Unicorns: Only for Girls

[February 22-23, 2010]

Like the wedding industry, the baby stuff empire is a total racket. There is so much ridiculous crap out there that nobody needs. Baby wipe warmers? COME ON! And another thing, the genderizing of babies is infuriating. Colors, toys, and even animals have already been violently divided into what's for boy babies and what's for girls. Boys can't have cats. They have to have dogs. Cats are for girl babies. A baby girl's room CANNOT be decorated with anything having to do with transportation like planes, trains or automobiles. Girls don't like transportation, I guess. It's so stupid. I asked Carey what about unicorns? She laughed in my face. "Are you serious? Unicorns are only for girls!" I disagreed. You are telling me that ALL unicorns are ONLY for girls? On our way to a baby shower we carpooled with Toby and Bex. Carey couldn't wait to ask them their take on the issue. Sure enough, they both sided with unicorns are for girls. Toby pointed out that though they were for girls, there still were boy and girl unicorns not to mention the gay ones. But Carey didn't stop there. She interviewed every single person she came in contact with at the shower to prove her point. "Unicorns are associated with princesses and rainbows and magical fairy tales," she explained with Rush Limbaugh smugness. I don't know. A unicorn by itself seems pretty gender neutral to me. I think I'll buy Judah a unicorn right now off the Internet. Stand by...

While I'm waiting for Judah's new toy to arrive (see picture below) I thought I'd mention a few new developments. First off the baby is kicking now quite a bit. It only started in the last week. I guess it feels like a little flutter or something. , Carey is very happy whenever it occurs because it assures her that the baby is still alive. Sunday morning she shouted from the upstairs bedroom, "Bring me some orange juice!" As the dutiful husband/pop-to-be I brought her a small glass. She wanted to rile up the baby so I could feel a kick. She downed the juice, placed my two hands at the ideal spot but nothing happened. She tried going to the bathroom to wake him up. Afterward she laid down and he did kick. That is, until I got there waiting to feel. "That evasive little shit!" she said. But now that she's become accustomed to feeling kicks all the time when nothing happens she works herself into a panic. Even the consulting nurse didn't make her feel any better. She made an appointment with the clinic. Before visiting the doctor she asked me if I thought she was crazy. Of course I answered in the affirmative. I told her they'd say just what I've been saying (baby's only kick some of the time and that no kicking did not equal dead), but that she wouldn't be able to calm herself down unless she hears it from a medical professional. After the visit she texted me with poor spelling, "Worry was for nothing (smiley face emoticon) hes afine little boy." The other new thing is Carey has started to have severe back pain. It's one of two things: the baby is probably just sitting on a nerve or it's just typical for all the new added weight of the pregnancy. Her body has to compensate for those gargantuan breasts alone not to mention the cute little protruding belly that is really starting to grow. But it is still a bummer. Her job is so physical. Now when she gets home she has to lay down and put her feet up. Carey feels bad that I have to do everything now, wait on her hand and foot. I told her that she should continue to feel bad as it makes what I'm doing all the more admirable.

Between all this baby kicking and never-ending back pain I was able to slip in a love-making session. One time at least. I can't wait for the alleged spike in libido that's supposed to come to the pregnant lady later on. My big brother, Wayne, informed me that the third trimester horniness does not happen to everybody. That it's kind of a myth. Obviously I'm hoping it happens to Carey. Between puffs off his cigar my brother quipped, "You need to keep your little 30-something boner in check."

Oh boy

(February 18, 2010)



Well...it's a boy. When the ultra sound tech gave us the news I'm afraid I wasn't able to hide my devastation. This was exacerbated by having Sam and Mary Kay (Carey's parents) in the room. Not that they did anything in particular, I just couldn't be honest. Also, his thing was barely visible. Not like his cousin Silas'. The other day my sister Wendy emailed us the ultra sound showing no doubts about what sex Silas was. It literally looked like a third leg! I hope this is just a late-bloomer situation... Anyway, Carey finally had to explain to her parents that I had really wanted a girl. I was in a gloom. When the parents left the room so Carey could dress, I let slip that I didn't feel like I had a clue on how to father a son. Having a daughter seems more natural to me for some reason. My whole life I've been part of the girl-crazy club. Fascinated by this mysterious sex. I guess I've always felt a little uncomfortable around males. Most of them anyway. Not the gays, though. I feel fine around them. I'll have to further investigate this issue...

