The Most Effective Birth Control...

Are you f***ing kidding me?!?

[Edited to add this horrific article from the Wall Street Journal. Thanks (sort of) to Matt for the tip].

I Know You Need Them For Loose Teeth...

[NOTE TO THE BABY VOHRA: YOU CANNOT GET A BELLYBUTTON RING]

Since our first doctor's visit after the successful conception of The Baby Vohra, Neha has been told that she would have to remove her bellybutton ring at some point before the baby was born. It wasn't something that had to be done immediately, but as she got bigger, the ring was going to become uncomfortable, and the idea was to remove it before that happened. We had tried to remove it at home, but we didn't have the pliers necessary to take the ring out. At each subsequent doctor's appointment we were reminded that the bellybutton ring had to come out. We explained our dilemma to the doctor - we don't have pliers! It won't come out without them! As Neha began showing, our friends were asking us the same thing: "shouldn't that come out?" To which we replied "we don't have pliers! We can't do it!" The universal reaction of our friends? "You need pliers to take that thing out? Ouch."

Ouch indeed.

A couple of weeks ago at the glucose drank appointment, our doctor sternly informed us that we could wait no longer and the bellybutton ring had to be removed. Again we explained the plier situation (we left out the part about how we were too lazy go and actually buy a pair of pliers), but assured her we would remove the ring by any means necessary.

The necessary means turned out to be a trip to Rick's Tattoos. Our first attempt to the store was thwarted when we couldn't find the front door and assumed the place was closed, but we were undeterred. After all, we were not buying a set of pliers. Finally last week we made it to the studio where we were greeted by a nice young girl in her early twenties. She was younger than us, and I suddenly I felt a bit old. We explained the situation to her, our lack of pliers and our complete helplessness. Tattoo Girl looked at us sadly, but with eyes that were filled with understanding. This girl was going to help us.

Tattoo Girl led us into one of the tattoo studios and asked Neha to show her the bellybutton ring. I asked her where her pliers were. Tattoo Girl explained, in a somewhat puzzled matter, that she needed to see the ring first. I suppose that made sense. Neha showed her the ring, and she said "oh." Tattoo Girl then proceeded to...unscrew and remove the ring. With her bare hands.

We were shocked, but more importantly, desperately embarrassed. Tattoo Girl was incredibly sweet about the whole thing and informed us that while you never need pliers to remove a bellybutton ring, the ring can sometimes be screwed together tightly and it takes real force to take it apart (Tattoo Girl: 5 feet tall, maybe 90 pounds. Me: 5'9, more than 90 pounds). Despite her exceedingly kind explanation, I felt like I had to save face. So I asked:

"Um, so how much does a tattoo cost?"

She then explained that the cost depends on the size and intricacy of the intended tattoo, and asked if I had anything in mind? "Um, no, but I was maybe thinking of getting a cool Ganesh tat or something." I could not have sounded more phony if I tried. I actually said the word "tat." I hate myself.

Tattoo Girl smiled and told me that if I had something in mind, to bring it in, and they could work out the cost for me. She did everything but sympathetically pat me on the head. My transparent attempt to be cool, to relate to a younger generation of hipsters, had come up woefully short. Neha and I walked out of Rick's Tattoos that evening, unscrewed bellybutton ring in hand, heads hung in dorky shame.

Sigh. The Baby Vohra is three months from being born, and already we're totally lame parents.

Seen At The Mall...

Yesterday Neha, my parents and I went to Washington D.C.'s fabulous Pentagon City mall to get Neha a pair of fat pants (sorry, "maternity jeans"). During that shopping trip, we saw the following:

- A woman in the food court breastfeeding while totally uncovered. It was seriously as if she was giving a demonstration on proper technique or something (was her technique demonstration-worthy? I have no idea). I'm all about women's rights and empowering moms and letting them do their thing, but this was just weird. It's one thing to breastfeed in public. That's totally fine. I just think that covering yourself with a towel may be a more prudent decision than putting on a show for a bunch of pimply-faced teenage boys in front of the Great Steak N' Fry. Besides, if Neha is nursing in a food court, it's going to be in front of some place classy, like Sbarro.

