Pioneer Valley Days

No More to Report Than Before

Well, well. It turns out that Jenn isn't any more dilated than before, and therefore will probably end the day no less pregnant than before. We were all set to waltz on over to the hospital (well, at least drive there) and deliver the baby, but his birth seems to be on hold again. We have an ultrasound exam scheduled for Monday morning, at which time our doctor will make a judgment on when Jenn should be induced. Of course, the best option would be for the baby to just make a break for it on his own this weekend. We'll see.

Admittedly, we are in common territory. Many first-time births happen well beyond our current five-days-overdue state. And all indications are that we have a healthy guy in there (maybe too healthy -- we'll see how big he is on Monday). But we want to start this amazingly different part of our lives, and we really want to meet our son. A couple of fuzzy dogs want to meet their new brother, too.

The cats, on the other hand, probably couldn't be bothered. Or maybe the little guy will be one more excuse for them to whine and complain. And if they keep it up, I'll give them something to cry about.

Hee hee. Just practicing my dad skills.

Not Much to Report

Doctor's appointment this morning. It's a big one for our OB -- he'll have to decide whether to schedule an ultrasound for early next week and how often we should check back in with him. We're only five days late, not uncommon at all for a first-time pregnancy, but I'm sure that, for Jenn, it feels like five months late. I had another little talk with Amnioboy last night (and Ripley joined me in reciting an off-the-cuff poem for him -- you'd be surprised how difficult it is to rhyme words like 'uterus' and 'cervix'), but no movement so far. I'll check back in later today with an update.

Top 10 Reasons Our Baby Needs to Get Moving

10.  The UConn-Stanford women's game should be a really good matchup, and he'll definitely want to be out in time to see it.

9.  This taking-his-time routine doesn't bode well for his future as a swift-footed agility dog handler.

8.  We need to leave plenty of time to show him all five previous Star Wars movies before Episode III comes out in May.

7.  I'm supposed to go to Connecticut on Friday to pick up a couple months' worth of the dogs' food, but if we're in the hospital, another nice person is prepared to do it. And who feels like driving around on Friday afternoon?

6.  I don't want to forget everything I learned at Boot Camp for Dads.

5.  My family can't handle any more false alarms like last night. (Deep breaths, everyone.)

4.  I want to blog about baby stuff. Blogging about waiting-for-baby stuff is so last month.

3.  He has to start wearing any Jeff Gordon gear we've bought him before #24 falls any further down the standings.

2.  Jenn's back would appreciate it.

1.  We really want to meet him.

Go to Bed. All of You.

Dear panicked family members:

There are three possible reasons for my not posting today:

A: I was very busy.
B: I'm running out of ways to say, 'we can't wait to have the baby!'
C: We're at the hospital, and here comes the baby!

Hint: It's not C. Sorry.

Now go make yourself a snack and watch The Amazing Race. Really. It's good this season. Go.

It Must Be One Comfy Womb

Monday Morning Haiku

Jenn rises and yawns.
Sleep proved elusive again.
Lo. She's still pregnant.

Monday Afternoon Haiku

Hours immersed in work.
Time ticks by. The baby moves?
Nah, he says. Not now.

Monday Evening Haiku

Hospital awaits.
This night, will we go there? No?
Let's watch 24.

Hey, Stubborn Baby!

Last night, I had a little chat with my son. First, as Nanny Jo suggests, I got down to his level, and I spoke clearly and firmly of the need for him to join us out here, because we want to meet him, and besides, Jenn's back really hurts. I don't know if he heard me. But in case he did, while he thinks about what I said, here are some possibilities for the due date. If you have a better hunch, feel free to add it in the comments.

March 18. Rationale: An entire weekend of watching basketball games in the hospital sounds pretty cool.

March 19. Rationale: This is Lori's prediction, based on it being exactly 2 1/2 years after Ryan was born.

March 20: Rationale: It's the due date, first of all, and it's also the first day of spring this year. And we have a fortune cookie slip hanging on our fridge that reads, Spring has sprung. Life is blooming. And fortune cookies, as we all know, are incapable of guile or deceit.

March 22: Rationale: This is the date predicted by Jenn's mom.

Sometime in October: Rationale: This is Jenn's own prediction. That's October 2006, by the way. She's kind of frustrated.

