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June 01, 2004

It was a dark and stormy weekend

Rain. Blah!

Once Friday evening rolled past the rain never stopped here in the land of lakes. I cut the yard Friday night and was glad I did. It’s already grown a couple of inches since.

Fabulous Babe is pretty miserable. She’s got 28 days to go and is more than ready to serve the eviction notice. Junior keeps throwing a house party in her stomach at night so sleep is a rare and precious thing.

Things are so bad that both Friday and Saturday night she abandoned our bed and sought solace in the spare bedroom. This left me with two cats that reveled in the now unoccupied space. Tosca was worried however and slept outside FB’s door.

We watched a lot of movies over the weekend. All of them were pretty fair entertainment for their category. (Big Fish, Mooseport, In America and Old School.) I lost track of how many war movies I caught glimpses of. Some are overplayed but there were a few gems that you don’t see all that often.

On Sunday FB went out with Mrs. Lost Control. She came back with two little outfits for Junior to wear home from the hospital. One is pink and one is blue so all the bases are covered. With 4 weeks to go she refuses to know what the baby is.

The bigger news from the weekend is that the Racetrack neighbors are in “Condition Imminent” at the moment. Mrs. Racetrack’s doctor told her that she is ready to pop at any moment so the two of them are a little tense. The bag is packed so beyond stocking towels in the car there really isn’t much more they can do.

28 days. 4 weeks. It seems like forever but will pass faster than either of us can imagine.

Posted by Jim at 01:20 AM

June 03, 2004

Say a prayer or two...

I got a call from Mr. Racetrack a little while ago. As I type this the Racetracks are on their way to becoming parents. I'm sleeping with a cell phone next to our bed tonight.

I suppose this means they won.


Posted by Jim at 11:29 PM

June 04, 2004

Racetrack update

Got a call this morning from Mr. Racetrack. All things are well. Nothing to report yet but he said he would call when he gets a chance.

He did point out that the epidural worked like a light switch.

I fed their dogs this morning and let them out to play in the yard. I also hoisted out all of their garbage to curbside. No one deserves to come home with a new baby to find stinky garbage.

Posted by Jim at 08:32 AM


We live in a fairly quiet residential neighborhood.

The majority of my neighbors are industrious and hard working. In some ways the neighborhood seems like it has been populated from central casting: We have the family with 4 great kids next door, the mom from down the street that works at the post office, a couple of stay at home moms whose husbands work long hours and a more than a few of other suburban stereotypes and cliché’s. All in all 99.99% fantastic neighbors.

Then there are our Other Neighbors

A few weeks ago Fabulous Babe got a phone call from The Mother. She stated that the equivalent of MN child protective social services had paid them a visit. The Mother then went through the laundry list of complaints that were cited. She admitted that they were all true and that they were now under some sort of double secret probation. Rounding 3rd and headed for home she then wanted to know if we had been the ones to report them.

After staring at the phone in disbelief, Fabulous Babe pointed out that a.) I had been out of town when this was supposedly reported and b.) That with her work schedule of 60+ hours a week and being pregnant she didn’t have enough time to worry about our problems let alone anyone else’s problems. She also pointed out that some of the complaints would have required one of us to actually be inside of their home which neither of us had in over a year and a half. (Logic lost completely on The Mother at the time.)

Since that night The Mother has grilled everyone in the neighborhood whose phone number she had. When no one confessed the Other Neighbors latched on to the ridiculous notion that it was the Racetracks.

The Racetracks are a couple who a.) have formidable work schedules like ours, b.) haven't ever been in the Other Neighbors house to witness some of what was reported and c.) are the most easy going "live and let live" people I currently know. It's that last bit that clinched their persecution since it's always the nicest and most reasonable of people that end up on the short end of these sorts of things.

Mr. Racetrack came home a week or so ago to find a notice from the police on a complaint of excessive dog poop in their backyard. When the cops came back they searched for over an hour, found no poop, and were scratching their heads. When they asked a few questions and heard about what had happened with Child Protective Services the police figured out instantly that petty neighbor politics were at play. The police apologized for wasting the Racetrack's time and left. (Essentially vowing not to return.)

I heard this morning that The Mother was taking credit for calling the poop complaint in on the Racetracks. That's right gentle reader, on the most joyous day of the Racetrack's lives The Mother was gloating over being the "genius" responsible for trying to get them in trouble with a false police report on dog poop.

I wonder if The Mother realizes that if that if CPS investigators begin asking the neighbors questions that by law we're all going to be forced to provide only one thing: The truth.