- The mall had this nifty machine hanging from the ceiling that projects onto the ground a television picture that reacts to footprints. So as your foot touches the picture on he floor, the colors change or there is a picture of a splash or something. I'm not doing a great job of describing all this, but I swear it was very cool. Anyways, as a result of this coolness, there were 100 little kids running around, jumping up and down on the floor lights, and screaming at the top of their lungs. There were also a group of parents watching with a bemused detachment, apparently unwilling to chase after their kids and hoping they'd tire out and collapse. That did not happen while we watched. After standing there for a couple of minutes and taking the scene in with my parents, I turned to my dad and, pointing to those helpless parents, said "that will be you once the baby's born!"

He looked at me like I was retarded, gave a noncommittal grunt, and walked away.

- The Armani Exchange at Pentagon City store has a huge picture out front of a young man in excellent shape wearing nothing but tiny underwear which he appears to be in the process of removing. Upon seeing this, Neha turned to me and said "oh my god that's AMAZING" (presumably what she found so amazing was that Armani Exchange had found a model with my exact same body type). Before Neha could finish her sentence however, my mom exclaimed "oh my god that's DISGUSTING."

Incredible! A generational clash between the mom of many years and the mom-to-be! It was an anthropological study of the highest order! I must say, given that I was horrified that this picture was on display for all the little kids walking around, I'm siding with my mom on this one. Neha and I might be the next generation of parents, but when it comes to public displays of nudity (in front of the children!) I'm decidedly old-school. Neha, on the other hand, is probably already scouting out the perfect table in front of the Sbarro at which to breastfeed.

The True Cost of Baby Wipes...

Today begins March Madness, the chaotic three weeks of college basketball awesomeness that is without an equivalent in any other sport*. One of the things that makes March Madness so amazing? The tournament pools. Specifically, the opportunity to win money. I've always loved March Madness because it's fun on its own, but the gambling aspect totally puts it over the top. In the past, when March rolled around, my M.O. was always to enter into a bunch of pools and figure that I'd have to win something in at least one of them (which almost never worked).

Until now. With The Baby Vohra fast approaching, each potential unnecessary monetary expenditure is coupled with a calculus of how many diapers I'll be foregoing (I don't know how much diapers cost, but I'm confident The Baby Vohra will poop incessantly). As much as I want to fill out just one more bracket sheet so that I can show my mastery by picking USC to go to the Final Four (they lost in the first round!), I'm not sure that I can stomach the notion of The Baby Vohra not being able to eat a jar of strained peas because dad couldn't control his degenerate gambling issues. Actually, I probably could stomach it, but goddammit, the tournament started this afternoon and now it's too late to do another sheet.

I'm totally kidding! Doing another sheet is not more important than feeding my child. Especially because I haven't paid attention to college basketball this year. The ROI is unlikely to be very high.

Speaking of degenerate gambling, next weekend I'm going to Las Vegas for a "pre-baby" weekend. Las Vegas has always been one of my favorite places to visit, mostly because the more self-destructive your behavior, the more well-respected you are amongst everyone else in the City (I assume that's even more true when you're there DURING March Madness - good lord!). It's the perfect place! At least it was, in my pre-The Baby Vohra life. Now I'm worried that with each bet I place, I'm placing the future of my family and my child in jeopardy. That's probably overstating things a bit, but you get the idea. My biggest fear? I'm playing in a high-stakes poker game and, totally overwhelmed by the moment and in the face of a big raise in front of me, I declare "I bet...the baby!" Can you imagine what Neha would say if I did that? She would be pissed.

Truth be told, maybe these forced reconsiderations will be good for me. I will be forced into a sense of reasonableness and control that I never thought possible. I will take in Las Vegas for everything that's not advertised - it's rolling deserts, its history as a slice of true Americana, its colorful local population. Maybe I'll just spend all of next weekend watching Bette Midler's show which, from everything I've read, is fabulous.

God is Vegas going to suck.

*That said, college basketball still doesn't hold a candle to college football. Sorry suckas (the suckas know who they are).

Stupid...

I sort of want to get into a big fight with Neha, so that when I come into work the next morning looking totally disshevelled and out of it and my co-workers ask if I'm alright, I can look at them and simply say, "baby mama drama."

The Baby Vohra Is A Lover...

After nearly a year of procrastination, Neha and I finally drove to the DMV this morning to get our Virginia driver's licenses. I was ambivalent about doing so for a number of reasons, the least of which was the fact that Virginia has the worst state slogan in the history of universe. Actually Neha has not yet officially taken the plunge into "the Commonwealth" because Virginia became aware of rumors of her horrific driving record and asked for an actual "transcript" of her driving record, which is a thing I did not know existed. Nonetheless, we're Virginia residents (Neha is actually without any driver's license at all at this point, so she a free agent), which means The Baby Vohra now a Virginian, and a lover. I suppose this is better than The Baby Vohra being a New Yorker, and an asshole. Ha ha New Yorkers! I'm just kidding! Sort of.

