Hard To Swallow

Literally overnight, his schedule changed. He's now much hungrier and sleeping less. Taking in thicker milk in such larger quantities would suggest he'd take longer to sleep it off. Nope. Also his diaper action has shifted dramatically. Your Sister wonders if a medicine recommended to her is also hitting him. That might explain his digestion problems and greater unhappiness. He might actually be a crankypants.

We called the same state trooper who set up our car-seat boots to come back for a second look. We didn't like how The Deputy's head lolled forward so much. The officer apologized for setting it wrong, but he was working without a baby to check the setting. He had it fixed in no time. The Deputy now lies flatter in the seat.

Your Sis is beat. She doesn't want to use the bottled milk because she fears she won't make enough to replace it. That means she's doing all the feeding and getting the least sleep of all three of us. I do what I can to help. I rub shoulders. I make meals. I may have trained the boy to take a pacifier to tide him over until he's genuinely hungry.

The families want to come by Saturday, and we still don't think we can host a 10-person party. Not tomorrow. We're reduced to simple words between each other. We can't be witty. And we can't chase nieces. We'll try to make a cake for everyone, but I'd like to send them all out for a meal.

We just got a call from a teacher who's going to bring a meal tonight. That will be our first charity dinner. She'll also be the first co-worker to see the boy.

Picture of the Day
This is my stop.

A Little Later

His schedule holds: He sleeps, he eats, he hates having his diaper changed. He's prone to hiccups. He wakes up about three times a night.

I might be able to bottle feed him tonight. If so, we can start trading off when he cries in the night. The lack of sleep has made her a bit fuzzy in the head, but it's sharpened me. I'm wired and more forthright. I don't mean I'm blunt or rude, but I've misplaced my habitual polite deferment and equivocation.

Your Sister's production has changed from a cheesy film to a thick white fluid closer in semblance to milk. He's exhibiting some of my family traits already. He sleeps with one arm thrown up next to his head, and he has my exact ears.

We saw the doctor today for what was a very quick checkup. He's two ounces lighter than his birth weight, which was considered good. There's no sign of jaundice or spine problems. It was at the doctor's office that his diaper product changed significantly; no longer did we see jet black with green flecks. This was yellow brown and thin. That suggests less meconium and more proper digestion.

There has been no request for my family medical history, and we'll eventually have to tell some doctor that his grandma has acute intermittent porferia (a word spellcheck doesn't like).

I was not aware that an umbilical stump resembled a crusty wick. I call it belly bacon. His circumcision looks OK. It gets plenty of oil and jelly.

We're hoping to get a second counseling on the carseat. It seems to force his head down and forward too much.

Retro Link of the Day
Phone messages read by five of the Empire actors as promotion for the movie's original release.

The First Days

I'm gonna try to remember the first two days without notes. The parents left together once dark clouds snuck in overhead, and the three of us just hung out.

Despite the advice of the murses, the Deputy does not cotton to a two-hour eating cycle with 15-minute meals. Instead, he prefers eating every four hours for about an hour each time. and then he sleeps like the fucking dead.

Sunday night was quite horrible for us. He stayed up for hours crying and eating. I could hear his stomach room roiling across the room, and suspect he is adjusting to milk meals and digesting that instead of amniotic fluid. That indigestion may have been what kept him up all night. Not long after, he was taken away for a PKU test and his circumcision. And then he slept hard. Then again, a long meal and heavy sleep. This is fine, as long as we can time it to feed him right before we go to bed. we can, for a short time anyway, get him sleeping for longer at night.

We left the hospital at about 3:15. I had to clean out about 80 Hotmail copies of Facebook comments and send pics to the family. Also, my office wanted pictures (to prove the birth, maybe?) we set up a bassinet in the TV room, and there he sits as I type. asleep and bundled.

Even as Your Sister was disintegrating into emotion after he was born, I wondered if I had lost my brains. That voice of panic -- an advocate for convenience and habit -- is drowned out by pride in Your Sister for delivering him so well and handling parenthood with genuine panache, I want to rise to her level. I want to do my wife and boy proud.

So far, I'm the diaper-person, and I don't mind. I have no aversion at all, despite my initial worries. I get my boy tied up and dry. That desire shouts louder than worry and laziness. But not louder than a hungry deputy.