Posted by Jim at 08:42 AM

The Racetracks are parents!

Woo hoo!

Mrs. Racetrack gave birth this morning to Catherine Alice. (I probably just spelled that wrong.) Mother and daughter are doing well.

Mr. Racetrack was very excited when I spoke to him briefly. He sounds like a very proud father.

Posted by Jim at 01:55 PM

June 08, 2004

Going Down.

Fabulous Babe came home yesterday with some news: the baby dropped a bit during the day.

Visually there seems to be a difference of about 2 inches between the height of FB's stomach from the day before. FB also didn't consume her usual 12 TUMS during the course of the day which means that some of the pressure must be off of her stomach.

We'll see what the next few days bring. I keep bugging her to pack her bag but no such luck yet. It may be that like the Racetrack neighbors we see an early arrival instead of a late one.

Posted by Jim at 01:23 AM

World meet Kate. Kate meet the world.

FB spotted the Racetracks taking Kate for a stroller ride last night and Mrs. Racetrack is well on her way to recovering. She's walking which is a good sign.

I stopped by later to drop off our video camera. (Thinking they might want to film a few things.) Mr. Racetrack was still beaming. It's like someone spot welded a huge grin to his face. It's simply awesome to behold.

Posted by Jim at 01:34 AM

Baby Racetrack

Here's the first ever Special Project photo shoot. Our special guest model is Miss Kate Racetrack.

*Important note*

This is our Neighbor's baby, not ours. Fabulous Babe still has a few weeks to go before our blessed event. I'm saying this to prevent any additional frantic calls from family members who are annoyed because they think something has happened and we didn't let them know.


I'm now truly fearful of what's going to happen when I post pictures of the nursery wallpaper frogs. "You had a TOAD?"

Anyway here's Kate. She's a cutie.


Baby Kate with pink fuzzy blanket.


In grandma's bling bling covered hands. Oh yeah.


Hanging out and watching the day go by. Mom, I'm HUNGRY!


Bow! Bow before my pink swaddled might puny mortals!

More to come.

Posted by Jim at 08:15 PM

June 11, 2004

60h Anniversary

This past Sunday marked my maternal grandparents wedding anniversary. As it turned out they got married on D-Day.

When they walked out of the church they heard bells ringing all over town and thought someone was doing it for their benefit. They didn't hear about the invasion until the reception. I still chuckle thinking about it.

60 years. *whew* No pressure there.

I'll be 92 on the occasion of our 60th wedding anniversary. (That's assuming that Fabulous Babe doesn't administer a course correction on some of my thinking with a skillet one night.) Junior will be old enough to have theoretically provided me with at least one grandchild to dote on and there might be a possibility of great-grandchildren.

I have no idea what the divorce rate is with married couples in the US these days. I also have no idea what the average age of people getting married is. (Be interested to see what the breakdown is per state and as a national whole.) I do have a couple of theories.

I think people are becoming more particular about who they end up with. FB and I both had our share of learning experiences. (I'm using "learning experiences" instead of the more appropriate "horrid dates with people we would just as soon forget.") We both know people who married early and divorced early which drove our desire to find someone that wasn’t a half measure.

I always chalk it up to the point that finding someone who loves you, shares your interests and put up with your faults after 28 is someone you should immediately marry. I also recommend tying them down and lashing them to the couch until you get the "Yes" out of them.

That isn’t an endorsement for “settling” on someone. That’s madness. That leads to comments at parties like “Yes, I know, but I’m working on him” which implies he’s like a piece of broken pottery or a chair that needs to be leveled. Perhaps even more despicable is the unappreciative “My wife is ok” which is a compliment that would sound more appropriate about a slightly warm Pop Tart. If you hear things like that then realize the other person has reduced their spouse to the level of that ratty blanket you throw over you to watch television: comfortable but better hidden from view when company comes.

I can remember my grandparents arguing. (After the first 40 years they knew exactly which buttons to press.) I never saw them belittle each other and I think that is a key difference. They never lost respect for one another.

Take the time to tip your hats to my grandparents. They fell in love, married, raised my mom and aunt, ended up raising me and have stayed together through feast and famine for 60 years. Great stuff.

Posted by Jim at 01:41 AM

June 14, 2004

Sunny Saturday

The weekend was a chance to for all of us to catch up on things that needed to be done, that had been put off for the more immediate needs or hung to the side in the face of more daunting tasks. With the sun out we finally got a chance to catch up.

I got moving before Fabulous Babe and announced that I was headed out for errands. FB and the cats gave me the high sign, a yawn, and I hit the road.