Perhaps I'm overthinking this, but to me establishment of our child's residency further legitimizes the possibility that Virginia (or at least the greater Washington DC area) is someplace we might stay for a long time. Which is fine, although when we moved out here, I figured it was a pit stop on the way back to Chicago. But now I have Virginia driver's license. It's a done deal.

Apropos of nothing, on the way to the DMV this morning, we were stuck in traffic as a result of an accident on the highway. Upon passing the scene, we were happy to see that no one was seriously hurt. We also saw that the accident appeared to have been caused by a teenager, who was standing on the side of the road being questioned by two police officers, while his father stood behind him with his arms crossed, shaking his head miserably. And I realized - that's going to be me in just under 16 years! Not at an accident (god I hope not), but it's almost guaranteed that The Baby Vohra will do something stupid with the family car. I certainly did. When I was 16 I was in a rush to go meet up with some friends one evening. I hopped into my Honda that was sitting in the garage, threw it in reverse and pressed the gas. I proceeded to back the car directly into the family jeep that was sitting in the driveway. It was...not awesome. I suppose that I could have avoided the collision had I looked in my rearview mirror, but who leaves a car parked in the frickin' driveway?

Whose fault that collision was (I have no idea) is not the point. The point is that the little piece of driving stupidity on my part was one of many examples that plagued my teen years, and I have no doubt that The Baby Vohra will make similar mistakes when he or she turns 16 (although I'd prefer that The Baby Vohra inherit my driving stupidity as opposed to Neha's horrific road rage, which causes her to swear uncontrollably and threaten other drivers with unspeakable acts of violence). I'm not sure that there is anyway to remedy this. So that's one thing to look forward to. Hoot!

I suppose the Vohra family could all become Amish and drive around in horse-drawn carriages, but I can't really grow a beard.

Because We Gotta Have The Baby Pool...

We had another doctor's appointment this morning, which included a blood test for gestational diabetes. In order to conduct the test, Neha was first required to, half an hour before the appointment, drink a bottle of what the nurses called "glucose drink" (not to be confused with "purple drank"). Glucose drink is an orange syrupy liquid that looks a lot like flat orange Fanta. It actually looked pretty good, and I was jealous I didn't have any to drink. In fact, after Neha took her first big swig of glucose drink, she exclaimed "hey this isn't bad!"

She then proceeded to throw up repeatedly. Just like old times!

After vomiting for a bit, Neha recovered like a champion and was able to finish. I was worried that she might have to do it all over again because she wasn't able to keep the entire bottle of glucose drink down, but the doctor didn't seem all that concerned. We get the results on Wednesday. After which I may request my own bottle of glucose drank.

Other than the glucose test, the only interesting part of the appointment was when our doctor walked in and asked "boy or girl?" We told her that we didn't know and weren't finding out. Then, however, Neha and I both mentioned how it was kind of difficult to register for baby stuff without knowing the sex. At which point the doctor decided she was curious as to the baby's sex, and was going to check the notes from our sonogram to see if the technician had written it down. Nothing was written down.

Nonetheless, our doctor was determined to find out. She proceeded to review the films from our last sonogram to see if they might provide a clue. Although we had expressed some frustration at not knowing the sex for registry purposes, we still didn't really want to know. And now our doctor was too close. I had no choice. As she held the films up against the light and studied them closely, I ran across the room yelling "nooooooooo!" and punched the film out of her hands. We couldn't have her learning the sex of The Baby Vohra! It's got to be a surprise to everyone (except the technician who did the sonogram a few weeks ago and confirmed she knew - presumably she's forgotten by now)! Was attacking our doctor like that excessive? Arguably. Necessary? Absolutely.

Actually, none of that happened. Our doctor did check the film, but couldn't tell one way or the other. Phew!

On The Move...

With the arrival of The Baby Vohra fast approaching, we've decided that we need a bigger apartment to accommodate all the baby stuff, such as the poopie diapers. As such we've started checking out some two-bedroom apartments here in Arlington, VA (Arlington's motto: "close enough to Washington DC to say you live in Washington DC without actually having to live in Washington DC"). In the past, when we've looked for places to live, we've looked for amenities such as stainless steel appliances (on which we don't cook) and an in-building exercise facility (in which we don't work out). My understanding was that we were still looking for those types of things. But apparently now, The Baby Vohra is the foremost consideration when looking at any potential new residence. I begrudgingly concede that this makes sense, but I'm not happy about it.

