September 14th

Breastfeeding in public, in spite of being legal, well, pretty much everywhere, is still a very controversial subject.  Breasts, while a truly unending source of fun and enjoyment for men, lesbians and bisexual women everywhere, exist primarily for one purpose: as a source of nutrition for the Gerber Generation until they can start chowing on pureed carrots and little baby Snausages from a jar.  Even though this highly common knowledge is encoded in the human brain at birth, western society has so skewed humanity's view of the female body that everything attached to a woman has been sexualized and most likely immortalized on some unknown-to-the-masses fetish website.

I understand why some people have a problem with public breastfeeding.  Society is so incredibly boob-centric that the sight of Janet Jackson's Super Bowl nipple caused an apocalyptic reaction.  Old bitties nationwide had a simultaneous stroke when it happened and then had heart attacks recounting the story when they inevitably called to report it to the Federal Communications Commission (a.k.a., old bitties' bitch).  Breastfeeding is a normal, natural function of a certain part of the female anatomy.  Anyone who has body issues or trouble with this concept has their own issues to deal with and I'm not about to have my daughter suffer for other people's ignorance and stupidity.  Will we use a cover?  Yes, when it's comfortable for both Susana and Darcy.  However, this is Florida and "comfortable" generally only happens on a Wednesday in March sometime between the hours of 2:00 and 2:15 PM.


My plan: print up business cards explaining the state of Florida's take on public breastfeeding ("it's a-ok with us!"); carrying a breastfeeding cover to be used when weather permits; and when weather does not permit, taking into account their objection due to the sexual objectification of boobs, screaming at the top of my lungs "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING LOOKING AT MY WIFE'S BOOBS, YOU FUCKING PERVERT??" (no, we're not married -- semantics, people) and belittling their closet peeper ways in front of what I hope is a very large crowd.  If you see a breast and think sex or dirty nudity that is your problem not ours.  My daughter is hungry -- fucking cope, bitch!

I have only one request for Santa for that scenario -- PLEASE let it be some old bitty!

September 13th

Being sick sucks.  It just does.  Now imagine being the daddy-to-be and being sick.  Before the pregnancy you were just a annoying whiner on your death bed for her to contend with.  Now you're a ticking time bomb because if you make mommy-to-be sick, well, she's SOL because she can't take anything.  You, at least, have options: Dayquil; Robitussen; Seppuku, the Samurai suicide ritual.


Keeping mommy-to-be germ-free is also an act of self-preservation.  Think about the mood roller coaster and physical well-being of the average pregnant woman.  Now add a runny nose, coughing, fever, chest congestion and watery eyes with no road for relief for her or you and what you have is Stephen King's next novel and you're the first one eaten by the giant bug or demon or whatever the hell he writes about nowadays.  She will be miserable.  You will be miserable by proxy for making her sick in the first place, plus you knocked her up so she might be holding that against you at this point as well.   It's a doomsday scenario you don't want to have to plan for, but in the event it does happen keep these few rules in mind:

1. Keep your oozing, runny, snot locker under control.  Besides being the most common way to spread whatever biological weapon you're carrying, if your lovely pregnant lady is nauseous you're likely going to cause her to lose her lunch every time you trigger the chemical reaction that changes a Kleenex from a solid to a liquid.

2. Don't kiss her.  I know this is a hard one from experience, but if you kiss her when you're sick you will have set in motion a series of events that will scar you for the rest of your life.

3. Hand sanitizer gel: learn to love it.  Keeping your own lethality under control is much easier and more desirable than her spraying Lysol in your germy little face twelve times a day.

September 2nd

When you reach my age, 25 (keep your looks to yourself; I can lie to myself if I want to), you start thinking about your legacy.  How will you be remembered?  For the last decade or so I figured I would be that funny guy whose many friends would come to his funeral and reminisce about all the stupid and funny shit he did over the years.  Then I met Susana (cue "Awwwwwwww").  Finding your soul mate is a wonderful thing.