First stop was the bank to cash in my loose change from the collection cup in my truck to fund the activity to follow. Alas my hoarded booty was a minimal $14.78 but it was a start.

Leaving the bank I headed towards the car wash. I needed to give the Baby Car a good scrubbing to ditch some of the dust from the last few weeks and finally had the time. A block away from the car wash I saw a sign for high school kids having a car wash fund raiser. I pulled in and almost instantly regretted it.

Let’s be clear: they did a fair job and the car looked pretty nice when they were done. (Next weekend I’ll do it right.) The problem is that the group raising the funds was the local high school girls soccer team who were maximizing there tans while doing the work. The sight of so many teenage girls in bikinis scrubbing my car was disturbing. I ended up walking to the side and talking to one of the dads that was there rather than see how the girls were doing. I ended up muttering thanks, dropping $5 in the bucket and leaving a shade of red as bright as my car.

Next up was the train store. I hadn’t been since January but nothing had really changed. The regulars were there and asked about FB. I bought a magazine and a book but the real payoff was the drive: Almost 90 minutes of gorgeous sunshine with the top down. Alas I also gave myself a good sunburn.

I got home and puttered for a while with some more errands. Eventually the temperature dropped and I mowed the lawn. Ah the seamy side of suburban domesticity.

We decided to visit the local “Strawberry Festival” on Saturday. This turned out to be nothing but an unending array of booths representing Chiropractic services and women with home businesses a la Southern Living and Pampered Chef. On the way in we had seen a truck advertising “Tasteful Treasures” which is the line of adult novelties. (Battery powered and then some.) FB had been to one of the parties last year and was appalled / amazed at the selection. (She said the hostess was also more than a little enthusiastic which was a bit creepy.) I joked about what they might display but alas a booth was no where to be seen.

We had the Racetracks over for dinner. FB thought a nice meal with no effort would be helpful. Kate is as cute as a button and didn’t make a peep during dinner. If only we could be that lucky in a few weeks.

Posted by Jim at 02:02 AM

I choose to disagree

Saturday Fabulous Babe was getting dressed and started to lament, swear and malign the current size of her waistline. Feeling bad I offered her my support:

"Honey to me you are still the New Hotness."

She shot me a look that would have curdled milk and responded.

"No. No I'm not. I'm the New Huge-ness."

Baffled on how to respond I just walked over and gave her a hug.

Posted by Jim at 11:25 PM

Sunday Sunshine Spectacular

Sunday saw spectacular weather finally pay us a visit. Needing a change of pace and a road trip Fabulous Babe demanded we hit the road in Baby Car.

We cruised over to pay a visit in Minneapolis to FB’s co-worker Wonder Woman. She and her husband had just gotten back from eating brunch and we got a chance to see their wonderful home. It was built in 1925 and looks stunning. They’ve done a lot of work to bring out the splendor that was concealed behind 70+ years of “improvements”.

After visiting for a while we headed for lunch. We tried our luck at a restaurant in Uptown called the French Meadow. It's a restaurant that would fit well in Seattle. It's typical of the genre: very "natural" and "environmentally friendly" while still being a overpriced. Our food was ok but everything came with extra lettuce greens to make the portions seem larger. I had scrambled eggs with salmon which was ok but nothing to write home about. (They added leafy greens to the eggs which was a little odd.) FB thought her salad was fair.

Hindsight being 20/20 I know now I was in for a curve when the woman that took my order noticed my In-N-Out T-shirt and remarked that she LOVED In-N-Out french fries. I said that I really liked the fries too but loved the hamburgers. This got me a sneer and an icy “I wouldn’t know. I don’t eat meat!” *sigh*

We left the “Glorious Workers Paradise Food Collective” and headed over to visit with Mr. and Mrs. Lost Control. They had celebrated their anniversary the night before and the Mrs. was trying to live down the 2 glass of wine fueled celebration from the night before. Otherwise all was well. They had spread 25 yards of mulch the day before and were taking an entitled rest.

When we got home we had been gone for 7 hours. Fabulous Babe was pretty pleased and all was right with the world.

Posted by Jim at 11:51 PM

June 15, 2004

Breastfeeding 101

Tonight was our last class: Breastfeeding 101.

For a couple of months I had thought that this was the class that I wouldn’t have to attend. Instead I thought that my longtime friend, Clarence Bear, would join Fabulous Babe as a stand in for Junior. Fabulous Babe helped me correct this flawed thinking and at 7:00 we found ourselves sitting in class.

