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Sunday, September 07, 2008


If I Could Keep Time in a Bottle, I'd Pour That Shit a Little More Slowly, Thank You Very Much

So last night, for the first time, I converted the time left until our baby is due...and it ain't that many. As of this morning, we've got 33 days left. Days, people! Holy fuck!

I got the crib up yesterday, which is yet another cause to freak out, even though the goddamn thing has been sitting, unassembled, in our hallway since April. We drove up to Connecticut yesterday and picked up a glider (which, for those unaware, is like a rocking chair, only smoooother). It's now sitting in the bedroom as well. With the computer now in the living room--that's right, I'm no longer writing this from the back of the apartment; you could probably tell, couldn't you--our bedroom has transformed into a very peacful, quiet place. Almost...too quiet...

My wife, who's been the one actually being pregnant these past eight months or so, is, I think, more than ready for the kid to get here. Visions of being able to actually go for a run dance in her head. Thoughts of being able to see her feet tantalize her.

And, to be honest, I'm just as anxious to have our son here and start getting to know him outside of the occasional intramaternal thumping. It's just that there's so much to be ready for and I don't know how prepared I am. Then again, is anyone who's not a completely anal, type-A prick ever totally ready for this? Quien sabe?

Anyway, 33 days, 5 weeks, a little over a month; however you want to say it, he's coming like Tropical Storm Hannah. Here's hoping he won't leave me quite as drenched.

Well you are having a boy. I think getting drenched during diaper changes is definitely in your future.
My kids are 15 and 17 and I'm STILL not ready.

The trick is to accept that as soon as you feel like you totally know what you're doing, the rules change and you're back to square one.

You just have to roll with it, which I suspect you're already pretty good at, being a teacher.
My thoughts are with you and Deni, and your respective Missuses. And the kids, the poor goddamn kids.

Won't someone think of the children?
I remember this phase. The waiting is murder, and it gets worse.

As I used to tell people, "Sometime very soon, a life-changing event will happen, and I have little idea when, though I'm sure I'm not prepared."

It's like standing in the wings waiting for your entrance cue, only you haven't gotten your copy of the script yet, just read the play's marketing copy.
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