Hitting the bottle

Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo Aunt Lelia got this whole baby shower thing planned and expertly executed, because Brazilians make superb hosts. Then another old Brazilian pal, Aunt Sussen, sorta took over and emceed the event, coming up with unusual games and competitions. Yeah.

So, anyway, the games included hitting the bottle, pretty hard core. Here we see mom:

All the make-up is from some sorta crazy Brazilian tradition, in which guests get to put on cosmetics if the mother-to-be incorrectly guesses the contents of the wrapped gifts. mom, ever-competitive, was still sorta a loser tonight, but she had fun. Nevertheless, we see her hitting the bottle -- this is the real stuff, the Diet Coke with caffeine -- to help her recover.

mom wasn't the only mom-to-be, nor was she the only one hitting the bottle. Here is Aunt Rebecca(*1):


She's supposed to learn whether she's having a boy or a girl within a week or so, we're told. Three cheers for her!

Last, but not least, is Aunt Sussen herself. This was news to everyone at the shindig.


Yep, that's her ultrasound, and her. Great news, huh?

mom and dad will be forever grateful to our sweet guests, who offer such wonderful friendship and helped clothe Lil' Genghis, offer her plenty of things to play with, fresh bedding, books ... and also offered purely useful things, like a high chair (great for increasing the distance and velocity of projectile food!), a diaper disposal system and a week-plus worth of food!


*1: This'll confuse you, dear reader, more than the bit about how Aunt Sharon has a sister named Sharon. It's about our Rebeccas. See, Aunt Becky is now a Ph.D.-wielding professional who has spent the last decade trying to be known as Rebecca. The Aunt Rebecca, mentioned here, is a pen-wielding professional who tries convincing her friends that she should be called Becky. Go figure.

Edit: mom says that dad needs to blog that he was attacked by a diaper disposal system, which left a mark on his forehead. Of course, she didn't want to mention that she's still covered in makeup that makes her look something like the Cowardly Lion crossed with Raggedy Ann.

No longer O'Stucka

Doc now says Lil' Genghis is arriving earlier, she's no longer a St. Paddy's girl. New estimated date of delivery is March 7th and mom revving up to go on Nesting Hyperdrive.

Getting an education

So today mom and dad wrapped up their childbirth education class today. There were lots of great pointers, including when to call the doctor.

If the baby puke reaches just 3 feet (1 meter), don't worry about it. It's not true projectile vomiting.

True projectile vomiting involves a distance of perhaps 11 feet, or 1/6th chain, or 0.3412 kiloton. "If your baby vomits like in 'The Exorcist,' call your doctor."

"If your baby spins its head around like in 'The Exorcist,' call your priest."

Useful stuff, that. Heck, we also learned that fluorescent-green puke is a very bad sign. Who'da thunk? =)

mom noted how much she's slowed her life down since the first part of the class, two weeks ago. Back then, the instructor asked what time women were putting their feet up and calling it a night: "5! 6! 7! 6! 6! 11!" Three guesses who said 11 p.m., or 23:00h? Yeah. Her.

dad has been telling mom for the last three years that marrying him meant lowering her standards, as if that wasn't obvious enough. She might finally be doing that.

All of this said, we came to the conclusion that anyone stopping by the house to visit with the baby should bring lasagna. It's one of those things that has a decent variety of nutritional contents, can be reheated 17 times, and is one more thing that sleep-deprived parents won't need to cook. =)

We'd highly recommend the childbirth education classes to other future parents, because there's an invaluable wealth of material that gives us much more capability of making an informed decision.

There's also the possibility that prospective parents should consider the childbirth education classes, because this could be the best advertising for adoption you'd ever think about.

Getting dressed up for the invasion

So we were wandering around the Web and found a line of clothing for Lil' Genghis, most prominently, this piece: Because every baby needs camel-wool boots, right?

Perhaps more normally, they have felt boots for infants. Then we just need to arm the horde and we'll be all set.

The songs of a new generation

dad had to go to a dentist today for the worst kind of a root canal. He sat down to fill out the paperwork in the office and noticed a bunch of wet spots on the crotch of his pants. Ordinarilly, this would be embarrassing at best; but when stretched out in a dental chair, yeah, not good.

It turns out it was from the wet edge of a bathroom countertop, which always seems to be at the perfectly wrong height for embarrassing mistakes like this. However, all this led dad to think about the original plans for Lil' Genghis, when there was thoughts that she could be a he.

You see, every child learns little rhymes. Some are taught by their parents. A relevant one, in this case:

No matter how much you shake, no matter how much you dance, the last three drops always wind up in your pants

Presumably this won't be particularly relevant now that we know Lil' Genghis is a girl, but surely there's a whole array of both Brazilian and American rhymes we can teach her. Ahh ... teaching her.

See, American kids at least from dad's generation were required to know at least 723 versions of alternate lyrics to "The Battle Hymn of the Republic". Most went something like this:

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school. We have tortured all the teachers and burned all the books ...

For a slightly younger generation, Uncle Boboli told me years ago, every kid at a summer camp knew roughly 14 alternative lyrics to the theme song from Barney, most of which involved decapitation of said Barney.

But, wait! Someone out there is protesting that all children rhymes need not be violent. Well, no. But some rhymes started off with nonsense and ended up with a violent reputation. Ain't childhood grand?

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Addendum: A quick search turned up this list of children's rhymes. The first one listed, naturally enough, involves a freight- and personnel-carrying logistical structure exceeding its safety factor and thus resulting in impending structural failure.