Next Time, I'll Just Drive

I had another labor dream last night. Well, sort of. In this dream, I was in Hartford for some reason when Jenn called my cell phone, letting me know she was going into labor. So I went to a parking garage to get my car and noticed that a cruise ship was docked on the Connecticut River. I figured it might be quicker to get to our Western Mass. home by boarding this ship, rather than just driving the 30 or so miles (hey, I could have hit traffic!). And besides, the ship was hosting some major dog show, so there were lots of cute puppies all over the decks. It was a no-brainer! I'll take the boat! Yeah!

Only, the ship started moving south along the river, not north, so I knew I had made a poor decision. I asked someone if it stopped in, say, New Haven, and they said yes -- but in five days. The first stop was in California. (I guess we were heading for Panama first. It was a fast ship.) Now I was screwed. I had to disembark, now. I ran to the lowest outside deck and gazed at the receding shoreline. (I know I had begun this trip on a river, but now it had become a bay of some kind. It was a dream. Stay with me here.) I wanted to jump in and make a swim for the shore, but I'm not a good swimmer, and I didn't want to get my cell phone wet in case Jenn called again. So I asked if anyone would voluntarily leave this cruise ship (that they had paid lots of money to be on) and swim to shore, with me riding piggyback.

One person was nice enough to do just that. It was Kenny Rogers.

Thanks, Kenny.

Parenting 101: What Not to Do

I thought you'd like an update from the bedtime adventures of The World's Best Fairy Tales. No? You wouldn't? Tough.

"Hansel and Gretel" poses the scenario of a family so impoverished that the stepmother decides to bring the kids to the heart of the forest and leave them there. Dad's not crazy about the idea, but he doesn't argue. Maybe there's a football game on. But the clever children find their way back. End of story? Nope. Stepmom insists they ditch the kids even deeper in the woods. Dad protests a tiny bit, but unbelievably gives in again. I'm guessing wicked stepmom was really terrific in bed. Anyway, the kids lose their way this time and find themselves in the clutches of an evil witch, who tries to fatten them up for a fine meal. But Hansel goes all Mary-Kate and refuses to put on the pounds. Later, Gretel pushes the witch into the oven, and the kids run away, but not before collecting all kinds of valuable jewels from her house. They eventually find their way home, where the stepmom has mysteriously died, the spineless one seems thrilled to have his (suddenly wealthy) children back, and everyone lives happily ever after. Until Social Services hears about all this.

"Town Mouse and Country Mouse" is a complete waste of time, except for its clever political subtext. Town Mouse's biggest gripe during his visit to the country is the down-home food. When Country Mouse visits his pal in the city, though, he almost gets eaten by a cat. Moral of the story? Red states are happy states. Blue states will get you killed.

Finally, in the tradition of the immortal "Rumpelstiltskin," "Rapunzel" gives us yet another example of parents selling off their firstborn child. Why? Because Mom starts stealing lettuce from the neighborhood witch's garden, becomes completely obsessed with this lettuce, and eventually agrees to trade her future daughter for more and more lettuce. I'm not even going to address the rest of the story, which involves some creative hair care, because there's only one message I take from it, and here it is: That's not lettuce.

False Alarm

Right at the end of The Amazing Race last night, my wife and I had this conversation:

Jenn: "After the show, could you go downstairs and get me the CDs I'm bringing to the hospital?"
Joe: "The ones you mentioned before?"
Jenn: "Yeah -- Enya, Reba, Martina, Dar, the Nields. You know which ones."
Joe: "Sure, hon."
(Momentary pause)
Jenn: "And could you also dig out those papers on laboring positions?"
(Momentary pause)
Joe: "Um ... honey?"

It always takes me awhile to catch on, but Jenn was having back spasms last night, and from the stories we've heard from friends, anything -- abdominal pressure, a migraine headache, heartburn -- can be a sign of labor. Ripley having back spasms is probably a sign Jenn's going into labor. So all at once, as I retrieved the music and paperwork (our suitcase is 80% packed already), the excitement and anxiety I've been feeling for weeks collided in my head and made me ... kind of numb. We both went to sleep, and the spasms faded, and we're both back at work today. But the experience of thinking labor had begun made me think about how I will come through for Jenn when it actually happens.