On the way to lunch afterward Carey's mom called her sister (the one who predicted a boy by the threaded needle test) to share the good news. I texted my sister and she called back half a second later. She just happened to be at my parent's house so I got to tell them as well. They were actually ecstatic. I thought they'd be bored by now this being grandkid number four and all. We weren't sure if we were going to announce the name now that we had the sex. All of a sudden Carey had cold feet about our name choice. This was a surprise to me. I thought we were decided. We ended up telling her parents. Mary Kay had never heard of it before. Judah. Sam was familiar, it being a Hebrew character from the Old Testament and all. Judah was the 4th son of Jacob. The tribe of Judah. Lion of Judah. But this isn't where or why we chose the name. Carey and I just both thought it sounded cool. Rock and roll. And fairly unique. I mean there's Judah Ben-Hur, but most people don't remember the Judah part from the Charlton Heston movie. There's Judah Freidlander the scruffy, freaky guy from 30 Rock, but again, most people aren't interested in TV side character actor's real names. The fact that it is uncommon has a great appeal to us too. Judah Samuel Wagler sounds mighty Jewish. Judah is a strong sounding word, though. Plus, I can go, "Who da man? Judah man!" I ended up calling my parents back and telling them. Of course my dad loved the name because of the Biblical reference. I knew he would. Judah means "praised one". Still, I really had my heart set on a girl.

My disappointment over the last few days eventually began to worry Carey. It was just that people were totally saying the wrong things. Like Carey's parents talked about how now that it's a boy I could have a bandmate. Why not a girl bandmate? And I got a text from a friend that was really kind but... well, here's what it said "Having a son is amazing. I am really, very, sincerely happy for both of you. But the world needs more boys with smart, aware, and capable fathers, so I'm doubly happy for you and (my son's) generation." This friend is an exceptional father. He's definitely of the male feminist persuasion. And his son is already handsome and very smart. The text was a complimentary message to me but... would he have written that if it was a girl? Is it because we are stuck living in a patriarchy already and that we need males that are not sexist, homophobic, bigots who are multiculturally aware more than girls that are strong individuals who could also be fine examples? I don't know. And then there's all this boy's colors and girl's colors for baby clothes and crib blankets. All that conventional genderizing bullshit gets under my skin. And I know people aren't trying to be sexist, but really most are stuck in traditional, inaccurate views of who people are inside and what defines gender. Let the boy wear pink. I wear pink shirts. I don't give a damn. Let strangers on the street get his sex wrong. Who gives a fuck? And why am I in such a nasty mood? Carey needed reassurance that I was going to love our baby even though it's a boy. Sure I'm bummed that we are having a boy just like five couple friends already have before us, but going into this, I knew there were no guarantees. I even said out loud that there's always next time to get a girl. Maybe it's for the better because I could identify with her as being the youngest like myself. I like the name Judah and I like calling him Judah and he's still my kid, right? I think I'm mellowing out already. Carey even said she was going to stop trying to convince me and just let me process. That's what I need. It is exciting to know the sex. It makes it that much more real. We can use accurate pronouns and say his name in conversation. Carey is a little freaked out by it being a boy for completely different reasons. She thinks it's bizarre that there is a penis growing inside of her. I've refrained from the obvious bit about it not being the first time... She even wrote it on her Facebook, "Carey Goldenberg has a penis growing inside her....weird! Its a BOY!!!"

In other news, Carey is definitely showing signs of having the typical hormonal moods. The other night while cooking and watching the opening ceremonies to the winter Olympics on the Internet, she couldn't keep from weeping. All she could squeak out between sobs was, "I'm just so proud of Canada."

Prophetic Dreams?

[February 15, 2010]

Last night we had friends over for dinner for Valentine's day on our newly made (by me!) dining room table. Carey's folks (Sam and Mary Kay) are in town for a few days too. After the parents went to bed, Carey told us all that she had a dream that the baby is a girl. Of course I wanted to know all about this dream. What was it in the dream that convinced her it was a girl? In what weird way did her dream convey that message? What sort of surreal subliminal communication relayed this information? I imagined David Lynchian sources. Like withered old clowns hanging from meat hooks spelling out "girl" with maritime signal flags. I figured the more cryptic, the more legitimate. Turns out it was straight forward. In it we were at the doctor's office, there was an ultrasound, and it was announced that the baby is a girl. The end. BO-ring. What a boring, boring dream. Unless of course it turns out to be the opposite... The sex of the baby is definitely in the forefront of our minds. I'm pretty sure we both want a girl. I know I do. Carey is worried that if it's a boy, I won't love it or whatever. I always tease her and say, "Well, if it's a boy maybe it will be gay." On our own at different times we have scanned our innermost intuitions trying to tap into the universe to figure out what sex we think the baby is. We both go back and forth. Sometimes the universe gives us a leaning towards it being a boy. Sometimes a girl. We just don't have a clue. But tomorrow science and technology will bring us the answer!

