Category: Marriage

Discussions about marriage in America.

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Dad Blogs Family Fatherhood Life in these United States Marriage

P is for Pregnancy!

image It is neither my intention, or desire, to turn this blog into a 9-month “and today in our pregnancy we did so and so” novella; but, it IS inevitable that when you’re living and breathing it on a daily basis, that things occur to you that you just have to share with the wider world. So today I thought I’d be very topical and bring you the word “PREGNANCY” in all its glory:

P – is for Privacy. Privacy is something I’m about to lose when the new baby comes. See, our guest room, when not acting as a “Guest” room, acts as my own personal man-sanctuary. Here, safely ensconced behind two locked doors, I can do my bid-ness in peace…and pull a Costanza with a library book.

R – is for Recreation. I’m going to have to find a new form of recreation as the boys get older. Currently, my only form of non-gym related recreation is golf. Golf, even at a cheap place around here, costs you $50 by the time you’re done. Multiply that times three (four if the next baby is a boy) and that’s just untenable. Hiking is sounding like a good (read: cheap) alternative.

E – is for Energy. I think it’s very unfair for mother nature to so completely sap a woman’s energy for months prior to having a kid, only to suddenly give it all back to her in the form of “nesting” just before it’s born. I mean, it’s setting a completely unreal precedent! As if, once the baby’s here, you’ll be able to live on estrogen and adrenaline well enough to keep from falling over at every opportunity. Much more believable, would be to keep the mother (and father) awake for the last two months of the pregnancy, and to make them both allergic to showers, fine dining and television.

G – is for Gee. As CareerMom turned to me the other evening, after letting out a heartburn induced burp, “FOR REAL, no more. FOR REAL!” I turned to her and said, “Gee, I’m pretty sure I was pretty F’ing serious last time I said ‘No More’ too!”

N – is for Never. As in “never friggin’ again”

A – is for Answers. Maybe by the time the third one asks me why God made his or her best friend’s skin brown, I’ll have an answer that sounds both intelligent and believable at the same time.

N – is for Nosey. Kids are the nosiest people. Daddy, what do you have in your mouth? Daddy, what are you doing? Daddy, what are you and mommy talking about? Daddy, why are you hiding from me?”

C – Is for consistency. Which is the complete opposite of what you get when you’re pregnant. Last night it was in the low forties outside. We had the heater on and CareerMom had me turn the fan on in our bedroom because of her constantly changing body temp and hot flashes. Are you hungry? Are you nauseaus? Are you tired? Are you coming onto me? Are you crying? It never stops!

Y – is for Youth. Because even in this crazy, crazy world of babies, and not enough time or money, when you’re out at a restaurant, like last night, and your littlest one stands up in a chair with a mouth full of brown, wet OREO that looks like a snuff of Skoal in his lip, and he yells out at the top of his lungs “BYE BYE” while waving to the crowd…you have to just smile. I just hope I remember the good stuff and forget the frustrations.

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Dad Blogs Family Fatherhood Marriage

On pregnancy etiquette

image 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.

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Dad Blogs Family Fatherhood Life in these United States Marriage

Water bottles…check. Snacks…check. Worst case scenario handbook…ah, dangit!

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.

image

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!

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A Boy's Life Dad Blogs Family Life in these United States Marriage

Phy-sychiatrist phriday

image Sorry, I couldn’t find any compelling pictures to support “Picture Phone Phriday” so we’re trying something new today, and probably today only!

But folks, I need your help. We…need your help. See, I have a friend, let’s call her Mary. Mary and I have known each other since 6th grade, when I moved from the relative high-society of Mobile, AL. out to a po-dunk part of town called Semmes, AL. Of course, this meant changing schools and being a 6th grader meant I was the new boy at the bottom of the heap, since the school started at 6th and went up to 8th. As such, I got picked on…a lot. Which might explain my drive to exercise today, but wait! Phy-sychiatrist Phriday isn’t about me!

Anyway, Mary and I became sort of unspoken friends, and for a couple of years there, we alternated between liking each other and completely ignoring each other. For some reason though, the stars never aligned and we never hooked up. But we have remained good friends to this day. She is one of the only people from my childhood that I still keep up with, with any kind of regularity. She even lurks around here and on the very rare occasion, will leave a comment.

I hope she doesn’t mind, but she needs our help and I’m going to plug into the P&P brain-trust and see if we can help her out.

Here’s the deal:

Mary is currently single, and has a son nearly the exact same age (and with the same name) as MLI. It was a strange coincidence to be sure. She’s been married once and, let’s just say, it was kinda weird and that we’re glad she got out of it. She’s been dating a guy now for a while. He has kids of his own and from what little I know, his previous marriage wasn’t all that great either.

Mary is a traditional kinda girl. Meaning, she likes a commitment. She wants to be married. She wants the “dream.” Is that so wrong? Well, it apparently is for her current boyfriend, who claims one minute that he doesn’t want to get married again, while another minute saying, “Give it time, when it’s right, we’ll know,” to yet another time telling her that he loves her deeply and needs her and all that good stuff.

Mary is stuck. She really likes the guy (loves even I would say), but she has a son and a life, and dare I say, parents that she doesn’t want to let down. She wants to be married, but at what cost?

So, she recently asked me, “So do you think I’ve fallen for another man who says he loves me but has no intention of every marrying again?”

Now, you can probably guess what I told her, but I’m going to refrain from posting it so that I don’t skew your comments any. But, I pose her question to you. What do you think?