I mean, giving birth is the biggest challenge of Jenn's life, on every level. Thus, to be fair, I don't have the right to worry about how I will do. But from an emotional standpoint alone, this is also my biggest challenge -- being there for Jenn, easing her anxiety, supporting her all the way, just doing whatever I can. And I love her beyond words, so, yeah, I want to do a great job for her.

During the night, I dreamed that she was in labor, but I had to sit still and not do anything for her (like take her to the hospital) until someone else arrived. That's right: in my dream, my expectations of labor got tangled up in the Amazing Race teams quitting the eating challenge and having to wait until the next team arrived to start their penalties.

So, I imagine that, had this dream happened on Thursday night, Donald Trump would have fired me from my post as husband. And had it happened on Monday night, Jack Bauer would have tortured me all the way to the hospital.

Being a Dad

I'm wrong as a man is. But right as love,
and father of the man whose tears I bless
in this bud boy. May he have cried enough
when he has cried this little. I confess
I don't know my own reasons or own way.
May sons forgive the fathers they obey.
--John Ciardi

And what kind of father will I be? I think about it often, and thought about it again during a one-afternoon class I took today called Boot Camp for Dads. I have to say, it was both relaxing and reassuring to talk about the anxieties and expectations of impending parenthood with other dads-to-be. I read stories all the time about how boys develop and learn differently than girls, and how schools and doctors are too quick to drug boys who seem too distracted, rambunctious, or just plain boy-like. Part of the challenge for parents is to provide outlets -- both physical and intellectual -- for a boy's natural energy, to encourage his curiosity and provide a happy balance in his life, so that energy is expressed in positive ways, not pent up.

Of course, that can be fun. After I expressed these thoughts in class, our instructor, a nurse with two kids of his own, talked about how this aspect of parenthood often involves rediscovering your own childhood. Character and communication and all kinds of virtue can be built through simple play, and there's a joy in that. He talked about a game called "How Much Does Daddy Love You?" in which he repeatedly asks this question while wrestling and roughhousing with his kids. They're having a ball, but they're always in control of the game, because they know the answer that will end it: Daddy loves us more than he loves himself. Through some exuberant fun, that message always comes through. We met his kids. They do seem like they know he loves them that much.

But parenting is more than playing, of course. There will be times when Jenn and I need to correct our son and lay down the law, and I know sometimes our actions will not seem fair to him. After all, a parent-child relationship without some conflict simply doesn't exist. But we both feel like we had very good male role models -- Jenn in her dad, and me in both my dad and my stepdad. No kid likes his parents all the time, but the real test comes in adulthood, when you can look back and remember very good fathers who loved you and did their best. And did very well, at that.

That's all I can hope for in raising my son. Get back to me in 25 years, and I'll let you know how it went.

Still Swimming

No baby yet. Any day now. My prediction is Tuesday, but Jenn's not feeling that, and she's the one carrying him, so don't go by me.

Jenn had a lovely shower this weekend with a good-sized group of family and close friends. We spent the weekend digging through the gifts, washing and sorting all the clothes, and putting everything away. I realize a baby might go through several outfits in a day, but it still seems that, with regular washing, he should have plenty of clothes. And they're beautiful clothes, too. Everything we received is great, actually. So thanks to everyone who gave our son gifts.

I finished reading him Margery Williams' The Velveteen Rabbit last night (a really lovely edition illustrated by Michael Hague). Well, to be accurate, I got about three-quarters through it, and Jenn finished it. I've become very emotional as of late, and I knew I wouldn't be able to get through that book.

The moment of birth should be interesting. Jenn has been warned.

The Final Doctor Visit?

Well, maybe. Or there could be a few more before Jenn goes into labor. That's the most our doctor could tell us today during an uneventful but reassuring visit. Who knows when our son will arrive?

We do know that he's a pretty big guy, and he has definitely dropped into position. It's a waiting game now, one that could bring him into the world this weekend, or in a few weeks. We just can't say. The official due date is March 20, but that doesn't mean much.

Maverick might be especially anticipating the baby's arrival, based on something our veterinarian said this week. He's been struggling with an awful ear infection going on two years now, and our vet, who practices holistic and homeopathic medicine, is the only one in a long line of vets to make any progress at all with him, so we trust her. We've been throwing a series of treatments at him, while cleaning his ears each night, and he's not particularly responding (although his condition, I must admit, has been worse in the past). But our vet wondered if the baby's arrival will help clear him up. It was said only partly in jest, if at all. I mean, state of mind can definitely have an impact on physical health, and maybe the new addition will make Maverick so happy (after all, he is a golden) that it positively affects his ears.

