Saturday, January 08, 2005

Baby Care 101

OK, talk about a funny day. Notwithstanding the night of NO sleep because Derek was snuggled up to me like a damn sherpa, causing my body temperature to hit about a million degrees, the highlight of my day, by far, was the Lamaze baby care class that we found ourselves in this morning.

I'm no expert, but I have changed a few diapers in my day. Mom said that this class would be good for Ethan's father. To get Mr. Overeducated/Overachiever there, I did have to tell him that this was the first class in a postgraduate degree program and there would be tests.

We showed up 5 minutes late, because I am really trying to drive Derek crazy. Little payback for the 2 1/2 hours of insomnia last night. And let me tell you, there was just about one of every kind there today. The guy, easily 10 years older than his wife, holding the baby doll upside down by the leg as he was trying to swaddle. The lesbian partners, keeping the instructor on her "partner" toes rather than her "dad" toes. And, my personal favorite, the Mr. and Mrs. Attorney, complete with matching yellow legal pads.

"So, exactly when should my baby be crawling?" I watched them take 12 pages of notes between them. Right down to the five things to look for when your baby is crying.

"I missed the third one, could you repeat it?"

"Check to see if the baby is wet."

OK, I'm not saying this is all intuitive, but give me a break. I'm smelling dual Yale grads and I'm thinking this kid will be in therapy by age three and it won't be a particularly productive therapy. Every time she asked a question about where her child should be in relation to other children, I kicked Derek under the conference table. You can only hope that the two of them will pop out a child that is an artist or musician. Something that will drive the Type A's to drink.

Genetically speaking, I think Ethan has a good chance at being at the higher end of the bell curve, but I have no intention of choosing his prep school today. He'll crawl when he wants to crawl (most likely when he decides that he has to get away from Zinni). And we'll figure it out. That's what it is all about, right?

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Brewing Beer

Years of education and for some reason I have it in my head now that I should brew beer in the basement and sell it to the overpaid and overprivileged in NoVA and NW DC. I spent the day at my government job surfing the net for brewing supplies. My husband, always having to show me up, sent me an email with 10 links to places that sell the heavy duty equipment. I was sending him links to an aluminum pot that brews 20 gallons and he was forwarding the 465 gallon sets.

Do I think too small? Or perhaps it was the $205 price tag versus the $41,000 price tag?

I shared the good news of my new career path with my mother, my favorite teetotaler. Her pause was pronounced. I realized then that perhaps this was not in her dreams for her little girl. But this scheme is foolproof. It's not like I'm looking to just turn a buck. This is an untapped market. A veritable goldmine.

I think I have lost what is left of my mind.

Sunday, January 02, 2005

Finding Jesus in Hallmark, the New Year and the void of Fantasy Football

First and foremost...what the hell is up with Christmas? Or should I say X-Mas, if I choose to be more accurate. Several weeks ago I dragged Derek to Target (beyond his "there-is-no-way-in-hell-you-are-getting-me-into-a-retail-establishment" cutoff date for Christmas.

"Come on. I'm just going to run in and look for Christmas cards. We'll be in and out of there in no time."

No verbal response, but his look suggests that my bold-faced lies will be greatly punished.

We head straight to the back of the store, but he is too frightened to go down the aisle. Filled with women perusing the 7 shelves, each packed with 30 feet of card boxes.

"What the fuck? Would it kill Target to sell cards with the baby Jesus on them?"

Derek is extremely disturbed at the end of the aisle. Probably more to do with the fact that there are now 20 women in the aisle rather than the flagrant faux pax of using the F-word and baby Jesus in the same sentence. Either way, I find two boxes of extremely cheesy cards in the middle of the bottom shelf that will JUST NOT DO.

"That's it, we're leaving." With his relief actually palpable in the air around me, I waddled out of Target in dispair. What do you expect from a place that denied the Salvation Army bell ringers to do their good deeds out front?

Four stores later, I found myself in Hallmark. There he was, on the bottom row, in all his splendor. I had six baby Jesus cards to choose from. What is the world coming to?

New Year's Eve 2004

Kristen--too pregnant to cook, but cooking anyway
Derek--doing ALL the heavy lifting, never a complaint to be heard (what have I ever done to deserve him???)
Jennifer/Greg--soon to be newest Feebie and her soon to be husband
Cath --attorney extraordinare
Carl--my entertainment/steadfast friend
Matt--soon to be divorcee that spent the evening flirting with the attorney
Zinni--busted for eating below-mentioned asparagus from the trash can

Spinach Artichoke Dip
Baby Greens Salad with goat cheese
Escargot a la Bourguignonne
Homemade Fettuccini with Butternut Squash, sage and prosciutto
Steak au poivre, Pomme frites and Asparagus with Orange Hollandaise Sauce
Black and White Creme Brulee

Whatever will we do with our weekends without Fantasy Football?

Here's the problem. It's over. All the stat-tracking, endless researching and smack-talking with the attorneys in the pool has come to a grinding halt. Derek got 3rd place. Not bad for a boy that cannot be bothered with football anyway. But we lived for it. Jamal Lewis's injury status? Will Portis finally play? What if Bulger has a better game than Brees, but he is on the bench? All our endless nights of hitting refresh on the laptop, staying up way past bedtime to see if Monday night football would send us over the edge into the winner's circle. Of course my contribution was nay-saying and bets that playing one felon over another would be a better choice. My husband both tolerated and humored me. Occasionally he would let me send off smart ass emails. I'm sure received on the other end by recipients that were shocked to hear such confrontation from mild-mannered Derek.

Now what will we do? Maybe we should clean the house or just stop pretending that it is 7 years and not 7 weeks until Baby E joins our happy little family.