Early Memories

Most experts say that a child remembers nothing before the age of two or three, and that most memories before the age of five are fragmented and relatively incomplete. Sure, some people will claim to have many early memories, but most of those are actually reconstructions of events based on stories they have been told by parents and photos they have. Think about it: how many memories do you have that weren't told to you by your parents, of which there is no photographic evidence?


As a young child, I used to have a recurring nightmare (dream?):

I am in my parent's bedroom, and it was night time. They are both sleeping, and I notice that their furniture is the old set they got rid of when I was maybe six or seven. I want desperately to reach them, but something unseen is preventing me. Everything feels large and obtuse; I am unable to grasp anything properly. I am confused, and all I want is to get to my parents.

The nightmare was relatively frequent (maybe once or twice a week) as a young child of maybe eight or nine, and became less frequent as time marched on. I had it into my twenties, but it has been a number of years since I have had it.

One day while I was in university, I was visiting my parents. The topic turned to recurring dreams, so I recounted mine. I made note that the weirdest part was that the bedroom set was the old one, something that hadn't been in our house in nearly 20 years. My mother's eyes widened. She brought me to their room and asked me to stand where I was in my dream.

Apparently, I stood exactly where I used to stand as an infant when my crib was in my parent's room. I always stood in the same spot, according to my mother: at the corner furthest from the corner of the room where my crib sat. Analyzing the other details (wanting to get to my parents - an instinctive infant desire, something blocking me - the crib bars, everything seeming large and obtuse - being an infant with poor fine motor skills) made us conclude that my "dream" was actually a memory fragment of waking up in my crib in my parent's room in the middle of the night.

The strangest part? I moved out of my parent's room at six months.

Now, I have a few conscious memories too. I remember being three or four and recreating the nativity with my younger sister instead of taking a nap in our bed (we shared a double bed as kids). (She remembers that we had funerals for dead flies on the windowsill; I have no recollection of such events.)

And I remember the summer I turned five my father took me on a "guys only" road trip to northern Quebec to visit my aunt (in his mint green Ford Gran Torino... man how I hated that car back then, but I'd love to have it now). On the way I had filled my green pail with the yellow handle full of small stones to give to my aunt to put on her driveway. When my father saw the bucket of stones in between my feet, he chastized me and said we would have to get rid of them. So, I opened the door to the car while it was moving at about 100km/h (about 60mph) and started to dump them out. My father reached over and shut my door.

So what do you think? Is my nightmare really a nightmare, or is it a memory? What are your earliest memories as a kid? Do you have many memories before the age of five?

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I also have a post up at Babies Online where I ask the question: Do Real Men Wear Yellow?

CPC

After proofreading this post, I feel like it needs a bit of a preface. Regular readers with more sensitive sensibilities when it comes to the topic of propriety and specifically language in general may find the following post offensive. I chose to write it in one shot and let my thoughts and words take me where I felt I needed to go. As a result, there is more profanity than you have come to expect here. I apologize in advance if the language upsets anyone.


Yesterday afternoon, as I was busily typing away while listening to music on my phone, it rang (well, technically it switched songs... my ringer is "Fell In Love With A Girl" by The White Stripes). It was MTM, and I was expecting the call because she was scheduled to see her OB regarding the latest ultrasound.

Without going into a ton of detail, everything was normal and OK, except... (you had to know there was going to be an "except", right? otherwise, why bother writing this post?) except for the presence of "bilateral choroid plexus cysts" (CPC).

This would be the part of the story where I say, "Fuck." Except this time? Not so much.

Remember last week when I sent all of you over to another blog where I was writing about prenatal screening? Well, one of my good blogging friends (whom I have never met in real life, but suspect I would get along with famously), mamatulip, posted a comment about her experiences with her son, and they included CPC. And everything turned out fine, and her son is perfect (I know, I read about him all the time).

I immediately emailed mamaT with the subject line, "make me feel better" (and of course some details about MTM's ultrasound), and within 90 minutes she had given me more details and made me feel a whole lot better. That's right, blogging kept me from completely losing my shit. (Take that, Kathie Lee, you ignorant misguided bitch.)

Now we just have to wait until June 11, when MTM goes back for another ultrasound. According to what I've learned from mamaT and other reading, these cysts could be long gone by then, a distant memory never to plague my psyche again. Some articles suggest they're actually part of normal brain development (which, if that is the case, why freak us out like that?!?)

We went through this last time, with the munchkin. "Echogenic focus in the left ventricle," read the ultrasound report. What? There's something wrong with the baby's heart? Imagine stewing with that for five months as a first time parent. Add a dose of "suggest post natal cranial ultrasound" later on in the pregnancy. Great. Now the brain too? Yes, everything turned out fine, but that doesn't mean I wasn't silently worried about it for the first year of her life, lest something resurfaced.

To be completely honest (as opposed to most of the time here, where, you know, I lie through my teeth) I'm pissed off. I don't know who I am pissed off at, but I am pissed. I just don't understand why we have to deal with this twice.

A part of me feels like it's always something, that these screenings will tell the parents-to-be something is potentially abnormal in all cases, that no baby is ever "perfect". But that part doesn't usually win the arguments. Oh no. The part that wins is the "let's get our blood pressure good and elevated and panic about this even though there's nothing you can do for weeks and even then with a so-called clean bill of health we're still going to stress about it for what seems like forever" part.

Moments

Kids grow up. Fast. One day you're holding them and praying they don't puke all over your shirt because it's the third clean shirt of the day, and you're running low and you really don't want to be doing laundry, and the next you're looking at their bare ankles wondering how pants that fit last week can be so short (true story: that happened yesterday) while they hold a conversation with you. (And eventually, if you're really lucky, your teenager will come home so drunk that they can't walk and you're helping them to the bathroom praying that they don't puke on your shirt.) Sometimes, you have to take a step back and document the moments that aren't developmental milestones or demonstrations of precociousness (is that even a word? according to spellcheck... yep.) or hilariously cute.


Some days when I come home from work, as I am opening the door, I hear the munchkin squeal from the kitchen. She stampedes into the living room and leaps into my arms, sometimes before I can even unload them of my laptop and cooler. She wraps her tiny arms around my neck, buries her face in my shoulder and murmurs that she missed me while I was at work. Other times, instead of burying her face in my shoulder, she'll kiss me all over my face: cheeks, forehead, ears, nose, you name it.

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Sometimes after finishing her dinner, the munchkin will say, "Daddy, it's time for your cuddles!" and proceed to slip out of her chair and climb up into my lap, where I will hold her in an embrace for a few moments, until she hops down and goes off to do other toddler preschooler things.