Your Sister is walking gingerly, and over-the-counter drugs are helping her move. We're both thrilled to have the birthing center to ourselves for much of the stay, and we feel armed for battle after listening to the nurses' counsel. So we're home. We'll see how much we retain. of course, we were told we can call for advice, and we will if we need to. But I think most of what we do will be to follow his schedule while trying to nudge him to our convenience. Which I guess is parenting in one sentence.

I realized today I haven't slept in a bed since Thursday night. I look forward to tonight's sleep aware that it might not last long.

Twiddling Our Thumbs

Your Parents came into town Saturday to help us clean out Your Sister's classroom. She discovered another teacher has already begun pilfering her teaching notes, and she was determined to take as much home as possible. It took us about three hours, and we used Your Sister's newish truck vehicle to schlep the stuff home. It's piled up neatly in the storage room. We took them out for lunch and ended their visit with a Father's Day cake for Your Dad and me. They liked the nursery.

During the cake eating, I got yet another collection-agency call looking for my ex, and I traded notes with the operator. Whatever she's doing these days, she's doing it with a trail of financial debris streaming behind her.

Now that school and the comics are done, we don't know what to do with ourselves. She attended to the nursery, and I played my new game. World Cup is on the TV by default. We caught the A-Team movie Saturday night. She loved it. She was a bigger fan of the show than I was, but it's good brainless fun.

We spent Sunday in a simmering expectation of a Roo appearance, but we got nothing. We walked in the evening and talked to my Mom. The students who work at the grocery store hound Your Sister about baby details. Everyone wants the name.

I tended to our garden before work on Monday. Your Sis will run errands Monday and might be in Asheville while I'm at the office.

I have reestablished my trade with a Wisconsin comic guy. I send him sweet tea, and he sends cheese curds.

School's Out. For a Year.

Grades are due noon on Friday. Your Sister stayed up late stamping FAIL onto all her papers and got up early this morning to input the numbers on her school computer. I got up early to drive here there and walk back home. I had my phone and Pandora to accompany me. It fed me Lil Kim and Def Leppard. I can simultaneously easily and never get used to this.

She was at school when I got home Thursday evening, and I spent at last an hour cleaning the garden. It's again growing kelp because of more and more rain. I also staked the tomato plants. One of them is a behemoth with four thick stalks branching out everywhere. I may have to buy tomato cages. Your Sis brought me a bag of worm castings (read: poo), and I'll add them to soil mounds I'll build around the stalk plants.

There are no signs that Roo is planning to leave the cave. All is the same.

Moving Picture of the Day
I have it under good authority that this recent ad features Andre 3000 covering The Beatles.

And Now: Whining.

The (hopefully) last weekly OB/GYN appointment went smoothly. All the signs for Your Sister are fine. We asked to peek at Roo with the scanner one last time, and we saw a mushy face. If pressed to say, I'd guess he looks like a mushy baby. We were left in a corner office for a time, and the nurses had turned off the Musak. We passed the time listening to Pandora on our new phones.

We have both admitted that we sometimes forget we're pregnant. We're so accustomed to thinking of ourselves as a two-man tag team. The notion of having a child sneaks up on us when we're distracted with other things. My mind retains the habitual anti-baby thoughts, and they like to whisper that we're bonkers for ruining a good thing. I remind that residue of why we're doing this and why we feel so strongly about it, and the ghosts of old thinking fade again. I agree with those who say they don't want babies, the world doesn't need more babies, and babies are icky. Yes. We said the same things many a time. But we turned a corner after repeated conversations, and we'll have our roommate any day now. I don't know if I'll become overly affectionate. I refer to him as a deputy, a bear monster, and a wet bag of limbs. But I get lightheaded when I see him on the ultrasound, and the abstract becomes concrete. Is that lightness fear? Is it joy? I dunno.

Either way, there will only be one. Your Sister cannot fathom women who become addicted to being pregnant. She doesn't feel like she's reached the peak of feminine existence. She feels like a creaky battleship. I suspect some of that alleged pregnancy glamor is actually the glee of being the center of attention. Case in point: Virtually every FaceBook message this week is a variant on "is it here yet?" I'm getting them because people know Your Sis gets on FB about as often as Abraham Lincoln. She's busy with work, but she also doesn't want that spotlight, despite everyone's good and kind intentions.

Picture of the Day
After she did some stuff in her classroom, we walked around the football field. This was after a day of heavy storms. Another day, I should say. I took this with the new phone camera, and I think that contraption is better than the camera I bought last year.

Boring.

