Picture time!

Life has been a little crazy here for the last three weeks, but we somehow managed to have a photographer over to our house to take what turned out to be amazing photos of Goose.

So here she is, in all her newborn glory:

And now that she's finally asleep for the next few hours, I'm off to get some winks myself!

-A

P.S. Kudos to Nana for the blanket in the first photo. It's become a staple of warmth!

It went how far?

A good 18 inches.

No, I'm serious, it was at least a foot and a half from baby butt to where it splattered all over the changing table paraphernalia.

Projectile poop is an interesting thing... it was perfectly round, spraying out like a steady stream from a garden hose, and quite lengthy, too. In fact, it was still coming out while it was destroying the baby powder, baby lotion, hand sanitizer, Butt Paste, Desitin, wipes and the stack of diapers we keep on hand.

All in all, it was an amazing display of the raw power inherent in an infant's ability to purge the bowels in a forceful and decisive manner.

Unfortunately, it managed to stain everything it touched, except for the wall. Behr Premium Plus Ultra Interior Flat Enamel: perfect for nurseries. Now I'm off to find a good pre-wash spray thingy.

-A

Being Thankful

Every year, there's a day we set aside to remember and be thankful for all of the blessings in our lives. Every year, I list the same few things: my health, my family and friends, my wife. (Not necessarily in that order.)

This year, while I am still thankful for all of those things, there is only one thing occupying my thoughts.

My baby girl.

This year, the one thing that I am most thankful for is her health. She came into our lives fully cooked and ready to face the outside world, and I just can't stop thanking Gusby for that. I know exactly how blessed and lucky I am, and I try very hard not to take it for granted.

Every fresh diaper that she needs, every little noise she makes to rip me out of what little sleep I'm getting, every strange spot and smell on my shoulder, every time she yells at us that we're just not understanding what she needs this very second, all of it is a beautiful reminder of how fortunate I am.

I hope you all have many blessings for which to be thankful, and I hope that you can stop for just a minute to recognize them.

-A

SHE'S HERE!!

Not a whole lot of time to write, as you might well imagine, but I thought I'd at least post the announcement.

Goose showed up at 11:40pm Sunday night, 7lbs 15oz, 21 and 1/2 inches long, 14 and 3/4 inches head, and a head full of thick, dark hair. We all three came home Tuesday morning at 10:30am.

Mom and baby are both very healthy and happy and just a little bit exhausted.

I'm going to write a real post at some point in the future, but for now, just the basics.

-A

30 Hours

Yep, 30 hours from now, the fun begins.

According to stories, doctors, and gut feelings, Goose should be in my arms in 32-40 hours.

From now.

Less than a full two days.

Barely more than a day.

From right now.

This reminds me of a scene from Date Night where the two main characters are freaking out, and he says to her, "Honey, are you breathing?" To which she replies, "Only in!!"

I feel like a balloon, being pumped full of emotional hydrogen. Hold me up to a lighter, and I'll explode into a small puddle of wet. Don't believe me? 2 H₂(g) + O₂(g) → 2 H₂O(l) + 572 kJ (286 kJ/mol)... and that's straight out of Wikipedia.


-A 

Induction Scheduled

At the doctor's appointment today, it was decided that Goose couldn't remain an inside baby past her due date, and so the induction of labor is scheduled for 7:30am on Sunday, the 21st.

So we're going to be parents to a real outside baby no longer than 6 days from now.

-A

The Final Countdown

It has been an extraordinarily long time coming.

It took us 18 months to knock her up, during which time we had visits with reproductive specialists, two or three different ob/gyns, a s**tload of tests, some drugs, and a lot of frustrated tears.

As of today, my wife is 39 weeks, 1 day into the human gestation process. We've been waiting to meet this little angel for over two years, and now that the doctor says "she's fully cooked in there, just needs a bit more basting," we're more than ready to throw her a welcome party.

We've had a "last hurrah" with my 11 year old, really hunkering down and enjoying the last time it will be just the three of us. We saw Megamind, had a night out on the town, worked all three of our asses off preparing the house, had a snowball fight, and just sat back to chill.

We haven't seen every single friend we have, but the ones we've been able to coordinate schedules with have been. A dinner, a puppy play-date, or whatever else, we've had a "last hurrah" with them, too, since we're soon to be the couple that has an infant.