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Most weekend mornings (especially now that MTM is pregnant) I get up with the munchkin and my wife sleeps in. Since I want to keep my daughter happy, I take her downstairs right away, without showering, which means that initially I am less than 100% coherent. We sit on the couch, both still half asleep (one of us staunchly refusing to try and sleep again... why, for the love of George Lucas, why won't she sleep?) and she nestles in beside me as I doze in and out of consciousness.

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Every night before I go to bed, I slip into the munchkin's bedroom and do the following: uncover her, lean down and give her a hug, tuck her back into bed, give her a kiss on the cheek or forehead, adjust her two favourite stuffed animals so they are in her arms, kiss her again, whisper "I love you" in her ear, and leave. It's not that I have a routine or something, but most nights I do most of those things.

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I also have a product review up at my review blog, for those interested. I take a look at the WedgEZ, a plug protector removal tool.

Lunchin' Munchkin

On Friday morning, I left a note for the munchkin inviting her (and MTM too, of course) to have lunch with me at the office. (Of course I cleared this with my wife first; sheesh! It was her idea because she was going to an outlet sale near my office that morning.) According to MTM, when my note was received (I had printed it off at work on the colour laser printer and littered it with the five Backyardigans) and read, it elicited squeals and hugs and a significant amount of clapping.


MTM called me to come down and help carry the stuff for lunch. When I got to the van, the munchkin was so excited she jumped into my arms and clung to my neck for a long time. She said, "Thank you for inviting me for lunch, Daddy."

We sat in my office and enjoyed the cheese quesadilas MTM had packed and I had heated in the oven while we chatted idly about the morning's shopping events, my work day so far, and anything else that struck the munchkin's fancy. Eventually, she finished eating, and I sent her to a co-worker who had put aside the chocolate disc with "Happy Birthday" on it from that morning's monthly birthday cake "meeting" for her. She came back, wide eyed and smiling from ear to ear, and she devoured the thing whole quickly.

Then the real cuteness started. First, she insisted on going back to this woman with the container of raw veggies (MTM always packs too much lunch) and offered her a carrot (although we had to convince her to let the woman choose her own vegetable). Then, she wanted to make a tour around the office with the container of mini Chips Ahoy that she had (this time we had to reign her in because there weren't enough for everyone, so she gave one to the chocolate lady and left one on the desk of the guy beside me).

Then, she didn't want to leave. She was good about it (read: pouty face but no tantrum), and wrapped her little arms around my neck as I hugged her goodbye. She proceeded to kiss me all over my face (thankfully we had wiped the chocolate off beforehand) and walk out with MTM (while I followed with the stuff).

It was such an awesome experience. She was so social, even more than last time, and it was so much fun to watch. Yes, part of it was the uniqueness of the experience (visiting my office) and part of it was the chocolate and part of it was the action figure I let her open (I'm running out of space on my shelf, so I'm opening one figure whenever she comes to visit). But it was still a blast, and something I wish could happen more often.

But it occurred to me after they left that I don't read a lot of stories like this on other blogs, and it got me wondering. For those readers who have a parent who works outside the home and one who stays home: do your kid(s) ever go for a visit or lunch? Why or why not?

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As I mentioned yesterday, here is my Babies Online post about seeing Iron Man.

Shoes, Boo-Boos, Zoo

Today's song comes by way of a "did you realize?" type thing. Regular readers of my wife's blog are aware that we are currently watching The OC on DVD. We're still in Season 1, where there is a recurring character named Rachel who works with Sandy. The actress who plays Rachel? Bonnie Somerville, also known as Mona on Friends and Caitlin on Cashmere Mafia. What you didn't know was that she was also on the Garden State soundtrack (which is both a great film as well as a great CD, FYI):


On Friday night, we went shopping. For me. To several different places in two malls in different counties. No, seriously. I was on the hunt for Doc Marten sandals because my old pair (god rest their soles) have paid their dues (over seven years old) and no longer fit (my shoe size changed post-fracture). Apparently, buying Docs in the GTA is damn near impossible. I ended up ordering a pair online through Soft Moc (interestingly, with free shipping, meaning that they will be cheaper than if I had driven to Oshawa and got them myself).

On Saturday morning, we (the munchkin and I) went to our library music class for the first time in a while because we missed a few classes while we were visiting my parents. It was interesting... my girl is the BGOC (big girl on campus) apparently, because everyone was stoked to see her, and remembered her (although admittedly we remembered none of them... how's that for socially awkward? Thankfully they do a hello song at the beginning, so at least we got a refresher on the kid names, right?)

That afternoon, we set up the jumping castle (hey, who am I to complain if she calls it a castle while it is more of a box or a cage?) and had the neighbour's kids over for a little energy zapping. After they went home, I decided to be an idiot played "throw the munchkin". The second one ended with her sobbing, and me begging for forgiveness from my wife and asking my daughter if she was broken. (She wasn't broken, for the record, but I was sufficiently scared as to prevent any subsequent attempts to "add fun" to something for the foreseeable future.)

Saturday night, I went to see Iron Man. You can read about it later at Babies Online. (I don't know when the post is scheduled to be published, but when it is I will let you all know here. If you're not into waiting, you can check my page there to see if it's up.)

On Sunday, we went to the zoo:


we rode a pony (that stopped to relieve itself of a massive amount of urine partway through, according to MTM)

a golden lion tamarin

a turtle (easily the best shot I took all day, even more impressive when you consider it was taken with a point and shoot, through glass)

I just like the look on the giraffe's face in this one

oh, and there was ice cream

I also got to pet a stingray (it feels like raw chicken) although there are no photos of the event, so you'll have to take my word for it.

The munchkin actually walked the entire zoo with us this time. No stroller, no wagon, and only a couple "pick me up, please" requests over the course of a four hour visit. It was pretty amazing (not to mention impressive... my dogs were barking by the end). It's weekends like this that make being a dad so much fun (nearly broken child aside, of course).

Oh, and happy Memorial Day to all you Americans out there. I'll think of you with loathing fondly while I'm stuck in my office here.

The Redirect

Today I am doing something I swore I'd never do again: I'm forgoing a proper post here and redirecting you to another blog that I write for. I used to do it before, sending people away to read something somewhere else, but I decided to stop doing that. So, instead of a full post, you get some photos of my boy (which, as an aside, were a pain in the ass to acquire in a useful format since the imaging place we went to gave us this useless CD).


But before we begin:

... and Princess Leia saves Han Solo, and they save the universe, and then they have twin babies who grow up to save the universe... What? I like science fiction. Anyone got a problem with that?

Could I love Miranda Bailey any more?