Unless we perceive the usual summer storms as a foreshadowing for the arrival of an adorable antichrist, we have no signs that labor is imminent. Because Roo dropped, he has more room to roll, and he does. A lot. Instead of nesting in a pod, he's now in a slack bag, and his movements are dramatic.

Your Sister has made the house an icebox, and she seem more comfortable. She drops things more often and can't decide if it's because countertops are now farther away or her hands are clumsy. Whenever I hear something hit the floor, I rush over to pick it up. I try to keep her from kneeling or bending. We'll save that for the labor. Otherwise, she grades, she eats, she sleeps, and we both wait.

We jimmy with our new phones and trade discoveries. I'm surprised there is no Blogger Droid app. I can access the site through the phone browser.

Picture of the Day
Technology!

39 Weeks

We have two new arrivals at the house: Droid phones. As a joint Jailhouse-iversary, we bought each other the phones and data plans. Our old phones are from 2006, and they were antiquated yak boxes even then. These phones are intuitive but deep, and much fiddling is required. It took an hour to set them up in the store, but we got a good deal for the devices, and Your Sis was keen on the sliding QWERTY board.

It was a busy weekend for Your Sister. She attended a graduation party with teachers Friday night and stayed out much later than usual. I handed out copies of the comic and encouraged everyone to draw their monsters and send them to me as a secondary concern. I want them, yes, but I want more that they draw. I woke up early the next morning to donate blood. The Red Cross is responding to slow lines and instituted a faster processing pace. It was pretty obvious; the nurses seemed caffeinated. But it worked. I was done in a half hour, a record. It helps that I bleed easy. They eye my veins with something akin to Twilight lust. I always forget that donating leaves me with an upset stomach, and I was dying by that evening's birthday party. This was for a teacher's son, and we ate cookout food and Korean rice, made by the teacher's mom-in-law. Holy moley cow cookies, that was good stuff. We did not stay long as Your Sis was reeling from the festivities. She flopped on the couch, and we watched TV and fed her cold snacks.

We got the phones Sunday, and we took turns playing with them and grading papers. I eschewed the basketball game to watch the Tony's. Despite the hard push by the ceremony for American Idiot, other musicals won the big prizes. I can see why: Idiot is embarrassingly simple. Good vocal arrangements, yes, but the two song pieces I've seen from it are weak. Your Sis still wants to see the show when it tours, and we try, Roo willing. He, by the way, is not quite so antic, but he nudges and rolls to let us know he's still there. Your Sis is hurting from his weight growth.

We watched the U.S./England game Saturday, and it was a blast to watch. That keeper botch was so awkward that one suspects he was on the take. We learned watching soccer from South Africa is more fun when you also eat candy from South Africa.

The cats are back to their normal selves, and we suspect a new bottle of cat treats did them dirty. It's been chucked.

Picture of the Day
Mini A-Team!

Signed Off On It

The appointment was again by the numbers. We asked when inducement might be considered, and he said no later than 41 weeks. That's June 28. All signs continue to point to normal. He vouched for our pediatrician candidate. The docs and nurses had planned a weeklong vacation starting next weekend, but we and other folks are all due around the same time.

Your Sister is now soaking her feet at least twice a night. She's roasting. She eats even more ice cream to cool down. We walked last night only because the cat needed more grass, and the other cat is now acting odd. I think they ate something weird, but I can't find or smell any dead thing in their room. There's some weird stuff in the litter box. It almost looks like they ate a wad of dryer lint.

I sent off the logo for the roller derby, and now I'll unveil it.


I wanted to show the river they were named for and the local geography. They asked for "fear-inducing," and I went with a SEAL team/night monster vibe. I think the red color helps. I wanted a duotone feel to make reproduction easier and keep the design simple. I'm pretty happy with it. I submit this contently. They announce the winner on July 31. That may be the public unveiling though; I might heard earlier than that. The contest regulations are sparse. This was my busy work for this last month of pregnancy, and now I may be fidgety.

Relax tonight. Drink a bit. Sleep.

Picture of the Day
Super hero periodic table

Cheering Section

Hey.

Breathe deep. Tackle it in increments.

You've prepared as much as you can. You're gonna be good.

We're rooting for you.

Five Years

Five years ago this morning, we signed on our house and got married a few hours later. Doesn't seem like five years. Let me tell you: After Mother's Day and her birthday, I am tapped out for gift ideas. I stink, stank, stunk. It just happened that the DVD set of Voyagers! arrived yesterday, and I handed it her as a lame, LAAAAAAME anniversary gift. She seemed happy with it.