My legacy then changed to (I hope) include good boyfriend/partner/significant other/husband/whatever-they're-just-words and hopefully at least 50 years at Susana's side.  
And then ...



They say things change when you have a baby.  I have no doubts they will.  They already have.  Questions creep into your mind like "will I be a good father," "what will she look like," "will she like me" and "will I ever get to sleep again?"  Every thought, idea or plan starts with the question "what about the baby?"

Over time (and at 9-1/2 months there is a painful amount of time), thoughts about your legacy begin to change.  Sure, I'll still be the funny guy whose friends laugh at his funeral.  Wait, I don't like that.  The funny guy whose friends reminisce about him and laugh (much better), but your legacy changes with a baby.  Everything you are, everything you were, everything you will be with the time you have remaining is wrapped in that 10-pound wrapper.  Seeing Susana's eyes, let’s make that a 6-pound, 4-ounce wrapper.

She will be my legacy, my gift to the world.  I am still the funny guy blessed with lots of friends and am different things to all of them, but sometime in January that will change because to Darcy Madison Post I will just be daddy.

August 22

It is a proven fact (and by proven fact I mean it's my opinion so stop arguing with me and accept that I'm right), humans take too damn long to cook.  I mean, 9-1/2 months?  Really?  There are life saving medical advancements that didn't take this long to concoct.  The Great Wall of China is 5,500 miles long and took 15 years to build.  That means in the time it takes to bake a baby they built 290 miles of fuck-you-Mongols wall.

Is there's nothing we can do to make this process go any faster?  Spike her orange juice with some Miracle Gro?  Drive past a nuclear power plant a few dozen times?  Spray a water-peroxide mixture on her leaves (wait, nevermind that wouldn't work)?  I need to kick-start this process pronto.  I'm not the most patient person in the world.

July 30

Proving that she's daddy's girl, we're getting a prone body with the back turned.  As for the sex, well, the daddy's girl part was probably a giveaway.

July 28th

Crib bedding is so expensive.  Can't we just throw a blanket in a box?  It works for kittens.

July 26th

To Do List: Driving to the Hospital

Pack and load suitcase
Take Bailey out to pee
Lockup cats
Take three Xanax
Eat Doritos to combat nausea from taking three Xanax
Walk Susana to the car
Walk Susana back to the house to verify offness of stove
Walk Susana to the car
Walk Susana back to the house to grab forgotten car keys
Walk Susana to the car
Run back to the front door to lock front door
Fix driver's seat Susana invariably changed from driving last
Put car in gear
Get out of car to check for damage from putting car in gear before starting engine
Get back in car
Start car
Drive to hospital
Leave to drive to correct hospital
Drive to hospital
Park car
Take Susana inside hospital
Run back outside to prove to Susana car doors are locked
Quietly lock car doors
Run back into hospital
Follow "To Do List: Labor" protocol

To be continued ....

July 20th

As soon as I found out Susana was pregnant I did what any self-respecting, compassionate, sensitive 21st Century man would do: I told Susana as long as she couldn't drink neither would I.  Five minutes later, I said what every man would say after making such a decision.

"WTF???"

Ah, yes, alcohol: turning your "S"s into "Esh"s since 5,700 B.C.  Our clear, potent friend that makes bar patrons look better and arguments about sports stats actually seem like righteous endeavors.  Yes, we're on the wagon, folks.  Our days of white wine with fish, a shot of chocolate wine as a dessert drink,homemade fruity sangria to congregate with friends when we throw one of our awesome movie parties or just cozying up on the couch together to watch TV while downing a brewsky are on hold and boy do we miss it.  Not the taste, of course, because alcohol technically tastes like you're licking a hospital scalpel.  No, it's the sharpness, the warmth, the social networking of drinking.

It's so ironic that the time you could most use a drink is when you can't have one.  Please excuse me while I search the Internet for a voodoo curse to use on the bastard who decided pregnant women can't have a glass of wine anymore.

Comments

Apparently quite a few people have been having difficulty leaving comments.  Blogger, it seems, takes it's anti-SPAM stuff seriously and has a borderline oppressive comment system.  I've made some changes and I think it will be easier now.

