& stalling out

It appears I’ve hit a wall. And in order for me to not feel like such a crappy baby daddy, I’m telling myself it’s completely normal, whether it is or not.

Karli’s almost 26 weeks pregnant. It seems forever ago that we found out, and almost as long since I started doing this here blog. That’s a long time, yo. Entire television series have started and been canceled since Squatch has been in utero. Pretty sure some celebrity has been busted for drugs, gone through rehab, relapsed, been tried, sentenced, and served a complete* jail term since we’ve found out about that baby’s existence.

*A “complete” jail sentence in the celebrity sense of the word is not the same as “complete” in the inner-city-youth-who-nobody-gives-a-shit-about sense. There are some of those people who went to jail at the same time for the same offense and probably won’t get out till Squatch is old enough to be their parole officer. But we’re getting off topic.

But there are still 14-ish weeks left. Which is still a long time. I don’t know if it’s a lack of patience, a lack of stamina, or a lack of attention span (or possibly all three), but I’m starting to feel—for lack of a better word—a little burnt out here. And I’m not even carrying the damn thing!

One of those daddy books that I read for some advice says that dads (and moms) might start to feel some indifference at this point during the pregnancy. I don’t know if “indifference” is the word I’d use. I’ve certainly got some strong feelings, mostly of the “hurry up and get here” variety. It’s not indifference. More like impatience.

Karli can vouch that I tend to be one of the more patient people she knows*. When someone’s wearing on our nerves, I’ll tend to stick with them long past the point where she’s gotten frustrated and given up. I’ll put up with screaming and stupidity and long awkward pauses far easier than most.

*This does not apply when I’m driving. Mostly because I hate driving in the first place. But if you can’t see the damn green light . . .

But damn, Squatch. Where you at? I’m starting to get all antsy up in here.

Yes, I know what’s waiting for me on the other end. I know there will be no sleep and fountains of human shit and screaming and wishes for my own swift demise. And I know that the impatience will only get worse as we get closer to D-Day, but I felt like talking about it now. That way, when future me reads back over my blog posts, he can curse under his breath at the doofus who wanted to bring all this upon himself. And maybe laugh at the idiot he once was.

The waiting really is the hardest part. But that’s only because I don’t have to birth a watermelon with elbows.


Give-a Give-a Giveaway Winner!

I opened up my little spring break contest hoping to be flooded with antsy blog followers hoping to grab a piece of glory by winning their very own Sleep Sheep. Nothing drives blog traffic like giving away free stuff, I thought.

Thanks to the four people who entered. I wish I had enough Sleep Sheep to give to everyone who said they wanted one. In fact, I almost did. Because I’m awesome* like that.

*And of course, by “awesome,” I mean totally horrible at promoting myself.

Anyway, I meant to post a winner on Monday, but we came home to the internet not working at our house, which is where I tend to do most of my bloggery stuff. I had to wait till things died down at work, which would be Friday afternoon, when nobody is going to be paying attention to anything that happens on my blog. Not that there are that many people paying attention, anyway.

Now that I’ve delayed long enough, congrats to Jell Jell from I’ll Sleep When They’re Grown! A piece of little-known and useless trivia—ISWTG is one of the first parenting blogs I started reading and helped to curb my fear of becoming a parent. She’s also one of the first people to start reading this blog, so more power to her for sticking through this long. And congrats again on your new farm animal that will be heading on down to Austin when I remember to take the box over to the post office.

I need to start working on another giveaway, since the last one brought so many people. Maybe I’ll give away a free iPad*. Watch for that next week!

*Yeah, right. But I’m sure the words “free iPad” will get me some Google traffic. Or get me bookmarked as spam. One or the other.

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& he works hard for no money

It’s spring break, but we’ve been keeping busy. Aside from the shower (which I wasn’t there for), we’ve been making a little headway on projects while we’ve had access to some tools and/or people to help us out.

Karli worked a bunch on the quilt she’s making for Squatch, and made some decent progress before handing it over to my stepmom for piecing together and doing the actual quilting part. She also worked a little bit on some crib sheets with her mom.

Absolutely perfect. If you don't look at the color or the craftsmanship or the materials. But other than that--perfect.

I spent most of Saturday working on some shelves for the Squatch den. Why was I making shelves? Because I made one of the most common dad mistakes.

Karli saw shelves at Pottery Barn she liked for the Squatch den. She showed them to me online, and those things were $60-something apiece. I looked at them, checked out the pictures, then made my mistake.

“That’s a lot of money. I could make those for a lot less than that,” I said.

Before you could say “dee-eye-why,” Karli had a website pulled up with everything I’d need to know about how to make those shelves, then made plans with my stepmom for me to make them with my dad in his workshop when we were back here. She knew how many she wanted, what color she wanted them*, how big they needed to be, and where they were going to be hung.

