Some bit of strangeness last night. We were putting Ian to bed when he pointed to the mirror on our closet door and said, “That guy.” We asked him where That Guy was and he pointed to the mirror and said, “Right there.” His gaze never left the mirror and he kept repeating, “Right there. Right there. Right there.”
Jill thought he was pointing to the Batman statue I keep on my bookshelf. When she asked him if it was Batman he said “No.” I asked him what That Guy looked like and he said, “Teeth.” And then he said, “Gonna get you Daddy. That guy gonna get you.”
I got up off the bed and walked over to the mirror and asked him if That Guy was in the mirror and he said, “Yes.” He kept insisting that That Guy was right there and that he was going to get me. He also said, “Running store. Doctor.” (though “doctor” came out sounding like docker). Jill and I had been discussing going to Dr. Petty’s to get the paint and find the clings, so that’s what Ian may have been referring to when he said docker, but there’s no way Ian knew I was planning on running to the store for ice cream.
I asked Ian what That Guy’s name was and he said, “Jeff.” We questioned him a little longer. After a minute he started waving to the mirror saying, “Bye-bye guy. Bye-bye.”
This went on for a little bit and Jill was getting more and more uncomfortable. Then Ian said he had to go to the bathroom, so we took him. He knows that we will never deny him a potty trip if he requests one. We want nothing more than Ian to use the toilet.
When he was on the toilet, we heard a noise downstairs and Ian looked at us and said, “Uh-oh. Gonna get you.” Then he raised his finger to his lips and said, “Shhhhhh.”
Jill was really creeped out at this point. We plucked Ian from the toilet and set out to finish putting him to bed for the night. We dressed him and laid him back down. After a few minutes of fussing, he pointed to the space above the crib and said a final word for the night, “Ghost.” Then he placed his hands over his eyes and fell asleep. He’s never covered his eyes like that before falling asleep.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Monday, December 4, 2006
baby on the way
My wife and I are going to hypnosis classes to help with pain management for my wife's upcoming labor. She's due in late March. We just finished the last of four classes yesterday and now we have a few months of practice ahead of us. My job is to help her visualize her safe place, get her breathing under control and achieve a level of relaxation that will allow her to allow the pain to flow through her.
Like vomitting.
Vomiting is a natural human reflex to eject poisons from the body. It hurts. It's uncomfortable. But it is completely necessary. When you fight it, all you get is puke in your mouth and throat that ends up on the floor in splatters anyway. When you allow the vomit to flow from your body, without holding any of it down, the process tends to be a lot faster and a lot less painful. And you have greater control over where the stomach acids and bits of undigested food end up.
Child birth is like throwing up. Just let it go.
Of course, I told my wife that the whole ordeal could be avoided if I was able to give birth to our second child. I could deliver no problem. When I felt the first contractions, I would go into the linen closet and close the door. My wife would hear a muffled "MOTHER-HUMPER NOW!" and ten minutes later I would emerge from the closet with my jeans on and a baby wrapped in a towel. I imagine I would ask for a Guinness after all that work. The baby would want a Guinness, too. I would have a nice bonding moment with my baby and Guinness without all that drama. We would clink pint glasses and cheer the birth and I would say "Save the drama for your Mama," and we would laugh. If it was Sunday during football season, we would watch baby's first game.
My wife seems to disagree. Unfortunately, I will never be able to prove my child-bearing abilities. DAMN MY LACK OF A UTERUS!
We have no idea what we're having. Our first child was a boy and this pregnancy is completely different from the first so we're guessing that this one is a girl. Guessing is all we can do since the last ultrasound was inconclusive. It's funny how people assume they get to find out the sex of the baby, when it is really up to some technician who may or may not be having a good day, who may or may not be patient enough to find the ding-dong or the ho-ho. Unless you're TomKat and can afford to put some serious money down for the technology, you're subjected to the whims of whoever you get at the radiology clinic.
The woman who performed the last ultrasound (the final ultrasound) did not seem to be having a good day. We sat in silence in a dark room as she mashed my wife with the paddles. She said nothing about our unborn baby's health. When we asked if everything was okay, she muttered "We'll have a radiologist look at this," and silence resumed. For us, it was a rare moment to see our baby and I was moved to see the heartbeat and the little face (my wife could see nothing from where she was laying). For the technician, it was just one portion of a long day at work. Like a band playing its number one song every night for 18 months, it loses its special-ness, I'm sure. Still, anyone in that position should respect what those moments mean to parents and try to dig down and find that last bit of patience. This isn't the return counter at Kohl's.
So we will be surprised when our new baby pops out. Some people choose not to know, but I am bummed that I can't lean close to my wife's belly and say "Hello (BABY"S NAME HERE). This is Daddy."
Like vomitting.
Vomiting is a natural human reflex to eject poisons from the body. It hurts. It's uncomfortable. But it is completely necessary. When you fight it, all you get is puke in your mouth and throat that ends up on the floor in splatters anyway. When you allow the vomit to flow from your body, without holding any of it down, the process tends to be a lot faster and a lot less painful. And you have greater control over where the stomach acids and bits of undigested food end up.
Child birth is like throwing up. Just let it go.
Of course, I told my wife that the whole ordeal could be avoided if I was able to give birth to our second child. I could deliver no problem. When I felt the first contractions, I would go into the linen closet and close the door. My wife would hear a muffled "MOTHER-HUMPER NOW!" and ten minutes later I would emerge from the closet with my jeans on and a baby wrapped in a towel. I imagine I would ask for a Guinness after all that work. The baby would want a Guinness, too. I would have a nice bonding moment with my baby and Guinness without all that drama. We would clink pint glasses and cheer the birth and I would say "Save the drama for your Mama," and we would laugh. If it was Sunday during football season, we would watch baby's first game.
My wife seems to disagree. Unfortunately, I will never be able to prove my child-bearing abilities. DAMN MY LACK OF A UTERUS!
We have no idea what we're having. Our first child was a boy and this pregnancy is completely different from the first so we're guessing that this one is a girl. Guessing is all we can do since the last ultrasound was inconclusive. It's funny how people assume they get to find out the sex of the baby, when it is really up to some technician who may or may not be having a good day, who may or may not be patient enough to find the ding-dong or the ho-ho. Unless you're TomKat and can afford to put some serious money down for the technology, you're subjected to the whims of whoever you get at the radiology clinic.
The woman who performed the last ultrasound (the final ultrasound) did not seem to be having a good day. We sat in silence in a dark room as she mashed my wife with the paddles. She said nothing about our unborn baby's health. When we asked if everything was okay, she muttered "We'll have a radiologist look at this," and silence resumed. For us, it was a rare moment to see our baby and I was moved to see the heartbeat and the little face (my wife could see nothing from where she was laying). For the technician, it was just one portion of a long day at work. Like a band playing its number one song every night for 18 months, it loses its special-ness, I'm sure. Still, anyone in that position should respect what those moments mean to parents and try to dig down and find that last bit of patience. This isn't the return counter at Kohl's.
So we will be surprised when our new baby pops out. Some people choose not to know, but I am bummed that I can't lean close to my wife's belly and say "Hello (BABY"S NAME HERE). This is Daddy."
Sunday, December 3, 2006
lotto
Well this is where I ended up. I started playing the Lotto again. Lottery tickets and job applications seem to carry the same odds of giving me something to live on these days.
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