Really, why not? We'll take any hope we can get right now. So-called mainstream (read: much more expensive) doctors have never had any answers for Maverick. If nothing else, I like our vet's attitude. And her willingness to keep trying and trying.

Just like we did when we wanted to have a baby.

More Baby Corruption

Here's Joe's latest book report, this time on three more bedtime selections from The World's Best Fairy Tales.

"Rumpelstiltskin" starts with some promise, with a magical but clearly deranged little man wrangling away the rights to a woman's firstborn child by spinning straw into gold for her. He tells her she can get the kid back by learning the little man's name. Later, he is overheard stupidly chanting his name while he dances around a fire (apparently, he's Wiccan). Then he gets so upset at blowing the secret that he rips himself in two. Wow. You just don't see that coming. I mean, CSI isn't that gruesome.

"The Three Bears" really blows an opportunity. The tale makes it clear that these bears are caring, compassionate, and non-violent creatures who love nothing more than eating together and enjoying nature. But Goldilocks decides to break into their house anyway, eat the little bear's food (by the way, how can one bowl of porridge be too hot and another too cold if they were dished out from the very same pot?), breaks his chair, and falls asleep in his bed. For once, I was looking forward to the horribly gory death scene. So how does the story end? Goldilocks runs away, and the bears never see her again. Jenn and I hoped she ran into a Big Bad Wolf on the way home.

Finally, in "Three Billy Goats Gruff," our brave heroes learn that the best way to escape danger is to sell out your siblings. The first two goats convince the bridge troll that the next goat coming up the road (why aren't they walking together, by the way?) is much bigger and tastier, and the troll buys this. OK, so the third billy goat does beat the crap out of the troll. But what if he hadn't? Could the other two goats have lived with the guilt of fatally setting him up? Or would they have been too busy stuffing their faces with that fine meadow grass to care?

So, today's lesson seems to be that no one ever gets punished for anything. Except in Rumpelstiltskin's case, but his punishment is self-imposed. Kinda like John Chaney, but with more ripping and screaming.

Tales of Woe

We went back to The World's Best Fairy Tales for bedtime reading last night. You decide if that was a good idea.

First off, there was "The Princess and the Pea," the story of a prince who searches the world over for an extremely high-maintenance chick -- and finds one. The king and queen set a test of the sensitivity of this princess by piling 20 Sealy mattresses and 20 down quilts atop a single pea. Jenn rightly pointed out that the book never explains how chickiepoo actually climbs into this bed, but that plot hole is still way preferable to a woodsman disemboweling a wolf. Anyway, moving on. Not only does chickiepoo not get any sleep, she emerges from her bedroom, according to the tale, "black and blue." I am not kidding. Um, this is not a pea problem. Clearly, this is an abusive prince problem. I'm surprised Lifetime hasn't purchased the movie rights yet.

Our second tale of the evening was "The Gingerbread Man." I discovered that I can replicate the voice of the namesake cookie from Shrek fairly well, so our baby got to hear a new voice. That brings the grand total of voices I can impersonate well to three and a half; these also include Kermit the Frog, Apu Nahasapemapetilon, and a fair-to-middling Yoda. That's out of 65 or 66 that I've attempted, much to Jenn's chagrin. Anyway, in this story, the smug little gingerbrat runs away from the old woman who bakes him (the poor woman only wanted a son to love!) and taunts several people, animals and farm implements that try to catch him. Eventually, he gets tricked and eaten by a fox, in an absolutely hilarious final scene with actual dialogue like "I'm a quarter gone!" and "I'm half gone!" Apparently, this fox liked slowly savoring his cookie. He probably dunked it in some talking milk.

Naah. That would be silly.

Man Oh Man

They threw a baby shower for me at work today.

Now, I probably wouldn't have lost sleep without one. Jenn wasn't too surprised she got one -- she's the mom, and she's been at her job for almost a decade. I, on the other hand, am merely the dad, and I've been at my workplace for less than a year. So it was a definite surprise -- and a very pleasant one at that -- when I was blindsided with a shower when I walked into what I thought was a routine staff meeting. Pretty darn cool stuff. And a bit intimidating at first, too, with about 10 women (I'm the only guy in my department) staring across the table at me, waiting for me to open presents. Then I asked if we were going to play any diaper games; everyone laughed, and I felt more comfortable. It's always odd being the center of attention, but I was extremely grateful for their thoughtfulness.