I remember this show running on Sundays on NBC. I used to draw the steampunk Omni device all the time. I wanted one from the first time I saw the show, and it may have sparked my interest in pocketwatches. If you haven't seen it, think of Quantum Leap with more swagger. Can I tie in time travel to marking the five-year anniversary? Seems a stretch.

Fifth anniversaries are supposed to be marked with wood or silverware. She'll get neither. I considered buying her silver wearing things, but she's finicky about jewelry. Also, I've heard about "push gifts," little trinkets given to new moms after delivery. I think I'll skip that too. Maybe I'll let her sleep the first couple of nights instead.

Your Sis visited a local pediatrician office as a possible Roo doctor. She seemed happy with the sales pitch. They have weekend and office hours and employ a doctor who has delivered or treated something like 75 percent of babies here in the past 30 years. We haven't met him yet, but we saw him in the delivery videos and at the recent awards ceremony. We're going to the weekly appointment later today, and I'll attach the baby-seat boots to each of our cars before we go.

Her oldest cat was acting ill this morning. He wouldn't eat, not even his beloved popcorn. But he did slink next to the door, which usually means he wants to eat grass. I harnessed and walked him in the yard, and he did munch on many a blade and stalk. He also followed the path of rabbits which also munched a few leaves last night. He does this every once in a while, but it usually happens at night.

I discovered that French dip sandwiches are messy to make and contain spooky sleep magic. We zonked out almost immediately.

Picture of the Day
Slow exposure photo of the stars.

Lies. All Lies.

Your Sister is catching flak from all sides contending she has "pregnant brains." Parents and students accuse her of losing papers to excuse their negligence; administrators think she'll flake out on next semester's teacher workshops. The grapevine isn't helping. One upset teacher called her to ask why she was quitting teaching altogether. She spends a great deal of time putting out fires and less time grading. Another teacher party has been announced for this weekend, and I hope to help her make an appearance.

We did manage to walk last night around the neighborhood. Downhill was easy. Not so much for uphill.

Picture of the Day
The New York Times at Wicker Man? I dunno.

Pie and Preparation

As payback for a strawberry pie offered a few weeks back, Your Sister made a blueberry pie for Kathy and Travis, and we had a sit-down dessert at their place. Pie was devoured. Woeful tales of the workplace were swapped.

Your Mom and Aunt are greatly a'feared that Your Nieces could infect Your Nephew if they visit too soon. There's also concern about who might stay over with us once we take the baby home. We don't know. We can't say for sure as we have yet to be sleep deprived. Also -- and this cannot be dismissed -- is the possibility that Roo won't be coming home immediately. The pregnancy has been somewhat mundane (easy for me to say, yes), but that's no guarantee that Roo will emerge hale and hearty. I do not wish it. I must prepare for it. I was a sickly child. A perfectly functioning baby cannot be presumed, and we cannot lock in plans until we have all the information. I don't mention this to Your Sister, but I can get her through any crisis we might have before Roo comes home. I can at least do this much.

She's made an appointment with a local pediatrician and probably will talk with a GP later this week. I need to find one of my own too. It's been a while since I saw a doc. My Mom's pushing me hard to have a colonoscopy. Your Sister has requested that we stroll the neighborhood each day weather permitting. Of course, I said. Whenever you want. We can do it at night before bed to avoid the hot weather.

I asked about the color scheme for the new roller derby team so I could hone my logo to their scheme. I was told there is no scheme yet. It will be determined by the logo. Whoever wins is essentially designing the team look. Wow. I hope I win.

Picture of the Day
From a museum, I suspect.

38 Weeks

Your Sister returned to school briefly Friday at the request of her AP kids who wanted to throw her a shower. In turn, she asked that they suggest chapter books they enjoyed as kids. Many of them gave her copies, some inscribed to Roo. There was also a cake for Voldemort; the students love that name idea. I didn't see the cake but was told a student took a pic of it. I did get a slice of it and held off the urge to gobble it until Sunday evening. There were traditional shower gifts, some from other teachers.