Our parents and siblings have all gotten together with us, each one recognizing "this could be the last time" before Goose shows up.

Every time I call someone, they answer with bated breath, waiting eagerly for me to tell them we're on the way to the hospital and it's time to activate their part of the plan.

And here we sit, with practically nothing left to do to prepare, waiting with our hands folded neatly in our laps (or flailing about as I pace and exclaim loudly about "I want it now!").

We could have it now, I suppose... our doctor said he would electively induce at 39 weeks... but that feels a little like cheating, so we're not going that route. We're not against it if there's a medical reason for it, but right now there's no reason but our own impatience, and so it's off the table. Patience is a virtue... but I want it now.

-A

Something They Don't Tell You...

Everyone tells you, repeatedly and with great mirth, that having a newborn destroys your sleep schedule. No one ever mentions that you start this grand new adventure thoroughly exhausted.

A dozen years ago, when my ex was pregnant with my little man, I was working the overnight shift at Target. His birth coincided with me switching that job for the one that had me making and baking bagels, again on the overnight shift. By the time that job was over, he was sleeping through the night.

So I have been completely and utterly unprepared for this lack of restful sleep.

No, Goose isn't here yet. No, I'm not overly stressed out. Yes, Goose and stress are responsible for my lack of sleep.

You see, my wife has stopped sleeping well. The gigantic parasite living in her uterus is causing her all sorts of discomfort. She has heartburn and indigestion. She has hip and pelvis pain. She has a huge, heavy lump attached to the front of her body. She can't breathe as well as she used to, due to insufficient lung capacity caused by, you guessed it, a baby sitting on her diaphragm.

All of these factors have destroyed our ability to sleep. She can't get comfortable, so she tosses and turns quite a bit. Thanks to the hip and pelvic pain, that tossing actually hurts, which causes moaning and whimpering. On the rare occasions it doesn't hurt, it's just a physical struggle to roll over and drag the weight of Goose around the bed, the source of the grunting and groaning. When she does manage to find a semi-comfortable position in which to sleep, she snores like a lumberjack for about an hour. Then she has to get up to empty her bladder, which I swear can only hold a teaspoon of liquid at this point, and the whole process starts all over again.

Maybe this is nature's way of making sure we appreciate the semi-regularity of an infant's schedule... maybe this is a way to make sure we're not so shocked by the lack of sleep that we stop procreating altogether.

Maybe this is one of those moments where I have to remind myself that we did this to ourselves on purpose, that we tried for years to make this happen, and that we're just happy to have been blessed with the opportunity to lose sleep for something so special.

And maybe I'm going to go take some Nyquil with a vodka chaser and go back to bed.

-A

Full term? Yikes.

Today is officially 37 weeks, which means that the Goose is officially a full-term baby.

That alone is a little bit daunting, but yesterday we went to one of those creepy 3D/4D ultrasounds, because we're impatient and wanted to see our little girl. All I can really say is that she's beautiful, and it's just slightly less creepy when it is your own child. (But it's still creepy.)

The tech who was performing the ultrasound confirmed a few things for us. First, she's definitely head-down, and pretty low into the birth canal. Which is what the doctor said on Wednesday, but it was nice to see it. Second, he showed us different body parts... here's a shoulder, there's a knee, this is her butt, etc, etc. What that did for us was send our hearts racing into triple digit paces.

Her ass is pressed up against my wife's diaphragm.

Sure, that's a little bit funny to those of us who can still breathe normally, but take another second to think about it... her head is halfway into the birth canal, and her rump is that far up? How freaking big is this child? Is she already 24" from crown to toe?

Combine her size, positional readiness, the doctor saying the cervix is "soft and ripe" (though still not dilated at all), and the fact that my wife thinks she's losing her mucous plug slowly... it all adds up to us being on high alert.

-A

The House Mouse

So there we were last night, watching Scared Shrekless. We were sitting on the couch, minding our own business. Our two dogs were laying near us, on the floor.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot movement on the floor of our living room, so I turn my head and refocus my attention. Well hello there, Jerry, looking for some cheese?

Immediately, I start to get up to prepare for the hunt. As I'm halfway off the couch, my wife shrieks like someone laid a red-hot fire poker on her neck, which scares the crap out of every living thing in the house... including the mouse, which goes darting into a corner.