I find myself very at ease talking with people at work about the baby, and it's neat that so many of them ask me questions. They ask if we feel ready, and the simple answer is that we're as ready as any first-time parents are in the weeks leading up to childbirth -- which is to say, not ready at all, yet as ready as we can possibly be. Both, simultaneously. I think all parents know the feeling I'm talking about.

As I've said before, the anxiety level remains unchanged, but the excitement level just increases -- with every bedtime story read, with every item purchased for the labor bag, with every adorable toy or ultra-soft outfit unwrapped at a shower. And with every glance at that ultrasound photo that's taped to my work computer.

And that's a lot of glances, so you can imagine how excited I am.

Girl Name Contest Winner!

Now that the evidence shows that we are having a boy, I can safely name a winner in the Name the Baby Girl contest. The winner is Lori, who -- out of her many very classy suggestions -- managed to get "Jillian" onto our final list. Congratulations to Lori, who wins the contest prize: a trip to beautiful North Carolina!

I'd also like to thank everyone else who participated with name suggestions.

That's right, I'd like to thank them. Hmmmm.

(Some restrictions apply. Residents of North Carolina not eligible for prize.)

Sentimental Dad Alert

Whether or not you've had a chance to check out the ultrasound photo below, please do so now. Cute, ain't he? There is currently a debate in our household over whose ski-slope nose the baby actually inherited, but at least we know what's been pressing painfully into Jenn's abdomen all this time. She thought it was an arm, leg or head, but it's really been that nose.

He's a healthy little guy, too. The estimate at this moment (36 weeks and 5 days) is 7 pounds, 9 ounces. That could put him above 9 pounds if he goes full term. Yikes.

I was excited like a little kid in the ultrasound room, and kind of emotional afterward when we were looking at the photos. Not that this should surprise anyone. Mom says I get that softie side from Pop Pop, which is probably true. Jenn's really happy that everything is looking well in there, and she's no doubt letting the implications of having a son sink in. She's athletic and outdoorsy and knows her way around power tools, so there's so much to pass on to our boy. It's far too late for me on most of those counts, but now she can start with a clean slate. I'll have my own ways to influence him as well, most of them on the artsy, geeky and way-too-clever side. I can't wait to read to him directly, and not just through a layer of amniotic fluid. I was holding a fake baby in our final childbirth class yesterday, and I enjoyed imagining our son, and what it will be like to hold him.

I know I'll be less goofy and sentimental once the sleepless nights begin and various frustrations set in, but for now, I think I'll just ride the good feelings. Our son will arrive very soon, and he is beautiful. And I love him.

I Think He Has My Nose

Jenn and I would like to introduce everyone to our son.

Sugar and Spice? Or Frogs and Snails?

Jenn is wearing pants today that go well with either a pink or blue sweater, and she wanted to know which to wear as we go for our possibly gender-identifying ultrasound test. We reflected on two things. First, she dreamed we had a boy. I had some vivid dreams last night as well, but Ryan was in them, not our baby. But he's a boy, right? Advantage: blue sweater. Then I went downstairs this morning to shoot some hoops (note to Lori and Mark: I still use that thing every day). I decided to try 10 shots, and if I made an even number of them, we'd have a boy, and if it was an odd number, the test would show a girl. (Normally, I'll make 6 or 7 of 10.) Today, not only did I make all 10 (even number), but I just kept shooting and didn't miss until I had drained 20 in a row. Oh, and March 20 is our due date. Advantage: blue sweater. So I'll be seeing the blue-sweatered Jenn in a couple of hours, and we'll see if the ultrasound accurately reflects our hoops and dreams.

Two Days Away

Now that we're into the ninth month, the baby could realistically come at any time. During certain moments when her ribs and organs are being kicked and pressed against, I'm sure Jenn wouldn't mind sooner than later, but that's for the baby to decide. We do, however, have some more definitive news coming this week. At 10 a.m. Thursday morning, we have been scheduled for an ultrasound, so that our doctor can see how the baby's doing and get a good idea of how he's positioned.