And now, without further ado, here are the latest ultrasound images. (Sorry for the lower quality than last time. We are not impressed with this imaging centre and will not be returning there.)


that would be his head, side view

that would be his entire body, side view (head is on right side)

that would be why I have decided to name him Skeletor (and according to MTM, that grey space in the upper right is his leg... the image is a top view of him in a pike position)

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And now, for the redirect: I have another post up at Babies Online, where I talk a little about prenatal screening. I would really appreciate some feedback with any experiences or thoughts you have on this one. Thanks.

Decompression

It may come as a surprise to some readers, but I am not especially fond of my job. I have never really liked the work I do, but I stick with it because of the money. Sure, if I were a single man with no responsibilities but to myself, I would consider the dramatic career change some of you are bound to suggest. But that is not the case.


When I was single, I used to come home to my empty apartment (after years of university with roommates I didn't know or like, I was certain I would have my own place) and just sit. Sometimes I would sit in silence, sometimes I would turn on the television, or a CD, and sometimes I would read a magazine. But the key thing was I would come home and do nothing, say nothing, think nothing.

I met MTM, and we eventually moved in together. For that first year, her school was a good hour's drive from our apartment, so I could continue my decompression ritual as if I were alone, since I would arrive home long before her.

Then, she changed schools, moving to one much closer to our apartment. And I began working on a project that had me at a plant 12 hours a day most days. And by that time we were engaged and planning a wedding. That meant that every night: a) she got home before me and b) she had a lot to talk about the second I walked in the door. I tried to be a good fiancé and listen attentively, but all I wanted was for her to stop the torrent of words a little quiet. I eventually broke down and explained my need to decompress after work, and although I think it hurt her feelings, it worked for us (or at least for me).

Everything went well, right up through the birth of the munchkin. At first, I would come home and crash on the couch with my daughter, taking a nap with her in my arms that served both MTM and I well: I got my down time, she got baby-free time. But then the munchkin grew up, and then she began to talk. A lot. A lot more than her mother.

And that brings us to the present. I have learned to, on most days, come home and immerse myself in life without decompressing first. Note that I said most days. There are still days where I really need some down time, where I need a little quiet and 20 minutes to myself to bang away at my PSP or just zone out on the couch (I have long since lost the right to veg with the television on). The problem is that both my girls have missed me (for different reasons) all day, and need my attention right.this.instant. I try to balance my needs against theirs, but I often find myself on the short end of that deal, usually because I feel guilty taking time for myself, and partly because I know my wife feels that playing video games instead of talking to my daughter is wrong. And while I understand where she's coming from, I just wish there was a way for all of us to get what we need.

Am I the only one like this? Do other parents who work outside the home have the need for a little down time, to decompress a little after a working day? How do you handle the situation?

Random

Work has been exceptionally hectic these last couple of days. In fact, I am writing this post shortly before 10pm Tuesday night, and preparing to schedule it to publish tomorrow morning (technically this morning for anyone reading) because I've got to be at the office insanely early (note that this is coming from a guy who normally arrives at 6:30am most days) so I can go make farm animal drugs (no seriously - well, actually today I'm working on cleaning the equipment that makes the animal drugs). Subsequently, you, my dear reader, are left with little random snippets.

Today's song is just a random song from my play list that I am currently enjoying.


Note to self: people do not like posts about drugging toddlers. However, posts about my foreskin are interesting.

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Last night, we had a friend of mine (and his two boys) over for dinner so he could help me install a light to feed them while his wife was out of town. He had hopped out back to talk with me while I grilled the burgers, and I had asked MTM to grab us a couple of beers. When she came to the door, she noticed that he was in his socks, so she offered to get his shoes. I laughed and made a chauvinistic comment about her being "a good wife", to which she replied, "If I took off my socks, I'd be barefoot too. Would that be better?"

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Apparently, pregnancy brain is contagious. On the weekend, I was sitting in the driver's seat of the van while MTM buckled the munchkin into her car seat. As soon as I heard the sliding door close, I put the van in gear and started to back out. Meanwhile my wife was opening the passenger side door, which, because of the vehicle being in motion, bonked her in the stomach. That's right: I hit my fetal son with a car door. I spent the rest of the day asking her if he was moving like usual, or if his movements seemed "wonky". (I was also heard to ask, "Did I break the baby?" several times.)

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Ever since last week's news, the main topic of conversation around our little family has been names - specifically, male baby names. The munchkin has latched on to a name she previously dismissed. Ironically, it is he boy name we had chosen for her if she had been born with boy bits. This has sparked a question: is it wrong to use "her" boy name for our second child? Is it a "hand-me-down" name? What say you, internets?

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I also have a new post up at Babies Online, where I take a look at differences in pregnancies.

Victoria Day Weekend In Two Acts

It was Victoria Day weekend up here in the great white north (and we spent it with my parents out of town), so I apologize to those of you who came by on Monday looking for a new post. I tend not to put anything new up on holidays for two reasons: 1) because there is a significant drop-off in readers on those days, meaning that some (many) people would miss that post and 2) because I spend those days with my family, like weekend days. Instead of a typical weekend recap, I will give you two anecdotes from my visit to my parents. Without further ado, I bring you my weekend in two acts.


Bed Of Roses by Screaming Trees
Act The First
Wherein I Remove A Headboard
For as long as MTM and I have been together, the spare room at my parent's house that used to be my bedroom has held a queen bed with a hideous faux brass pipe headboard. It was not only ostentatious, but also quite annoying, as every move you made in the bed would cause the headboard to make such a loud noise that when I turned over in my sleep, my wife would awake with a start.

With our second child coming, and the space in the room limited, we opted to try and convince my parents to remove the headboard. They agreed, and so I grabbed my dad's screwdriver and a pair of channel locks and went to work. As I started trying to remove the six screws from the frame, I realized that only two were part of the original assembly. The other four were what we call in my house a "Dad Special".

(A "Dad Special" is when my father decides something needs improving, and goes about implementing his "improvements". For example, he once decided that a toilet seat needed more rests on the underside to support it on the toilet, so he used the plastic feet from Ikea that have a tack's point (the kind you can push into press board with a light hammer). Unfortunately, the tacks were longer than the thickness of the seat, so that there were small, half centimetre long nails sticking out of the seat side of the toilet seat.)

In the case of the headboard, my father had used two additional screws per side to attach it. But, those screws were too long, so he snipped the ends off with pliers after he tightened the nuts, leaving a misshapen tip that could not be threaded through the nut to remove it. So, off to the shed I went to grab the hacksaw. On my way, I passed my parent's neighbour, to whom I said, "If you can believe it, I need this" (the hacksaw) to remove a headboard." He replied, "If your father installed it, I totally believe you. Have fun."

It took me nearly an hour start to finish to remove the headboard.