As I'm racking my brain, torturing it into confessing what item or tool would be most useful for not splattering mouse-guts all over our living room floor, I'm pretty sure that somewhere in the background, there's a flurry of high-pitched demands, commands and pleas for help coming at me. Sorry, babe, I can't hear you. I'm hunting.

A few weeks ago, some friends had a couple mice in their house, and they managed to get them outside effectively. I'll take a page from their book; a bucket, with something flat and inflexible pushed slowly underneath to trap the mouse in a mobile container.

The bucket was easy. I just emptied the garbage from the bathroom garbage can (it needed to be done anyway), turned it upside down and, after moving the Rock Band/Guitar Hero guitar from the corner it was hiding in, dropped it on the mouse. There, mouse immobile. Grabbing a serving plate from the kitchen, I very carefully slid it under the bucket to get the mouse off the floor.

Of course, during the sliding of the plate (which is almost as wide as my wife's eyes, at this point), she starts making some noises that I've somehow let the mouse escape. In fact, she seems very convinced that this little animal, which weighs less than an ounce, has somehow transmogrified into a giant pregnant-lady-eating monster, escaped my bucket trap, and is now coming towards her for a little snack.

Now since this little critter weighs less than an ounce, I can't tell if it's really inside my contraption, so I give it a little up-down, and nod to myself that it's still inside once I hear the little thump of it landing back on the plate. Apparently, however, this little mouse-tossing exercise only serves to solidify her belief that it's going to break free and eat her face.

I carry my prize outside, open it up, and let the little bugger go free. Sure, he was a little shaken up (no pun intended) but he seemed unharmed and happy to be out. So happy, in fact, he made a bee-line for the back of our property, away from the house.

The best part about the whole ordeal, other than my wife reaching octaves only our dogs could hear? Our dogs never saw the thing or even really noticed that something out of the ordinary was going on. Some watchdogs.

-A

The Death of Me

Sunday night, I came to the realization that I'm frightened. Not about becoming a father again. Not even about becoming a full-time parent for the first time. No, what scares the ever-living hell out of me is that anytime between now and early December, I am going to die.

See, as soon as Goose shows up, the me that I am today, the me that I'm particularly fond of, is going to be laid to rest forever. Taking his place is going to be some other me that I haven't met yet. Am I going to like this other me? Is this other me going to continue down the path I've set us on? Is my wife going to like my replacement? Are my children? This new person - who is wearing my body like some less-murderous Thomas Hewitt - is he going to treat my family as well as they deserve?

Sure, signs all point to yes, but no one can say that definitively, especially not me. There's a precedent in our species that states that everyone who brings a child into this world is forever changed. And I know that you know someone specifically that was extraordinarily cool once upon a time, but then they popped out a kid or three and now they're the ultimate douchemonster.

Normally, I'm a big fan of change... but this one scares the !@#* out of me.

-A

Friendly Advice

Everyone has something to say about everything. In fact, I've even mentioned this before.

What I don't understand is how or why some people feel it's appropriate to tell a father, expecting his second child, what kids are like. Especially if they don't even have their own children. I mean, it's one thing to tell me what you went through with your kid... but if you've never been through anything? Please.

I know what kids are like, and I can sum it up for you in a rather succinct way: they're all different.

So don't bother telling me that yours really liked apple sauce at bedtime. Quit pestering me with the fact that your kid had to use some hypo-allergenic soy-based formula from a $94 custom-shaped-like-mommy's nipple. Stop sharing what color their poop was after the first time they had Fruit Loops, even if you freaked out and brought them to the emergency room.

Chances are, my child is only going to share three common traits with your child. She's going to eat. She's going to poop. She's going to sleep, sometimes.

I know you're trying to be helpful. I really do understand that you mean the best. But you don't know my kid any better than I do right now (and you certainly won't after she's born), so please just stop talking. And while you're sucking the advice back into your gaping pie hole, remove your hands from my wife's baby bump. She doesn't like you touching her without permission.

-A

35/35

Last Sunday, the 17th, marked the 35/35 point of my beautiful wife's pregnancy.

She was 35 weeks pregnant, with 35 days left until her due date.

Today, the 20th, I think it finally dawned on me. For over two years, we've been trying for and waiting for this baby. Since the day I finally told my wife, "I'm ready," I've had this logical and intellectual knowledge of how life will change once Goose shows up. I know that I'm going to lose sleep. I know that it's going to be stressful. I know that babies cry. A lot.