The woman teaching the class was very earnest and the material was familiar. (If you have enough of these books laying around the house you start picking up things just by association.) She walked us through a lot of different scenarios and situations and did her best to answer questions. She offered a variety of facts and statistics that seemed a little odd but I think I know why.

One of the more interesting subjects was the subject of lactation consultants. In the videos tonight they’re matronly looking women who were disturbingly forceful. (“The baby will latch on…. NOW!”)

All I could think about was a hard boiled, down on his luck, double breasted suit wearing private detective who free lanced on the side as a lactation consultant. Like a Mike Hammer novel the lines started to write themselves:

“She walked into my office with dryness and cracking that made every step hot painful agony.”
“She was a beautiful woman with a problem. A problem with Collostrum.”
“Her eyes said “Yes” but her poorly fitted nursing bra said “No.”
“She stood before me with a Medela Pump In Style and I knew she meant business.”

Alas no woman would probably ever entertain the idea of being assisted with their nursing by someone who was good with a .45 and wanted his whisky raw and smoky, like his dames. Don’t worry. Cliff Hobarth, Private Dick and Lactation Consultant is probably not going to be a movie of the week.

Several of the women had brought stuffed bears with them for the practical exercises. Fabulous Babe had brought Clarence but also the Boppy Pillow to practice with. Unfortunately her current size wouldn’t allow full use of the Boppy Pillow. It wouldn’t fit around her which gave us both a giggle.

I’m pretty sure that our instructor was a La Leche acolyte. Less harmful than Jim Jones followers La Leche believers come in varying degrees of faith. At the extreme end are those who believe that you should breastfeed a child until they reach an age that the benefits of mother’s milk are no longer necessary. From what I can piece together this cut off age is around 34. (Give or take.) Lesser La Leche-ians back off of that age by a few years. (Must want them out of the house earlier.) It depends on how devout a follower they are.

Fabulous Babe has a rule that sounds fine by me: Old enough to ask for it by name you’re cut off. We heard a story the other day from our neighbors about going to a party where a 4 to 5 year old came into the room and started nursing. It was a Kodak moment just to capture the expressions of everyone else in the room.

I support my wife in whatever she wants to do. That doesn’t mean I don’t have limits or that I don’t find some of these things weird. (Do you really know a 9 year old that still breast feeds.) I still think its ok to use a bottle with a child without them growing up to be a psychopath.

After class Fabulous Babe wanted Ice Cream so we hit the DQ. Even with the Turtle Sundae she had to start off the night sleeping on the couch.

My poor honey boo.

Posted by Jim at 12:16 AM

June 16, 2004

Nursery pictures

Fabulous Babe has been wanting me to share pictures of the nursery with everyone so I got the camera out and tried to oblige.

Frequent visitors may remember the great "Monkey vs. Frogs" debate that tore our house asunder. Allow me to present an ambassadors of the victors:


Cute little devils aren't they? (I'll admit it. They've grown on me.)

More proof we're having a baby:


Why else would we own a bassinet? (Even we don't spoil our cats that much.)

You can also spot the baby swing with the... Ready for it?.... REMOTE! That's right. Now you don't have to get up, walk over and start the motion again. Just hit the button from your spot on the couch and rock away. I'm still need to find the time to figure out if I can program it into the universal remote.

The dresser is new as well. Part of the dreadfully expensive trip to Babys R Us that one day. I still twitch in horror thinking about it.


This is the window side of the room. The rocker and stool were gifts from Fabulous Babe's parents. The cats tried them out before I hauled them upstairs.

Let me again emphasize that the picture of the frog above is NOT a picture of our baby. We still have not had it yet.

I did snap another picture that I thought I might share.


I took this to emphasize that despite what she may believe FB is NOT as big as a rhymes with mouse.

So let me officially announce the FB Belly Photoshop contest. Feel free to use the above picture as a start. Just email me your handiwork. Entries that produce a good giggle or two will get posted or cause me to get hit by my wife. Great entries will result in both of the above. I look forward to your creativity.

Posted by Jim at 09:03 PM

June 17, 2004

Howdy Ladies, glad to have you stop by.

I checked the server log a while ago and noticed that I had about a 10,000% increase in traffic this morning. I start scratching my head trying to figure out what is going on.

Turns out that Fabulous Babe posted a link on the pregnancy message board she frequents.

Since you're having a look around don't be bashful, leave some comments. Tell FB what you think of the nursery. Kick the tires and tell the management what you think of the place.

Even if you just dart in, peek around, and leave as quiet as a mouse I just wanted to say thanks for stopping by.



Posted by Jim at 01:12 PM

Our visit to the Doctor...