July 19th

After a wonderful first anniversary weekend, a trip to the doctor's yesterday revealed that Susana is pregnant.  She really should have mentioned that a year ago.  It also revealed the 14-week-old bugger had a strong-ass heartbeat of 152 bpm.  Previously we'd only been able to see the heartbeat which, on an ultrasound, looks like a storm front coming in from the southeast at 10 mph pushing a high pressure front to the mainland.  The sound is quite interesting resembling Pac-Man on a rampage (whoosha-whoosha-whoosha-whoosha).  It also made my heart stop when I heard it.  Then there was movement.  How can you tell this by sound?  Turns out either every fetus is a club DJ scratching a record or the sound the receiver hears when there is movement roughly sounds like one of those screeching dinosaurs from Jurassic Park.  This made the hearing-your-baby's-heartbeat-for-the-first-time moment a little bit jarring -- whoosa-whoosa-whoosa-SCREEEEEECH-whoosa-whoosa-SCREEEEEECH.  And since we are talking about my kid here there was a LOT of movement.  Little snot couldn't sit still for longer than a few seconds before our eardrums were blistered by the sound of two cars trying to avoid an accident.  It was quite disruptive.  Yup, that's my baby alright.

July 9th

Babies are expensive.  They're like pooping little debit cards sucking funds from your bank account.  It starts before they're even conceived (if you're trying to have a baby, that is) and I'm not sure it ever ends considering the phenomenon of teenagers' cars not moving unless you have money for gas.

The websites lure you in with pictures of sweet babies (how they keep getting pictures of my beautiful baby-to-be is beyond me) and the words SAVINGS and ESSENTIAL in a huge, inviting font.  Looking over the various purchases we will have to deal with I find the more I read the more everything turns into a blur.  It's like I'm reading a transcript of Charlie Brown's teacher with a big, bold number on the end mocking me.  When we walk around the baby section I hear "CA-CHING!" followed by the sound of a vacuum (although that could just be the vacuum center next door).  The financial aspect of parenthood is a scary prospect.  I'm pretty sure every time a baby is born Wal-Mart throws a little party.

July 7th

Things I can teach my child:

How to take down a silver winged elite playing WoW solo.

Avatar is a lame-ass movie.

The beauty of listening to a symphony with your eyes closed.

HAN SHOT FIRST, DAMMIT!

Never, ever pour soda into your laptop.

How to roll basil into a chiffonade and chop it.

Pink is not an acceptable color for anything anywhere ever in perpetuity.

Movies are just better on a big screen because it makes them bigger than life as intended.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was secretly a bad-ass.

Vampires should not be sparkly.  Ever.

If you don't vote, you don't have the right to complain.

Norwegian Ridgeback dragons do not make good pets.

Shakespeare is more than a bunch of funny-sounding words.

The Social Network was robbed.

And finally, don't panic and always bring your towel.

June 28th

Choosing baby names is serious and complicated shit.  It's so serious this is the second post I've made about it (and probably only the second of many).  I've been reading many books and articles about choosing the right name and there is so much to consider:

Kids with common names perform better in school

If the child will have a short, one syllable last name you should choose a multi-syllabicate first name so it flows better

Consider potential nicknames that might spring from your name choice (Richard will almost assuredly be called Dick which will confuse everyone as to whether it is being used as his name or an adjective).

Make sure the child's initials won't spell anything unfortunate like ASS, DIK, FAG or GAY

Picking a name that won't get your child beaten up at recess (do they even have recess anymore?)

Not picking a name that will result in any unfortunate rhymes when singing The Name Game ( Chuck, Chuck, bo-buck.  Banana-fana, fo ...)

Don't pick a name that will take you fifteen minutes to say when you reach "Full Name Anger" (Willamina Guinevere Rodriguez-Christenson, you stop that RIGHT NOW!)

