Confession #14

Two of the buttons on my shirt fell off at work the other day. As I entered the bathroom I noticed my shirt was opened wide to the middle of my chest.



I must say I looked pretty fly... even without a medallion and gold chain.

Oh brother, Big Brother

What is our government thinking?

They don't like the bonuses that the executives at AIG received after the bailout money was given to the company so they are going to tax it back from them. Well guess what? I didn't like them getting it either but you can't just tax people out of money they earned in a legally binding contract. Well I guess you've proven you can but WOW! What a precedent you have set.

Talk about your Big Brother scenarios. I guess our government can TARGET law abiding individuals if they, the government, doesn't FEEL what they are doing is right. Isn't that what laws are for? This action being taken might make people feel better about socking it to the greedy rich but lets just hope our own actions don't attract the attention of our government and land us in their crosshairs.

My Song #5

Continuing from my previous post, 10 Songs that have helped me define how I feel, how I see myself or how I see the my world over the past few years.

Israel Kamakawiwoole - Somewhere Over The Rainbow - Israel Kamakawiwoole

Confession #13

If I think about glass for too long I get freaked out. Seriously, how can we see through something solid? It's there and yet it isn't.

And don't even get me started about clear liquids. You can see through them, separate them and put them back together, without creating a seam?

Glass - an invisible force field. Kinda cool, very freaky.

Free Tip #2

When I leave the fan on in the bathroom it's not a statement to the world that I don't believe in global warming - think of it more as a warning signal. Consider yourself warned.



And please, give me the same consideration.

Our First Birth

I've been wanting to blog about my experience about when my first child was born for awhile now. Though I know I'll never forget it, I still want to get it down in writing.



I should have known when the doctor told the wife to fake contractions to get admitted to the hospital, that was only taking women in actual labor, it wasn't going to be a normal delivery. She was a crazy hormonal pregnant lady by this point. She had push mowed our lawn the day before trying to bring about labor. She walked up to the hospital counter, started moaning and faking labor pains, just as our doctor had told her she would have to do. She was admitted and the doctor started the procedures to induce labor. Only problem was that after nine hours of labor the baby wouldn't move. And, despite two epidurals The Wife was asking me to cut off her right leg because of the pain. Oddly enough she would wait until the doctor had left the room to make this request. As a matter of fact, she almost always waited until we were alone to complain about everything. As soon as the doctor would enter the room the cussing and complaining would stop. She would also deny she said anything when I repeated these complaints to the doctor and nurses.

Also, if your wife is in labor it's a good idea NOT to eat a McFish sandwich from McDonald's then stand beside her breathing, in any direction. Just trust me on this one.

So after nine hours the doctor comes to me and ask if it would be alright with me if The Wife had a c-section. WTF? He then explained that some men frown upon their wife not giving birth naturally. Again, WTF? After the shock of this conversation wore off I said, "well, you're the doctor, I just want what's best for my wife and baby soooooo... we'll just go with what you think." See I don't like seeing my wife in pain and I'M NOT QUALIFIED TO MAKE THAT CALL!

Problem was, the operating room was taken. This turned out to be a blessing, for me, not so much for The Wife, because it pushed us past 12 midnight which meant my son and I now share a birthday. Not much to tell about the c-section. The wife was given some heavy duty drugs at some point and I had to wear a bunch of paper and stuff. I will warn, if a funny doctor ask you to peek over the curtain during a c-section, decline. Seeing your newborn's head hanging out your wife's belly may be hilarious to the doctor but not so much for a soon to be dad who recently had a McFish sandwich.

After the birth they pushed my wife into recovery. Then as I sat down for the first time in hours an older lady, not much bigger than a hobbit, limped in with my newborn son and handed him to me. Her only comment, "you need to feed your baby." Then she limped away. Scared to death I tried to wake my morphine drugged wife so we, she, could breast feed the baby. No luck. I then tried to accomplish this feat by holding my son up to my comatose wife's breast but again, no luck. I was scared to death.

The rest of the stay was a blur. We never slept. The nurses came in the room every three hours to have us feed our son. Our son screamed all night. For some reason, despite being in a maternity ward we felt obligated not to disturb others who's kids were screaming as well. When The Wife was finally cleared for release we were a mess and couldn't wait to be let out of hell.

One of the things that added to our frustrations I still find a bit interesting if not odd. We had always been told the second we saw our baby there would be a special bond. That when a women holds her child for the first time there is a connection like no other. I watched The Wife cry for hours in the hospital because our son wouldn't breast feed and she didn't feel that instant connection. At one point, through tear filled eyes, she said, "I'm not feeling what I'm suppose to, I can't do this." Maybe it was us or maybe it's just a myth but the pressure to feel that feeling instantly was tremendous. Not feeling it right away made us question our abilities to be good parents. It did happen before we left the hospital, just not like we had been led to believe it would. Some insignificant need that The Wife provided for our son triggered it for her. And , as they say, the rest is history.