A Month of Reflection and Looking Ahead

Earlier this month I celebrated my birthday, and it was wonderful. Emelia was wholly engaged in the celebration -- wanting to open the cards with me, singing me Happy Birthday, and looking forward to/enjoying the cake. Kathy made my favorite breakfast, huevos motuleños (fried eggs over tortilla, black beans and peas, covered with green salsa and goat cheese (Kathy uses feta)), and for dinner took me to one of my favorite restaurants (Nam Viet in Arlington). And my gift from Kathy and Emelia was a year's worth of massages, an extravagance that will probably do me a world of good but which I would never bestow upon myself. The day was completely low-key, and it was all I needed -- Kathy had trouble believing me when I said how much I enjoyed myself. The fact that several dozen people wished me happy birthday on facebook was surprisingly satisfying as well -- I like to think that it gave me a taste of what it might have been like to have had a birthday during the school year instead of the summer.

As the day of my birthday approached, I reflected on the fact that it had been a year since my mugging. Hard to believe that it's only been a year, as it seems much longer ago. It doesn't seem to affect me on a day-to-day basis (heck, days go by when I don't even think about it), though it's possible my troubles sleeping are influenced by that event. It's slipped in among my life events to become one of the multitude of things that have gone into defining who I am, never becoming a singular something that defines me.

Also this month I hit the halfway point for eligibility for full federal retirement. Amazingly enough, I can get full retirement in less than another 16 years. I'm not really one of those people who obsesses over my retirement eligibility, but I get a reminder of it every year in my statement of benefits, and as a numbers geek I'm more than capable of dividing by two. Before we had Emelia, I used to daydream about early retirement, and fully contemplated retiring no later than my first opportunity for that full pension, a worst-case scenario. Full retirement at the first opportunity, however, is less than one-third of my salary, and like everyone else's, my 401(k) took a big hit with the market crash. And now we have Emelia, and my eligibility for full retirement coincides with the time that Emelia would be about to start college -- I don't know that we'd be able to get Emelia all the way through college on a pensioners' income, though it'd be plenty easy to take that income and find a job I might like more. However I do it, I expect to work longer than I once contemplated, but I no longer mind it as much -- with the arrival of Emelia, my mindset has shifted from having to work to set me up for life, to having to work to provide for my family. I'd be lying if I said there isn't a bit of wistfulness, but it's a trade-off that I've made and would gladly make again.

And that statement provides the segue to something that's been on my mind every day of the month, and then some. Earlier this week we reached a big milestone, the end of the first trimester of Kathy's pregnancy. Yes, that's right -- something that took so much effort the first time happened without so much as a visit to the fertility clinic this time. Child #2, a.k.a., the Groundhog,* is due at the start of February. Kathy's been having a harder time this go around -- last time she was stressed by the absence of symptoms, worrying that was a bad thing; and this time she's complaining about those very symptoms. I guess there's no pleasing some people. We had wanted to keep the news completely quiet during the first trimester, but figured we had to tell my family during the week at the beach given Kathy's symptoms (and the inability to provide any other reason why she would reject all of Josh's delectable alcoholic offerings). So then in the name of equality, we had to tell Kathy's family. And although the story's been slowly leaking out, we've kept things mostly quiet, and I suspect that many of you are hearing about it for the first time. Now that we're making that news public, I can talk about it on the blog -- it's been tough to offer posts on the blog given that I couldn't discuss that particular elephant in the room of my mind (said elephant currently weighs less than an ounce), but I'm hoping to write more frequently again.

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* - Note that the use of the nickname The Groundhog is not meant to suggest that we would name a boy child Phil.

Apologies If This Post Isn't As Coherent As I'd Like

Yesterday we went to the hospital on a false alarm first thing in the morning. Yesterday evening we checked in for the real thing, and after 20 hours of labor, Emelia Louise was born at 2:02pm this afternoon. So many things I could say about the progression, but at the risk of sounding trite, it was an event that meant at least as much to me as any other event in my life. I was involved in the whole process, right up to helping to coach the pushes, and holding Kathy's left leg as she pushed the baby out (with her sister Suzie holding the right). No queasiness, just sheer amazement, as I watched the baby get pushed out over the course of a couple of hours.