It's all very stressful when you consider you're branding your child before they can speak for themselves.  You can tell them "A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet," but if you truly feel the need to saddle your kid with something people need to rip out their tongue to pronounce correctly or sounds like a character out of The Crucible just make sure you don't teach them how to use an AK-47 or point out the local water tower every time you drive by.

June 15th: 8 Simple Rules

8 Simple Rules for Being Around My Infant Daughter ... or Son


RULE #1: THOU SHALT NOT TOUCH THE BABY WITHOUT ASKING

If we know you, please ask first.  The baby may have just been washed or eaten and doesn't need jostling or getting dirty again.  Plus, honestly, we have no idea where your hands have been and it's very important (not to mention tricky) trying to keep a baby healthy.  If I don't know you, you're not touching my kid period.

RULE #2: THOU SHALT NOT HAND-OFF THE BABY UNTO OTHERS

This is an extension of rule one.  It's a baby not a football.  Think basketball -- if we pass the baby to you, pass it back before taking the shot yourself.

RULE #3: THOU SHALT NOT FEED SOLID FOOD TO THE BABY

Baby food is mushy for a reason.  It is the perfect consistency for a baby.  What isn't is a hot dog, Doritos, Oreo, hamburger, mac and cheese, steak or cheesecake.  All will be confiscated and eaten by the parents with extreme prejudice and a little bit of indigestion.

RULE #4: THOU SHALT RESPECT THE FATHER AND MOTHER

You can disagree all you want.  You can give as much advice as you have.  You can seriously question their sanity.  You can privately express concern.  However, if you correct or chastise the parents in front of the baby or others duct tape will make its way to your mouth upon future visits.

RULE #5: THOU SHALT NOT DO SHIT BEHIND THE PARENTS' BACKS

If we find out all baby privileges will be revoked.

RULE #6: THOU SHALT NOT CREATE NICKNAMES FOR THE BABY

The baby's name is the baby's name.  Respect it.  Learn to love it.  If you can't, see "Learn to love it."

RULE #7: THOU SHALT NOT MAKE LOUD NOISES AROUND THE BABY

Babies scare easily.  It's a fact of life.  While it may seem "cute" to you when a baby scrunches their face up and starts bawling, you don't have to deal with said child later on and it's very possible you just gave the kid a near fear to overcome.

RULE #8: THOU SHALT GIVE THE PARENTS SPACE

New babies are exciting, we know that, but they're also exhausting and frenetic.  Sometimes, most likely a lot, the parents will need a break from the hoopla of everyone else being fascinated by their baby.  Parents and baby need quiet private time together, i.e., alone, by themselves, without others, sans additional people, with carbon-based units lacking in numbers around them.  Don't take offense.  It's not you.  They're just as fascinated by their baby as you are and they need time to bond which requires that, yes, you not be around.

June 10th

Baby room colors.  Once upon a time choosing the color for your baby's room ahead of time was simple: you didn't, and even then when the baby was born your palette de choice was automatically whittled down to blue or pink as soon as your baby inhaled Lysol-infused hospital air for the first time.

Times have changed.  People usually know far in advance of the birth what they're baby's sex will be, yet they also don't allow themselves to be pinned in by only two color schemes.  Ultimately, colors will have to be picked and I'm convinced the reason many woman say their labor pains weren't as bad as they feared is because they've already gone paint hunting with their husband.

At some point you will likely mosey on into a Lowes or a Home Depot.  They, as well as all of your local home improvement stores, all now possess entire sections of their expanse dedicated to paint colors.  The employees are more than willing to help creating an even bigger illusion that this decision will be a piece of cake.  Lies.  All lies.  And then there are the books.  Those <sarcasm> oh so helpful </sarcasm> books and magazines exploding with ideas and pictures.  Oh yes, the pictures.  Those gorgeous glossy invitations screaming "PICK ME!" at the top of their perfectly coordinated and professionally decorated lungs.  You'll notice I said "professionally."  That's because the one thing they don't want you to think about is the fact the reason the thing looks so God damn good is IT WAS DONE BY SOMEONE PAID TO DO IT!  It looks so amazing because it's NOT as easy as it looks, but they wouldn't sell as many gallons of paint if they lead on for even one moment that you need expensive professional help to get it as perfect as it is in the pictures.  Many people, however, are able to overcome all of these obstacles and pick the perfect color scheme without issue.

