I’m not sure when one officially makes the transition from “child” to “adult,” but having a kid of one’s own seems to be a strong indicator. Nearly as strong is the move from an apartment to a house. This weekend, we took another step toward oldness by moving into a rickety old three-bedroom townhouse just a few blocks from our fancy apartment building. The house was built in 1985 and has all the old-house things you’d imagine: cracks in the walls, toilets that run continuously, locks that don’t work, and creepy house “noises.” The move, coupled with the fact that The Baby Vohra is less than two months away from joining us, means there is no denying the fact that we’re officially adults. And despite my futile attempts to cling to the last vestiges of my youth, this is probably a good thing. Children don’t know how to raise kids. But adults do. Now that we’re in a townhouse and my adulthood has been ratified, there is no way I can screw up The Baby Vohra. Please God let that be true.
The new townhouse is only two blocks from the old apartment, but it might as well be a different universe. That universe is called “the suburbs” (although given that we live in Arlington, we may have already been there). For the first time in years, the front door of my residence actually opens up to the outside, not a hallway. My home no longer has a communal elevator. We leave our trash at our front steps, instead of dropping it down a chute. This past Sunday morning our elderly neighbor across the street was out in his front lawn cutting his grass with one of those 1950s-style non-motorized lawn mowers. He was also talking to himself continuously, but that probably has more to do with his general craziness than the fact that we’ve entered suburbia. Though they’re quite possibly related.
Why the big move? Because The Baby Vohra, 9 weeks prior to birth, runs our lives. We’re going to need a lot way more space for the baby, who before we know it, will be . . . rolling over and crawling a couple of inches at a time. Crap there was no reason for us to move.
Our new place has a nursery, which is awesome, and it also has an extra bedroom for guests who want to come hang out with the baby. So, um, please want to come hang out with the baby. I can’t stand the idea of that bedroom going waste. And while I can handle no one wanting to come see us, if no one wants to see The Baby Vohra, that’s just depressing.
In the meantime, I will be completing my transformation into total suburban dad. Excuse me while I slip on a pair of topsiders and head across the street to borrow the crazy old man’s lawn mower.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Everybody Into the Pool! No, Seriously. Get In.
This morning we had the first of our bi-monthly doctor's appointments, which are now required as we're in what the doctor referred to today as "the home stretch!" Neha is 31 weeks pregnant, meaning it is possible, though unlikely, that The Baby Vohra could be here as soon as the end of May. Yikes. I should probably be wearing a diaper myself.
Given the rapidly approaching due date, I thought it would be fun to steal Veeral's idea and set up a baby pool. I can think of few things more awesome than gambling on the birth of The Baby Vohra (if I could somehow incorporate craps into the birth, I would have come up with the greatest creation of all time). I invite you, dear reader, to place your bets. Click on the link below to guess The Baby Vohra's birthdate and time, sex, weight, and "length" (I guess "length" does not become "height" until the baby is able to stand - I suppose that makes sense):
Please note that your participation in this pool is not optional. If there aren't enough people in the pool, I will look sad and pathetic, and while that may be a not-inaccurate description of me, I'd prefer that my unborn child not so realize. At least not right away. I humbly request your help.
The winner of the pool will receive The Baby Vohra's first soiled diaper, autographed by the artist itself (the poop is the autograph - I don't expect The Baby Vohra, brilliant as it may be, to be writing immediately after its birth. It has too much other stuff to figure out first. Like pooping.). The loser of the pool will live the rest of his or her life as a disappointment in the eyes of The Baby Vohra, whose birth will be everything the loser was unable to predict. No pressure.
Why are you still reading? Go join the pool!
Given the rapidly approaching due date, I thought it would be fun to steal Veeral's idea and set up a baby pool. I can think of few things more awesome than gambling on the birth of The Baby Vohra (if I could somehow incorporate craps into the birth, I would have come up with the greatest creation of all time). I invite you, dear reader, to place your bets. Click on the link below to guess The Baby Vohra's birthdate and time, sex, weight, and "length" (I guess "length" does not become "height" until the baby is able to stand - I suppose that makes sense):
Please note that your participation in this pool is not optional. If there aren't enough people in the pool, I will look sad and pathetic, and while that may be a not-inaccurate description of me, I'd prefer that my unborn child not so realize. At least not right away. I humbly request your help.
The winner of the pool will receive The Baby Vohra's first soiled diaper, autographed by the artist itself (the poop is the autograph - I don't expect The Baby Vohra, brilliant as it may be, to be writing immediately after its birth. It has too much other stuff to figure out first. Like pooping.). The loser of the pool will live the rest of his or her life as a disappointment in the eyes of The Baby Vohra, whose birth will be everything the loser was unable to predict. No pressure.
Why are you still reading? Go join the pool!
Monday, April 21, 2008
First On, Last Off...