Carey is starting to feel kicks. She says it's all on the inside. When she goes for a long period of time without any kick-like sensations, she doubts the previous ones ever existed outside of her mind. But she woke up in the middle of the night a few days ago and tried to rouse me out of my NyQuil slumber (I'm nursing a serious cold right now) to put my hand on her tummy and catch baby in the act. I don't remember this, but I do know that Carey sleeps through everything. So if this woke her up it had to be real.

The whole nesting/mothering/fathering thing is something Carey and I have been accusing each other of lately. As mentioned earlier, I just finished making a dining room table out of reclaimed wood. This "creation" of mine Carey thinks is a sort of substitution for not being able to grow a baby inside of my stomach. Even though it was her idea for me to make the table in the first place! The truth is the cats are getting a whole bunch of mothering from her as of late. She checked a book out from the library all about cats. It convinced her the cats are bored, unhappy. This was Carey's excuse for buying five new cat toys. She's closely monitoring the cat's new diet. She has begun a regiment of exercising the cats before they eat (as recommended from the book) by a game of chase the laser pointer dot. She's mentioned several times her concern they don't like the newish litter box. Victor's already gone to the vet twice this year. In her favor, they have been acting strangely since she got pregnant, but they seem to be at a heightened level in her attention/mothering radar.



Dream No 2 [February 16, 2010]

Carey had another dream last night about the sex of the baby. This time it was a boy. Actually two boys. One was 5 and one 16. In the dream she slowly realized that the hospital was trying to take advantage of her, but not because of the extreme ages of her newborns. She told them that it would have been more convincing if they had just brought out one boy (5 or 16 year old?) because she knew from the ultrasound that there was only one baby in her before she gave birth. She also had a suspicion and asked if the kids had special needs. The hospital admitted that yes, the boys did have special needs. She knew it! Also they were both foster kids. So, still in line with dream logic, Carey marched the boys down to "the agency" to return them. We go to the sex-identifying ultrasound in minutes...

Pop

[February 9, 2010]

I came to what I want my kid to call me by accident. Recently, because of the economy (and the "challenged" administration here), a reorganization took place within the Seattle Public Library system. I will be transferred from my library branch, Queen Anne to someone else's library branch, Northeast. Driving home from a going away dinner (half the staff was transferred therefore half got tiny going away gifts from the remaining staff at an American Chinese restaurant...I got a Smencil, an aromatic pencil) I imagined a scenario where me and my toddler-aged kid would be at the Capitol Hill library sometime in the future and we'd run into one of these soon to be ex-coworkers. In this mundane daydream, still with social etiquette in tact, I would certainly have to introduce my offspring to one of these people. In this pretend scenario I addressed my kid and said 'Hey (fill in the blank with the kid's name). This person used to be your pop's old boss." And there is was. Pop. When I told Carey, she reminded me that her dad wants to be called poppy, so this kind of works as the father version - pop. Carey already decided to push having our kid(s) call her dad "Poppy-Sam". Has a nice ring, no? I called my father dad. I don't like daddy, though. Also, being a purveyor of indie-pop music, pop has that extra added layer of meaningfulness. Well, to me anyway...

So nothing all that new and interesting has been going on pregnancy wise. For like the entire last month. Carey's got a little tummy now. Ultrasounds and doctor visits are becoming part of the biweekly routine. Next Tuesday, a week from today, Care's folks are gonna be with us in the ultrasound room when the tech will give a full one hour anatomy scan. We'll find out the sex of the little person. Then maybe we'll start telling people the name. Maybe.

On the "bedroom sports" front, everything is still mostly the same. Once a week has become a struggle to maintain. Carey admitted that she's psychologically afraid of doing any damage to the baby besides just having a low libido. She's worried that because of her uterine anomaly that even achieving orgasm might somehow disrupt the precarious situation. She knows in reality this isn't true, but still in her mind...she's just stuck. But saying that out loud kind of freed her up a bit. Her attention focused on the naughty-lovin' task at hand worked! I must admit that her ahem, juicier, fuller, more voluptuous expanded areas are all the more enticing! I was talking to her while she was showering and I got all worked up just looking. I had to take her right there after she dried off. But she insisted she put on her new cutey thong panties with tiny pictures of scooters and ruffles. The position and angle were perfectly framed in the bathroom mirror for optimum viewing. Life is good, my friends! Life. Is. Good.