Mother and child are doing well, though both mother and father (and Suzie, who also was there for the duration) are exhausted from the minimal amount of sleep they've had over the past 40 hours (plus for Kathy, the incredible amount of work she did in delivering the baby). That, combined with the fact that it would have been very difficult for both Suz and me to sleep in Kathy's little room (with one fold out seat/bed), led to our returning back to the house to get a decent night's sleep tonight. I think having Emelia today was enough of a vote for change, but because I got back home in time, I was able to register another such vote in the general election.


The Proud Father minutes after the birth


Emelia took to suckling right away

How to Successfully Induce Labor

Rub homeopathic balm on the belly
Raspberry Tea
Eggplant Parmesan
Spicy Food
Sex & Nipple Stimulation
Double Dose of Milk of Magnesia

Let enough time pass

Let the Doctor do it on Thursday

Can't Blog, Gotta Blog

I have nothing to say that isn't pregnancy related, and I'm sick of talking about the pregnancy. But I know some people read this blog and wonder what the latest pregnancy news is, so all I can say is that it all was a hoax -- there never was a pregnancy, Kathy's been putting larger and larger pillows under her outfits in a desperate cry for help. She's being treated for her condition (Fake Pregnancy Syndrome, or FPS) -- fortunately our insurance covers in-house psychiatric treatment. At first, I didn't want to go along with it, but she seemed so sad that I felt that I had little choice. And then, once we began lying about it, it became harder and harder to come clean. I really thought it would have been obvious long before now, but people believe what they want to believe. At our third baby shower, I finally confessed. One couple, friends of ours for over six years, grabbed their already-opened present and walked out in a huff -- I have a feeling that we'll never see them again. Kathy broke down in a puddle of tears, and while one friend did attempt to console her, most of the others kind of snuck out, leaving the hosts in a very awkward situation. I've taken down all the sheep in the "nursery," and am hopeful that Kathy will be back home in a week or two. The doctors say she's making good progress, that sometimes she even remembers she's not pregnant without prompting.

Ok, I feel better now. They say confession is good for the soul, and if I believed in the soul, I might be inclined to agree. But a fake confession is good for relieving stress, and we need that quite a bit right now.

So the truth is, Kathy had some contractions this morning. They were irregular and stopped after a few hours. Coincidentally she had an OB appointment this morning, and we were able to confirm that nothing appears to be imminent. We called Kathy's sister back up and let her know that she didn't need to catch the next flight, but it was good to know that she's ready to drop everything on a moment's notice.

And in the meantime, we wait. Because she really is pregnant.

W_a__i___t____i_____n______g

All of a sudden we can't call anyone without them thinking, you know.... Yesterday one friend interrupted her shrink appointment to take our call, because she thought it might be a birth announcement. Then Kathy's sister switched lines to take our call last night, with her first words being a panicked, "Are you in labor?" Given that she's ready to drop everything to come down here for the delivery, I can understand her reaction, but still, I wish there were a way to have a "special announcement ring," so people could know whether or not we had a baby to announce. Because we're getting anxious enough over here and don't need everyone else's reactions to amplify the effect.

That's right, I'm getting excited, with all the connotations that word can bring -- happy, nervous, anxious, agitated. I'm sleeping poorly, and that's only partly because of the dogs -- they sense something too. It's pretty bad when your concerns about not getting enough sleep causes you to not get enough sleep.

My folks are so nervous that they left the country to escape the stress. I can't think why else they'd be on an Asian cruise, can you? They won't be back until the 27th, so there's a very good chance they won't know about the baby until a couple of days after it's been born. Before they left, Dad sent an e-mail letting us know that a birth announcement is one of the three things warranting an e-mail to them. I offered to just let him know when he got back, figuring the last thing I want to do is intrude on their tranquility, but Dad insisted. So I'll try to work in an e-mail to them within 72 hours of the birth, or maybe I'll ask one of my siblings to e-mail him when I speak with them.