Act The Second
Wherein We Drug Our Daughter
About 30 minutes into our drive home, the munchkin pipes up, "Mommy, my tummy hurts." Having experienced this before, we suspected it was motion sickness (I am so often a victim to this that it isn't even funny) and offered her a children's Gravol which she took. We stopped at the next rest station and about five minutes after we were back on the road, she was out.like.a.light. About an hour in, she awoke, groggily sang a verse of the Doodlebops song that was playing, and then fell asleep again.

She repeated that two more times (awaken, sing, doze off), and slept for over two hours. When she awoke, she was disoriented and literally looked like I used to on a Friday night in university after hanging out with the guys who smelled like patchouli all the time. We fed her a snack (it was long past lunch by this point) and drove to East Side Mario's.

This is where the story stops making sense. The disorientation? The grogginess? Uh, yeah. She sat down at the table, took the crayon they gave her and drew a picture of MTM, complete with hands, fingers, feet, toes, teeth, and hair (easily her most detailed picture yet). And then, because our jaws weren't slack enough, she printed "MOMOMOMOMOMO" across the top of the page, just so we knew it was MTM she was drawing.

Apparently, there are benefits to doping up one's kids. Who knew?

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I also have a new Daditorial up, where I look at how China's one child policy makes the earthquake aftermath that much worse for some parents.

About A Boy

Yes, it is the third post in a row about the pregnancy. I know some of you are probably getting sick of reading about it, and to you I apologize for the singular subject matter of late. It will not be like this for much longer, I promise.


Boys Don't Cry by The Cure
Yesterday I said that I wanted to take some time to properly compose my thoughts before I posted about the revelation I received Wednesday afternoon: that, in all likelihood, the baby in my wife's uterus is a boy.

When we were expecting the munchkin, I was so sure my wife was carrying a boy. I was quite literally shocked when the obstetrician announced that she was "not just a girl, but a girl and a half" (big baby). I was so confident that we were having a boy that I felt a little disappointed. (Of course I never said this to MTM at the time.) I got over it pretty quickly, because really, the munchkin was an amazing kid, and that is all that mattered.

But deep down, in places where I did not care to look often, I secretly longed for a boy. Sure, I doubted my ability to raise a boy (I've always gotten along better with women than men), but ultimately I wanted the chance to raise a boy into a good man; I wanted the chance for my surname to live on in Canada. And now I have that opportunity.

This unborn child (still can't bring myself to call him "son" due to ultrasound uncertainty) will have more in common with me than most realize. My mother was one of five sisters. She was also the first to have children. So, my arrival made me not only the first born son of my father, but also the first born son of my grandfather (who spent the evening I was born walking up and down his street yelling, "It's a boy! It's a boy!"), which is a big deal in Italian culture. My wife is one of two girls, no brothers. That means this child will be the first born son to my FIL as well as to me.

I am both excited and terrified at the prospect of raising a son. Terrified because I don't know if I will be a good enough example of a real man for him, and excited because I will have someone to indoctrinate into my love of Star Wars and Detroit sports teams. (Yes, technically my daughter can love these things too. However, it has been my experience that a male is more likely to find such things intoxicating.)

When I allow my mind to wander to the future, I see baseball games and sci-fi movie premieres. I see soccer (or hockey or football, if his mother can take their violent nature) practice and unwrapping massive plastic toy spaceships at Christmas time. I see myself watching the NFL playoffs under a warm blanket while he shovels the driveway.

I am eager to meet him and see him and hold him. And not just because he's a he, either. But because he's my kid.

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For those interested, I also have a post over at my review blog for a blog blast entitled Grandma Needs a Gift Consultant.

Complete

When I wrote yesterday's post, I considered coming in today and telling you that the ultrasound had been canceled for some obscure (and barely plausible) reason, prolonging the suspense through the long weekend just for my own personal entertainment. But then I remembered just how gullible y'all are, and expected to feel guilty about yanking your chains.

We apparently have a very active fetus. When MTM had her first ultrasound, the munchkin and I waited outside in the waiting room for an inordinate amount of time because the baby would.not.stop.moving, making the technician's job of measuring that much more difficult. By the time we got to see the baby, I had gone through all the snacks, plus all the books twice: we were moments away from an a capella version of Under The Bridge when the receptionist (mercifully) called for us.

Yesterday was no different. The munchkin and I were out in waiting room for close to an hour before we got "the call". And when the technician tried to show us views of the baby (really preschooler-accessible stuff like a spine and the kidneys, so, you know, my daughter could see the baby) she did it while blocking the monitor from us. So bottom line, we saw very little of the fetus, between the technician's back and the high velocity rolling he favoured during the ultrasound.

Oh, did I just say "he"? I did, didn't I? Well, (a million disclaimers that no ultrasound can be 100% conclusive on gender aside) the technician believes that she saw a tiny, little (she emphasized this while looking at me... which was both annoying and awkward) pen!s. So, as best as modern science can tell us, we are having a boy.

I am stunned, relieved and disappointed. Stunned because, well, I just found out the big surprise of the delivery that isn't coming for another four and a half months. Relieved because now I have that heir my father so desperately wants. And disappointed because I cannot give my daughter the sister she so desperately wants.

I will write more about this revelation tomorrow. I want to collect my thoughts to be able to more clearly (and hopefully succinctly) express myself.

Also, I can offer no images today, sadly. The ultrasound place we went to doesn't "do" prints. They are giving us a CD with images on it next week, so we all just have to be a little more patient, OK?


What A Good Boy by Barenaked Ladies

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There's also a new post over at Babies Online: "Everything Changes".

Final Thoughts Before We Find Out

This afternoon, MTM has her second ultrasound. Its medical purpose is for some additional (perfectly normal, nothing to worry about, happens all the time to many pregnant women) prenatal screening, but in our lives it is (possibly more importantly) all about two things: seeing the baby again and (hopefully) finding out whether its a boy or a girl.


Hey Boy Hey Girl by Chemical Brothers
I have written about my thoughts on gender on a another site recently, so if you really want the entire picture, you are probably better off reading that post first. (Quick aside: thank you to everyone here who has gone over there and commented. I am truly humbled by the support.)

None of what I wrote there has changed. (So why are you writing about it more?) (Give me a chance to get to that before you question me, OK?) (OK.) (Sheesh.) (Enough with this talking to yourself bit.) (OK.) However, I thought I would expand upon my thoughts a little on the precipice of gaining the knowledge, since writing about it tomorrow or at any point in the future would be affected (tainted?) by knowing the truth.

If baby #2 turns out to be a boy, I'm going to be happy. It means my surname has a chance of surviving in Canada (since at this point we don't even know the kid's gender, how can we know whether or not the kid will want children?). It also brings us a step closer to equality in numbers (our nuclear family, plus both extended families, are disproportionately female at present).