I also know that I'm ready for it, and that I'm more than definitely up to the challenge.

Today, the 20th, I think it finally dawned on me. Today was the day that the knowledge of the future reached the depths of my emotional being. Today, I said to myself, "Holy @#&*, what the !@*# were we thinking?! We're not ready to bring a PERSON into this world! Pause!! Hold on a second!"

Thankfully, my little panic attack (accompanied by increased heart-rate, breathing and sweaty palms) only lasted about 30 seconds. I think it's out of my system.

Off to put the trim on her little hoodie, so she can be warm.

-A

Opinions

Everyone has them. Some of them, I even agree with.

Anywhere you look these days, someone is trying to force-feed you their opinion. Whether it is someone in an internet community, a fellow driver on the road, a coworker, or even that billboard, there is always someone out there who is trying to convert you to their way of thinking.

Most recently, and most applicable to my current situation, the prevalent opinions are regarding the validity (and even manliness) of being an At-Home Dad.

I think it goes without saying that there are two camps in this debate; for and against. I also think it goes without saying which camp my wife and I belong to; we're for it.

When we first found out she was pregnant, we began the discussion of whether or not it made sense for me to stay home. We talked about everything. Parenting styles (luckily, she already knew what kind of father I am), fiscal challenges, how we thought it would affect our relationship, how it would affect each of us as individuals. Really, the decision was pretty easy to make.

The detractors of SAHDs seem to be saying pretty much the same thing: it is the responsibility of the man to provide fiscally and butt out of everything else, except take the kids hunting on the weekends. Now, this is a drastic generalization, but it sums up the tens of thousands of words I've read about the issue. (Have I mentioned that I like reading? About anything?)

The opponents say some interesting things, like: it's not manly to be the primary caregiver (or even help out in any but the most basic of ways), and men don't deserve respect unless they're earning a paycheck.

The ignorance and intolerance astounds me. Unfortunately, the vast majority of people against men raising children are also including things like, "God built women for children and men for work." And, "The Bible says the man has to provide for the family." Which just pulls religion into it. I'm not going to get much into that aspect of it other than to say, "If you don't agree with it, don't do it... but don't you dare try to shove your religious mumbo-jumbo down my throat."

The fact of the matter is that I am well aware that everyone on this planet is judgmental. It makes me sad, but the only person I can change is myself (and I try very hard not to be judgmental... and still fail sometimes, because I AM human). I know that people are going to judge me as less of a man. For everything I do: knitting, crocheting, parenting full-time, or any of the myriad other "less manly" things I do.

I also know that while, to some extent, I care what some people think, my truth is this: your opinions aren't going to change me, or cause me to change myself.

So, unless you have something nice to say, don't say anything at all... because if you display ignorance, intolerance, spite or hatred, I'm going to cut you out of my life. I only make room for the positive things.

-A

Time for an Update

It's been over a week since I've blogged, and I promised myself that I would do my best to make this be a weekly thing. So here goes...

The nursery has been finished. All the furniture and semi-permanently mounted decorations have been built and placed. The ceiling fan has been installed and doesn't wobble. The changing area is fully stocked; diapers, wipes, Desitin, powder, lotion, hand sanitizer. All of her clothing in the 0-6 month range has been de-tagged, washed in dye/perfume-free detergent, folded and put in her dresser or closet. Pacifiers, and the only bottle we currently own, have been sanitized and stored away. The "Go" bag, for when my lovely wife goes into labor is as packed as it can be; certain things like her nightgown and iPod are going to be last minute grabs, since they still get daily use.

The "Go" plan has been confirmed and re-confirmed. If our 11 year old is with us when it's time, my parents are on call to come get him and hang out until our newest arrives. If he's not with us, his mother knows to expect my parents to knock on her door (time appropriate, of course) to pick him up and bring him to the hospital. My brother and his wife have a spare key so they can come get our dogs and bring them back to their house. They're planning on bringing a blanket home to the dogs from the hospital, so they can be allowed to learn our newest's smell while getting treats.

I have an appointment next week to have the Fire Department's help with making sure the car seat is installed properly. I'm pretty sure I've got it right, but it only takes 20 minutes so I figure better safe than sorry.

The last eight months have been a frenzied flurry of activity and planning, idea generation and rejection and selection, impatiently awaiting the next big doctor's appointment, or grunt-worthy exertion and effort. Our household has been crazy with getting ready for this addition, and now it feels like it's over.