We had our weekly visit with Doctor Molotov today.

Progress? Zero. Zip. Nada. We have a non-compliant uterus. In fact for a brief moment it seemed that we were headed in reverse. (Don't ask. It involves plumbing.)

Doctor Molotov has another redheaded patient who closely resembles Fabulous Babe that is due a day earlier than we are. She's betting that she will be inducing in stereo. Ugh.

Worst case scenario we're looking at July. Nothing beyond week 42 is what Doctor Molotov has promised but that doesn't make FB feel any better.

Posted by Jim at 11:44 PM

June 21, 2004


We’re living the military axiom of hurry up and wait at this point. We have everything you need for a baby but still have no baby. With each day that passes Fabulous Babe is uncomfortable, tired and ready to be rid of the extra weight.

Junior continues to seek freedom from the confines of Fabulous Babe’s uterine Bastille. Hands and feet push outward to no avail. FB will lie in bed at night and we’ll watch as Junior squirms and wiggles and distorts her stomach in a bid for freedom.

FB is spending a lot of her spare time sleeping. This low key approach has made sure that most of our fun these days is pretty tame. Our big activity yesterday: She slaughtered me at Scrabble last night. Despite some recovery she still skunked me by 50+ points. We usually score pretty close to

FB finally conceded to my point and let me put her hospital bag in her car. We also bought her a set of men’s pajamas to wear about the hospital. I tried to talk her into a smoking jacket a la Hef but no luck.

When things start to happen I might actually ask a proxy to post a few things for me. (Anyone want to volunteer?) Currently we’ll know more after an appointment with Doctor Molotov later this week.

Odds are I’ll be sending some emails here and there when the baby starts to be born. If you want to have “notification” of sorts make sure I have your current email. (I won’t spam you or send 2.5 gig attachments.) This includes everyone so all you mystery lurkers can email me as well. Use the address to the left to make sure I have it. I’ll start forming the mail list tonight.

Posted by Jim at 04:33 AM

"I guess I was sleepy"

I got home from work last night to find Fabulous Babe passed out on the couch. I walked her upstairs and tucked her into the bed so she would be more comfortable then left to run errands and when I came back she was still asleep. She slept for over 2 and a half hours and when she finally came down pontificated:

“I guess I was sleepy.”

"Really?" *rolls eyes*

I forgot to mention that we now have permission from FB’s dad to proceed with having the baby: “I’m through spraying the corn! You can go ahead!” (He’s lobbying for junior to arrive on his birthday.) I can’t tell you how glad we are to have received the final go orders.

FB’s workplace has not shortage of jokes about her condition. At Mammoth Dairy Co-Op of the Midwest there is no end to the wits with a daily good line or two at her expense. Little do they realize that FB will have the last and best laugh of all: 10 weeks of maternity time off. I’m looking forward to seeing how long they can go before they ring her cell phone or send an email. Perhaps I should set up a pool.

The highlight of our night was watching Antiques Roadshow on the television. Like all good closet Roadshow fans we delight in the misery and triumph of the attendees.

Attendee #1: “I’m a serious collector of porcelain. I paid a good price for this when I saw it. We keep it on our dining room table. It’s decorated in such a unique fashion. I’m not 100% sure of what it is. Can you help me?”

Snooty Boston Appraiser: “It’s a 19th century bedpan. It’s worthless and, I might add, filthy.”

Attendee #2: “I bought this table at a garage sale for $15. I thought it looked nice and shiny. My dog fits under it real well.”

Flabbergasted Boston Appraiser: “You have a handmade table from the missing Amber Room of the Czar. These authentication marks prove it and this picture from before the revolution features this table. If you look carefully you can see the bite marks from the princess Anastasia whose dental records I fetched during the break. It’s worth is hard to guess it's worth but I can tell you that after some discreet phone calls the Russian government has authorized me to offer you $18 million dollars for it. I think I shall faint!”

Attendee #2: “I suppose I better buy some coasters.”

Posted by Jim at 10:14 PM

June 22, 2004

This is a test of the Labor Notification System

"I have weird feelings."


"In my stomach."

"Are they labor pains?"

"I don't know. That or gas."

Updates in real time as the day goes by.

Posted by Jim at 09:23 AM

Still just a test...

"Got your message. I still feel weird."

"Is the baby moving around?"


"Water still intact?"

"Yeah. I just feel weird."

"Ok. Hey Hon I forgot to ask you something."


"Who is it on your floor that is trained to deliver a baby?"

Her reply was both obscene and physically impossible. For feeling "weird" she's not too bad off.