And then there is Susana and myself.

For the record, Susana is actually very accomplished at doing painting, home improvements and everything I'm supposed to be able to do well because I have testicles.  Sadly, I did not get that genome, but Susana's impressively self-taught experience more than makes up for it.  I fully and readily admit it was I, Mark Post, father of Susana's unborn child and love of her life, who utterly screwed the pooch on trying to pick paint colors.

You have to understand, when picking colors with your significant other, it is important to note there are only six residents of the male color spectrum: red, blue, green, black, their favorite team's colors and "what the fuck is that?"  It should be noted, of course, that black is not a color (it's a light spectrum -- there's no color because it absorbs lights so your eyes can't detect anything.  End science lesson.).  Men will argue with you on this because they can clearly see things "colored" black.  They can also see Megan Fox "act" so their judgment is a bit suspect anyway.  Men also refuse to acknowledge white as a viable color because white is boring unless it is being used as a background to demonstrate just how cool a cherry red Corvette looks.

When Susana and I went shopping for paint last year it was an adventure.  Many trips to Home Depot resulted in frustration, primarily from my inability to tell the difference from, say, canary and lemon drop.  Susana has a keen eye for detail when it comes to color.  She can spot that difference from a mile away.  Where to me yellow is yellow, red is red and pink must never, ever be used on a wall under penalty of death (thankfully, we agree on the last part).

So, to men everywhere, I suggest this: nod and say "Yes dear."  the fact is you CAN'T tell the difference between canary and lemon drop, but she can.  Picking colors is something that, by definition of being a man, you suck at doing.  Don't waste all your pull by arguing there is no difference between kelly green and forest green when there are bigger fish to fry.  The more you're willing to give on paint the more chips you have to cash in later, maybe on picking a name.  After all, which is worse, having to admit there are 2 million shades of blue or allowing your new daughter to be named after her favorite dead aunt Wilhelmina?

June 5th

After a long thought process I have decided I will not be cutting the umbilical cord. There are professionals much more qualified than myself to do the job and they're not getting any free labor out of me.

June 4th

So, we're Facebook official.  The ultrasound picture I uploaded yesterday is now online.  Facebook approves.  It told me so. Today we will be going to the movies with the group.  It's not technically the baby's first movie since we've seen two ... no, three movies since we found out.  Still, this will be the baby's coming out party to the group.  Not that kind of coming out party.  I don't have the right color boa for that.

June 3rd

Baby or monochromatic Sea Monkey -- discuss

June 1st

Ah, a new month and a new week.  We're now into week eight and so far every single thing I've read has correctly projected the path of Susana's pregnancy.  There have been cravings, mood swings, big boobs, and a little belly.  We are also two days away from the ultrasound.  I've been looking up ultrasound pictures over the last week.  The first one I looked at turned out to be for twins.  The second, for triplets.  The third went back to twins.  Just when it started to feel like an omen I started looking at various pictures and videos and finally hit a string of single baby stuff.  Basically we're looking for one thing on Friday: a heartbeat.  We should be able to see or hear it.  Fingers crossed in a wait-and-see pattern.  If there are two I'm going to need a drink.

May 25th

It's amazing how much your thinking and self-image changes once a baby is on the way.  I'm a male and therefore do some seriously stupid shit from time to time.  Before I'd simply think "whoops, that was dumb" and move on my merry way.  Now images of a living, breathing amalgamation of my DNA come to mind and I think "what if my son or daughter saw that?"  "Whoops" has become "oh damn, that's bad."  Where before I could see myself enjoying a drink (or three) and having a blast making an idiot of myself now I see myself sober, upright and telling the kid to "knock it off" (whatever "it" was I apparently don't like it).  Is it maturity?  I don't know.  I personally think maturity is just a fancy word to describe putting life experience to good use.  Right now I only know I'm not the same Mark I was six weeks ago.  Clearly Susana's body isn't the only thing changing in preparation for the baby.