Or she.

That's right -- after going exclusively on educated guesses and gut feelings since an inconclusive ultrasound during week 18, we should now get a better idea of whether the luggage Jenn is carrying around comes, um, with a handle or without. That's very exciting. And kind of scary, but also beautiful, in that it brings us that much closer to getting to know our child. We now call him by his boy name, but if it's a girl, she'll forgive us, I'm sure. And our family and friends have been assuming it's a boy when buying us some very nice clothes, but virtually none of it would look out of place on a little girl, so we're OK there, too.

So, in case we are surprised on Thursday, let's examine the pros and cons of some really cool girls our daughter could model herself on.

The Amy Wynn Pastor Type. Pro: Jenn would love helping her learn to use power tools and build her own furniture. Con: Probably at least one trip to the emergency room, but, hey, that's how you learn.

The Diana Taurasi Type. Pro: Tough, smart, hard-nosed attitude will serve her well in whatever field she chooses. Con: Our basketball hoop is in our front driveway, so her Dad's ass will get regularly kicked in full view of the neighbors.

The Rachael Ray Type. Pros: A quirky and enthusiastic spirit. Will cook for her aging parents. Loves cheese, garlic and cilantro. Con: The drinking problem.

Of course, our potential daughter might wind up following a completely different path, becoming the typical girly girl we both fear. It's not so much the frilly outfits and diva attitude that worry us. It's the dolls. Because late at night, dolls awaken and walk the dim corridors, haunting dreams and feeding on the souls of the living.

So please, people. If it's a girl, and you're shopping for a gift down the road, think stuffed animals and action figures. We're begging you.

Knowledge Is Power

I wouldn't exactly call last night's childbirth class fun, since it dealt largely with (a) the pros and cons of pain relief and (b) the magical world of the C-section. Jenn said she didn't fear the possibility of that procedure until she got all the information last night. And this is a class where the instructor never uses the word "pain."

We also talked about different types of pushing and did some breathing and relaxation exercises. But I'm more convinced than ever that, as helpful as the classes are (and they really are), no one really knows how to do this until they do it. Moms through the ages have said that the scariest and most challenging moment of their lives was also the very best moment, but I'm pretty sure that you have to actually do it to completely comprehend it.

Last night, we read the little guy a historical account of Easter Island, which at this moment seems like much less of a mystery than how babies are born. But soon we will understand fully.

On the lighter side, Jenn's office threw her a shower yesterday. She got all kinds of outfits, stuffed animals, supplies, and even a beautiful, handmade quilt. They must love her over there. But not as much as I do.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Keeping the Beat

The baby seemed a bit lazy yesterday and this morning, so at our regular doctor's appointment today, Jenn got put on a fetal monitor for 20 minutes or so, to make sure all is well with the baby's heartbeat.

The baby's heartbeat is fine. And loud, if you position the monitor correctly. Really loud. It was just awesome. We had no idea how much the heart rate fluctuates as the wee one moves around (and he was moving around a lot), but we found out. It was cool to see the beats-per-minute readout swing from the high 130s to 150 and into the high 160s before cycling back down. He was having a little party in there. It's a fact that we Americans don't take our cardiovascular health seriously enough, but that is definitely a choice we make later in life. Because babies in the womb are serious about their aerobic conditioning. They may be big on the Wiggles later, but right now, it's all about Richard Simmons.

Not that I'm making any connections between the two.

Take a Deep Breath

Today marks five weeks to go until our due date, although Jenn has had doubts as to whether the baby's womb days will last that long. Tomorrow should be a step in the direction of finding out. Our doctor told us on our last visit that he'd try to determine whether the baby is getting into position, and if he can't manage that by feel, he might schedule an ultrasound. We haven't had one of those since the 18-week mark, at which time we became persuaded that the baby is a boy -- by no means a definitive judgment, however. An ultrasound at this point could be much more conclusive.

In a few minutes, we'll be filling out our birth plan, which is a sort of questionnaire for ourselves and our doctor and care providers, detailing our preferred laboring environment (music, lights, use of a jacuzzi, etc.), laboring methods (positions, use of massage, expected pain relief, such as an epidural, etc.), and other stuff, such as how she wants the baby placed on her after birth and, if it's a boy, whether we plan to, um, you know, do the ol' snip-snip. And a hundred other questions. There's so much stuff to think about.

