The Name Game

At this point, we still have no definite name for our baby. Jessie still like Rosie, but not Rosalyn. So, putting the old noggin’ to work, I came up with the name, Caitlyn, which also has the –lyn pattern. You can also use the nickname, Caitie. However, Jessie likes Caitlyn, but not Caitie. What a conundrum! Maybe there’s some way I can meld Rosie and Caitlyn together to make a name that satisfies the wife. 

I’ve also realized that instead of spelling the names Rosalyn and Caitlyn, I can spell them Rosalin and Caitlin, which incorporates Jessie’s last name of Lin. Cute, right? 

Either way, I’ve decided to let her have the final say on our baby’s name. I realize that I’ve been dominating all the decision making thus far and have pushed all Jessie’s opinions to the side. I need to let her make some decisions too. Just pick Rosalyn/Rosalin, ok? Pretty please?

Stretch Marks

As the wife’s belly has been growing in size over the last few months, she’s been increasingly getting more worried about stretch marks. Now this is an area where I’ve got some experience. You probably don’t want to know, but I have stretch marks on my butt cheeks. Lots of them.

Stretch marks occur when the body expands and skin stretches faster than it can adjust. This results in the skin tearing, which causes a scar. Don’t ask me how I got mine. I don’t know because my butt is pretty flat with no fat to help cushion me when I sit. 

Back in high school when I used to play the cello in orchestra, the chairs we used were very hard and uncomfortable to sit on. It was more or less bone touching skin, touching hard plastic, when I was sitting down. Sitting on those seats for an hour created an unbearable pain that made my ass sweat profusely. 

At the end of class, there would always be a nice sweaty imprint of my ass left on the seat when I would stand up. Embarrassed, I would usually wait until other people had gotten up and left before I would do so, or I would deftly move my bottom from side to side in an attempt to wipe up my sweaty mess. 

Point is, I don’t have a big butt. Which is why for the longest time, I thought the stretch marks on my butt cheeks were from my parents spanking me when I was a kid. I never really thought of myself as a really bad kid, but I must have been because I often got spanked. We had this feather duster with a bamboo handle that was a favorite tool my parents liked to use on me. I just figured over the years, all those lashes created scars on my butt. 

But enough about me. Last night, after Jessie showered, she asked me to inspect her stomach for any stretch marks. I noticed some small red marks beginning to show underneath her stomach. She immediately began panicking and ran into the bedroom to slather on her stretch mark cream. 

Unfortunately, there’s not much that she can do to prevent stretch marks from happening. There’s no proof that creams, oils, or salves that claim to prevent stretch marks actually work. About all they do is keep the skin moisturized and help prevent itching.

Approximately 75-90% of pregnant women will get stretch marks. The odds are not in the wife’s favor.  The most important factor as to whether or not you will get stretch marks is genetics. If your mom or sister didn’t get them, you probably won’t either. The good news for Jessie is that her sister Sally didn’t get stretch marks. 

So maybe there still is hope for her. Maybe the small red marks will just remain small red marks and won’t become the long, unsightly lines that have come to define my butt cheeks.

P.S. No need to worry. The above picture is not of the wife's belly. When it does actually become like that, I will definitely be snapping some pictures and posting them up for your entertainment. OK, no I won't. That wouldn't be right. See, honey, I am changing! Self high-five! (smack!)

And So It Begins

Today, we went to go exchange some items we had gotten at a baby store and to also buy Karen’s baby a birthday present. Because we spent enough money, we were able to get a gift certificate. The wife asked what I wanted and I immediately knew I wanted to get a cow-patterned pacifier clip I had seen the last time we were at the store. I'm gung-ho about getting the ball rolling on my cow theme. However, now that I’m at home and have opened it up, it doesn’t look that great anymore. That’s buyer’s remorse for you. Sigh.

Squeeze and Open

While at work, I found some articles about signing to your baby. I had read about this before, but never paid much attention. This time, I spend some more time reading up on it. It’s an interesting concept – teaching your baby to sign before they can talk so they can communicate with you. 

No more frustrating attempts trying to understand what your baby wants. They can directly sign it to you. Or at least that’s the theory. And even though there are a lot of concerns about it, studies haven’t shown it to cause any speech delays. 

As I was looking at some YouTube clips of a baby demonstrating some signs (the baby looked like it was just flailing her arms around randomly), a co-worker walked by and asked what I was looking at. I said I was trying to learn some sign language to use with my baby. She hadn’t heard about this before, but gave me a gold star for wanting to do more than most deadbeat dads. 

However, she did have a bit of advice for me. She said, “Maybe you should learn how to change a diaper first before tackling sign language.” She has good point here. Maybe I’m in over my head trying to learn over 300 hand signs with my baby. I’m trying to do way too much all at once. I have never changed a diaper in my life before. How can I possibly progress to the next level if I don’t even have the basics down. 

But on a positive note, I now know the hand signal for milk (squeezing and opening your hand).