As for baby names, this morning I suggested we name the baby after DC's biggest celebrity, but Kathy didn't go for it. Truth is, while it's always subject to change, she's pretty much settled on a name (assuming it's a girl), and since she's carrying (and delivering) the critter, I'm fine with her making the final decision (though I wouldn't hesitate to speak up if I really disliked her selection).

Enough rambling for tonight. The pygmy elephants need their sleep as much as chicken needs its parmesan.

Nursery

Two weeks after the baby dropped, Kathy's still waddling around, waiting for the final drop. There are a million things that "need" to get done before then, and it's a given that we'll only get to a fraction of those. One thing that's pretty much done is the nursery.

The nursery is one of the most overdone of the projects that expecting parents can overdo. Given how many opportunities expecting parents are given to overdo baby projects, this is a pretty bold statement. The room we'd designated for the baby was painted a drab shade of white, and Kathy really wanted to liven it up. Early on, I indicated my lack of interest in such a project ("if you want it done, you do it"), so other than pulling up the hideous bubblgum shag carpet left over from the mid-1970s, I was prepared to leave it for Kathy. But Kathy waited and waited, and given how pregnancy makes it a bad idea to put off labor-intensive projects, this wasn't really a good idea. Ultimately, she enlisted our dogwalker/friend Bryce in the project, and away they (mostly Bryce) went.

Labor Day weekend, while we were taking a long weekend to Richmond and Charlottesville, Bryce started painting the room while we were out of town. The East/West walls were to be apple green, the North/South walls to be baby blue, and the ceiling would get a fresh coat of white. When we came back from taking our future president to Monticello and Montpelier to see the plantations her predecessors owned, we discovered that Bryce had decided to paint the ceiling blue, and out of contact paper was constructing clouds.

Those clouds reminded me of the bodies of sheep, so I threw out the idea of having the clouds morph into sheep on the walls. Bryce liked it, and we introduced her to our favorite sheep, Shaun, from Wallace and Gromit's "A Close Shave." Bryce took the idea and made it her own, not only making great sheep, but also making birds out of the same template as the sheep's head and placing them in the clouds. Kathy and Bryce made decoration decisions, and I mostly stayed out of the way.

Then, a week ago Friday, when the project was mostly completed, Bryce broke her ankle, leaving some unfinished business. So Kathy and I took care of some odds and ends, including painting the dresser. Let it be noted that I did not select orange as the color to paint the dresser, and in fact I suggested that we leave it the dark stained wood color that it had been. By this stage in the pregnancy, however, I have learned that other than a minor gripe now and again, the best course I can take is along the "yes dear" route (fortunately, Kathy really isn't abusing this power, though I've heard that such power has been known to serve as a corrupting influence). I also have to admit tht seeing it completed, it actually complements the room pretty nicely. Then I installed the bookshelves, and we undertook the cleanup. All that really remains is for the crib to arrive (a hand-me-down from Kathy's boss), but we've got a basinet, so even that isn't necessary until a couple of months after the critter's born.


Sheep on the Wall


The Crib Space


Bird and Cloud on the Ceiling


The Dresser in the Closet


Kathy and Nora on the Bed


The Changing Station

Counting Down

We're a little over five weeks away from Kathy's due date, and Friday and Saturday we did "The Berthing Class." I hadn't realized that someone could assemble a 10-hour class on how to stow your baby on a ship, but it seems that everything about expecting your first child is focused on preparing yourself for that for which you can't prepare. Let's face it -- when someone tells me, "You're whole life is going to change," all I can do is say, "Yes, I know that (and try to avoid any snippiness in that response), but I don't know what that means." Still, there are classes out there on everything -- seriously, the instructor over the weekend told us that they were going to be offering a class on Infants and Pets.

