I know that, as a general rule, you should never say NEVER, but at this point in my life, such a thing surely seems highly unlikely.
Why I will never own one of these little hybrid things (I barely got the box of Huggies and the 50-pack of paper towels in my truck yesterday!):
I took this picture:
In this parking lot:
You know how when you buy a car (or you name your child), at the time, you don’t think too many other people have had the same idea. You think you’re fairly unique right? But then, after getting your cherry red Passat (or you name your child “Ethan”) you start seeing your car on the road…a lot.
Well, being pregnant (again) is a lot like that. I’m suddenly very conscientious about the whole pregnancy thing. For instance, I work in a cube farm and people drop by from time to time to ask a question, or to read my whiteboard (cuz it’s witty and informative) or what have you. Generally, I don’t get out of my chair–largely because, to do so, would mean that I would be taking up the bulk of the space in my cube, which would in turn, drive the other person outside of my cube. And that would probably be rude.
So, when…say…that short pregnant lady that I work with comes by, I’m cognizant of the fact that she probably feels as big as a house and so I do my ever-luvin best NOT to look at her belly while I’m sitting belly high in my chair talking to her.
And so it is with the whole, “What are you having?” question.
Yes, I realize we have two boys and so naturally, most people feel that we are just desperate for a girl; but, hold on a second.
We’ve also been so unfortunate, as to have lost two pregnancies, and both at a time when most folks are considered “safe.” This happened prior to each of our boys being born, so in each instance, when we did get pregnant again, we really just wanted a healthy baby.
And so it is now. But I can’t tell you how many people, ALL WOMEN mind you, have said, “Well, maybe this time you’ll have a little girl.”
Well, isn’t that special?
If ever you meet CareerMom while she is pregnant, do not, I repeat DO NOT, say this to her. You want to see her hackles come up? Say that.
I’m not kidding. Zip it. You can think it all you want; just don’t say it.
And granted, random people who barely know us, don’t know any better, but when family says it? Yikes. Just as a general rule, I think this is something you should keep to yourself. Kinda like, “Man your dog is butt-ugly,” or “Dude, seriously…put some pants on over those biker shorts!” because you just never know the circumstances behind the situation.
By the way, we men learned long ago not to say stupid stuff like this. I can’t remember the last time I heard a guy ask a fat woman, “When are you due?” or “Can I touch your belly?”
Uh uh. We aren’t THAT dumb. But apparently, these life lessons just passed other women on by.
And people say we men are insensitive. Tsk tsk tsk.
We caught a break in the weather here this past Sunday, so while CareerMom fretted over how she could surprise her parents that evening with a baby announcement, (the end-result being a platter of “Petite-Fours” glazed with either pink or blue icing) MLI and me decided to go on a little bike ride while MLE was napping (turns out, the moment we left, he decided “no nap!”).
I got out both of our hardly-used bikes and did a quick inspection to make sure everything worked. I mashed the brakes, pumped up the tires, checked the chains, etc. I even put the little cigarette-plug-adapter air compressor in my truck just in case we had a flat between the house and the park.
The park we go to is a 6.2 mile long concrete path. It’s roughly 12 feet across, so there’s plenty of room for rollerbladers, joggers, meandering five-year olds and more. It’s also flat, which is ideal for kiddies still learning how to ride a bike with training wheels. Leaving the snacks in the car, and taking our little water bottles with us, we started out. The weather was beautiful, the crowds were light and we weren’t listening to whiney two-year olds. Life was good.
About two miles into our ride, I spied a couple of deer across a meadow and we stopped to take a look. After oohing and aahing for a bit, we got back on our bikes, but not after my telling MLI, “Now remember, we have to go ALL the way back, so when you start getting a little bit tired, let me know.”
His little Diego bike helmet nodded in acceptance as he pedaled off yelling, “You’re so far behind me!”
Just as I caught up with him though, he slammed on his brakes and jumped off his bike. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“My seat came off.” he said.
Looking at his seat I realized it hadn’t come off, but it had come completely loose and was flopping back and forth like some kinda wet fish struggling to get back in the water.