Turn, Baby, Turn

The wife went in for her 32 week check-up today. The doctor informed her that our baby’s head still hasn’t turned down and that makes Jessie worry. Our baby is in what’s called the breech position, with her buttocks and feet facing down. This isn’t a problem until it comes time for the wife to go into labor. If the baby still hasn’t turned down, then one of the most common options is having a cesarean birth. Neither Jessie nor I want this.

It seems that the baby turning down can happen over a wide range of time from the second trimester all the way up until labor. But most babies tend to turn head down around 33-34 weeks. We’ve still got a good two weeks to get our baby’s act together.

I looked online for some ways to help the baby turn down. Most involve doing some sort of stretch or exercise, but if those don’t work, there are always the wackier methods, such as: 

• Moving a flashlight slowly down from the top of the uterus down to the pelvic bone
• Placing a small clothespin on the small toe of each foot on the outside corner of the toenail for 30 minutes a day
• Drinking a glass of juice and then laying sideways with hips positioned higher than feet
• Doing headstands

Moo!

After much debate over which car seat to get, we have decided to go with the Britax Marathon. This is the one brand that kept popping up every time I did a search for top car seats. I believe it’s a good compromise between the car seat that Jessie wanted and the one I wanted. The topping on the cake is the really cute cow cover! 

When Sally had her second child Jack, everything I got him had dinosaurs on it. I loved dinosaurs as a kid and I’ll be gosh-darned if he doesn’t grow up to be a paleontologist, which is what I wanted to be when I was a kid. Having a theme is convenient too because you don’t have to think about what to buy. If it has a dinosaur on it, I’m getting it.

The logical theme for our baby would be rabbits, but that doesn’t seem as fun or cute. So when I saw the Britax Marathon, I knew I had found what I was searching for. It’s been staring me in the face all along. 

A friend gave us a cow-patterned sleep sack awhile back, I already have a cow-shaped piggy bank, and somewhere among my collection of Beanie Babies, I know I have Bessie the Cow. We’re well on our way! 

I can already picture our kid dressed up in a cow costume for Halloween. It’s going to rock! And when she grows up, she can become a farmer, another childhood dream of mine.

The Prison Cot

Years of being in the presence of snotty, runny-nosed kids have helped me build-up my immune system to a near Superman-like state. After managing to remain free of a cold thus far this year, I finally succumbed to one yesterday. I have been extra careful not to get sick while Jessie’s been pregnant, but I guess I let my guard down by stopping my daily intake of vitamin C tablets.

I had told Jessie that I would be sleeping in the guest room for the night to prevent her from getting sick too, but she insisted that it was OK. However, after being awoken by me inadvertently coughing in her face, she decided it was time to high-tail it out of the bedroom. 

She said that she would go and sleep on the “bed” in the guest room. I use the word ‘bed’ here very loosely because it’s more like a very thin mattress/cot. If she weren’t pregnant, I would have told her to go for it, but because it doesn’t provide the support that she needs, I wasn’t at all pleased by her decision.  

I told her I would sleep there instead so she could have the bedroom. But she didn’t want it anymore because it was now filled with my germs. Not wanting her to suffer by herself, I made myself comfortable on the couch. Of course, this didn’t make the wife happy at all and got her yelling at me for always being stubborn.

But I wasn’t trying to be stubborn. I just wanted her to know that I was willing to be miserable along with her. Shouldn’t such a noble gesture touch her heart? As usual, the intention was there, but perhaps the execution was a bit misguided. 

I scurry back to the bedroom before the wife can get any angrier, but have a restless night thinking of her lying there alone, pregnant, on a hard, prison-like cot while I lie on our super comfy bed. Chuck and Seagal would have never let such a scenario unfold.

Thought I was exaggerating about my prison cot reference? Here's proof! I used a filter to accentuate the bareness and feelings of despair and gloom that comes with having to sleep in prison. The only thing missing is a shank hidden underneath the mattress. 

My timeout couch is looking more and more like a reward instead of a punishment now.

Say, "Cheese!"

Today, the wife said I should add pictures to my blog. I have been wanting to do that for awhile, but there just haven’t been any pictures to put up. Most of my posts are about us arguing, and who takes pictures of each other while they’re arguing? 

The wife’s hands are kept busy throwing things at me and my hands are busy protecting my body. There’s no time to snap pictures, but I don’t doubt that pictures of the wife in her raw state would be pretty darn incredible.

This is why I can’t wait for the baby to come. This, after all, is a blog about our baby. No baby, no pictures. But, because I love my wife, I will put up my very first photos on this site. 

Remember how I had taken pictures of her crying? Well, I’ve been extremely tempted to put them up, but I’m trying my best to be on my best behavior. She is in her final trimester, and I should be minding her more than I usually do.

Therefore, I will post some pictures of the wife I snapped recently with the iPhone. I used a photo app that turns your pictures into cartoons. Why can’t regular digital cameras have snazzy options like this?