My wife is just shy of the 34-week mark, which means we could potentially be waiting for another 7 weeks, without much left to do to prepare. All this "spare" time has given me the opportunity to flex my creative brain and stretch my creation muscles. In the past few weeks, I've learned how to crochet and knit... and these are the results.

The first is her Nightmare Before Christmas hat, which we're planning on having her wear in the hospital for her first couple days.

The second is an unfinished hoodie. All that's left is adding the fuzzy white trim around all of the edges, throwing on a couple buttons, and cutting off the extra yarn.

The last is actually the first thing I crocheted. My first attempt at a floppy-eared bunny hat. I have plans to make another, in chocolate brown and micro-fiber pink for the inner ears.

Umm, what?

At my wife's 32 week check-up, I asked the doctor, "If my wife goes into labor early, at what point do you stop stopping it?"

His reply, "Anytime after 34 weeks, we'll let nature take it's course."

Which means that if my wife goes into labor in 11 days, we'll have a child in 11 or 12 days. That's less than two weeks away.

Umm, what?

-A

Kicking it into Overdrive.

From my "research" and personal experience, every parent or parent-to-be undertakes a journey. It is the journey from the state of happy-go-lucky, my-decisions-only-affect-me to the state of what-if-something-happens.

For me, I feel as if I have reached this second state of mind. It isn't that I'm afraid OF my daughter-to-be... I'm afraid FOR her. Recently, I have seen the worst of what can happen to a parent; when the child you've been growing and loving for weeks and months comes very early and only sticks around for a few hours of loving embraces.

Recently, I have felt first-hand the fear that comes with the thought, "Something isn't right." A few nights ago, my wife called me into the bedroom with tears in her voice, telling me that she hadn't felt our baby move in three hours. She had tried everything she could to wake up the angel in her womb. Eating dinner, with a sugary dessert. Her daily allotment of caffeine in a short period of time. A cold drink. Poking. Prodding. Lying on her side in bed in order to focus on and feel the most minute of movements. When I entered the room, I joined her on the bed and began the ritual that had always produced a reaction from our daughter. I gave her Reiki, I put my head on my wife's belly and spoke to her. I poked, prodded and did everything I could to get a little kick.

When none of that worked, when our child was continuously unresponsive, we called Labor and Delivery. After running through the list of our attempts to elicit a reaction, the nurse very quickly told me to bring mother and baby into the hospital, and not to waste any time about it.

That ride, those meager little minutes, was the longest period of waiting that I had ever experienced. Fearing, as I drove faster than normal, that something horrible had happened to our littlest angel. Fearing, as I tried to see the lane lines through blurry eyes, that we would somehow have to cope with loss. She still hadn't kicked.

When we arrived at Labor and Delivery, the 45 seconds of paperwork they wanted us to fill out fueled a barely-containable fit of useless rage. They brought us to a triage room, and hooked my wife up to the fetal monitors. After a few seconds of piano-wire tension, our baby's heartbeat came through loud and clear.

After pulling myself back up from the puddle of relief that I had turned into on the floor of the hospital, I was able to relax and begin to think about how this experience had affected me.

I knew that my mind had traveled to the darkest of places, and that my fear fed upon itself as it said, "What if... what if... what if... what if..." And I knew that as much as I've tried to convince myself otherwise, sometimes fear is the appropriate response.

But as I said a few months ago, "I refuse to let fear drag me through my life; I am in charge." Regardless of it's veracity at the time, this mini-mantra has helped me regain my sanity faster, to push the fear into the background, and to help me know that I will do everything in my power to keep my family safe and healthy.

I just hope that I can keep it in the background long enough to let our baby make the mistakes that she will need to make in order to learn and to grow.

-A

Alien Baby

So for the past few weeks, my wife has repeatedly looked at me with wide eyes and a shocked expression. Inevitably, "She's doing it again. She's being Alien Baby."

Apparently, Alien Baby is doing more than throwing out jabs and front kicks. She's stretching. Imagine the stretchy rubber sheets they used to use in 80s and early 90s music videos, and "B" horror movies. Now press two hands against that sheet and press outwards. Now spread your hands slowly, and plant your face in the space between, while wearing a sh*t-eating grin. Yep, that's my kid making faces on her mom's stomach.

