Um...
PS: I can't take credit for the clever title of this post. Saw it on Deadspin.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
No, baby... That's just jokes!
By now I'm sure most of you have heard about the Rev. Jesse Jackson's desire to, ahem, cut Barack Obama's nuts off. A contrite Jackson has apologized for his "crude and hurtful" remarks, and Barry has graciously accepted the Reverend's mea culpa.
But if I learned anything from The Big Lebowski and Eddy Murphy Raw, it's that threats of castration (2:35 to 4:03 below) are never to be taken lightly:
But if I learned anything from The Big Lebowski and Eddy Murphy Raw, it's that threats of castration (2:35 to 4:03 below) are never to be taken lightly:
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Yup, Gracie and I are going to get along just fine.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Gracie Girl
Dear Grace,
You were born at 10:59am on Thursday, July 3rd, 2008. You weighed 7 pounds 10 ounces and measured 21 inches long. You had dark hair, impossibly long feet and perfect little ears. You were beautiful.
The sun was shining by the time you arrived that morning, but it was cool, dark and rainy when Mom and Dad checked in to the hospital at 11pm the previous night. Over the course of the next twelve hours, Mom was the picture of strength, weathering the storm of each contraction without pain medication. With the help of a midwife named Amy and three different nurses (first Kate, then Natalie and Syra), Mom went from the bed to the birth ball; from the birth ball to the shower; from the shower back to the birth ball; from the birth ball back to the shower; from the shower to the tub; and from the tub back to the bed. Dad was with her every step of the way and woke up the next morning with the sore back to prove it.
As labor progressed and Mom's pain became more intense, Dad reminded her to stay in the present rather than dwelling on the contraction that had just passed or worrying about the one that was right around the corner. Mom responded like a champ, using the time between contractions to rest and to communicate which comfort measures were working and which weren't. By the time Mom was in the tub, word had spread that she was laboring without an epidural. And by the time she was fully dilated, a nursing student, a med student and an on-call OBGYN had all come to the delivery room to watch Mom push.
And what a sight it was. With Dad holding one leg and Natalie holding the other, Amy coached Mom through the last forty minutes of labor. Dad watched in complete awe as Mom summoned all her strength to push, push, push you into this world. First your head appeared, then your face and finally your entire body emerged, slippery, writhing, miraculous.
Amy placed you on Mom's chest while Dad stopped crying just long enough to cut the umbilical cord. Mom and Dad took one look at one another and, after the most amazing night of their lives, decided on something they had known for months:
Your name was Grace Emily.
And you were loved.
Love,
Dad
You were born at 10:59am on Thursday, July 3rd, 2008. You weighed 7 pounds 10 ounces and measured 21 inches long. You had dark hair, impossibly long feet and perfect little ears. You were beautiful.
The sun was shining by the time you arrived that morning, but it was cool, dark and rainy when Mom and Dad checked in to the hospital at 11pm the previous night. Over the course of the next twelve hours, Mom was the picture of strength, weathering the storm of each contraction without pain medication. With the help of a midwife named Amy and three different nurses (first Kate, then Natalie and Syra), Mom went from the bed to the birth ball; from the birth ball to the shower; from the shower back to the birth ball; from the birth ball back to the shower; from the shower to the tub; and from the tub back to the bed. Dad was with her every step of the way and woke up the next morning with the sore back to prove it.
As labor progressed and Mom's pain became more intense, Dad reminded her to stay in the present rather than dwelling on the contraction that had just passed or worrying about the one that was right around the corner. Mom responded like a champ, using the time between contractions to rest and to communicate which comfort measures were working and which weren't. By the time Mom was in the tub, word had spread that she was laboring without an epidural. And by the time she was fully dilated, a nursing student, a med student and an on-call OBGYN had all come to the delivery room to watch Mom push.
And what a sight it was. With Dad holding one leg and Natalie holding the other, Amy coached Mom through the last forty minutes of labor. Dad watched in complete awe as Mom summoned all her strength to push, push, push you into this world. First your head appeared, then your face and finally your entire body emerged, slippery, writhing, miraculous.
Amy placed you on Mom's chest while Dad stopped crying just long enough to cut the umbilical cord. Mom and Dad took one look at one another and, after the most amazing night of their lives, decided on something they had known for months:
Your name was Grace Emily.
And you were loved.
Love,
Dad
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Moose out front shoulda told ya.
Imagine if, when you were a kid, you woke up on Christmas morning and your parents told you that Santa Claus was running a little behind schedule:
You: "Um... What?"
Your Parents: "Behind schedule."
You: "What does that mean?"
Your Parents: "It means that he'll be here... Just not today."
You: "So, he's coming?"
Your Parents: "Right."
You: "Just not today?"
Your Parents: "Precisely."
You: "So... Tomorrow?"
Your Parents: "Not necessarily."
You: "Come again?"
Your Parents: "You see, he might be here tomorrow, but also maybe not."
You: "What the fuck kind of program are you running here?"
OK, that last line is probably a stretch, but you get my point. Amanda and I were under the impression that our little ball of joy would be arriving on or before the 24th of June. And yet the red-letter date came and went without the proverbial stork paying us a visit.
It's the damndest thing. You spend nine months taking candy out of your own personal advent calendar, and then when you get to the big day, you open the little window and there's a note that says, "Would it be okay if we gave you this last piece of chocolate in like a week? Ten days, tops."
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