*My dad and I looked around at all the paint chips at Lowe’s, found the perfect one, and Karli loved the color. Only the girl didn’t mix the paint quite right, and they came out more light blue than teal. Damn you, Lowe’s. I was so close to nailing this one.

It’s almost like it was planned—like she knew exactly how that was going to play out when she showed me the website. But that’s not possible, right?

. . .

Right?

. . .

. . .

So I may not be able to change a diaper blindfolded like a pro just yet, but if you need someone to tell you how to get your own Honey-Do list made up for you, I’m your man.


Don’t forget the giveaway!

A little reminder that I’m giving away a Sleep Sheep. If you want it, make sure to leave a comment on the original post by about 7 p.m. Central time on Sunday (March 25).

Don’t miss your shot! It’s better* than getting on the Price is Right!

*Not better than TPIR.

& there’s no doubt

After getting into Kansas City yesterday, Karli’s sister took us into the hospital she works at. She’s a doctor and wanted to get a look at Squatch herself, mostly just because she can. So we went in for a free ultrasound.

While she was poking around, she found the feet.

“Holy crap—those are the biggest feet I’ve ever seen in an ultrasound!”

Then she took some measurements. The feet were only a little smaller than the femur.

Yep. That’s a sasquatch all right. Just like daddy.

& more dangers of sleeping

The other day, I didn’t quite capture everything I wanted to in my post on sleeping, so I figured I’d touch on a few more things—not necessarily Squatch-related—that make sleeping in my own bed something of an adventure. In fact, I’m practically the Indiana Jones of sleeping around these parts.

For instance, in one of my wife’s favorite sleeping positions, she likes to support her head with her right hand. And, of course, she likes to snuggle in close. This results in what I like to call The Razor Elbow of Death:

It’s every bit as pleasant as it looks. Eventually, you just learn to live with the knot between your shoulder blades because waking her up is not an option.

Then, there’s Turk, the cat. Our bed is beneath a window, and we have a headboard that reaches up almost to the windowsill. As a result, Turk likes to get up in the window, but uses us as a takeoff/landing zone. So we end up with The Flying Cat of Doom. I’m pretty sure this is what he sees from up in the window:

Then there’s Gordie, the dog. Gordie is a dog. Which means that she is capable of biological warfare. This means she becomes The Bearer of the Poisoned Wind:

In order to defend myself, I need to come to bed prepared. Indiana Jones had his good looks, his sizable knowledge, his rapier wit, and his bull whip. I’ve got them all but the bull whip, and I haven’t checked with Karli, but I’m pretty sure the whip’s not on the table at this point in time. Maybe after we have a kid or two, but not now. So I’ve had to come up with my own defense system. I’m still honing its effectiveness, though:

Usually, the only thing it gets me is a trip to the couch, where I’m joined by both the dog and the cat. At least someone around here is getting some sleep. So long as Squatch isn’t doing tae-bo lessons all night.


Don’t Forget the Giveaway!

I’m not doing the sleep theme intentionally, but I might as well run with it while I got the chance. Yesterday, I mentioned the extra Sleep Sheep we got from a friend that I’m giving away on the blog. All you gotta do is go comment on that post and tell me you want it. I’ll draw a winner at random when we get back from Kansas on Sunday, March 25. All the details are there on that post, and there aren’t many of them.

Get yer Sleep Sheep while you can!

& we’ve got a shower

A baby shower, that is.

It’s spring break here in Okie-land, so we’re heading back up to Kansas for the latter half of the week. We’ve got a few items on our agenda (aside from general hanging out with family and friends):

  1. Karli and my mom made a date to see The Hunger Games back last year before we moved after they’d read the books and they learned about the movie coming out. They’ve already bought tickets for Saturday night.
  2. Karli and I also have tickets to a show at Topeka Civic Theatre for Thursday night. The show? Avenue Q. Jealous much? Don’t hate.
  3. Karli’s got a baby shower to get to Saturday afternoon.

That means on Saturday, Karli will be spending a few hours with friends and family, putting diapers on goats, dancing to raging drumbeats around a fire, and sacrificing a fatted calf.

Okay, so I don’t know what goes on at baby showers. The only experience I have with them is that scene from The Simpsons when Homer realizes Marge is pregnant at a baby shower and runs screaming up the stairs. But I’ve got my suspicions.

I’m guessing baby showers have their roots in ancient tribal cultures as a way to mark the entrance of a woman into the cult of motherhood, and it’s marked by rituals with deep and symbolic meanings.

I only say this because it makes more sense to me than melting perfectly good candy bars in diapers, which is the other thing I’ve heard about baby showers. I’m going to go with the calf sacrifice until I hear otherwise.


Give-a Give-a Giveaway!

Speaking of baby showers and sleeping, I’ve got something to give out to one lucky reader. (UPDATE: This is over. Don’t enter. I won’t give you anything. Serious.)