The rain held off just long enough for me to mow the yard Saturday, but the wet grass under the mower clumped together like one long bath mat. I spread it over the weed patch next to the garden in hopes I'll make new grass. Your Sister waded through school stuff while I tweaked my logo entry for the new roller derby team, and I invited two teacher people to join me for Saturday's bout. The Blue Ridge Rollergirls again won out, this time over the Carolina Bootleggers, who employed a goon named Maddat U. She was vicious. On the way back, one passenger requested we hear my Hall and Oates CDs, and we blasted the music with all the windows rolled down. Until we drove up to the massive DWI check, and my shotgun passenger wisely suggested I remove my arena beer wristband. Tragedy averted.

I've spent a lot of time lately in the new Western PS3 game, Red Dead Redemption. It's sprawling and loaded with tangential storylines. So far, I've broken a wild stallion (hey now), bought a land deed, hunted animals, tracked criminals for bounty, found hidden treasure, and saved some saloon girls from drunks. It's gigantic.

We finally packed a suitcase for the hospital despite some blind adherence to the handbook checklist. Methinks they over do it. Then again, I won't be bleeding and losing ten pounds in 12 hours. My Mom joked that, no matter what we called Roo, she would refer to him after her father. I hope that's a joke. Her backyard pool is almost ready, and maybe we can get down there before Labor Day. One of my friends from high school has her own photo studio now, and she asked if she can get maternity pictures. She now has a very small window of opportunity, but we're game to try next weekend. She'll have to drive here; Your Sis can't handle long car rides anymore.

Picture of the Day
I never noticed that Hollywood uses so many copies of the same fake newspaper.

Making the Grade

I never mind helping Your Sister grade papers. It's glorified proofreading, but the kid will usually never see what I mark and write. These are the final papers, and they won't get them back. I don't agree with that personally; I would want to see the paper's marks if I was the student. The only way they will see them is if they formally request it the following semester. As I type that, it sounds wrong. Maybe they can see them if they come by during the teacher workdays after exams. Now I'm not sure.

Anyway, Your Sister reminds me of this and says I don't need to make marks after the first page or so. She suggests extrapolating the paper's quality based on the first sheet, but that doesn't sound right to me. I do the whole paper (minus the citations; that's hers). There was one paper last night that started strong and fell apart by the middle of page two. Another paper would have stood tall had there been any citations. That kid failed the paper, and it was the best written paper by a mile.

Parent and student shenanigans are par for the course. Your Sis has one pair arguing that her classroom is in disarray since she left and the sub misplaced the paper turned in by the student. To fix this, the parent called the sub during class so she could hear the student turn in another copy. This was to document that the sub received it. But this seems to me to document instead that the student has officially turned in her paper very late, and that leads to a hefty point deduction. They outwitted themselves.

Parents can challenge their kids' grades and request to see the final paper to ensure the student got they grade he deserved. That's why I mark it completely. The teacher who speaks to the parent may not be the one who failed the student, and I want whoever reads the paper to see all the marks that scuttled the grade. The biggest problem I see this year is sloppiness due to hurry. Sentences contradict themselves. Simple grammatical mistakes riddle the papers. These are works done in a rush, probably at the last nanosecond. I worked the same way back then. I know their pain. I think seeing those mistakes accentuated with marks could cement the need to pace their effort and give themselves a chance.

One consistent mistake I see is a lack of understanding anything about Africa. One paper last night claimed that 80% of adults and children have AIDS. There's at least one paper each year that thinks Africa has one government. They all think Africa is utterly backwoods. I hope they watch the World Cup just to gasp that paved roads exist there.

Fucking Awesome Scene of the Day
Is this a clue to a name we're considering? Mayhap. Is this one of the best moments in a great movie? Definitely.

Name Game

The dizziness continues in step with research papers. I'd recommend she get outside for some vitamin D, but it's rainy. I may have watered the garden three times this year.

We whittled the name list down to two options, and I suggested we use each to replace all references to Roo. A test drive, if you will. One day we use one name and then switch. We briefly considered four names as a compromise until we came to our senses. I confess I have a degree of competitive in this. She picked the middle name, and now I want the first name. Her choice has less allure only because it's her choice. Had I picked the same name, I'd employ the same sneaky methods to secure its victory as I am for the name I picked.

It feels weird to affix a proper name to the offspring, this golden child of evolution, when it's still a barely concealed hidden abstract. Yes, there's something moving around in there, but my associations of "baby" and her pouch passenger haven't reconciled yet. The manuals, decorations, accessories, and appointments aren't quite enough to convince me we'll have a baby living in our house. One that we planned for and instigated.