Anyway, her expressions in these pictures pretty well sum up how she feels about this pregnancy – tired, frustrated, grumpy, and just plain ready to get this whole thing over with.

Overkill

Today, we went to the grocery store to do some simple grocery shopping. By the time we left, we were the proud owners of 32 packs of baby wipes. That's a total of 3,200 sheets. If I only use 8.7 sheets a day, I can make this last a year. 

I have no idea what possessed me to get so many packs, but what I’m more surprised about is the fact that the wife let me get them, as she’s usually the more level-headed one. 

I suppose the bargain was too good to pass up. Buy 3 packs and get 1 free. It makes me wonder why I haven't gone out before and bought 32 tubes of toothpaste or 32 bottles of shampoo when they’re on sale. 

Thank goodness living in a small apartment is preventing me from hoarding away more things or else it’d probably start looking like a warehouse.  

Childbirth Class

 

The one thing that I feel like I’m being short-changed out of during this whole pregnancy experience is childbirth classes. In every movie about pregnant women, they always show scenes of them in some sort of baby class. The classes seem fun and interesting. 

The first baby class Jessie and I went to was not a pleasant experience. It was more like a college lecture. It was held in the hospital’s auditorium with over 100 other expecting parents and a lecturer up front giving a PowerPoint presentation. 

Where are the hands-on activities? Don’t they know the quickest way to get people to fall asleep is with a boring lecture? I want to swaddle a plastic doll, dangit! Everything they said was something that I already knew. I don’t need any more information; I need first-hand experience now.

That’s why I was excited for today, because we were attending another baby class. The class was supposedly going to teach us how to bathe our baby. This one will be important because the wife has said she’s too scared to handle the baby during bath time, so the duty will fall upon my shoulders. 

However, when we get there, it seems like yet another lecture-type class, though a bit smaller with around 50 people crammed into a small room. In addition, this isn’t a class about bathing a baby, it’s about simple exercises a pregnant woman can do. Except the person leading the class is wearing a blouse, skirt, and high heel shoes and can only half demonstrate the moments because she's hindered by her clothing.

I guess I should have listened to the wife when she said this one was going to be a snoozer. Within minutes, I was already nodding off to sleep. Perhaps the third class we try will be the charm?

Bed Time Issues

Recently, Jessie has been waking up in the middle of the night because she can’t sleep. She’ll usually go into the living room and play games on her iPhone (she’s trying to beat my high score on Wacka Monsta, which currently ranks in at #5 in the world) until she feels tired again. She’s concerned that her comings and goings disturb my sleep. I figure this is how life is going to be once the baby comes, accept it as the norm, and have never complained about it. 

She’s offered several times to sleep in the guest room where the bed is more like a cot than a bed. Like I would actually let her sleep in there. What kind of person does she think I am? I tell her that I should go sleep in the guest room so she can have more room to herself, but she says no and insists on sleeping in the guest room.

Is this some sort of test? Will she go running off to tell her mom what a lousy husband I am if I consent to this? I stand my ground and tell her if she’s going to sleep in the guest room, then I’m going to sleep on my timeout couch. After all, it’s been awhile since I’ve paid my dear friend a visit. 

She says if I sleep on the couch, then she’s going to sleep on the floor. Right…I’d like to see her back that up. I, on the other hand, have slept on the floor on many occasions, but those are stories for another time and another post.

Playing Detective

As I’m about to go to the bathroom in our apartment, I notice a drop of liquid on the toilet seat. I can’t decide whether it’s pee or water. I know it’s not from me because I haven’t used the shower yet and always lift up the toilet seat before going. That leaves only one suspect, Jessie! 

I figure since she just took a shower, she must have accidentally gotten some water on the toilet seat, but upon closer inspection, it has a yellowish tint to it. I go back out and ask Jessie if she accidentally peed on the toilet seat. She insists that it wasn’t her and that it probably isn’t even pee. 

I tell her that the liquid is yellow and ask her to go look at it, but she stubbornly refuses. Getting nowhere with my questioning, I decide to bring the evidence to her and get my camera out to take a picture of the mysterious yellow liquid. 

Back in the bathroom, I notice that she didn’t properly flush the toilet either, as the water in it is yellowish too, so I take a picture of it as a reference to go along with the drop on the toilet seat. Armed with my evidence, I confront the wife again. She still refuses to accept responsibility for the pee, but after pressing her hard, she finally folds, and admits that it was probably her. 

She breaks down crying, saying that she can’t help it. Her belly’s so big now that she can’t see what’s going on down there. Oops. I guess my whole bad cop routine went a bit too far. I've forgotten how fragile a pregnant woman's emotions can be during the third trimester.

However, this was far too good to pass up. Since I still have my camera in hand, I decide to snap a few pictures of the crying, guilty party. The way I see it, we can both have a good laugh about this later. It’ll just have to be me having the laugh for now. 

I know, I’m a horrible husband. But I still love the wife!