Opinions at the Bottom of the Year

[December 31, 2009]

Well, it's official. It's a boy. How do I know this with such certainty at such an early date in the pregnancy, you ask? Why, from Carey's superstitious mother's side of the family of course. We just got back from the holiday octo-athalon - eight family/friend party/get-togethers in five days. At party no. 5 the speculations were flying. Buzzed on a white Russian I complied to the threaded needle test. I didn't even know what was going on. Carey's aunt ordered me to show my palm. Then she wagged a threaded needle three times back and forth into my thumb pit. Then she held it over my palm to watch whether it would swing back and forth or in a circle. It went back and forth and therefore, she proclaimed with utmost certainty, a boy. Carey's mom confirmed this by noting that if it was a girl it would have stolen Carey's beauty (which it hasn't, was the point). I get that there's a compliment in there, but come on! Throughout the parties I received lots of congratulations. For the new house, for graduating with my Masters of Library and Information Science degree and most often for the baby.

Started reading The Hobbit to the baby last night. Monday will be 12 weeks and we'll have made it over the first trimester. The real dangerous period will be in the 20 weeks range, or so they tell us.

Carey's really starting to fill out. Her breasts are expanding at an alarming rate. Big and full. She has a slight bump in her lower tummy. I know these things not from personal exploration of the sexy kind, but because she examines herself everyday in the mirror and makes me look and occasionally cop a feel. The other day when we got back from our Christmas in Connecticut trip I took my pants and boxers off to put in the washer. Standing there in nothing but my t shirt and black socks I approached her. "What do you think of this?" She gave a pitiful look and said, "Awww. It looks sad." I corrected her and explained the word was not sad but neglected. She didn't take the hint so I put some clean clothes on instead. Just this morning I offhandedly suggested she give me the oral pleasure (not in those words) and she said, "Okay probably later."Yes! This was the first time in six years when we visited her family where we didn't do it (or anything like it) even one time. But the good news is that she really is for sure this time having less morning sickness. Even last night she grilled meat without gagging or freaking out too bad about the smell. The night before that she even made us mac 'n cheese. She seriously hasn't cooked in like two months. It's good to have her back. I'm such a lousy cook.

Here we are at the bottom of the year. And it certainly feels like it. Like the way Sunday evenings feel at the end of the week when you are just plain worn out. I woke up bored this morning with little desire to do anything. I forced myself to write this entry inspired by Adrian Mole's dedication to writing in his journal just about everyday. This should be a really big year for us. For both Carey and my profession (I would get a job as a librarian, she would expand hers by hiring employees) for the band's next album and of course for having a baby in July. 2010 coming right up!

Nausea , Sci-fi and More

[December 18, 2009]

Finally, FINALLY the nausea is dissipating. This last weekend we visited my folks and sister for (my nephew) Silas' baby dedication and then the next day we celebrated Fake-Christmas. Carey was sick most of the time. The sickest she's been the whole pregnancy, in fact. She puked a lot, poor thing. Then again, it might have just been the company we were keeping (wink). Several days have gone by with no sign of the dry heaves. But then this morning in bed she started gagging uncontrollably. I didn't even move. I'm so numb to it now. I just told her to eat a cracker. Mr. sensitive, I know. The newest thing, however is her wild mood swings.

The other day she was angry, short with people, and generally in a rage. In our ongoing problems with Group Health, we got a bill for $400 for Carey's HSG thingy. They billed us because it was labeled under fertility. This keeps happening, though they keep promising it won't. So she called them up and they refused to fix it. They said it would have to go to appeals. So she blew up and screamed at the lady on the phone that Group Health is a bunch of quote, mother-fucking sexists, end quote. Then a few hours later she was walking in a cross-walk while a car was turning left and didn't see her, almost hitting her. The curse words again, but also she mentally snapped and smashed her purse against the side of the car (the driver responded with the middle finger, but otherwise let her live, thank the good lord). Inside the purse she shattered her hand sanitizer bottle all over the place. Later when I got home she was really upset at herself for her outrageous behavior. I was just glad she didn't get in a brawl. But then the next night she was all euphoric laughing and being silly and not criticizing me or making me do work. Not just in a good mood, but in a super good mood! Everything is rainbows and puppy dogs and sunshine and happy togetherness!

Carey's still pushing Judah for a boy's name. Until now I have been able to easily shrug off her tactics of getting me to agree with her. But then she upped her game. She reminded me that I was the one who came up with it. So I'd get the credit. I'm such a sucker to flattery. Then she said this - "Judah. It's so rock-n-roll." Now I can't stop thinking of it in that context. In those words. She really knows how to get her way. She should be a hostage negotiator.