May 24th

So much information is available now it's amazing to me that "accidents" can happen.  However, I do admit this is nothing like the sex ed class I took in fifth grade.  Turns out they only covered the basics, i.e., how you get pregnant.  If they actually taught girls all the food they'd have to give up, what will happen to their bodies and showed them early pictures of what the alien, I mean baby, will look like the first few months they'd run screaming every time a boy smiles at them.

May 23rd

Had a bit of a scare today. Thankfully everything turned out okay. 11 days until the ultrasound. I think I'll feel much better then.

May 21st

Baby names.  So, when exactly should you start thinking about baby names?  I know some women have their baby names picked out before their second birthday -- "Ga ga.  Jasmine.  Goo goo." -- but Susana is not such a person.  Now, I'd always said I liked the names William Christopher and Ashley or Kimberly Marie.  I've discovered I'm more flexible on those than in the past.  Why?  Well, because the bitch (a.k.a. the ex) and I settled on Kimberly Marie because I concluded having a cat and a child named Ashley would be quite confusing to the child especially in regards to having a bowl with the name Ashley emblazoned on the side and filled with cat food.  and as a semi-nod to her dad Kim I suggested Kimberly.  As for William, now everyone assumes you're naming the boy after England's Prince William and then there is the whole nickname thing with people calling him Will, Willie, Bill and Billy for short leaving me open to assault and battery charges.  No, my "ideal" names are no longer ideal and I've come to terms with that.  It does, however, leave open the fact Susana never really picked names before (meaning no ideal names) and I've thrown my out the window meaning we gots nuthin'.  Since it is true everyone will start suggesting names to us I have already begun practicing my "That's a great name" smile and nod while making a mental note to never talk to the person again.  We've downloaded a baby names app (yes, there's an app for that), the unoriginally named Baby Names app.  Smartly, the makers of Baby Names chose to have a free and "premium" app.  The difference: the free app only lists every name known to man while the "premium" app also gives you the cultural origin, its meaning and the most recent time it made it on the top 100 baby names even if that was back in 1972.  It also lets you save your favorites which is a good idea since Susana has momnesia and I forget at least once a week that we're supposed to feed the cats twice a day.  I will not mention the names we've saved so we don't start getting unrequested opinions and advice (sorry, but it's our property, I mean child, and we're going to pick the names without outside interference).  The only thing we've really decided is Luke and Leia are out.  Unfortunately.

May 19th

Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk.  Walking is supposedly the best exercise for a pregnant woman.  Not only does it help increase endurance and strengthen core muscles it also has the added benefit of keeping someone regular.  That's a big plus to most pregnant women and Susana is no different.  Also, it's the easiest exercise to do which is a huge attraction to me for because A: I'm lazy; and B: ... okay, there is no B.  This is, however, Florida and it is, unfortunately, Summer which means we will probably only be able to keep this up for two to four more weeks maximum before Ra (the Sun God in case you haven't met him; nice guy, hot tempered) takes over the states weather pattern.  Then it's to the gym we go.  I miss walking already.

Today we saw Susana's first craving.  Six weeks in at this point makes the timing of this both normal and expected.  Her craving went thus: "A sandwich.  A hot sandwich.  With meat."  The baby biology translation is more direct: "Carbs.  Hot carbs.  With protein."  Since pregnant women need exponentially increased amounts of protein and carbs this made perfect sense.  After a quick jaunt up to Subway for my first ever craving run Susana had the Philly Cheesesteak and I went for the Meatball Marinara.

We've named the fetus.  No, not a real name.  That's for the baby.  We've decided to call it Our Little Parasite.  Some might be offended by that, but oh well.  Look up the definition of a parasite.  It fits.  What makes it not insulting is it's OUR parasite.  Gotta problem with that?  Huh?  Wanna take this outside??  Yeah, I didn't think so ... wimp.