She doesn't do it often, or with any sort of regularity... maybe once a day, or every other day, at least as far as I'm informed... so I've missed the displays. Until tonight.

My wife came home from work, and as we regularly do, we crawled into bed for a half hour of decompression: she tells me about her day, I tell her about mine, we both cuddle/play with the dogs, and I usually rest my hand on her stomach and give her and Alien Baby some Reiki. Today, it was decided by the Powers That Are-Almost that I would be gifted with the experience of feeling these unique and sometimes extraordinarily weird movements.

It was amazing. Truly, epically strange and wonderful, wrapped into one tiny little stretch. Now, this obviously wasn't the first time I've felt her moving and playing (she really likes Reiki), but this was so drastically different from what I've felt that I knew my eyes had opened wide and I put on a shocked expression.

I should get used to this expression, I think, because I'm pretty sure I'm going to be wearing it for a long time.

-A

Community

A few days ago, I joined a baby-related message board, where I'm pretty sure that I'm the only person with male junk. First, I just have to get out a quick "Thank you" for making me feel so welcome in your world.

Earlier this evening, a woman posted that she had to go to the hospital, due to complications with her pregnancy.

The outpouring of unconditional love, support and prayers was one of the most moving commentaries on our society that I have ever seen or even heard of. These women, who can have as little in common as just being the same gender, were in tears for their fellow-in-arms, calling out with passionate vigor that by sheer force of their will alone, everything will be okay.

On a message board that considers 250 views and 20 replies on a single topic to be worthy of being flagged for popularity, this one post managed (in just a few hours) to accumulate well over 1,000 views, and over 100 replies. Every reply was a note of love and support.

As I sat here, refreshing every minute hoping for the "all-clear" update, I watched the community band together under a single cause. These disparate women, from all walks of life, from all over the country, many of whom don't get along, they all stood as one.

It is truly humbling to see. As a man, I can never understand exactly what feelings this situation evokes for a mother, or someone hoping to become a mother, but one doesn't need a gender to know... to see... to feel the unequivocal love that humanity is capable of. This glimpse into the greatest heights of human passion is inspiring.

Truly, I feel blessed to have been welcomed into a community that is capable of this on such a large scale.

TW, my thoughts and prayers are with you.

-A

Am I Alone?

I've been obsessed with the internet lately, much more so than usual.

The topic of this obsession basically boils down to "the last three months before the arrival of a baby, and how this impacts parents." I've read stories about people having their fourth or fifth child. I've read stories about people having their first child. I've read stories written by mothers, fathers, grandparents, aunts and uncles. By at-home parents. By parents at-home who also work full-time from an office in the house. By parents who both work outside of the home.

In that regard, there is a niche that I fit into: at-home father, not working, focusing solely on the upbringing of children. Of course, I don't have a child at home full-time right now (my 11 year old comes home every other weekend), which means that I have significantly more time on my hands. And I've used that time partially as mentioned above.

What makes me feel alone, however, is the complete and utter lack of marrow-deep, gut-wrenching, palpitation-inducing fear that most parents feel around the arrival of their newest family member. Sure, every so often I get hit with a wave of, "Holy crap, this is for real." But it never lasts for long, and I wouldn't put it in the same category as, "Holy !@*#, this is for real!!"

I haven't been able to find the experiences of an about-to-become-a-parent that seems to fit what I'm going through.

I am just incredibly excited. If I didn't know that our bundle of joy wasn't done cooking, I'd be begging the doctors to induce now. I just cannot, cannot wait to meet her. The potential that is gestating nearly blows my mind... she could be a doctor. She could be a president. She could be the first woman to walk on Mars, or explore the depths of the Mariana Trench.

Aside from what she could do with her life, I am extremely eager to just meet her. I want to explore and understand every facet of her personality. I want to learn alongside of her about what she likes and dislikes. I want to discover the methods that work best to calm her down when she's upset. I want to watch her explore this beautiful world, and see through her eyes the newness and magic that is life on this planet. I want to read to her, the books that I loved as a child, that my son loved when he was younger. I want to sing to her, the songs I sang as a child and to my son. I want to dance with her, to practice for that day when she wears white and I'm no longer the most important man in her life, but I still get a special song devoted to me.