(She is SO taking a bath and going for a walk tonight...)

Posted by Jim at 01:51 PM

Alert status reduced. (Condition Yellow)

It's been a quiet and contraction-less evening. After a day of feeling “weird” Fabulous Babe took it easy on the couch for most of the evening. (As befits a woman in her position.)

On the subject of the “weird” feelings we decided to wait a day and see what Doctor Molotov says when we see her tomorrow afternoon. We’ll know where we are after that and, be assured, so will you.

I spent most of the evening cleaning our office which I had let go to heck in a handbag over the last few weeks. I now have a huge stack of books to lug to the basement as a result. I’m also faced with trying to decide what to do with a number of magazines I unearthed. Odds are I’ll chuck more than a few. The best result? Empty floor as far as the eye can see.

In cleaning the office I found a print out of a letter that FB wrote me about 6 weeks after we began dating. I had it saved on an old hard drive and printed it a few months ago. Being the hopeless romantic I read it every once in a while when I find it. (It’s genetic: my grandfather saved the hotel receipt from his wedding night.)

She wrote it on the plane flight for her first face to face interview for the job that would take her to Seattle. That's right. Shortly after we began dating the fates decided a career opportunity would require her to move away from me. Who says love doesn't have challenges.

The reason I mention it is because of a line at the end of it that is really indicative of the relationship that I have with Fabulous Babe. (At 6 weeks it was already a good view into the next 5 years.) I think it is the sentiment that is at the heart of all great relationships:

“As much as I used to hate it, I love that you take care of me and are always there for me.”

FB has been miserable during most of our pregnancy. I’ve tried to do what I can but know that all of this has been a singular struggle. I read that quote to her tonight and told added that I’ll keep trying to take care and be there for her until the day I die.

Seems the least I can do.

Posted by Jim at 10:31 PM

June 23, 2004

Wednesday Morning...

Fabulous Babe is convinced that Junior went down a couple of floors on the elevator last night. FB didn't sleep well last night and the next few days are going to be pretty long for her at work. (Big business conference.)

Yes. Yes she is still working with 6 days to go.

In a vain effort to protect the resale value of her car I suggested she take a towel with her today. It turned out to be good advice because she threw up in our garage. (“Can you get me another towel?”) FB hasn’t caught any breaks since conception and things don’t seem to be getting any better.

When FB wrote me that letter I quoted last night she was on a flight to Seattle. That’s the same flight where she landed in hot water with a stewardess over air rage.

I’m a recovering Sid Meir’s Alpha Centauri addict and at the time FB was mildly interested in the game as well. (It must have been love.) Bored on the flight she began a game and soon was sucked in by its siren call. Two key factors to the story: she was playing it on the flight while wearing headphones and had a bad run of luck against the insipid “Chairman Yang of the Hive”.

What FB didn’t realize was that her extra spicy complaining was being heard several rows to the front and rear of her. Deep in the game, head down and concentrating on building cities, developing new units and expanding her territory in the face of a massive onslaught by the Hive, FB has a Air Canada stewardess tap her on the shoulder and say:

“Miss, I have to ask you to stop swearing so loudly. Other people are complaining.”

*insert great roars of laughter*

Her big complaint was that the interruption came when she thought she was turning the tide. Red faced and embarrassed she shut the laptop down and opened a book.

More today after our doctor appointment. Wish us luck.

Posted by Jim at 07:37 AM

?I have to space some of my business to the 3rd Quarter.?

After almost 36 hours of “I feel weird” we made it to the doctor appointment. Fabulous Babe was miserable walking through the door after spending 90 minutes in traffic. (Who wouldn’t be?) I try to be supportive but there’s little I can do.

Each of these appointments follows the same program: urine and sometimes blood tests, weigh in, and blood pressure. FB grits her teeth at the weigh in and generally does fine with the rest. It’s become a routine.

After the nurses leave we’re always left in the same manner: I’m seated in a chair and FB is sitting on the exam table wrapped in a sheet. (It’s anything but a toga party.) With all of the “activity” of the last day or two we’re both hoping to have some progress.

In walks Doctor Molotov.

Doctor Molotov was a live wire today. The last few weeks she’s been run down with a cold but today she’s cooking with gas. She’s all smiles and cheer and she’s moving and flitting around like a hummingbird looking for its next meal. She's perky in a "cheerleader on weight loss medicine" sort of way.

She cues right in on our mood and is pleased to hear about the “weird” feelings that FB has been having. She bounces through the room scooping up all the equipment and in no time has FB flat on her back, stomach smeared with gel and we’re listening to Junior’s heartbeat. All's well.