We also have to start packing the labor and baby bags, make a plan to take care of the dogs while we're in the hospital, decide when and how to contact everyone, and so much more. All this planning just puts me in mind of how monumental that day is really going to be, and how much responsibility and challenge go into giving birth. And I'm just the guy, so what do I know, anyway?

Then, as our parenting class instructor likes to say, we get to take him home. And the fun really begins. As I told Jenn over breakfast this morning, I'm more excited all the time about being a dad. But it's pretty terrifying, too.

It's Educational

Last night's interwomb reading session came not from a horribly violent fairy tale, but from a more benign source, Childcraft encyclopedias. I don't want to say too much about Childcraft now, because it's a future entry on my list of 50 childhood memories, but suffice to say that I saw a box of them at a tag sale a couple of years ago on sale for $7, and I remembered them from my youth. Jenn said I could buy them if I got the guy down to $5. Sold. Now, this was a multi-street, neighborhood tag sale event, so we got only halfway back to our vehicle before I could carry the box of 25 or so volumes no farther, and I had to wait on the curb for Jenn to pick me up. Now the books are in our basement, on a beautiful bookshelf that she built.

So, anyway, last night the baby enjoyed a few readings from the "About Animals" volume, learning how animals walk, eat, and grow from babies into adults. Now, even though this sort of biological information should still be accurate nearly 30 years after publication, Jenn's still a little leery of a kid's encyclopedia from 1976. She knows that I had a history book in eighth grade (1982-83) which ended with the sentence, "Perhaps someday man will walk on the moon." She probably suspects this contributed to how messed up I am today, and she understandably doesn't want the baby getting any wrong info about something as important as our nation's vaunted space program. So I'll stay away from Childcraft's "World and Space" volume and buy something more up to date when the time is right.

All in all, an educational evening, and no wolves were hacked to pieces. But we did learn that they walk on four legs.

Traumatized for Life

Well, last night's bedtime story to Amnioboy was "Red Riding Hood." I did not know, however, that this was the original version, and the story had been kind of sanitized in modern times. In addition to the cross-dressing wolf, in this version, (1) Grandma gets eaten; (2) Red gets eaten; and (3) the huntsman, perceiving the pair might still be alive, slices open the wolf and rescues them. So what we basically did last night was explain to the baby how a C-section works.

I haven't even gotten to the part where the huntsman fills the wolf with rocks, the wolf wakes up from surgery, and the wolf promptly dies. They probably ate the wolf, possibly raw, but by that time I was too horrified to really pay attention. All I know is, The World's Best Fairy Tales is going on a very high shelf and not coming down until the kid is 43.

Now, where's Hop on Pop?

Reading Is Fundamental

I wanted to read a story to the baby last night, which I'm trying to do more of, even though he doesn't understand the words, and through the amniotic fluid, it all probably sounds like Cher's "Believe" anyway.

So I went to this book I grew up with and stole from my Mom's house, The World's Best Fairy Tales, and picked a short entry, a tale called "Six Sillies," which featured some really, really stupid people and a basement slowly filling up with beer. It was wholesome stuff. But not as awful as some of the really violent fairy tales and fables out there. It's not just TV that messes kids up, you know.

I can't wait until our recent Amazon order comes in. We ordered a few early-age children's classics to read with the baby, but also The Velveteen Rabbit, perhaps the best children's story ever written. It's technically for older children (at least older than newborn), but I'm going to read that in stages for Jenn's wombmate. I told her I would probably cry a few times, but damn, if that book isn't wonderful.

I had a dream about our baby last night. It was a boy. Adorable. Blonde hair, like me when I was a child. But he was also talking at one day old, so please take the gender prediction with a grain of salt.

Can't Keep It Down

Jenn's home sick today with a nasty little bug that I gave her, thank me very much, but she's feeling a little better today than yesterday, I'm happy to report. She told me she read that lots of vomiting can trigger contractions, which is not what I want to hear with six weeks of baby-baking left on the schedule. She still looks great, I must say, and I probably do, too, with the weight I lost during my illness this week.