On the car ride to Portland to visit the fam, I brought up my thoughts on baby room decorations. Not being a fan of babies or baby stuff in general, I wanted to nix the shi shi idea of a babyish baby room right from the start. You know, teddy bears and bright colors and all that horrible stuff. Giant murals of crappy fantasy characters or whatever childish theme covers the walls. Like everything else, I want it minimal. Turns out that Carey already has some ideas for themes. If it's a boy, she wants to do a space theme. And if it's a girl she suggested moons and stars and suns. I like those ideas for sure, but they both sounded like the same thing. She assured me that one is more boyish and the other more girlish. "Space" would be more of a Sci-fi kinda thing, she explained.Like rocketships and astronauts. The other would just be celestial body or nebula or like comets and supernovas and galaxies. No fictional technology or futuristic speculation, I guess. I think they should both get sci fi. There's no way I'm gonna limit my girl to conventional gender roles. Fuck that. I will teach her everything I know. From carpentry to car maintenance to sewing. Oh, wait. Sewing's already for girls. My point is, I am adamant about not constraining my child to conventional gender roles. No patriarchy here. What's the word for both patri and monarchy? Equality, I suppose. Equalarchy. Did I just make up a word?

Tuesday we'll go in for another ultrasound: 10 weeks 2 days!

On the doin' it front, things have gotten slightly better. Five days ago she gave me a lovely "sexual favor". It's funny the games we play. We had a silly bet that both of us knew she'd lose so she offered that if she lost she'd give me a particular "sexual favor". And if she won? A good night's sleep. This was her subtle way of making up for her non-existent libido. And it was a fantastic favor, let me tell you! One of those earth-shaking experiences where afterwords you think, "If this got around it could end war!" Then last night in bed before we fell asleep, she asked me (just like every night) to rub her uterus and talk to the baby. I started there but my hand, of its own free will...well, you get the picture. Good times. And her only complaint was asking that I use less saliva when we kissed. Weird because that's never been an issue. Also, I must explain that this was more of a, how should I put this, more of a one-sided affair, if you get my drift. I used to feel bad when this happened, but these days I acknowledge her self-sacrificing attitude. Bless my baby mama for giving it up with little to nothing in return!

...

[December 10, 2009]

Not really much happening these days, actually. We had the second Ultrasound the other day from Dr. Cricket Davenport. That is her real name! It's like, "Paging Dr. Grasshopper Sofa-couch. Paging Dr. Grasshopper Sofa-couch." The baby's size was exactly where it should be - 8 weeks and 1 day. The printed picture sucked, though. Barely see anything. But watching the real time moving image on the monitor was pretty cool. The baby has a bigger head now and the heart pixels were moving at a healthy speed. This was at least encouraging as this baby has lasted longer than its predecessor. Carey's sickness is mellowing out. She's thrown-up a few times and gagged a lot and still thinks all meat stinks to high heaven. But she hasn't had to leave the room lately while I'm cooking.

Physical intimacy is at a bare minimum. Like once in the last month. But I feel like I've adjusted. Thanksgiving we had a go at it, but my uh...physicality refused to cooperate. It was psychological. Something about Carey's admitted fear to the doctor about damaging the baby through sex coupled with the delicacy of the fact that the previous pregnancy did not last very long just gummed up the works. We talked it out. I got frustrated, pouted, got mad, became embarrassed and then got over it and the next time (the only time) it worked like a charm! Carey has decided Judah is the best boy's name. Judah Samuel Wagler. It sounds a little Zionist to me. Like an extreme Israeli nationalist's name. I have a feeling she is scheming to relentlessly bring it up until I cave. Not this time. I still like Dean and I'm hoping it's a girl.

A co-worker friend of mine pointed something out about me recently. It seems like all my life I've been going against being a grown-up. Not adult. That's not what I'm saying. I love adult things (if you catch my drift). No I'm talking about being a grown-up. Oh, I'm still anti-grown up, don't get me wrong. But all the pressing down against societal norms has caught up to me. It turns out that in this year, 2009, I have become a full-fledged grown-up and barely even knew it was happening. I finished grad school two days ago from which I will embark on a career (a word I still shiver at). I will be part of a profession (a professional, they call them) and not the supportive staff for the first time in my life. A librarian. That sounds grown-up to me. Then, in October we bought a house. Mortgage definitely sounds grown up. And now you throw in the prospect of parenthood and damnnit! I am a grown up. No going back now. This, as they say, is the beginning of the end...of being cool. The best a parent can get in the eyes of their children is fleeting moments of cool, but then again, that is mostly ironic. I will try to not embarrass my teen-aged children, but nature makes all parents unequivocally uncool to their offspring. Bummer.