ultrasound*, we went over to Hannah and Will's for dinner, with the plan of telling them our big news and then proceeding to tell our families from there. 

*I think that's what we had done, but maybe it was a sonogram? Whatever it was, it was the first appointment when we saw the baby.

Now. We all know I like the Big Reveal. I'd been thinking on how we'd play this out, and as of yesterday I had decided on a course of action. Plan A would be tough to pull off, but would be really fun if we could do it. Last time I had a Plan A, I ended up having to go to Plan B.

Plan A this time wasn't particularly elaborate, but it did have a lot of moving parts. The idea was to Skype with Leah and Lev (and, with luck, Eric) in Boston while having Hannah and Will (and Jessel) sitting with us together in Atlanta.

When we first got on with Leah, it was like a version of the improv game "Sit Stand Lean"; at first we had Leah and Lev, but Will and Hannah were in the other room. Then Will and Hannah came in, but Leah and Lev ran off to greet Eric walking in. Then all four adults were there, but Lev suddenly ran to his room and shut the door because, well, he's two, and that's what two-year olds do sometimes.

I began to feel like the moment was going to pass, but then Lev came back in, and finally, everyone was in place. I squeezed Hilary's thigh to let her know it was on, and then I began:

"Lev, guess what?"

(No response)

"Hey Lev, guess what?"

(silence)

At this point, Lev and I apparently swapped places, because our conversation continued in this manner for about 30 seconds:

"Lev! Lev! Guess what Lev! Lev! LEV! LEEEEEEEV! GUESS WHAT LEV! LEV LEV LEV!"

Finally everyone was like, "Micah, just spit it out!"

So I said: "Hey Lev, is Jessel your baby cousin? Do you want another one?"

Beat.

Then.

PANDEMONIUM!

Hannah freaked out (nearly squishing Jessel in the process), Leah freaked out, we all freaked out. Pretty sweet right? If that were the end of the story, I think we'd feel pretty happy and have a pretty nice little moment for the memory bank.

Then Leah said, "How about room for one more!"

OMG. Leah is pregnant too???

MIND EXPLOSION.

That's right. Hilary is having a baby in November, and Leah is having a baby in November, and my parents are really going to have a dilemma on their hands* about how to spend their time.

*not really, I'm the favorite

It really is hard to put into words how incredible the moment was - I only wish we had been recording the Skype video for posterity** so we could show just what a complete mindfuck it truly was.

**Big brother, are you listening? If you have the tape, I'd love to have it.

So we are thrilled as can be, obviously. In fact, there is only one true downside. Instead of having to keep one secret now, we have to keep two.

Keeping a secret is really hard

We are two days away from being able to tell the first people that we are pregnant.

I don't really know any rhyme or reason for the timing on pregnancy secrecy, but it seems like the general standard (at least amongst the Jews) is you tell family after a couple months, once you've had your first doctor's appointment, and then you really go public* after three months. Supposedly if anything is really going to go wrong, it will go wrong in the first 12 weeks, so in that sense I understand it, but it still seems somewhat arbitrary.

*and of course by public, I mean post on Facebook


God help the person who tells people they are pregnant before that 12th week. I have seen this happen on occasion, and you'd think they'd just copped to running a meth lab or putting a Sarah Palin for President sign in their yard. It almost seems like people think you can literally affect the health of the baby by revealing the fact that there is one.

We've known Hilary is pregnant for nearly a month now, and we've done our best to keep a tight lid on that information. It is harder than it seems. For some reason, every conversation I find myself in seems to somehow relate to pregnancy.

Like this conversation last week:

Hannah (my sister): We took Jessel to day care for the first time today.

Me: Oh yeah, we looked at that place last week. Oh, I hope it wasn't too hard.

Or:

Me: Hey Hannah, what are yall doing for dinner next Wednesday?

Hannah: Nothing much.

Me: Cool, we haven't seen yall in awhile, maybe we can come over after our doctor's appointment maybe we can come over for dinner.

Or even this:

Will: Man, Anne Hathaway gets really naked in that movie Love and Other Drugs.

Me: Hilary's having a baby.

All I know is, I am ready to unburden myself of this happy news, so I can stop having to run every sentence through an internal censor before I say anything to anyone.