One of Karli’s friends couldn’t make it to the shower this Saturday, so she ordered us a gift and sent it down here. Earlier this week, Karli came back from the campus post office with two boxes. In the first box was a Sleep Sheep. We’d heard great things about people whose kids love those things, so we were pretty jazzed that Squatch will get to sleep with a farm animal.

The second box contained…a Sleep Sheep.

Turns out Amazon sent two by mistake, because Karli’s friend only got charged for one. So, since we can’t really return it, I thought I’d give it out to someone on my blog. Fun, right?

So here’s your shot if you want a Sleep Sheep of your (baby’s) very own. The Waiting can vouch for them. And I would put it at only vaguely creepy, which is the top rank of my baby toy-o-meter*.

*The other end if the spectrum, if you’re wondering, is a Chuckie doll. Not from Child’s Play—from Rugrats. You seen those things? The stuff nightmares are made of.

All you gotta do is leave a comment saying you want it by the time we get back to Oklahoma from Kansas. We’ll say 7 p.m. Central time next Sunday, March 25. Then I’ll pick one at random and send it off. Cool?

I was going to come up with a better way to give this away, but I need to get the house cleaned.

& dad lessons from mars

Not gonna lie—this isn't a great movie. Not really even a good one.

Fair Warning: I’m going to be talking about what happens in this movie. So if you’ve been waiting to see Mars Needs Moms with that special someone, you probably don’t want to read those parts of this. You probably also want to get professional help.

Sometime back, Karli and I watched Mars Needs Moms on Netflix. I can’t remember why—maybe we were just really bored that day and we hadn’t seen it. If my memory serves me correctly, though, there aren’t a whole lot of people that had seen it, actually. But that’s not the point of this post.

The premise of the movie, if you haven’t seen it (and you probably haven’t), is that the main character’s* mom is kidnapped and he hitches a ride on the spaceship. He finds out that Martians kidnap a mother from Earth every 25 years or so because that’s when their babies are born, and the women don’t have maternal instincts, so they take the mother’s knowledge to put into mommy robots that will raise their babies. The Earth mom dies in the process.

*A little side bit of trivia on the movie. They shot using that motion capture animation thing (which always looks pretty creepy), and Seth Green played the main character. Only they didn’t like how he sounded, so they dubbed over him with a kid and kept his motion capture part. Weird, right? And he’s still billed in the credits as starring in the movie.

Over the course of the movie, it’s revealed that the male babies are basically sent off to live in the garbage dump—because they’re considered weak—where they’re raised by the other males. See, on Mars, the men are the feminine, child-rearing, emotional ones.

I’m going to leave aside the fact that I hate stories and movies that just operate off some kind of reversal of how things are in the real world. It’s a cheap gimmick that ends up being overly didactic and doesn’t really put any kind of effort into actual storytelling. Blech.

The movie was pushing the ideal of the traditional family—mom, dad, kids—and the moral was that kids benefit from having both parents in the household*. Actually, that’s not really it at all. No, the movie was mostly just putting forth that kids need the nurturing mom role in their lives. Even though the dads were the “moms” in the Martian culture, they were still trying to point out how kids need their mommies. In the movie, they just switched the genders on Mars, so they weren’t trying to say how important it is to have a dad actively involved in your life—just that you need a mom.

*I’m ignoring the secondary moral on the importance of creativity and art and originality, but obviously I didn’t have a problem with that message. So I’m leaving it alone.

Sure, they're supposed to be the "moms," but how can you not want to be a dad like them? Except for the wardrobe, of course.

I gotta say that it didn’t sit well with me that they were sort of ignoring the importance of dads. Not cool, Disney. Especially with your very well-documented history of father figures.

It’s not like I’m trying to denigrate families without dads—single-mom families or two-mom families or whatever—but I do think that kids, no matter their gender, do better with quality role models of both genders. And for most kids, their dad is that role model. Which means it’s important for Disney to promote both parental roles. It’s important to have well-adjusted moms and dads. Don’t try telling kids one is more important than the other. Dick move, Disney.

On the other hand, I kind of dug the father Martians in the movie. In an I-kinda-want-to-be-just-like-them sort of way. They were engaged and responsive with their kids in a great way that the Martian women (and as we’re supposed to extrapolate—Earth men) weren’t.

I feel kinda one-note sometimes—blah, blah, dads are treated like goofball idiots, what an outrage—but I’m not really down with the notion that dads are the clueless buffoons of the family, and I’m even pretty opposed to the idea that men choose to be that way in order to get out of responsibility.

I kinda want to be the dad that embarrasses Squatch with how involved I am in stuff. Looking forward to it, actually.

Oh, and the kid rescues his mom and goes back to Earth with her. Happily ever after. Now you don’t have to waste your time watching the movie.


Tomorrow, I’ll have a giveaway. Like an actual thing! Come back to see what it is. And tell your friends.