“Well, can you balance on it and ride it back to the truck?” I asked, because though I had several sized hex wrenches in my little bike bag, what I didn’t have, which his seat required, was an adjustable wrench.
“I’ll try,” he pouted, and with that, he turned his bike around and we started home.
Allow me to pause here and explain the gravity of the situation…if he were unable to ride his bike, I was facing a 2-mile walk back to the truck pushing, more than likely, two bikes, while trying to cajole a flagging five-year old into walking the entire way.
Yep, that’s what happened.
Luckily, there was pudding waiting at the truck.
It could have been worse I suppose. After walking about 3/4 of a mile, the lil’ trooper decided that he would try, once more, to perch precariously on his flip-flopping seat in hopes of eating up the miles. Rather, after getting about 50 feet, his seat suddenly flopped forward and he, and his bike, went sprawling into the only puddle of mud within 1,000 yards.
Hilarity ensued (for me at least…he was wailing!).
The walk-push home was probably the worst. Everyone we passed, or who passed us, gave me the sympathetic “Ah, little one got tired and now you’re pushing his bike for him,” smile. I did actually ask a couple of families if they had a wrench on them, but they didn’t. And each time one of those professionally-attired bikers passes by with scads of fanny packs wrapped around their ageing bellies, I just knew that THEY were prepared for an eventuality such as this. But, they were all moving at 90 miles an hour and couldn’t be bothered.
Luckily, the walk back included numerous more deer sightings, and of course when we did finally make it back, there was pudding. So, it turned out fine in the end. But this was a good lesson learned. I’m going to get myself one of those uber-stylish bicycling fanny packs and I’m going to put my entire shop in it. Next time, I’ll be prepared!
If you’re a fan of the Food Network as I am, you no doubt have seen or heard of Alton Brown. He’s the host of “Good Eats” and the host-guy on the newest iteration of Iron Chef. He’s quirky, he’s funny and he lives not too far from me.
I tell this story to everyone, so if you’ve heard it…skip on down to the bottom.
I met Alton, albeit briefly, in a Publix supermarket near my house about six years ago. I dropped in one wintry morning and as I walked down the dogfood aisle, I turned left and came side-by-side with Alton walking by the dairy section. Even though he was wearing a wool cap and jacket, I immediately recognized him. Not wanting to sound stalkish, but still wanting say SOMETHING, I cooly looked over at him and said, “I made your fruitcake last Christmas. My wife’s grandmother hasn’t stopped talking about how much it reminded her of her mother’s.“
Still walking, Alton looked over at me and said, with apparent sincerity, “Thanks. I’m really glad she liked it.”
“You’re Welcome.” I said. “I really enjoy the show. Take care.”
And with that, I hooked a left towards the bread and chips and that was that.
Random thoughts post-encounter:
So anyway, I’ve lived high on that chance encounter for some years now.
This past Sunday, thanks to the crap-weather here in Atlanta, we took the boys to the mall to let them run off some steam and to just get us out of the house. CareerMom and MLI dropped by Gymboree to see if there were any leftover winter pants on sale since MLI has hit a growth spurt of late and seems to be “high watering” all of the jeans.
Anyway, I’m sitting out on the bench in the middle of the aisle with MLE. We’re tossing the ball in the air, and occasionally at passer-by’s, when who came toodling down the avenue and literally within inches of us, but Altons’ arch-nemesis on Good Eats, the real-life actress-cum-chiropractor “Vickie Eng,” also known on the show as “W.”
The encounter, as it was, was kinda weird. She was literally strolling down the fairway, sort of swinging her arms in a slow, “Does anyone recognize me?”“ kinda way. She walked one way, stopping occasionally at vendor’s booths to chat, and then came back by me again in a similar fashion. I was so struck by the oddness of her manner, that I couldn’t work up the gumption to say anything to her.
So now, at least, I have another chapter to add to my “The Two Quasi-TV Stars I’ve Met” book. I know…riveting stuff right?
Postulates & Pastimes 