I know that I'm not alone with these wants and desires, I know that millions of other parents have felt exactly the same way... but I think I just might be alone in the fact that, while I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that difficulties and stress lie in my future, I await it with bated breath.

-A

Gender Divisions

Since the decision to have me stay at home full-time with our soon-to-exist-in-this-world infant, I've been exploring things that generally seem to be off-limits to people of the gentlemanly persuasion.

For example, laundry. I can do it. Sort the darks, colors, whites, adjust the settings on the washing machine, use the right detergent or spot-treatments, pull out the delicates, etc. I still don't like folding clothes (my wife is much neater about it).

Another thing I've found out: if I know where the cleaning supplies are, I know how to use them. Toilet bowl stuff, Pledge, dishwasher detergent, etc. I may not be as on-the-ball about keeping everything spotless, but I'm getting there.

In the spirit of learning about things which are traditionally viewed as "women's work," I've decided that if I'm going in for a foot, I should go in for a mile. Which means that I've learned how to use our sewing machine. Of course, the first thing I made was for me to wear as part of my Renaissance costume, but when we originally purchased the fabric and pattern for it a year ago, it was with the assumption that my wife would be the one to make it. Of course, after I finished I drew up a pattern for a minimalist belt pouch, cut it out, sewed it up, and loved it.

Next up, I think I'd like to learn to crochet. You see, I really enjoy making things. Even if it's just putting together a bookshelf from IKEA, if I am building something from individual components, I am in my happy place. Putting together the crib, glider, two bookshelves, a dresser, and the stroller kept me in my happy place for nearly a week. So if I can learn more about creating, rather than just building, not only will these little side projects help keep me sane, but I'll also have something unique(ish) to show for my efforts.

I'm positive that there are other "women's" things out there that I might enjoy, now that I'm breaking down as many gender divisions as I can. If you can think of something I'd like, by all means, share it with me! I'm not afraid to get "girly" about it!

-A

An Introduction

Greetings and salutations,

My name is Adam, and I am going to be a SAHD and I'm proud of it! I have been blessed with a beautiful wife who is more than capable of single-handedly supporting the financial aspect of our life together, leaving me with the opportunity to stay home with the child she is currently busy growing (she is 31 weeks pregnant, due November 21st).

Our lives have not always been on such a clear course, however.

My professional life has always been a struggle to wake up, spending the majority of my life at a place I dislike, doing things that I despise, for a paycheck that doesn't truly reflect my value as an individual. This has lead to long bouts of depression and anxiety, as well as unemployment and disappointment. Thankfully, I feel like I have finally found my calling in life: to be a full-time parent.

Since my wife and I jointly made the decision that I would stay home with our littlest addition, I have been happy, productive and generally more fun to be around. Instead of staying up until the wee hours of the morning, and sleeping for as long as possible, I find myself in bed during "regular" hours, waking in the morning, and getting a ton of things accomplished each day. This is a major change from the reluctant, nearly useless husband I was before.

I have always been in love with my wife, and have always been extremely grateful for what I have in my life. The struggle has always been to find my purpose. And while struggling to find it, living with me wasn't easy. I was grumpy, non-communicative, and didn't help out much around the house. Our marriage went through difficult times, times when it seemed like the only possible resolution was dissolution.

We worked through our (my) issues, however, and life turned around. I took control of what I wanted to do, or thought I wanted to do, and my self-esteem came back to a point where I felt valuable again. Some time afterwards, we decided to start our family.

So before you get to thinking that this is a "save-a-marriage" baby (which some people who don't know us have called it), let me reassure you that we saved our marriage long before we chose to bring a child into our lives.

Also in our lives is my son from a previous relationship, who will be 11 and a half years old when our daughter is born. He has been a blessing in every aspect of the word. He has been my rock, my source of strength, that even in my darkest times I have always been able to look to him and say, "This is why I am here. This is why I must keep moving forward." My wife and my son have together provided me with the strength to pull my act together and become the man I am today. A man, that I am proud to say, who is worthy of respect.

There is more to my story, however, as there is to everyone's stories; a life cannot be summed in a few paragraphs. The rest of the story will come out in time, as the relevant pieces get put into the stories of life as a SAHD. The goal of this blog is to share with friends and family about my experiences as a full-time father, the struggles and joys, trials and tribulations, fun and excitement.

I am eager to meet the little person my wife is carrying, and I am excited to share our lives with you.

Thanks for reading,

-A