If baby #2 turns out to be a girl, I'm going to be happy. I have watched my sisters since I can remember (my younger sister is only 15 months younger than me, so I cannot remember a time when I didn't have two sisters), and have watched MTM and her sister for the nearly eight (eight?!?) years I have known her, and I have learned that the bond between sisters is special. So, to be able to give that gift to my daughter would make me elated. (Plus, the el cheapo in me knows we're buying fewer new clothes.)

Bottom line, whether we find out the baby is a she or a he, I'm going to be happy. I'm going to be happy because this baby will be loved by their big sister more than any baby sibling in the history of mankind, because this baby will have an amazing Mommy taking care of them, because this baby will be my baby. All the other facts are just incidental details.

More importantly to all of you, my reader friends, however, is whether or not we will be sharing this revelation publicly. We will definitely share it with the munchkin (who right now firmly believes that it's a girl; if she wasn't so fixated on this fact I'm not so sure we'd find out the gender this time either). And since she's three and a female and therefore incapable of keeping a secret, we (she) will likely tell our immediate families. But as for the interweb, well, we just don't know yet. If I were making this decision on my own, I think I'd tend towards telling, if only because once I find out it's going to be on my mind a lot, and will probably influence my writing. (There's a reason my posts were often lackluster in the early part of the year, before I could speak openly about the pregnancy.)

So tonight I get to see my second kid again (and potentially give them the what-for since I have yet to feel them kick). If we get an image to take home, and that image doesn't clearly display the type of plumbing (or it does and we've decided to tell), then I will scan it and share it tomorrow.

Wish us luck!

Shopping With The Munchkin

I mentioned last Monday that I went shopping with the munchkin for a Mother's Day present. I also said that the adventure warranted its own post. This is that post.


Can't Buy Me Love by The Beatles
Since my daughter is barely three, giving her free reign over choosing a gift for her mother would result in either something plastered with Dora's image all over it, or well, probably something with Dora on it. So, I sought some guidance from MTM as to what she would like that she thought the munchkin would enjoy choosing. She suggested summer pajamas, since she needs bigger ones now, and given that the munchkin was so successful with the flannel ones at Christmas, she figured it would work out.

So, off to the mall the three of us went. MTM had her own shopping to do, so we split up and arranged to meet later.

The munchkin and I stopped at Old Navy first, and the munchkin perused their offerings and found them decidedly lacking. "Nope. I want to go look at other stores."

We then made our way over to La Vie En Rose, where we had found the pajamas at Christmas time, figuring they'd have something good. On our way, we passed by La Senza, and the munchkin saw a pink set that she really liked. We went to the other store, and found a great style for pregnancy (stretchy pants and a babydoll style top) but not in MTM's size, and plus the munchkin nixed it immediately.

So, we went back to La Senza, and while we were exploring our options, the munchkin found slippers. Big, warm, fuzzy slippers that looked like Ugg knock-offs. She fell in love with them immediately, and wouldn't stop talking about them.

While we were taking a brief apple juice break, I called MTM and asked, "So, do you find your feet are cold in the summer, what with the A/C and all?"

"Not really. Why?"

"Oh, no reason. Thanks." Click.

We tried a couple maternity stores, but nothing worked for the munchkin. Finally, I asked her whether she saw any she liked. She said yes, and described La Senza to me as the place to find them. We went back there, she found the ones she liked, and we headed for the cashier.

"Oh no!" she said as we approached the counter.

"What?" I asked.

"We forgot the slippers. Mommy needs slippers."

"But munchkin, it's summer. Mommy doesn't wear slippers in summer."

"Oh no!" she said again, tears welling up in her eyes. "Mommy's feet will be SO cold!"

"Well, let's go see if we can find some." I am so screwed.

So she found the style she wanted, and we purchased them. She was literally beside herself with excitement, which made the fact that she had just manipulated me sting a little less.

On our way home, the munchkin piped up from the back seat, "Daddy, I'm not telling anything. I'm just asking a question."

"Uh, OK sweetheart."

"Mommy, why won't you wear the white jammies I got you for Christmas anymore? Don't you like them?"

MTM replied, explaining the weather change, and her increasing size, and the munchkin was satisfied with her answer.

But that question showed us just how thorough her thought process has become. She knew not to blow the surprise, but she also knew she had been through this exercise (pajama shopping for Mommy) once already and wanted to know why she was going through it again. Kids can be amazing sometimes.

Epilogue
On Monday, MTM took both the pajamas and the slippers back because neither fit. The munchkin seemed OK with this fact, as well as with the new pajamas (Winnie The Pooh) that MTM replaced them with. However, until I came home and negotiated a settlement, the munchkin had taken the bag hostage, insisting that since Mother's Day had passed, that the new pajamas were, in fact, for next Mother's Day.

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I also have a new post up at Babies Online where I look at the question of dads in the delivery room.

Mother's Day Weekend

Today's song is not only appropriately titled for a recap of Mother's Day weekend, but it also comes from a band that features a friend of mine. They released what I think is a quite good CD in December, and I thought I'd give them a little promotion here. If you like this song, you can find them on myspace and on download.com.


Mother by Triptaka
On Saturday, my wife spent the day in the city (she had a baby shower for her cousin's wife in the morning/early afternoon and a surprise birthday party for her sister that night) while I had the munchkin solo. I'd like to tell you that there were the stereotypical hijinks often associated with a dad being left alone with his child, but there weren't.

I decided that to make "Daddy-Munchkin" day special, I would give my daughter the one thing every toddler (when did she get so big?) preschooler desires: control.

We started by letting her play Ecco Jr. on my PSP:


(Which, incidentally, she figured out pretty quickly, although at this point any "game" aspect was lost on her. All she wanted to do was make the dolphin jump out of the water.)

We hit the grocery store, where I let her choose whatever she wanted for lunch (outcome: raisin bagel, cooked turkey, a boiled egg, and lots of mozzarella cheese). While I was cooking her egg, we made a card for MTM. I will say nothing else, except that you have to click over and see what she produced. I was literally slack-jawed, as was MTM when she saw it. (Edit: you can see the images of the card here and here.)

After lunch, we took a nap together in our bed (she asked for the co-sleeping; I wasn't planning on napping), and then we wrapped her Mother's Day present. She instructed me (via "writing" on the gift) not to hide the present at the zoo. (OK. Point taken.)

When I prompted her for our next activity, without hesitation she asked to go to Toys R Us, so we did. We wandered around the store looking at all the "cool things" and came out with an inflatable Dora pool ring (a small price to pay to avoid the seemingly inevitable empty handed meltdown). She then chose Jack Astor's for dinner (because they serve KD; why, oh why, won't East Side Mario's, or Kelsey's, or Casey's serve macaroni and cheese?) where, for the first time in her life, she got a refill on her apple juice instead of the obligatory good parent water follow-up. (And right now, my wonderful, beautiful wife is sitting at home saying, "What?!?")