On Friday night, we only covered a few things, most notably a couple of birth videos. After the last video, right before class finished up, the instructor informed us that the video was several years old, and that the loving and caring environment surrounding the mothers-to-be doesn't really exist anymore. The nurse won't be there the whole time, though she'll still check in with the Mom every half hour or so. And don't expect the doctor in much at all. So you need all the support you can get, and did I mention we offer doula services? She wasn't quite that direct, but the men in the class all could see that connection drawn pretty clearly (the women, being bathed in pregnancy hormone stew, were still all teary from watching the births and refused to acknowledge even the slightest link). For those of you who haven't dealt with the whole pregnancy thing in a few years, doulas are all the rage -- a doula is a non-medical person you hire to be there with you throughout the labor process (even before you get to the hospital), who is there for support, advice, and calmness when the nervous father-to-be is a bucket of jelly.

So on the way out to the car, Kathy was rather distressed. Her sister is planning to come down and be with us, serving as an unofficial doula, but it wasn't clear that she'd be down at the right time, or that she'd even get down here in time. Her doctor has sort of bailed on her (the doc is a high-risk pregnancy specialist, and we don't know if Kathy not having any problems is the reason why, but the fact is that she has no appointments available until the week before Kathy's due date). And if the nurse won't be there the whole time, then there's only me, and what if I become a bucket of jelly.

"Kathy my love," I do my best to explain, "I will be there, focused 100% on you -- it's all about you, and I promise not to be all queasy in the corner while you're having contractions that make Joe Theismann's broken leg seem like a mosquito bite. Until you're at the delivery stage, there's no blood or gore, so even if I'm susceptible to faintness then, you'll have the nurse and doctor with you for that final stretch. So you see, you'll have someone looking out for you the whole time. I even promise to pee in between contractions."

Somehow this bit of spontaneous logic got through the haze caused by the instructor showing those damned birthing videos before she covered pain management techniques (I still think that was deliberate).

One of the things covered on Saturday was the fact that more women than ever before are having babies early. And the three factors that seem to contribute to the likelihood of an early delivery is age (35+), whether IVF was used, and if you have a short cycle. Kathy fits all three, plus her mother delivered her six weeks early (though admittedly we have no idea if there's a genetic tie to this). But just in case that's not enough, we've determined that based on the descriptions provided in the rest of the class (confirmed by the instructor), Kathy has gone through lightening, i.e., the baby's head has dropped into the pelvis. That's not a sure sign of anything, but it makes it likely that the birth is only 2-3 weeks away.

On one level, that's fine by me -- I'd much rather an early (but not too early) birth than a late one. On another, however, it makes the reality of the situation that much more palpable -- the imminence is a bit daunting. We have lots scheduled in the next few weeks, and I guess we won't be able to do it all. At last night's DC United game (which United won), I couldn't help but think that I was saying goodbye instead of good night to my friends at evening's end -- the next home game is in two weeks, and by then I may have had to call it a season. Not that I'm complaining!

Getting There

Warning -- Corniness alert!

Chamber of echoes,
Moonshine melody,
Multitude of poets,
Mariners at sea.
Close my eyes and wonder,
At a child growing near,
The future holds I know not what,
But that child I'll hold dear.
Imagine tiny hand
Reaching up to mine
A high voice calling "Daddy,"
Angels ne'er so divine.
I cannot call her yet,
I do not know her name,
But already I love her so,
I hope she'll feel the same.
--
Back on the road tomorrow, be back in a week or so.
--
Winner of Name My Beer is posted on the right column. When the actual brewer of the beer (rather than just the apprentice) picks a favorite, we've got ourselves a winner.

Name My Beer

Shizuka, one of Kathy's best friends from college, is also expecting her first child (~10 weeks before Kathy's due). Shizuka's husband Eric lives ~20 minutes away, and a couple of months ago I suggested to him that we needed to brew a celebratory beer in honor of the children-to-be and to aid our wives' lactation. Eric embraced the idea. Good thing too, since he's the homebrewer, having made dozens of them over the years (though not that many of late), and he was the one with the equipment. I've helped on a few homebrews over the years but never have done one on my own.

