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.