We came home, hung outside for a bit while she ate her cookie from the restaurant (OK, so maybe there's two reasons she picked that place) and then went inside where we proceeded to make use of a 20 inch flotation ring in our bathtub (it was even funnier than it sounds). We settled in for a little television before calling Mommy to say good night.

All in all, it was a pretty awesome Saturday. She lost it after calling Mommy before bed, but settled down by the time I'd finished two songs (Under The Bridge and Fly Me To The Moon, for those interested). She went to bed nicely, and called once before falling asleep for the night.

If only her mother went to bed so nicely. Instead, she came home a bit before midnight, all hopped up on the one glass of Coke (which apparently doubles as pregnant lady tequila) she had at the bar, and chewed my ear off talked for nearly an hour.

Sunday morning, we got up and let MTM sleep in while I made "special" eggs (basically they aren't really special, but the munchkin calls them that, so that's what their name is: I fry some meat - usually summer sausage or bacon - then scramble some eggs with milk and cheese and mix together and cook). Then we opened presents:


Those would be pink summer pajamas, and slippers. I will recount the shopping trip for those items tomorrow, as it is an adventure in itself.

I then took the munchkin for errands to give MTM a little time to shower, relax, and putter. We got some propane for the BBQ, and some flowers for Mommy (pink, to match the jammies). I had planned on getting wine as well, but the LCBO doesn't open until noon on Sundays (I know) so I did that after lunch while the girls were napping.

Sunday afternoon, my in-laws came over, as did my SIL and her boyfriend. I made dinner for everyone (marinated flank steak, carrot risoto, steamed green beans):


(Apparently, the tomatoes around the perimeter of the plate makes the dinner "gourmet". I thought it made for a waste of tomatoes.)

Then, once the family had left (after the Survivor finale had started, ahem) MTM and I settled in to watch a Parvati win, which made no sense to me, but whatever.

Also, I got so caught up in my little project on Friday that I forgot to say Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there, so please accept a belated Happy Mother's Day from Tales From The Dad Side. I hope you had a great day yesterday.

SFD: Six Degrees

Today, dear reader, I am going to take you on an adventure through the blogosphere. However, (as some of you may have come to expect from me), instead of a bland list of links with some minor commentary from yours truly, we will follow the path I took from blog to blog. It will be a "six degrees of separation Kevin Bacon" sort of thing, except without the bacon (mmm... bacon...)

Also note that this isn't an exhaustive list of everyone who I read, or who reads this blog. It is a collection of blogs that I've been reading for a while that I wanted to trace a path to.


Around The World by Daft Punk
In the spring of 2006, my wife started blogging (on her old, now defunct, blog) but I didn't really read it, instead leaving her to write in peace. I had started and stopped several blogs previously, so I knew about the concept. Then, in April of 2006, I broke my ankle and was laid-up for a while. During that time, I happened to read an article in a parenting magazine about dad blogs, and got the link to Laid-Off Dad from there.

Having read all of Laid-Off Dad's posts (literally; I went to the first post and read from the beginning over the course of a week), I was eager to read something else, so I prompted my wife for suggestions. She hadn't blogged since my injury, being too busy, but she was starting up again, so I read her stuff. Then one day she added a blog roll, and from there I discovered Rebecca Eckler's blog, ninepounddictator.

From ninepounddictator, I learned about reading the comments to find new bloggers. Using this method, I found Haley and her blog, The Cheaty Monkey. Through Haley directly, I found her friend (and now mine) Ali of Cheaper Than Therapy and Chris of Rude Cactus (through whom I found his wife, Beth of so the fish said), and through Haley's blog roll I discovered Rockstarmommy (from whom I found steenface!, Dad Gone Mad and Chag of Cynical Dad [where I found Mama Tulip]).

It was around this time that Laid-Off Dad mentioned MetroDad in one of his posts, and made me an instant fan once I clicked through.

Back to my wife's blog roll I went, in search of more bloggers. There I found Her Bad Mother, who asked me to join Better Than a Playdate (at the time known as MommyBlogsToronto) where I met motherbumper and Redneck Mommy, and where Motherhood Uncensored found me (and subsequently I found her). In Her Bad Mother's comments I also found IzzyMom (who in turn invited me to write for Moms Speak Up, which is where Julie Pippert found me, and I her.)

Of course, not everyone I have "discovered" were part of an active attempt on my part. First, a friend of mine who I met through my sister years ago found me through a comment I left on ninepounddictator, and shared her blog, Becspeak, with me. Then, a reader of my wife's clicked over and became my first "stranger" comment: Miss Perfect of Working on Perfect. Finally, more recently, AndreAnna of Diary of a Modern Matriarch found me as well.

So there you have it: a brief tour of the blogosphere through my footsteps. If you are so inclined, take a moment to click through and read some of the blogs that are unfamiliar to you, and while you're there, leave a comment. Also, if anyone else out there wants to go through a similar exercise, I'd be fascinated to read it, so please leave a link in the comments, or email me, and I'll include it at the end of this post.

And for those interested, here is a graphical representation of my wife's "tree" (click to enlarge):

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I also have a new post up at Babies Online, where I take a look at the changing nature of fatherhood.

TTS: The Today Show Does Mommy Blogging

So, who caught the Today Show segment yesterday about mommy blogging? (Note that the link is to a video of the segment.) If you missed it, go ahead and watch; it'll take about ten minutes to get through (longer if, like me, you need to pause partway through and drive an icepick into your eye because of Kathie Lee). There. Now we're all on the same page.


Stupid Girls by Pink
Now, I get that television anchors cannot be experts on every subject. I understand that you don't need to comprehend a topic in order to interview someone about it. However, they do have to possess an open mind, and at least have a grasp of the basic concepts before they can discuss something with even a modicum of intelligence. Sadly, that didn't happen yesterday.

To put together a segment for your show, and then put it on with a host who a) openly admits to "not liking" computers and b) clearly has a bias against mommy blogging (even though, as a self-admitted ignoramus with regards to the technology, she can never have seen a mommy blog) reeks of a predisposition on behalf of the network (or at the very least, its producers) against the concept of mommy blogging.

First, they aired a segment with three influential bloggers (Jill of Silicon Valley Moms, Kristen of Motherhood Uncensored, and Mir of Woulda Coulda Shoulda - of whom I can only admit to being familiar with Kristen) that implied that all moms are in it for the money. Admittedly, the fact that Mir earns more as a blogger than as an engineer was surprising (not to mention envy-inducing), but it was all about the marketing force that is mommy blogging.