After consulting with Kathy and Shizuka, we decided to go with a stout. Eric proposed a recipe that uses his favorite type of hops, but I didn't like the composition of the rest of it. So I found a different recipe that was more to my liking (and which still used his favorite hops), he suggested a couple of tweaks to it, and we were good to go. The recipe was labeled a "Robust Porter," which might as well be a stout, given that historically, porters came before stouts, and in fact, stout was originally called "stout porter" before the name got shortened. Today, this is what is meant by Robust Porter -- as you can see, the style allows for a pretty wide range of characteristics, most (if not all) of which you'll find in some stouts.

We scheduled a day to brew, and only the day before did it dawn on me that we had coincidentally chosen Father's Day. Over the course of several hours, Eric led us through the necessary steps (and I hope I have them right) -- put the grains in hot water, then let the mixture steep several hours; sparge the mixture in order to remove the fermentable sugars, thereby creating wort; boil the wort and add in the hops; cool the wort and add in the yeast; and seal up the mixture so the yeast can get busy.

After one week, Eric transferred the beer to another container, and two weeks after that, we were ready to bottle the beer. Conveniently, this past weekend Shizuka was in town (she and Eric are professors -- she teaches in Massachusetts, and he's at the University of Maryland), so on Sunday the four of us got to hang out for an afternoon of lunching, talking, bottling, and of course, World Cupping.

I wish that bottling were as simple as pouring the beer into bottles, then cap them, but there's also the matter of cleaning and sterilizing all the bottles before using them (we also had to add more fermentable sugars so the beer would carbonate). The truth is, every step of the process required cleaning and sterilizing, but given how many bottles have to be sterilized to hold five gallons of beer (made slightly less burdensome by our using 750ml bottles), we were at it for a couple of hours. A sampling of the beer at this stage gave us every reason to think we'll have a great beer in a few weeks (which makes the decision to wait until the end of October to open it a little more difficult).

One thing we haven't been able to do is come up with a clever name for our beer (Mothers Milk Stout has been used many times before). If anyone can think of a good name for our beer, let me know. If I use anyone's suggestion, I'll put a credit on my blog, and if you're around D.C., I'll be happy to share a bottle with you.

--
I'm going to be pretty busy for the next few days, enjoying soccer tomorrow night, followed by the RateBeer Summer Gathering that runs all weekend, and then I'll be going out of town for a week. In other words, I'm not promising any posts for the next dozen or so days. Pictures when I return.

Assistance, Please

The technician at the most recent sonogram, upon Kathy asking if it was a boy or a girl, replied, "I don't see any boy parts." And so in this fashion we learned that in all likelihood we are having a girl. Last weekend Kathy and I pored over long lists, searching for a name that appealed to us both. After much deliberation, we settled on a name. Which is to say that I've settled on a name, and Kathy hasn't yet signed on. But with assistance from the readers of this blog, I have no doubt that I can convince her that the perfect name for our daughter is Kickass.

Now I sense some hesitation among a few of you, but hear me out.

• We both want a confident daughter, one who won't be intimidated by the world around her. Kathy wants a name that has a meaning along those lines. As a point of reference, Kathy has rejected names of flowers or jewels because they don't convey "strong woman" to her. I submit that Kickass conveys confident, strong woman.
  
• We don't want a common name, and Kickass is anything but.
• If we also select a middle name that begins with E, her initials will be KEG, which is perfect for the daughter of a beer geek.
• She would have to behave in school, as every teacher would be watching a kid named Kickass like a hawk.
• Stepford Moms would keep their daughters away from a girl with the name Kickass, thereby making it more likely that Kickass will develop friendships with real people.
  

You'd think that the sum of these reasons would be enough to sway Kathy, but so far she's remained steadfast in her opposition. So if you can think of any others, please post them (along with your support). The sooner we can get this settled, the sooner we can turn to other matters regarding our child's future, like when she should get her first tattoo, and what it'll be.

Have You Seen Me Lately?

Through 21 weeks and all's looking well. At least, that's what people who can tell these things say.

A Plan in the Making

Kathy gets no paid maternity leave, but under the Family and Medical Leave Act, she's allowed to take 12 weeks of unpaid leave. Which she'll use.