I point out that I’ve noticed a number of hits on the website from one of the medical establishments from the Twin Cities. She chirps, “Oh that might be Dave,” otherwise known as the other Doctor Molotov. Where she’s devoted to tormenting my wife and others in general practice he’s internal medicine / pediatrics. If I try to picture the Family Molotov it just devolves into a vision of a flurry of hummingbirds. (They have three daughters, the first two were twins and then one that followed a little quicker than they expected.)

Doctor Molotov is non-stop with the zingers. “You lost the race. My other redheaded patient your age delivered Sunday!” We groan. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you go longer than the 9th.” More groans. “I had another delivery on Tuesday.” Swell. “The Sunday went fine. She had the epidural and was smiling through the whole C-section.” Great. “Just time this correctly. I just want to have to walk in the door, catch the baby and then I can head back out.” We’ll see what we can do.

I mentioned that FB’s recovery room items will include a Thermos of Merlot. Doctor Molotov didn’t miss a beat: “I prefer Chardonnay but Miller Lite is just fine!” After she said that I began thinking a case of Miller Lite may have figured into that 3rd kid.

We get to the more tedious part of the exam that will yield all of the progress so far.

*detail censored*

Nothing! Zip! Some “softening” but no dialation and certainly no other progress of any kind. 36 hours of “weird” feelings have produced no measurable progress.

At this point we’re now visibly frustrated and annoyed. Chuckling Doctor Molotov remarks, “What? You thought June? I have to think about my financial health. I have to space some of my business to 3rd quarter. It can’t all fall in June.”

That’s our doctor: The moves and style of an Indianapolis 500 pit crew, the tableside nature of Steve Martin and the shrewd fiscal sense of either the Gettys or the Duponts.

“Go home. Go walk. I’ll see you next week. The baby will come when it wants to come. you can't rush it.”

It would be a lot easier to be annoyed with her if she wasn’t so damn perky.

On the way out one of the nurses suggests that to bring on labor we "fool around". "That works every time!"

FB shot her a look that caused her to flinch.

A dejected and exhausted FB headed for home. (I was dispatched to Wendy’s for a baked potato.) It was the final cap off on a long day.

Posted by Jim at 10:12 PM

June 24, 2004

Sleep? Bah!

So at 3:00 last night I wake up and think I hear something. Fuzzy with sleep I wander down the hallway to figure out what it is that I think I am listening to.

When I am awake enough I realize that FB's radio is on. Not the usual "quiet enough for only her to hear" but loud enough for me to hear down the hallway.

I sneak back into our bedroom and as I get back into bed I ask her to turn it down.

"You were making noises when you were asleep! I had the radio on because if I can't sleep you should be awake too."


"If you weren't snoring you were making other noises. Now give me your earplugs and be quiet!"

Dutifully I fumble around for the earplugs I have when I really want to pound out some Z's. I hand them over and then spend the next two hours wide awake trying to ponder what noises I was making and trying to make sure I don't commit the same mistake again.

Posted by Jim at 06:42 AM

June 28, 2004

No news...

I'll release the weekend updates after lunch. Right now it's easy to sum it up:

No progress.

At this point Junior has dropped significantly but there is still no need to head towards the hospital. Fabulous Babe is miserable and is working from home today.

More later.

Posted by Jim at 11:45 AM

June 29, 2004

"Yes, we have no baby!"

Still nothing.

Today is the due date. My guess is we're another week out. *sigh*

I'm developing an ear infection and today has been a feverish, painful, sloshing nightmare. I feel too bad to be funny.

Fabulous Babe on the other hand whipped out this zinger this morning:

"If I have any meetings today they can come to my office."


"That's right. Moses can come to the mountain because the mountain isn't going to Moses."

40 weeks pregnant and she's STILL got it.

Posted by Jim at 02:58 PM

Life Lessons for Junior Vol. 2

The 1980’s were great but they also have a lot to answer for. The insults to fashion alone are worth putting some people up for crimes against humanity. (“I admit it. I’m guilty. I invented the skinny tie.”) Therein our story, a life lesson for Junior, lies.

In 1985 I was a Junior in High School. At the end of the year the choir I was in was going to be singing at the graduation ceremony. This was one of the big events for the high school choir and the director tried his best to bring it off successfully. (Using the power of his comb over no doubt.)

To top off the week my mother was in town visiting. (My birthday was near at hand.) This was one of her impromptu trips and, as usual, had upset the normal routine of my grandparents.