I broke a vomit-free streak of several years this week, but that's nothing compared to the crushing demise of my sister Tami's streak, which ended exactly two years, one month, and nine days ago after stretching for 18 impressive years. In fact, several such streaks were broken in our family that day, thanks to a bug delivered on Christmas Eve by a dear brother who will remain nameless, but whose name begins with M and ends with ark.

It's nice, actually, to be so candid about such a touchy subject. We should all be a little more like my nephew Ryan, who recently spent a couple of weeks reporting proudly and without hesitation to anyone who would listen that he "puked." As in, "Uncle Joe, I puked!" It was bigger news than a Wiggles concert. And if Ryan isn't embarrassed by it, why should any of us be?

Jenn will just be happy to be feeling better for the Super Bowl. She probably won't make a prediction, but I'm officially going with Pats 30, Eagles 20 (but only after a late, garbage-time Philly TD makes it that close). And that continues a nice little New England trend in the only three sports that matter: NFL, college hoops, and MLB. That's right: Pats, Huskies, Huskies, Sox, Pats, all in one year. Yay!

It's enough to make a non-New Englander puke.

Girls & Boys

We had a doctor's appointment today. I look forward to these very much because they're always quite reassuring -- and because we get to listen to the baby's heartbeat, which is currently my favorite music. Followed by Alison Krauss.

Anyway, Jenn's looking terrific, as always, and despite the occasional really nauseous night (and the back pains, and the fatigue, and the 50 other things her body and emotions are dealing with), she's doing OK.

She had a really vivid dream the other night, notable because she rarely remembers her dreams, although the scary pregnancy books say dreams become more vivid during pregnancy. In this dream, we were at the hospital, post-delivery, and she must have passed out during the big event, because I had to tell her what the baby's gender was. She didn't believe me at first (the baby, for some reason, was not in the room at the time), but eventually she accepted what I told her.

And what I told her was that the baby was a girl.

This is surprising. No, we're not 100% positive it's a boy, but we have had a strong feeling for several months, a feeling sorta kinda backed up by the vague ultrasound (he, or she, had the tiny legs crossed that day). We've hedged our bets with warmly unisex colors for the nursery (some lovely yellow, green and blue hues), but the clothes we've bought so far -- while we're careful not to shop for only a boy -- still tend to be ever-so-slightly on the boy side. Or a girl who's really into the Red Sox, Patriots, UMass athletics, and puppies. And we're set with the boy's name, yet we have no clue about a girl's name (and I'm still taking e-mail suggestions on this).

Of course, we would love and cherish a girl as much as a boy. But Jenn, being the master of the power tools in our house, can't help but feel like she'd relate more to a boy. To that, I have two words: Amy Wynn.

Which is a very nice name, actually.

Name the Baby Girl

As many of you know, we think we're having a boy (a modest boy, according to the not-quite-definitive ultrasound). And we're set on boy names.

We have no idea about girl names, though. So here's an idea. I am soliciting e-mails with girl name suggestions. I will print any e-mail with a girl's name suggestion and a convincing argument as to the appropriateness, beauty, or general amazingness of that name.

In the meantime, entertain yourselves with one of the funniest web sites ever. Hours of amusement and horror.

At Least the Dogs Like the Snow

It's snowing again. How lovely. At least I'm getting some exercise this year in my driveway. On the other hand, our parenting class was cancelled tonight (again), and tonight was going to be the tour of the hospital's birthing facilities, which Jenn was really looking forward to.

I'm going to start writing up some lists this week, partly child-related stuff (favorite books from my childhood, favorite toys and games, etc.), because I want to keep the focus on our impending parenthood, but also some other pop-culture stuff (for instance, I have a top 100 albums list I'm dying to share).

Why? Well, I like lists -- particularly when I can write a little something about each item -- and there's this neat thing on Typepad where a site visitor can click the category link and get only posts relating to that category. So those category links (on the left side of the screen) will become a clearinghouse of lists 'n' such. Fun for me, hopefully vaguely interesting for you.

I know, I know -- the talking, typing, Republican dog concept of my previous blog was probably more amusing, but bear with me here.

Arf.

Here We Go

Today is my 34th birthday. I have a beautiful wife, two extremely sweet but slightly defective dogs, and two affectionate but probably expendable cats.

On the day I turn 35, I will have all that -- and one 10-month-old son. Scary.

That's right. Pirates are wild. We are pregnant.

And that is the main storyline here at Pioneer Valley Days. Welcome.