I get no paid paternity leave, but I also can take 12 weeks off under the same law. More significantly, I'm allowed to use accumulated sick leave, up to 12 weeks, and since I have more than 12 weeks of sick leave saved up, I'm able to get paid during paternity leave.

So what we're looking at doing is have Kathy take her 12 weeks off unpaid, then she'll return to work while I take my 12 weeks off paid.

During my time with the baby, Kathy will decide if she wants to stay working full-time, and we'll deal with day care (or not) accordingly.

So few fathers (at least in the U.S.) have the option of taking significant paternity leave, and I feel fortunate that I can. That being said, me taking care of a baby for three months is more than a bit scary -- I was reminded how little I know about infants when we went out to dinner on Friday with friends who have a 1 1/2 month old. But I'll learn.

Kathy will make sure of it.

Vision of the Future?

The Name Game

Arthur? Bonnie? Clyde? Daphne?

Many times during the first few years of my marriage, Kathy and I discussed baby names. That being said, most of the discussions involved Kathy wanting to have a discussion and me throwing out silly names. Our last name begins with G, so sometimes I played on what the initials would spell -- Peter Ira, Nora Ashley, Damien Oliver, Beatrice Ursula -- you get the idea. Other times I proposed naming a child after famous people -- for example, Malcolm X comes with the middle initial already on display, and would sound pretty catchy with my long German-Jewish last name. Sometimes I threw out completely wretched names for the simple reason that they're wretched, for example, Millicent and Octavius (apologies to any readers out there with these names -- they're horrible because of our last name, but I'm sure they're great for you).

Needless to say, most of these conversations ended as soon as Kathy decided that it was better to drop the subject. (Actually that's wrong -- she wanted the conversations to end at that point, but I would torment her with additional awful names until she cut me off with one of her infamous "tones," which she's stopped using on me but which I expect to reappear by the time junior is 6). Despite all the inane attempts at humor I tried during these many dialogues, we did occasionally stumble across names that connected, but it's fair to say that we haven't made any decisions yet. And though there's still lots of time, it's an issue that looms on our big event horizon.

In deciding on the names, I'm encountering two problems. The first is what I learned when we bought our car -- in our family, names can stick. At the dealership while we were completing the paperwork, Kathy said we needed to name the car. I thought this was silly, but she insisted. "Ok," I said. "Fluffy." She said ok, the discussion was over, and so, for the past 4 1/2 years we've owned a car named Fluffy.

The second problem is that this time playing the name game actually matters. The kid will have enough trauma in life as it is -- the last thing I want to do is add to it needlessly. I don't want to give the kid a name s/he won't like, or that one out of every three same-gendered kids in her/his class will have. Should we wait until the baby is born, to find out if he looks like a Stewart or she responds to Penelope?

Fortunately, the web is a great resource, and by typing in "how to" name baby, I came up with approximately 92 million hits (no exaggeration -- try it yourself), which has to be at least as many hits as there are potential names. Because I'm lazy and didn't want to check each site, I decided to select the name by clicking on the first one, which provides a simple checklist for how to pick a baby name. Kathy's been very busy with all sorts of baby things, so I decided to take it upon myself to review the process, and figured I'd let her know what the winners are.

Applying this simple checklist yields some useful results. The winners are [censored for fear that a wayward attempt to be humorous, witty or sarcastic will result in the equivalent of Fluffy G].

Never Any Doubt

Yesterday we went in for another sonogram, and despite any lingering worries we had, everything checked out fine. We didn't get a good angle to see what sex the baby is, but that's not important to me -- basically we've made it through the first trimester, and though that's no guarantee, it's yet another milestone we've gotten past. We're both feeling more positive as the possibility of becoming parents has become a likelihood.

When it comes right down to it, however, there's no reason we should have been concerned -- on Sunday Kathy had been told by a psychic that the baby would be fine. And not just any psychic -- Kathy and her sister (Suz) went to the same psychic at Eastern Market who, as far as Suz is concerned, successfully forecast her life for about one year a couple of years ago. Never mind the fact that the psychic had to be told that Kathy is pregnant. Once that was worked out, the psychic informed Kathy not only that the baby will be healthy, but also that it probably is a girl, will probably be born in November, will get along well with both parents, and be a lot like Suz. The psychic also said we'll have another baby in two years.