Roo has officially dropped as we are now in Week 37. We see the doctor today for our first weekly appointment. I don't know what tests to expect. I packed up the CDs we'll play during the labor, but we have yet to pack our clothes. I push for it daily, and it continues to be postponed. She's still lucid, though; the rumored scatterbrained phase of pregnancy hasn't hit her yet.

Moving Picture of the Day
Yes, I'm geeking out.

We're Officially Ready

The office threw us a nice shower Friday, complete with ice cream cake and baby gifts. As a joke, they offered tiny pickles to eat with the cake. I tried it. The salty taste covers the daily entirely. One of my coworkers tried to whisper that I had a big smile on my face, and I immediately swallowed it. I'm a different guy at work, and I blame the atmosphere. It's not the kind of air that I thrive in socially, and I'd rather raise the blast shields and save my winning personality for Your Sister.

On the drive home, the daily 5 p.m rainstorm clobbered us with hail. Big hail. Hail that mushed and piled up like snowbanks. I've never seen that before. We drove out of it after a few minutes. There's a spot between Asheville and Mayberry that is hit the hardest during summer, and the town becomes a block of rain virtually every day at 5 p.m.

All the rain has not helped my garden seeds, and we bought new sprouts Saturday: peppers and tomatoes. I also bought marigolds to scare the bugs away from the tomatoes. Those were planted Sunday morning. Your Sister's dizziness kept her home Saturday night, and she missed a birthday party for a fellow teacher. She did go to work Sunday to grade papers.

A sudden bill in the NC statehouse has raised the possibility of shortening this spring semester. The school rumor is that the semester would end next Friday, not the 15th as currently scheduled. The county board argued over this and eventually decided to keep the current school schedule in another nod to local businesses who hire teens. This time, the summer camps balked at starting the fall semester early to avoid bad weather delays that might shove the following spring semester into late June. There was lots of to-do, and now the statehouse may make it moot. This affects Your Sister by allowing her to cut out material from the final exams. She went into school Monday to huddle with her sub, and I dropped off a carload of cardboard for the science teacher. He wants to use them for garden beds. We had gobs of the stuff from baby gift packaging.

Roo is making her much warmer than normal, and she's now taken to soaking her feet to cool down. My Mom again pressed the issue of a name, and I said we won't divulge the options now lest camps break out over preference. I don't want campaigns for names.

After buying shelf boxes, we decorated the nursery walls with an applique tree and leaves. We are rapidly running out of preparations to make. We'll pack our suitcases tonight, I hope. I also need to choose a stack of CDs for the delivery room.

Using NetFlix, we're watching Colonial House, the PBS reality show of volunteers living in a 1620s English colony in Maine. Unlike in Frontier House, this group have to work toward a common goal: making money for England, and the colony governor -- a Baptist preacher from Texas -- is trying to make it a religious retreat. They haven't tried to trade with the natives after two months of interaction, and they are betting everything on a giant crop of corn. The illusion of Jacobean civilization vanished quickly as the womenfolk refused to live under the throwback social standards. It's calamity.

Word is moving through the neighborhood that the police are looking for a couple of burglars scouting our street for empty houses. I suspect that they would have moved on by now; if the jig is up, they'd have to be desperate to try the same tactics in the same area. I'm hiding my laptop and backup drives before I leave work. Your Sister is at home of course, and I assume sneak-thieves won't try anything with someone in the house.

A podcast of Fanaticon interviews is online here. Skip to the final ten minutes or so to hear me.

Moving Picture of the Day
New Scott Pilgrim trailer. I'm jazzed.

We'll Probably Bite Back

It's been quiet the last few days.

Your Sister's doctor appointment yesterday was slightly different. In addition to checking for premature delivery signals, she was swabbed, and we checked Roo with a scanner. He's in the right position, and the amniotic fluid level looked good. We tried to get final-and-for-real-this-time confirmation that Roo is an outie, but the position was all wrong for that. So a chance lingers that Roo is a Ruth. (Note: We won't use that name if Roo comes out all girly.) They remain baffeld about her dizziness, which she claims is calming down. Her blood sugar and pressure are fine. She's lost three pounds since the last appointment. Next week sees the first of our weekly appointments. She's going to work with me today for an office baby shower. I gave her feeble gifts for her birthday, but they included Nutella, and that was received well.

