Euphoria (and the sonographer lady)

So we march over to Roosevelt hospital on Wednesday morning, all fired up, trading quips about cleats and grass stains, knowing we were only moments from confirming what we all expected - baby boy on board.

The rest is internet history!

What Beav failed to mention, is that upon second confirm of sex,
I did a little body wobble and pulled a Pharoah. The next part is a little hazy, but involves the nice ultasound lady applying the blue globby stuff to my temples to check for neural activity. The science of their important instruments eludes me. Anyways,

Mom was all tears and giggles, not because hubby was playing celery stick, but because now, Fort McKenna will have a female majority. That and the fact that little girls are just the most adorable thing in the world.

Hope she comes with a picture manual, this is totally new territory for the A-man.

Pulling a Jedi mindtrick on yourself rules. Can't believe I fell for my own instincts!

Love the idea of a little lady. Love seeing the little arms and feet. Love that she clearly has been working out in the womb.

I'm as gassed as a chili judge. Tickled like an armpit.

Thanks for all the well wishes, druids. (and thx for the pic, eags)

Dad is Speechless...

... And you know that doesn't happen often. So this event has prompted my very first klambake entry. We had the Anatomy Scan this morning, and everything seems to be in place... Including the bits that told our technician that we're having a GIRL! Austin had a 2nd technician confirm the reading to be sure, as he was completely incredulous. Anyway, they tell us she weighs 11 oz. right now, and that she's very active, though camera-shy. She kept her hands hiding her face for most of the session, but we managed to score a nice shot here-I think she's holding her nose. You think she can smell dad from in there?
We're thrilled. Mama Beav can start working on the ruffled bloomers and bonnets now!
xoxoxo
Winz

Big Day Tomorrow

Tomorrow morning, 10AM, we find out how accurate my belly readings have been. Admittedly, I'm a little anxious. 90% sure it's a boy, 100% sure I'll pass out on discovery, whatever the news. I do know if it's a girl, she's not dating till she finishes seminary grad school.

I think we're going public with the news, so tune in for updates if you're curious.

I've been casing the local churches, and have threatened on at least two occasions to begin attending mass again. This because dad wants to raise a little papist. Mom says we can't execute on this plan because she doesn't have church clothes that fit her.

To that end, we did pick up some mom jeans (for mom) over the weekend. They debuted at work yesterday, and to great fanfare. I snapped some pics, but Beav wasn't feeling it, so I've posted a likeness. Hot! Will try and get some "candids" once we break in the new elastic waistband suitably.

We also found out this morning that our rent application went through - looking at an April move in, we think. Moving with a pregnant wife should be productive. Bed making usually requires three sits and results in loss of breath.

Yaos!!!!!

My Apologies....

New evidence has surfaced concerning the aforementioned pork shank. It was NOT found under the pillow of a sleeping Beaver, rather, wrapped in a napkin in the coat pocket of yours truly. We stand busted.

Anyways, speaking of busting,
the band lit it up last night at practice.
Nothing like a gaggle of white yuppies cranking out China Grove, fueled by hot and gasless keg beer. Attempting "Photograph" and "Darling Nicky" next week. I expect this will result in picketing from the cleaning staff - they didn't seem amused by our Santana slow jam. Sounded like boiling a ferret.

Let's hope junior inherits Papa Beaver's musical gifts. A true player, in all the sporting senses.

I think I made a Rambo reference a few weeks back. Well, get on the A-train:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vIBYQWFxvFU

Late for an appointment with a pastrami sandwich. Dad needs mom jeans, too.

Beav's now at 20 weeks. That means we're about halfway home, assuming we don't opt to leave the chooch in there for another 10 months to fully realize its genius. And to give dad a few more months of bad decision making before his bundle of joy arrives.

We're only dining from the viking buffet these days. Evidence to my left. Caught Beav with that pork shank under her pillow last night.

Still can't feel this "movement". But I'm assured we have a bonified cannonballer in there.

Dad has band practice tonight. Means he'll probably come home smelling funny again.

Symphony in E minor

Baby momma reports movement in the chooch basket! Unconfirmed of course, every time I lay on hands, I get radio silence.

Figured I'd be able to conjure a response and transmit a message with the five finger tickle. If the little man is receiving, he's playing hardball.