I got home from school the day of the graduation with enough time to shower, eat and change clothes before having to head back over to the stadium. Walking through the front door my grandmother told me that my mom, who was absent, had bought me a suit and that I was supposed to wear it tonight. It waited for me upstairs on my bed.

Puzzled I walked up to have a look.

What then followed was one of the biggest fights I ever had with my Grandmother. The lines were pretty easy to draw: I refused to wear the suit, she insisted that I did. Voices were more than a little heated. It was then presented to me that if I didn’t wear the suit my summer plans would consist of “being grounded”, topped with more “grounded” and sprinkled liberally with “house arrest” for good measure.


Realizing that there were few choices I ate, showered and got dressed in my new clothes. Once we were dressed the ride in our Malibu Classic station wagon was pretty quiet. My mom was meeting us at the stadium.

What I had forgotten was that I would have to walk down the center and down the course of the field to reach the bleachers where the choir was. This meant that as soon as I reached the bottom of the steps everyone would have a very clear view of yours truly. Fortunately my humiliation didn’t have to wait that long. As soon as I got to the top of the stairs it began.

“Look at that!”

I blame the suit on Michael Jackson. Certainly that was where the inspiration lay. It was dark grey and made out of fake leather. (Pleather? Who knows.) The jacket had a number of gold zippers that crossed it at angles and were truly painful to behold in their shiny splendor. There were matching shoes of the same color grey so that my feet would be properly shod as well. The shirt was white with thin aqua pinstripes that were coordinated with one of those enemic, skinny leather ties in the same shade of aqua. Bow before my leather clad splendor! Ugh.

You can laugh now. It's ok. I won't mind.

Needless to say I was bit more progressively attired than rural North Eastern Kentucky was quite ready to bear. Looking back it is riotously funny. I'm not sure what your most embarassing moment is but this is definitely in my top 5.

The teasing quickly began and was merciless. Most of the comments were ruthless in that manner and style that only high school students can achieve. I remember staring straight ahead as I walked down the stairs and across the field. I can also remember watching out of the corner of my eye as one of the non-graduating vocational students attempting to moonwalk only to fall down. It was small comfort at the time.

When I reached the end of the field one of my friends was waiting with my robe shaking her head. When I explained the situation she just laughed knowing that I was damned if I did, damned if I didn’t. That's what true friends are for.

The ceremony was a blur but I can remember how hot I was under the choir robe and how I preyed I wouldn’t pass out. I kept imagining a paramedic opening the robe only to say, “Good lord! He’s passed out from shame!” Mercifully I came to no ill.

After the ceremony was over I wore my robe out. (Duh!) I was forgotten as the graduates dominated the minds of the rest of the attendants. When I got to my grandmother she was pretty quiet. (She later apologized for making me wear it.) My mother was gushing about how I looked but most of what she said went in one ear and out the other. I just wanted to go home.

Junior, I promise I’ll never make you wear something you don’t want to just because I think it’s hip or stylish. That being said I will also try to keep you from wearing anything that might be pretty embarrassing later on in your life. That doesn't mean I won't let you make some mistakes. I'll just try to temper the really bad ones.

The suit still lurks in a closet in Kentucky. Fabulous Babe didn’t believe it existed until I showed it to her. Its awfulness is truly a spectacle to behold. I’ll try to get a picture of it at some point. It’s a pain best shared.


Posted by Jim at 11:35 PM

June 30, 2004

"No I don't want to go for a walk."

In theory Junior should be a day old today but that's not the case. If we don't have any progress the eviction notice is planned for the 7th or 8th. We have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon so we’ll know more tonight.

Fabulous Babe is still going to work. This of course lead to her having to answer the same question 87 times yesterday: “Yes. Yes I am in the office today.” You would think that at this point in their lives people would have learned not to walk into a cave and poke a bear with a stick but that doesn’t appear to be the case.

Keep us in your thoughts.

Posted by Jim at 10:35 AM

Very Interesting...

Fabulous Babe says she has been having steady contractions and feeling crummy since 2:00. The doctors visit in a little bit might be very interesting.

Consider this a yellow alert.

Posted by Jim at 03:53 PM

A big goose egg.

It turns out that Fabulous Babe has a cervix made from stainless steel.

As a result the plan is to induce next Friday. That's the Friday after this one. As in over a week away.


To give you an idea of how bad off we are FB is going to undergo at least 4 "gel" appointments in an effort to soften things up. One Tuesday, one Wednesday and two on Thursday.

We're pretty frustrated.

Posted by Jim at 07:38 PM