May 17th

I am rapidly coming to the conclusion there is too much pregnancy information on the Internet.  To read some of what I've read makes me want Susana to stay in bed for the next eight months drinking water and eating nothing but lentils scrubbed with vegan soap.  Don't eat this.  Don't drink that.  Don't touch this.  Don't lay on that side.  How did women have babies before the Internet?  I mean, so many bad things are said about various cured meats and sausages I don't understand how European fetuses survive the amazing number of microscopic threats hunting them like lions in the Serengeti.

May 10th

Visited the OB/GYN today.  Susana has such a great doctor.  He's amazing.  Great bedside manner, very thorough, answers questions and asks if you have more.  Information wise we really didn't learn much aside from the fact that yet another urine test (this time by the doctor) indicates Susana is pregnant.  He talked to us about some concerns we had, how long she can travel for work, etc.  It was a long wait, but it was a good visit.  He gave us some prenatal vitamins which she will start taking tomorrow.  Our ages didn't seem to concern his much which was a relief even though his assistant was very doom and gloomish (I wanted to pop her when she said "Well, let's hope everything works out okay" for the fifth time.  By contrast, he was very good-for-you-you-can-do-this which was nice.

Susana promised to watch Sunshine's baby (heretofore know as Asher) last night and invited me along.  It seemed like more of a request and I was more than happy to tag along.  I have to admit I felt a little intimidated.  It's strange feeling that way about something roughly one-tenth my size (if that).  He cried and I thought I'd made him to it which was bizarre since he kept reaching for my fingers and touching my face, but it turned out he's teething and wanted something to gnaw on.  As soon as we gave him a pacifier he started chewing on it and the crying stopped.  He even gummed my finger at one point and was fascinated with my can of Vernon's ginger ale (WARNING: NASTY ASS SHIT! DO NOT DRINK!) due to the shiny green color.

We stopped at B&N before going to Sunshine's and picked up a couple of books.  I grabbed The Expectant Father because it was the only book I saw every recommended list recommend that B&N had yesterday.  I haven't read a lot of it, but I think it will be helpful.  If it's not, it's heavy enough I can use it to hit myself with in the head.

May 9th

We're having a baby.  Wow.  The idea is starting to settle in a little bit more now.  That little bit of denial I felt is fading.  Susana has an appointment tomorrow with her OB/GYN.  I don't know what it's going to be like.  The day started with me realizing my gut is telling me it'll be a boy.  After the usual politically correct posturing of wanting a "healthy baby," we've admitted Susana wants a boy and I want a girl, but we know it doesn't really matter.  Still, for someone who has had actually dreams with daughters in them it was a bit of a surprise to be so convinced it'll be a boy.  Hmmm.

Susana tested again this evening with one of the cheap Dollar Tree store HPTs we picked up (to which I've already noted my prophetic statement at the time that purchasing more than one guaranteed Susana's pregnancy) -- yup, still pregnant.  It was cute how she slinked out of the master bathroom and quietly said "I tested again."  Still a great many thoughts running through my mind.  Then I remember I started school this week and I have a mini "Oh fuck" moment.  For a planner, such as myself, it's very difficult to keep the nearly-uncontrollable urge to plan under control.  Mostly I'm just reading.  A lot.  I now know what it looks like, how big it is, that Susana may have nausea and headaches (whoops, too late) and that I "may be feeling some conflicting and varying emotions" (no shit, Sherlock).  The information is comforting in a strange way.  It makes me feel like I'm being active and supportive while at the same time giving my anal ass something to do for the next nine months so it doesn't distract my school work.  Did I just say "anal ass?"

May 8th

There was a line.  A very pronounced one.  When I saw it I gasped and said "there's a line!" To be honest, it was more like "HOLYSHITTHERESALINE!"  Susana muttered something about a line at the same time, but I couldn't hear her over my own shocked volume.  My hand shot to my mouth and I backed away from the HPT like Superman avoiding Kryptonite.  Wow.  So many jumbled emotions.  How is it possible to feel unbridled joy, fear and paralyzing doubts all at the same time?