We had dessert with Kathy and Travis and talked babies. Their youngest is biting, and we discussed parenting tactics. I'm in favor of gradual deprivation. I hold out corporal punishment for capital offenses, and those include repeat offenses. We still like the idea of squirt bottles to shock the child and end the bad behavior until the child can understand verbal commands. As always, keep in mind we don't know know what we're doing. Kand T asked what we're missing for Roo, and we have no idea. In the mail yesterday, we received a baby seat for meals and bedding. I think all we're missing is the baby.

The annual Memorial day street festival offers a child-seat check, and I'll take my set-up there to confirm I did it right.

I'm still playing with a logo for the local roller derby B-team. I'll finish it before the second week of June and send it in so Roo can't distract me from it.

Picture of the Day
That baby is all kinds of squirmy.

You Were a Good Number Two.

Your Sister's maternity leave may have begun. She's still suffering from the dizziness, and she's talked to the benefit manager about her sick days. She has more sick days than there are days left in this semester. She's preparing plans for her long-term substitute, and she thinks she'll stay home to grade the big projects and prepare plans for the semesters she's out with Roo.

The dizziness is no fun for her, and her energy is sapped. I think she has a head flu. Her nose is clogged, and her voice is getting squeaky; this happens when she's got a head cold. I think the doctor's medicines are treating symptoms and not the problem. I'm concerned that she'll be stir crazy within a week, especially when she gets over the bug. I've had lingering headiness, but I fight it with junk food and video games. I have a system. It's homeo-pathetic.

I had to back to the office. More specifically, I had to get back to Asheville, where my bank is. I had to deposit a paycheck.

My broken toe is much more an inconvenience than an injury. I've lost no sensation. It's fat and purple and mobile. I feel a dull ache when I walk, but that's it.

Picture of the Day
Back to work. Got my game face on.

Nothing Is Irreversible

We're at home again today as Your Sister had something of a relapse Sunday. Saturday seemed OK, except I was feeling a whirling of the head too. So it can't be all pregnancy. Your Sister complained of fluid in her ear when we saw the doctor a week back, and he poo-pooed it. My symptoms were a headache, slight dizziness, and a fifth-gear work ethic. I went to town on my to-do list: testing the baby seats for our cars, cleaning out my car, composting and thinning the garden, cleaning my workshop, and assembling the jogging stroller. I stopped only to eat dinner. We went out to eat, showing how much better she was feeling.

But Sunday morning met her with a full case of the woozies. We called the doctor and got a new prescription, a type of Dramamine. I fetched groceries, and she took it easy all day. I also broke my piny toe punting the sidewalk border. It's swollen and bruised, but not painful to the touch. I don't think I can do anything for it except soak it to reduce the swelling. That night, we made Hawaiian pizza for the Lost finale.

This morning she's feeling better, but she's considering calling it a day for the rest of the semester. I think she's jumping the gun, but it's her call. I think she'll change her mind on that before week's end. She'll get cabin fever. I continue to telecommute, but there are some things I have to do at the office.

The Lost Finale
We watched the series review before the finale. Two hours of recap had us primed for the ending, and that 150 minutes was a massive and satisfying undertaking. My thoughts:

1) Thoroughly right in tone and plot. It felt good the whole way through.

2) The last shot refers back to the first shot (Jack opens his eyes in the bamboo field, Jack closes them in the bamboo field), and this tells us the show was Jack's story. He had a purpose in life after all, and he did what he always does: He fixed things. He had a very Christlike ending (pierced side, commissions his believer to carry on his work, is aware he saved his friends, etc.) and that's fine given the religious themes throughout this episode and the series.

3) There are unspun tales between Jack's death and the afterlife -- Hurley and Ben wielding the island as they see fit, the remaining lives of those on the plane -- but I'm not desperate to know what happens.

4) The reunions were what we wanted, and they were done well. However, not everyone is ready to move on. Ben has work to do (and he should stand apart from the Oceanic people), and Daniel and Charlotte didn't have a real moment on the island to refer back to. Eloise alone seems to know what's going on, and she wasn't in the church. But we know she moves through timelines on her own.

5) I want to watch the whole series again. This might happen as we're settling in with Roo.

6) I learned the DVD of the finale season will have an extra 20 minutes tying up smaller threads from the series.

7. Man, people are having babies everywhere. Maybe we should name Roo after Lepidus (who can't be killed) or the Russian agent ("Patchovich").

Picture of the Day
The National Post has a character review image. If you rollover the characters, you get a brief recap.