Earlier this week, we saw an apartment in the Arlington area of "Rosslyn." The apartment was a penthouse overlooking the Iwo Jima memorial, with a huge living/dining area and without a doubt the biggest balcony I've ever seen in an apartment legitimately within our price range. It was amazing. Arguably, the greatest apartment in the universe. While I was measuring the walls in figuring out floor spacing for our furniture, Neha sullenly reported that the bathrooms were way too small. When I asked her why this mattered, she explained that we needed space to be able to do things like "bathe the baby." Honestly, such concerns seem trivial to me when compared to the idea of having 50 people over for beers and a barbecue overlooking the frickin' Iwo Jima memorial, but as usual, Neha prevailed. I informed the owner that we were going to have to pass on the place because there wasn't enough storage space in the bathroom for cleaning supplies and the like. This just isn't fair! We're a young, hip couple! What about having enough space to throw a kegger and invite all our college buddies over? Doesn't any of that matter at all?

Sigh. No, it does not. Our priorities now include a second room big enough for a "nursery" and an apartment that is "generally clean." Apparently the Vohra household, after the arrival of the The Baby Vohra, is a facist regime.

Good Lord She's Huge!

Neha at 22 weeks:


Okay not "huge." But definitely pregnant.

Photo taken February 29, 2008.

I Am Unfazed By The Pee and Poo...

Yesterday we went to meet baby Kavi, Riya and Veeral's two-week old son. We were excited for obvious reasons, most notably to celebrate with our friends their new child (and one of The Baby Vohra's first playmates!) and the expansion of their family, but there was another important purpose of our visit: practice. I figured this would be a chance for me to hold, feed and burp Kavi, and most importantly, take a shot at changing a diaper. If the diaper changing task was too much to handle, I still had time to...well, do nothing. I'm pretty much in this for the long haul. If I couldn't change the diaper, I was screwed, but at least I'd know that ahead of time.

Kavi was adorable, though honestly a little bit rude - he slept just about the entire time we were there. He ate ever two hours or so, but even then, he barely gave any of us the time of day. After eating he'd immediately go back to sleep. We tried to introduce Kavi to The Baby Vohra, but he was uninterested in talking. Maybe he was just having a bad day, but I was offended nonetheless.

Antisocial tendencies notwithstanding, Kavi is pretty awesome. Even in constant sleep mode, he provided tons of entertainment with his ever-changing facial expressions (he grinned or chuckled whenever he was pooping) and his hand gestures - when sleeping he often had one hand up to his head like he's thinking very deeply about something. He's probably frustrated by the possibility of Senator Clinton not withdrawing from the race for the democratic nomination even if she doesn't win both Ohio and Texas.

I am also happy to report that I was able to complete all baby-nurturing tasks without any significant mishaps. At one point when I was trying to feed Kavi with the bottle, the nipple leaked and I ended up pouring milk all over him. While I was horrified, Riya laughed, so I figured it was no big deal. Although perhaps it was a big deal, and I've been banned from their house and they just haven't told me yet. Wouldn't be the first time. As for the ultimate test, the changing of the diaper, I passed with flying colors. After removing his poopie diaper, Kavi made a valiant effort to pee on me, but I was too quick and able to avoid the stream. I was like Keanu Reeves in "The Matrix," only with baby wipes. It was amazing (actually, Kavi was, um, "aimed" downwards, so I was never in any real danger of losing an eye). I ended up using two more wipes than necessary and wasting a diaper, but I'm not going to apologize for being thorough. I wanted to make sure that kid was clean and comfortable. That's the kind of caregiver I am. (Veeral actually has video of the change on Kavi's blog. Feel free to take notes on my mad diaper-changing skillz if you're planning on having kids anytime soon.).

Neha and I have hung out with babies before (Sohum, my kickass nephew, is 20 months old), but this time was different. Given that we're now so close to The Baby Vohra's arrival, spending time with Kavi (and his parents, who are our college classmates) allowed us to see what our life will be like just a few months from now. It was amazing and exciting in a way that it's not really worth trying to describe. I'm now relatively confident that we'll be decent parents. I know that we can feed The Baby Vohra and put it down for a nap without breaking it.

I know I can dodge the pee stream.