Today's Top 5 Reasons I'm Still Stressing (fully recognizing that I worry too much):
5. Lots to do to get the house ready (all those projects we've put off that need to be done in the next six months).
4. Money to pay for #5.
3. The feeling that I need to cram the rest of the life I'm used to into the next few months.
2. Mary P.'s wonderful advice covers toddlers, not newborns.
1. Worried that I'm too set in my ways to adjust to being a parent.

Roller Coaster

Grandma: You know, when I was nineteen, Grandpa took me on a roller coaster.
Gil: Oh?
Grandma: Up, down, up, down. Oh, what a ride!
Gil: What a great story.
Grandma: I always wanted to go again. You know, it was just so interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together! Some didn't like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it.
-- Parenthood


Prague, 1996. As I ascend the hill back to the hostel around midnight, at the end of another wonderful day, I look back on this picture postcard of a city, a city that has captured my heart. Tomorrow I must leave, because if I don't I never will. Reluctantly I turn back and continue my hike, until I reach the large garden at the edge of the hostel. The lights are out, with only the moon providing any light at all -- no one else is around. I get a little bit lost, the circular layout confusing me ever so slightly. My heart is pounding and the adrenaline surges as I sense my way through this strange garden in this foreign country.

Today we went in for the next sonogram, and everything looked great, so we're officially past the point where we got to last time. Two weeks is nothing in the adult world, but the fetus looked huge compared with how it did just 14 days earlier. There are no certainties by any stretch, but to get the desired result we needed to get through today. Ballpark due date is Halloween, so we still have a very long way to go.

Grandma had it wrong -- the roller coaster appeals to so many people because while it might be scary, they know that they'll be safe at the end of the ride. Life has no such safety net, and I think that's why I don't get the thrill out of roller coasters that I used to.

And so it begins...

Overkill
Overview
Over my dead body
Over me
Over you
Over everybody

Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane

-- The Police, "Too Much information"

Apparently, the first phase in a pregnancy is the "I'm not allowed to eat or anything" phase. Don't eat most types of fish, and even then, not much of it. Don't eat soft cheeses. Avoid caffeine. Of course no alcohol. Limit junk food. Somehow gradually increase caloric intake, particularly protein, despite these limitations.

The thing is, I know it can be done, and without too much difficulty (easy for me to say, when I don't need to do this). The problem is that there are 63 gazillion sources for what not to eat, and it seems like Kathy may end up looking at all of them. It seems as though when something ends up on any one of the lists, it's out the door. I guess it could be worse -- no nausea so far (and with luck she won't have any at all), which would preclude many more options.

And the 63 gazillion resources all mean well (particularly the friends and family), but all provide slightly different info, which creates more anxiety for Kathy, which creates more stress for me (of course you knew this was all about me). Truly, I just want to help make things as easy as possible for Kathy -- funny that the stress all these resources create in Kathy is bad for the baby that these resources are trying to assist.

Closely related to the "don't eat anything" phase is the "don't do anything" phase. With all the difficulty we've had getting pregnant, Kathy is determined not to do anything that might jeopardize the health of the fetus. Exactly what's on that list is something that she's keeping close to the vest, but woe unto me when I don't pick up on the fact that her resistance to doing something is over concern for the unborn child. And I know that I need to be more cognizant of such matters, but I much prefer it when she can put them into words.

The fact of the matter is that I haven't been the best spouse this weekend, so I probably shouldn't be complaining. Despite the fact that I drink lots of beers, usually I'm very good about not overdoing it. I drink for taste, and there comes a time when one's senses can no longer discern the details that make beers enjoyable. It is then that I stop drinking, if I haven't already, and this results in buzzes but rarely full-on drunkenness. So amid all the stress of the new pregnancy, yesterday was not a good day for me to get drunk.