My wife turned to me and asked, "So how do these women make so much money?" And I wrongly answered that it was all advertising. In fact, these women are writing for other sites, they are running businesses that are (in some cases) related to their blogging, and basically accumulate income from numerous sources. It's not just one big paycheque. However, that isn't the quick and easy, bias-laden response, so NBC cut that out.

Then, they brought in Dooce, and proceed to try and get her to say she's making a mistake by blogging. Ultimately, they try to corner her with the age-old safety question, and when she tries to make a counter about New York City, they dismiss her and immediately cut to commerical before she can, you know, actually make a valid point.

I have written about my thoughts on this subject before, so I don't think I need to spend a lot of time on it again. Those interested parties can read my previous post. Bottom line: we're not blogging for the money, or the fame. And then to try and feature mommy blogging, and use someone who has disdain for the technology, let alone the concept of blogging, is irresponsible, and just a bad idea.

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Those who generally lurk read through feeds only may want to swing by the actual site as I have made some minor cosmetic changes.

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I have another review up today:

Kinzin is a flavour of social networking site geared towards parents, specifically designed for photo sharing. I was provided one of the paid memberships to their site by the Parent Bloggers Network for review. Kinzin is available as a web application or as an add-in application to Facebook. My review will focus on the web application since that is what I activated.

continued at Reviews From The Dad Side

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I updated my post yesterday afternoon with the Babies Online permalink, but since many of you are morning readers, here it is again: What's In A Name?

TDS: Munchkin TV

Today's post is not about bragging. Let me state that one more time so as to be completely clear: today's post is not about bragging. This is not about "look what my kid can do". Today's post is about sharing something pretty cool, and pretty cute (at least I think it is). That is all.


Counting by Korn
(Oh, and I am completely aware that the lyrics of this song aren't exactly "daddy bloggy". So sue me... the title fit too well.)

When I came home last night, MTM said that she had something to show me. So, once the munchkin was all bathed and dressed in her pajamas, they whipped out a book for story time: Chicka Chicka 1, 2, 3. The munchkin flipped to the back, where all the numbers from 0 to 100 are, and she, well, she did this:


(I'm trying a different host for this video. If you're a feed subscriber, I'd appreciate knowing whether or not you could see the video in your feed, either by commenting or by an email.)

Now, by no means do either of us think she's actually counting. She definitely isn't. However, for the first twenty or so, she is actually looking at the numbers and making sure she's pointing at what she's saying, which is pretty cool in and of itself. The rest is mostly a demonstration of her strength with patterns. She gets on a roll, and just knows the sequence (hence, the creation of the numbers "ninety seventeen" for 97 and "fifty twenty" for 60).

And hey, if nothing else, you got to hear her voice, and that's pretty cute on it's own, right?

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I have a post "in the system" over at Babies Online. Unfortunately, it hasn't been published as of this posting, so I cannot provide a permalink just yet. You can check my author page later today (I hope) to read about choosing names for babies. I will try and update this post with a link once I have it. Regardless, I will provide a permalink in tomorrow's post.

Update: the post is up now. What's In A Name?

TTS: Neighbours, and the 'Hoods They Inhabit

I grew up on a very small street. There were five houses and an elementary school playground. There were a few other dwellings (one small three storey apartment and a couple of duplexes) that were still "my neighbourhood", but that's about it in terms of places I could walk as a little kid (as in, places that could house children that I'd be allowed to "go over" and play with by myself).


Circle Of Friends by Better Than Ezra
At the end of my street there was a family of three boys (eventually, when I was a bit older, they would add a girl); the oldest two flanked my age. We played Star Wars and dinky cars and every other little boy game under the sun. I buried treasure in their sandbox and they hid their G.I. Joes from their little brother in the big cherry tree in my back yard. We were practically inseparable when we were kids, and while we eventually grew apart, I still have fond memories of the times we spent together.

When I look around our neighbourhood, I wonder what will happen as the munchkin (and her yet-to-be-identified sibling) grow up. There are a couple of families immediately nearby with kids in similar age ranges (one of whom is next door, and whose yard is quickly becoming part of ours in the munchkin's mind), but ultimately we live on a large, very suburban street with a variety of families moving in and out seemingly all the time. For now, everything is great.

But what about tomorrow? MTM and I occasionally discuss moving into a larger home (I will mention only once that we are [soon to be] a family of four, and that my parents raised a family of five in a house two thirds the size of ours), one perhaps with a larger yard and four brick walls. However, since we cannot know the future, we cannot tell what that theoretical new neighbourhood will bring.

Sometimes, we think we will remain where we are for a while, partly due to finances (the longer we remain where we are, the less pressure there is for MTM to return to work) and partly due to the friendships all three of us have made. The fact is, though, that our neighbourhood is prone to turnover. We have already "lost" one family who we really liked because they relocated. Who is to say that we won't lose more?

Ultimately, we cannot predict what will happen, and I know this. But I write this as a way of asking what you have done in deciding where to raise your families. Would you ever leave your neighbourhood if your friends left? Are you attached to your house, or the people that live in the houses around it?

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If you still feel the need to read more of my writing, you can click through and read my latest Daditorial where I look at the Ontario Education Ministry's new research contract to collect student data about race and ethnicity.

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My friend AndreAnna has a new food/recipe blog called Chop. Stir. Mix. and they're having a contest. All you have to do is leave a comment over there (and if you tell them SciFi Dad sent you, they'll treat you extra nice... well, as extra nice as it can get on a pseudo-anonymous blog) and you could win some cool Crate and Barrel stuff. So, go on over and comment.

TRS: Grass And (Expensive) Dirt And Not Much Else

It's Monday, and I feel somewhat relieved to be back in the office because I think I will have a more restful day here than I did on either of my two days at home. Don't misunderstand me: I'm not complaining about my weekend. It's just that well, it was pretty full of typical homeowner crap, and not much else of note.


What I've Done by Linkin Park
Friday evening, after the munchkin went to bed (but did.not.sleep until quite some time - and effort - afterward), MTM and I settled in to make use of our TMN subscription watch a movie. After three passes through the disappointingly poor TMNOD offerings, we settled on Down In The Valley with Edward Norton, which would be a good movie if you can come to terms with the fact that Norton is supposed to be in his mid thirties (he's really 39) and is sleeping with Evan Rachel Wood, who is supposed to be 15 (she's actually 21). Creepy much?

Saturday morning saw me get up with the munchkin and fade in and out of consciousness watch some television with her until MTM got up. Then, we emptied out the van, loaded up the fam, and went to the bowels of hell Home Depot on a Saturday morning, where we proceeded to spend an inordinate amount of money on dirt; special "grass growing enhanced" dirt, but dirt nonetheless.