What to expect when you're expecting

So far, everything with this pregnancy (aside from the anticlimactic way I found out) has gone as expected. That is to say, Hilary and I found out she was pregnant last week, and our copies of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and "What to Eat When You're Expecting" arrived via Amazon yesterday.

These are mostly for Hilary at this point, but I'm sure I'll end up taking a glance at them (or at least the former) from time to time as the big day gets closer.

This morning I did skim through the chapter titles, and I saw a section for the dads, and noticed a chapter with the subheading "How to Deal With Her Mood Swings"

I haven't opened it yet, but my guess is it will look something like this:

GOOD LUCK RUN!

Don't act like you have any real suggestions on how to do this, WTEWYE. 

The next adventure begins

It's been awhile since I've posted on this blog, mostly because since we got married, we've pretty much settled into normal life as a couple. We've taken some trips, had some good times, but life has been mostly the same.

That is all about to change. After college, the years start to run together with no real delineation demarcating the passage of time. I have a feeling, however, that 2011 is going to stand out.

First and foremost, we are buying a house. That in and of itself is enough for us to have a strong year, and in most cases, that would be our big news. But of course, when it rains it pours, and now we have news much more substantial than that.

Yes, Hilary is with child. She's knocked up. I slipped one past the goalie. My boys can swim. Another cliche.

This is not unexpected news, but it is still nevertheless surprising.

If I am honest, I will admit that I have not been fully on board with the notion of having kids*. I am a selfish person, and I like having my time be just that - my time. So even though I signed off on the decision to have them, I still wasn't sure how I'd react to hearing the official news for the first time.

*Sorry future kids. Daddy does love you though.

I am happy to say that my initial thought was one of happiness and excitement. In fact, the terror and anxiety I thought I would have weren't (and aren't) present at all, at least not yet. I'm sure I'll freak out somewhere down the line, but I felt at peace with the news as soon as Hilary gave it to me.

Speaking of which: As you may know, I love making a production out of big news. Maybe I was suckered into it by movies and TV growing up, but I have always been under the impression that big news would be a momentous occasion in my life.

I pictured us sitting on the bed, anxiously awaiting the results of a pregnancy test, or of us eating dinner one night by candlelight and her confessing the big news. But alas, we live in a world of technology, and in this day and age, with so many ways of communicating with each other, this kind of romantic delusion was probably never going to happen.

So how did I find out? Where was I and what was I doing when I found out this most momentous of news?

I was sitting at work on a Saturday afternoon, alone in my office, talking to Hilary on instant messenger, when I accidentally asked the wrong question, and just like that, the cat was out of the bag.

The conversation went something like this:

Me: So, still no news? (Referring to her period)

Her: Still nothing...

Me: Did you miscount again? (She had miscalculated when she was supposed to get it twice already this week)

Her: Maybe...

Me: Well, I guess we should get you a pregnancy test. Maybe we can get one tonight.

Her: I got one this morning... (Kids, remember this: Ellipses always mean something is up)

Me: Oh ok. (Thinks for a minute, wheels start turning) Did you already take one?

Her: Maybe...

Me: And?

Her: :-)

Me: Oh.


And...scene. End of story. Pretty riveting stuff no? Shakespeare in his prime couldn't have come up with a climax of this magnitude.

Technology is a wonderful thing in this day and age, but it does have its flaws.


(UPDATE) Thanks to g-chat archives, here is the actual transcript from the conversation, complete with emoticons:

micahbhart: still nothing?

 hilary: nope

  but

  we'll see

 micahbhart: you miscounted again? :-)

 hilary: no

  haha

4:20 PM micahbhart: how long are you supposed to wait before you begin to wonder

 hilary: not long

  I can take a test right now and it should tell me.....

4:21 PM micahbhart: ha

  i'd give it a few days

4:22 PM hilary: :)

 micahbhart: but its up to you

 hilary: yeah

4:23 PM :)

 micahbhart: did you already do it?

 hilary: maybe?

 micahbhart: ha ha

 hilary: i wanted to tell you tonight!

4:24 PM micahbhart: tell me what?

  :-)

 hilary: nothing

  the test I took today says positive!