Speaking of transmittances, we've been attaching audio nodes to the belly at nap time and are playing Mastodon's "Leviathan" into the womb. So far so good. Thunderbroom to Leadbelly - drop anchor!

Update on the nose strips - I've defeated them and rendered the project useless. Tape and iron can't stop this windbag. Trying to upload video footage of my latest sonata.

News on the house hunt soon. We've got a line on a pole hole, cross your fingers.

Go Big Blue.

Snore Guard

A couple weeks ago, I'm sleeping, and I get this elbow to the jugular, a knee to the back, and am judo flipped by the wife. According to the Beav, I was snoring
at dangerous decibel levels, and had to be shut down.

I've never been a snorer. Suppose this is some odd proximity symptom. But I do like my sleep, and I was informed the next morning that this pattern of "aggressive wheezing" would not stand. So I could expect more brutality unless I made an adjustment.

So we get these breathe right strips, like the kind Jerome Bettis wears. I was dubious.

Night one, I peel this thing off and following the directions, strap it to the bridge. It's got a metal backing, and attaches to the nostrils, flaring them out to clear your nasal passage.

Of course, about twenty minutes into REM cycle one, the Irish Oil kicks in, releasing one of the containment units. I wake up with this shiv standing at attention on the right side of my face. I rip this thing off - painful, and attempt to toss in trashcan. Stuck to finger. Hot water required to remove the addition. Fine.

Night two, Beav encourages me to "stick with it". I wake up with this thing in my hair. The pillow appears shredded.

Night three, it attacks the wife. We think I'm not snoring as much though.

Morning four, forget it's on my face, coffee secured out of quarters, neighbors appear worried, barista makes linebacker joke. Har har.

Directions say I'm all fixed six days into treatment - remain doubly dubious, worry the structure of the nose has been permanently reassigned.

NEWSFLASH - apparently there's a sister treatment that attaches to the chin and prevents teeth grinding. I love science. We're going for it, even though I'm not a teeth grinder, as a preventative measure. Will attempt to photograph results.

If we could find a sticky strip to keep my stomach contained, we'd be in business.

The Protein Shake

According to something called iVillage, the chooch is the size of a "chicken cutlet". Personally, I find this comparison terribly upsetting. I could stomach exotic fruit analogies (starfruit, lychee, kiwi), or something like a star wars figure or iron fist - but the cutlet reference really got me worked up. I suppose "pork chop" sounds cute, I don't want to snuggle up to something that's boneless, flat, yellow and slimy.

I got my list of names going - Ram / Bolt / Cutter / Stack - if it's a boy, of course. Girl names are tougher. Toying with "Thunder" and "Sleet". Beav seems to have some opinions on the subject, but she's letting me run point on this front at the moment. I think we find out the sex in three weeks. I've already cleared the calendar.

The baby bump has now eclipsed my own Joey, thank heavens. It was touch and go there for a while.

Beav still not eating my pickles. So much for that myth.

Trials and Fibulations

Being evicted and celebrating the wife's birthday in the same week makes for some serious emotional ups and downs, to be certain. I'm at a place where I can't watch reruns without the waterworks making a cameo - just last night, Robocop reduced me to rubble.

However, the above pales in comparison to the news week we're having. A whole mess of the venerated really shit the bed. In summary:

Fleshy utility man from the Shins arrested for smacking his famous girlfriend around. Thumbs way down. Suspect this will end with an impossibly embarrassing plea to the pitchforkers from Mr. Crandal for clemency. No coming back back from this one.

Speaking of Clemency, juicing or no juicing, you have to expect it won't end well when you employ a suspected date raper. Nice job with that posse management, Rocket.

Dr. Phil saves Britney. Anxious to see what L&O will do with this one.

Superdrag / Nada Surf double bill!

Anyways, too much pork for this fork. Here's HH and I taking our chastity vows on New Years. Modeling as model citizens, setting the good example.

Maternity Wear

Gearing up for the baby bump, we've been investigating clothing options.

Windsor is modeling an artist's rendition of the chooch, based on a reading I gave of the belly.

If you refer to the earlier ultrasound post, you'll see the likeness is uncanny.

Realize these kids have minds of their own, but this is evidence of real genius.


Papa is awfully proud.

Mom looks like someone is about to get grounded.