We went up to Baltimore with friends of ours. While Kathy, Marie Esther and her 5-year-old daughter hit the Baltimore Aquarium, Peter and I went to a great beer bar in town, one I've gone to several times as it's possibly the best in the area (and it's only ~45 minutes away). With Kathy not drinking, it would be nice to have someone to drink with (and to share beers with), plus there were college basketball conference tournament games on TV. Knowing that time at the aquarium would probably exceed the amount of time we'd want to drink, Peter and I killed a bit of time by stopping at a beer store on the way up -- it had a new beer from Colorado that's receiving all sorts of raves over at RateBeer.

But we did get to the bar (it was a beautiful day, just the sort to spend outdoors rather than in a dark bar, but hey -- plans are plans). We each started off with a mild pint, followed by sharing four fairly strong pints. And that would be the normal stopping point. But the women were still at the Aquarium, and there I was, a kid in a candy store, so I decided to get a 750ml bottle of a Belgian beer for us to share, one that I discovered was 9.5% ABV. And after that was consumed, they still weren't ready, and there was another Belgian 750ml bottle (8%) calling my name and which we consumed. So by my rough calculations, Peter and I each drank the equivalent of a 12-pack of standard (4.5% ABV) beer. Thus, by the end of those roughly four hours of drinking, I was drunk. In the afternoon.

Kathy wasn't happy. And she was even less happy when I went to sleep right after dinner, at 7:30. She was pretty beat herself from walking around the Aquarium all day despite feeling worn down by the demands the fetus is placing on her body. Fortunately, she loves me and after a mild chewing out this morning, has forgiven me, probably remembering that she on occasion has had too much to drink herself. Nevertheless, I know she's under a lot of stress, and by my actions I put her under more. Mea culpa.

Second Verse, Unlike the First

February 22. The flowers I sent had a short note -- "Whatever will be, will be good." She gave me the news a couple of hours after she received the flowers, and indeed it was good. But my reaction was less than positive. I'm both happy and terrified, the recent past a reminder not to get too comfortable with such news. She on the other hand is totally in sync with my note's message, happy as can be and figuring that if the news turns sour later, she can deal with it then. All I want to do is try to take it one day at a time, even as my mind races ahead several months. I will try to be happy with Kathy even in the presence of my fears, and I can accept well wishes to some extent. But I don't want to hear "congratulations," because there's nothing to be congratulated on, yet.

Now. A little while ago I said we should know by the end of February whether our attempt at using frozen embryos would be successful, and here we are, into March, and I've been keeping you in suspense. Of course if it hadn't worked I would've said so pretty quickly, so from that I suppose you could have inferred (though I'm telling you now) that so far so good. Yesterday we went in for an ultrasound, and unlike last time, we got to see a heartbeat (a single embryo) -- it's about as early as it's possible to see one (new device in the doctor's office -- even the nurses were impressed with what we could see). While at one level that's exciting, at another I'm still scared. Last time, when we went in for an ultrasound and there was no heartbeat, the doctor indicated that it must have happened only a couple of days earlier. And that time, we went in for the ultrasound nearly two weeks later in the pregnancy than we did this time. So even though we got to see the heartbeat this time, we're not even as far along as we got last time (which is why we're going in for another ultrasound in a couple of weeks). Of course, I recognize that assuming all goes well over the next month, we still might not have a successful pregnancy, so I don't know when I'm going to start relaxing and believing that it'll really happen this time. Given that we're still only about midway through the first trimester, it'll probably be a while still. Yesterday, the doctor put the odds of miscarriage at this point at under 10 percent, and if all is well at the next examination, those odds will decrease to roughly 3 percent.

As for how Kathy's doing, she's experiencing various symptoms of pregnancy, most notably forgetfulness. Many have said that all the blood rushes away from the head down to the womb, and that seems consistent with our observations. She's also tired a lot, and lately has been extremely clumsy. Plus, either her allergies are acting up or she has a cold, but either way, she misses being able to take something. Underneath all those symptoms, however, is a happy woman, taking it one day at a time.