You see, our lawn fell victim to the scorched earth summer of 2007, where a combination of heat, no rain, and outdoor watering bans left our lawn with an appearance more suitable for raising livestock than the luscious green MTM loves. So, we began the process of reparations Saturday morning by dumping dirt that was priced as if it had golden nuggets inside it soil down and seeding it before the heavy rains came that afternoon.

Saturday afternoon the munchkin and I went shopping for a Mother's Day present. That deserves its own post; it will come after next Sunday.

That evening, MTM and I were too wiped to do anything other than watch another movie, so we again struggled through the TMNOD list and discovered a gem of a film: Wondrous Oblivion with Delroy Lindo. It was, quite simply, brilliant. Both of us enjoyed it tremendously, and I highly recommend it.

Sunday morning found me lying in bed, half awake, when the munchkin came in and announced, "Daddy, I'm all dressed and ready to go to Home Depot! Mommy said don't forget about the gate this time!" (Yes, she spoke with excitement worthy of exclamation points. Yes, I will use a similar tactic when she is 14 and sleeping in until noon as a form of passive aggressive revenge.) So, off we went to get more luxurious lawn growing dirt as well as something to fix our malfunctioning gate (don't ask, please). We then spent another weekend morning out raking dirt and spreading grass seed and wetting it down so that we can have a nice green lawn until my wife kills it by leaving kiddie pools and other large plastic items all over it.

I know you're jealous. You don't have to tell me.

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Let me take a quick moment to mention the Skribit thing over on the right again. If you have a post topic, or a question, or anything that you think you'd like me to write about (even a whole new sort of thing), please put it in there. If you don't think this sort of thing (the Skribit thing) is a good idea, just ignore it (or, even better, send me an email telling me that). If no one is interested, I'll probably remove it.

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Finally, I have a second post for you to read today. I'm reviewing a book for the Parent Bloggers Network:

My initial thoughts as I read the opening chapters of Raised By Wolves were that the publication of this book is proof of the decline of western civilization, and while that fact may still be true, it is also true that this book was an entertaining (if not personally educational) read.

continued at Reviews From The Dad Side

TDS: Random

Today's post is a little short, and a little random. It's one of those collections of little snippets, each of which on their own would be classified as a stub, but together make a totally inadequate halfway decent post. But to those who are seeking more in-depth prose, fear not: I have something for you too.

Today's song is a random selection from my music library, having nothing to do with the post. It's just a Canadian band that I'm enjoying listening to these days.


This Could Be Anywhere In The World by Alexisonfire
Recently, every time I sit down at my laptop after dinner to bang out a post or quickly take care of some work before bedtime cuddles and/or primetime television (note that I don't do this every night; some nights I do the bath and stuff, and some nights I'm upstairs doing other stuff, but this only happens when I'm downstairs), I hear a call from the second floor: "Daddy, come see my poo!" And if I dare say "No thank you" or "I'm busy" instead of bounding up the stairs post-haste, there is an emotional meltdown. So, I do I what I have to do. That's right: I praise and make commentary about the quality of feces in the toilet.

* * *
Last night MTM had a dentist appointment. Since the munchkin recently had a less than ideal visit (read: she went in, sat in the chair, and then promptly lost her shit when the x-ray paper was inserted in her mouth), we all went as a family to watch Mommy. Luckily, we got a great hygienist who totally understood kids. She asked the munchkin what scared her, and when she explained that it was the masks, the hygienist gave her one and suggested she ask the receptionist for some crayons so the munchkin could make a "less scary" mask for the dentist. Well, the whole office was "aww"-ing about that for the rest of our visit. Everyone thought it was the sweetest thing. And, the munchkin actually stayed with us the whole time, struggling to hold back tears a couple times, but overall had a positive experience.

* * *
Some mornings before I go to work, I write the munchkin a little note. Usually it's along the lines, of Be a good girl for Mommy... have a fun day... I will miss you while I'm at work... and sometimes I'll put some stickers on the page too. Well, earlier this week, I got to work and found a "note" from the munchkin. It was a piece of my note paper with very clear attempts at "writing" (read: up and down zigzags in toddler-neat rows). When I brought it home and asked her to read it to me, she said, "Dear Daddy. I hope you have a good day at work today. I love you no matter what. Love Munchkin xoxo"

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As I promised above, those readers seeking more typical SciFi Dad fare can head over and read my latest Babies Online post: On Gender. Also, I know it isn't my "home" blog, and that typically people don't comment on non-"home" blogs, but if any of you have some thoughts about that post, I'd really appreciate the comments. It's a little quiet over there, and I'd like to change that. Thanks.

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I have added something new in the right sidebar. It's a polling system called Skribit, which allows you (the reader) to tell me (the blogger) what you'd like to see either by adding items to the poll or by voting on what subjects (added by others) you'd like to see me cover. Just click on the "What should I write about?" link and a text box will appear for you to add your topic. Or, you can vote on one of the topics already listed by clicking the Vote button. Let me know if you like this new feature.

TTS: Nervous

Most days since we found out that my wife was pregnant with our second, I am excited to meet this new child (who will not arrive until October), and filled only with anticipation and eagerness. That is how I am most days. However, sometimes, usually when I'm allowed to be alone with my thoughts, my excitement is tempered with trepidation.


Anxiety by Black Eyed Peas
That is not to say that I am not excited or that I am not eager to meet my unborn child. Quite the contrary; I can hardly wait for the day I get to hold that little bundle in my arms.

But I'm nervous too.

I worry about the usual working-out-of-home parent stuff. Will we be able to afford two kids and our current lifestyle? Will we have to sacrifice some amenities to make ends meet? Are those sacrifices fair to the munchkin? Will we be able to contribute to both of their RESPs? What if MTM was serious about not buying Coke Zero anymore so we can afford diapers?

Of course, money is the least of my worries in the grand scheme of things; finances always work themselves out somehow. What I really stress over is my time. Recently, work has changed dramatically for me, and I'm putting in longer hours than usual. MTM has noted that I'm not playing with the munchkin as much as I used to, and all I can think when she says that is, "What am I going to do when there is two of them?" I often feel like an absentee or inadequate dad as it is these days, and it seems like that is only going to get worse.

(An aside for recent arrivals to this party: I have written, at length, about my "daddy guilt". I have acknowledged that logically I put unreasonable expectations on myself as a father - to spend as much time as my SAHM wife with my kid despite working a full time job - but that deep down I feel like I need to do more for her. It's my "thing" that I carry with me.)

Then there's the whole marriage thing. It took MTM and I a while to figure out the balance between being parents and being a couple, so with the added difficulty of a toddler and a baby, I wonder what we're going to do.

I know that ultimately it will all work out, and that we are tremendously fortunate to be having a second child. I am not lamenting the decision; I'm just worried that having a second is going to change things that I don't want changed, or that we shouldn't be changing.