And what kind of lesson does this leave for our children? Well, ... tell me there's not a kid in the world who didn't think this looked cool:

Who needs parents?

While surfing aimlessly through blogs a lot less interesting than this one, mom may have found the missing link, the panacea that will just make parenting a lot more easier.

Introducing Elmo's Potty Time.


No more sitting by your tot while she works on her bowel control skills. Just put this DVD on, sit your kid on the little throne and let Elmo lead the way. As the manufacturer so rightfully puts it

This amusing and song-filled DVD teaches children that everyone- mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, friends, and even monsters- has to learn how to use the potty.

Now mom can't quite remember how the whole thing went when she was 2 or 3, but she's glad Elmo's there to allow lil' genghis to have a positive potty time experience, and dad, who still believes he won't have to deal with any bodily fluids, may sigh in relief that he'll be off the hook in a couple of years.

Girls of the world, unite!

Aunt Sharon brought some good news today. Without her permission, we'll paste her message here:

Savannah Emma Fitzgerald will be joining our family on May 10, 2007. She is now 1.3 lbs. and is looking really good... she finally revealed herself to us today and we're excited.
Pat, who was hoping for a boy, is recovering from disappointment.
Love,
Sharon:)

Three cheers for Sharon, Pat and Savannah the new Genghis!

Gutsy gifts

Our kind relatives and friends have already given Lil' Genghis a good bit of clothing, which mom is now thinking she needs to get washed before she (the smaller one) wears it for the first time.

This being mom, of course, the baby clothes were delicately folded and stored. Then she sorted out the 0-3 month stuff. Then she looked at it. Made cooing noises. Carefully folded it again. Placed it gently into a hard plastic container. Gently stacked it in. Shooed away girldog when she tried to take a curious sniff. Delicately put the lid on the laundry box.

And all that was so she could take it to the laundromat.

Then there's dad. He got an e-mail from his old buddy Aunt Sharon, whose sister is called Sharon as well, but let's not go there right now. Aunt Sharon is expecting a Genghis of her own, which means she's browsing the products of the Baby-Industrial Complex. Along the way, she stumbled upon this link, for the 10 most ridiculous products for babies. She sent it on to dad; the accompanying message, in its entirety:

I hope these items don't make it to either of our registries....

Well, she can keep hoping for her sake, but, damnit, dad liked it.
Thanks, pal. =)

Stupid T-mobile. We're trying to work out a way to bring you guys news
quickly when Lil' Genghis shows up, but we're failing.

Anyone ever get blog posting by cell phone to work? I can get a message
sent successfully, but Blogger never posts it. I don't know if it's
because of all the extra HTML or something that T-mobile puts in. Any
ideas graciously accepted.

Diary of a sanity break

Week and a half of family. Family. Broken glass. Emergency room. Family. Family. FAMILY. FAMILLLYYYYY. Family everywhere. Work. Family. Work. Family. Family. Back pain. Work. Family. Work. Family. Emergency room. Family. Family. FAMILY! Back pain, family, back pain, family, work work sick family work familyfamilyworkworkwork.

Today. Back pain. Move car. Fight landlord. Doggie barkfest. Barking. Barking. Barking. Work. Crazy night. Friday night. Full moon. Bad mix. Dead guy. Baby born in car. Tromping everywhere. Running. Phone rings. Running. Phone. Can't find baby. Discover arrested moron. Can't find baby. Dead guy not dead. More phone. Leave. Parking lot.

Grab newly burned CD. Led Zeppelin compilation. Slide into player. Skip some overplayed radio songs. First gear. Second. Stop sign. First. Second. Third. THIRD! fourth, fifth. Find better song.

"Gallows Pole." Crack window open. Fresh springlike air enters. Pounding drums and bass and mandolin leave. Worse life than this, the guy had. 70mph in Boston in January, and the air feels great. Think kind thoughts about global warming. More music. Start to relax with "The Rain Song." Sing along with indecipherable lyrics. Nobody can shriek like Robert Plant. Nobody can play a guitar like that anymore, either. Or the entire instrumental mix, flowing over me, getting on new highway.

Driving along the river now. Life is great. Window falls farther open. More air, refreshing, flows over me. It's a beautiful drive on a beautiful night. Driving is like flying. Closer to home now. New tune: "I'm Going to Crawl." Drive almost done. Thoughts of home. Song sweeps me up, sweeps into end, just a few more turns to home and the wife and the dogs. "She gives me good lovin's. ... Yes I love her ... Ooh, yes I loove her."

Driveway. Home. Jumping dogs. Wife. Shower. Beer. All better.

United in drink

A sharp-eyed Aunt Melissa just noticed the edge of a beer bottle in a photo taken of mom, and was even able to identify and praise the brand of beer. That's dedication!

On the other hand, her boyfriend, Uncle Rodrigo, left behind a bottle of Diet Mountain Dew, which still might be here the next time he visits and leaves the toilet paper hanging the wrong way on the dispenser. Maybe we can drop a roll of training paper on top of the soda bottle cap for him.

Of course, anyone who knows the dynamic duo knows all too well they're both math geeks, and that Melissa has both a greater appreciation and greater tolerance for alcohol, defined generally with a qualitative consumption of Me=Ro*(Π^2) despite a weight differential of at least Me/∂^2=Ro.

So it should come as little surprise that Rodrigo declined to try the Cossack Charge:


Uncle Rodrigo, you're welcome back as long as you learn how to hang the toilet paper the proper way. Aunt Melissa, you're welcome any time. =)