The quick brown fox jumped over the good, but lazy Parker family.
of course, it started with the inadvertant google reader posting…
and last week I told you about the Obama boom, but what I left out was that I became so flustered during that conversation because I knew something I otherwise shouldn’t have known that I ended up outing us when challanged.
(note: never point out to an expectant father that while often you can tell the sex by 16 weeks, it’s a little shakey until 20.)
a common thread here is that i’ve been exhausted since February. i’ve been working crazy hours, but pregnancy has shrunk the size of a walnut … which means she is getting up every night at 11, 1, 3 and 5. interestingly enough, she goes right back to sleep … but i’m awake for half an hour, staring at the ceiling.
so, disaster was in the cards yesterday at the chiropractor … I was exhausted, and the doctor asked if my back was keeping me up. I said no, my wife has been getting in and out of bed a lot … to which she replied “Congratulations! When are you due?!?”
fifty-five days left until 12 weeks, and it can’t come soon enough.
I’m sure I’ll be singing a different tune after 2 months of the exact same conversation — what’s the preggers equivalent of “so, how’s married life treating you?” — but right now the whole honesty thing is looking pretty good.
mental note: add that to the list of things you could have mentioned three months ago …
it’s a little early to be doing dry runs to the hospital, but all the practices that baby mama interviewed were out of sibley memorial hospital here in DC and we had only the faintest idea as to where that was.
and, knowing that i was going to be the one driving her raging hormones around in case of emergency, i convinced her that we might want to discover whether we can actually get to this uncharted hospital in a hurry or not.
what can I say … I’m a planner.
it turns out that “we” have picked the farthest-away hospital in the District (at least that doesn’t involve crossing a river, thank god).
to be more specific, there are six hospitals that are closer — though admittedly two of them you could go in pregnant and come out missing a kidney.
so, we took a little drive to sibley. I offered to strap a watermellon to her waist and dump a gallon of water on her lap … you know, for authenticity.
she declined — unless I let her wail hysterically, dig her fingernails into my arm while I drove, and leave at three in the morning … you know, for authenticity.
so we hopped into our little jetta, and meandered our way west through the city: Cleveland park, van ness, tenleytown, American university, spring valley. (we passed like 200 churches, which I think is a good sign.)
five miles, twelve stoplights, three stop signs and a traffic circle later, we arrived at sibley.
the lady sparkler announced that the trip went “pretty good.” I announced that she better be planning to be induced at a time of our choosing.
it only took 12 minutes, but it felt like thirty … and that was without sparklet trying to bring an abrupt end to his/her claustrophobia.
I had lunch today with a friend who is expecting the first week of august (which minus 9 months = election day), and he rattled off three different friends (not including us) who were making babies between the election and the inauguration.
imagine the ramifications … the senior class president for the class of 2028 will be decidedly liberal. they will have to put yet another trailer behind each of DC’s public high schools. it’s possible that in the 2032 presidential election, the District will pull 98% dem, instead of the usual 95%.
“cats and dogs, living together … mass hysteria!”
i am pretty sure i was the only man there who dragged his wife along, and not the other way around.
I fell on love with ballet in Russia, when I first saw a production at the Marinski — the theatre featured in the documentary — when I was in high school. in college, I was the resident light designer for the dance department for my last two years.
and no, I’m not gay … thankyouverymuch.
the film was beautiful, with stunning shots of st. petersburg mixed in with great behind the scenes footage of the dancers rehearsing and performing. I was in heaven.
one of the opening scenes showed a class of first years at the prestigious Vaganova Academy, with their tiny builds and their incredibly petite features … which made me think:
first, this could never have been filmed in the united states, because our seven year-old look like NFL linebackers by comparison.
second, if baby sparklet is a girl, she has no future in ballet unless, well, she isn’t actually related to either the lady sparkler or myself. neither of us have any discernible coordination, nor could we be mistaken as petite, I’m the least flexible person on the planet, and my wife would have punched the artistic director in the nose after his first note on her performance.
little sparklet can be pretty much anything she/he wants to be when when [it] grows up …
… but not a ballet dancer.
… and it kills me.
we’ve already told the future grandparents, but have managed to track down any of the aunts and uncles quite yet. it’s hard to get peoples attention without ruining the surprise.
the Virginia parkers were in town this weekend (for my father’s birthday) so we got to tell them in person. the Houston spindlers got a phone call, but it turns out they already knew she was pregnant by the time they picked up.
so, now begins the long wait … we’ve got 64 days until we reach the 12 week threshold where it becomes safe to blab about sparklet (temporary nickname for currently genderless future sparkler) publically.
speaking of which, yes, we are going to find out the gender before hand, though TLS “feels” like it will be a girl. (and, no, I don’t know what that means either…)
speaking of which, we just found out that the lady sparkler’s ob-gyn no longer delivers babies, so we have to come up with an artful way of getting our friends to recommend someone without letting on that we have an eminent need to act on their suggestion.
two other things of note: we’ve started compiling a list of “must do’s” before the baby pops out… including redoing the closet in the second bedroom (which TLS has annexed as her own) and replace the death trap of an electric curcuit-breaker box our home inspector warned us about.
we’ll probably be fine on furnature to start (sans crib, natch) and we are going to try and avoid getting a bigger car (though may need to invest in some kind of luggage rack considering we max out the trunk when travelling already).
oh, and the lady sparkler keeps talking about painting, so that’s probably coming, too.
second item of note: we’ve agreed on the fact that a last name like “Parker” needs to have a fairly conventional anglo first name to “match.” (for instance, Andrew Parker works … Enrique Parker does not.)
with that already established, I’m thinking the name thing will actually be bearable, and maybe a little fun.
last thought … we are legitimately super-excited about raising sparklet in the city. everythin within walking distance, the zoo, the limited space that win let us over-accumulate baby crap … everything.
these are exciting times!
the last time she thought she was pregnant, I decided it would be a good idea to draft up some blog entries, with be idea that they’d be embargoed (ie. not published) until after the 12 week don’t-tell-a-soul period has passed.
unfortunately, as I was jotting down my thoughts, I came to realize that something was wrong with our blog which cause unpublished drafts to be, well, published.
and so, in the first week of January, maybe 50+ people who read the blog via RSS feeds (like, through google reader) got this message:
“tasha thinks she might be pregnant …”
so, when T.L.S. delivered the news today, after the obvious “yay!” response one would expect from me (closely followed by “let’s wait a few days to be sure”) my next thought was “how can I make sure I don’t embarrass myself again with another premature post.”
the answer? low tech. I’m drafting this in notepad, and won’t upload anything ’til I’m ready for them to be published. I don’t that even I could screw that up.
as an aside, thank you to all of you who either (a) didn’t make a big deal of my obvious mistake and pulled me aside quietly, or (b) just ignored the mistake because you knew I was just being a complete idiot. bless you all.
so, if you are reading this, I guess that means sparklet’s due date is Nov 8th, based off Feb 2nd as the start of T.L.S.’ last period.
(btw, sparklet is the insider name for the baby — it’s all we’ve got until there is at least a gender to work with.)
oi! i just looked at the calendar saw a vision of the future: one day in junior high health class, sparklet will count back 38 weeks from his/her birthday and pick Feb14th as the likely conception day.
even worse, sparklet will be totally grossed out, thinking mom and dad got tanked on Valentine’s Day and couldn’t control themselves … even though it’s been well documented that the only elixer of love we had on that day was ben’s chili bowl.
btw, remind me to delete this post before sparklet can read … okay? I probably can’t afford the therapy bills this post would cause.