I am not a good flyer. I've slowly overcome (or at least come to terms with) my irrational fear of actually being up in the air (ask me about Bernoulli's principle!), but I still can't handle everything else involved in the airport experience - the long lines, the hassles in security, the waits for luggage, etc. And so to the extent I can, I try and make flying as painless as possible. I get to the airport early, I never check bags (except when I do, and it sucks soooo bad), and I make sure that I'm prepared when I get to the security line, so that I can get my shoes off and my crap into one of those plastic bins as quickly as possible.
But The Baby Vohra is coming.
It has occurred to me that while I've contemplated the myriad of ways The Baby Vohra will change my life, I have not considered air travel. I should have. Have you seen parents with a small child at an airport? Miserable. First of all, the days of no checked luggage are over. Parents with small children at the airport always seem to be carrying, in addition to their luggage, a stroller, a diaper bag, sometimes a car seat, and some sort of small bag of toys/snacks for the child, who, if old enough, is constantly wandering away. At the check-in line (you can't print your boarding pass and go to the gate, because you have to check your luggage, see), the parents are trying to figure out which bags to check, and whether it's worthwhile to take the stroller all the way to the gate. I always wonder why they don't just check the baby - that seems like a simple solution that avoids the always-awkward situation of taking the baby on the plane and then trying to squeeze it into the overhead compartment. Regardless, while they're in line trying to manage their kids in order and pull out their identification, they get no help from the airline employees behind the counter. This is because airline employees are made of pure evil.
The next ordeal is security. Again, I try and make this process as painless as possible by wearing shoes without laces that I can easily slip on and off. I also visualize the amount of plastic bins I'll need, and what items of clothing will go in what bins. I'm not in any way an expert flyer, but I know what I gotta do to expedite the process. With a little kid though? Forget about it. First, parents have to deal with the issue of the stroller; assuming it hasn't already been checked, does it need to be folded and put on the x-ray belt, or can it be walked through the metal detector? Presumably it has to be put on the x-ray belt. That means it has to be folded up. I know from frequent trips to the [insert baby megastore name here] that folding up a stroller is a complicated task facilitated only by multiple mechanical engineering degrees. And I'm sure it's MUCH harder to do when you're standing in the security line, your kid is screaming, there's a line of passengers behind you who hate you because you're slowing them down, and the only thing the TSA officials are telling you do to is "REMOVE YOUR TINY BOTTLES OF LIQUIDS." Then there is the issue of the baby itself. Do you put it directly onto the x-ray belt, or into a separate plastic bin? Neither seems particularly hygienic. Whatever, I know that I'm going to screw it up and get sent to Guantanamo.
Upon reaching the gate, parents of small children are afforded the luxury of entering the plane first so they can get situated and beg the child to not cry for the next four hours (my plan is to use the early entry onto the plane as my opportunity to slip the kid a small bit of nyquil prior to takeoff). While at first I thought this was a nice thing, I realized that this is just more time in which to sit on the small cramped plane, and more importantly, more time for the kid to get restless and anxious and to start screaming because it wants to start moving around. Thanks, friendly airlines!
The time in the air with the baby's ears popping is horrifying (especially if the flight is more than a couple of hours). I cannot bring myself to imagine this time, let alone write about. Although I'll write this - a little over a year ago we were on a flight from DC to London, en route to India. There was a kid, no older than two, who would not stop crying for two straight hours. I'm not kidding. And it wasn't the "I'm crying because there is something wrong" cry, it was the "I'm crying because I want attention and to test my boundaries." It was crazy. His dad was walking up and down the aisle with him, bouncing him, rocking him, begging him to stop. And it was a night flight, so the lights were off and everyone was sleeping. I've never felt worse for a parent. At some point I didn't see the dad walking up and down the aisle anymore, although the kid continued to cry. I assume the dad gave up jumped out of the plane. That's what I would have done.
Finally the plane lands, and everyone hurriedly, but in an orderly fashion, disembarks. Except of course, for the parents and their tiny children. The parents are always the last ones off the plane because they have to reorganize everything, make sure the kids' shoes are on, and the car seat is unstrapped, and the diaper bag is closed. They also have to go last because they need to get their stroller at the start of the jetway. It's almost too much to think about.
This aspect of child-rearing terrifies me. The pain of airports is about to transform from a necessary evil to probably the worst possible thing in the world. And! At some point soon after The Baby Vohra makes its appearance, we'll need to take a trip to India. I'm taking a parachute.
But The Baby Vohra is coming.
It has occurred to me that while I've contemplated the myriad of ways The Baby Vohra will change my life, I have not considered air travel. I should have. Have you seen parents with a small child at an airport? Miserable. First of all, the days of no checked luggage are over. Parents with small children at the airport always seem to be carrying, in addition to their luggage, a stroller, a diaper bag, sometimes a car seat, and some sort of small bag of toys/snacks for the child, who, if old enough, is constantly wandering away. At the check-in line (you can't print your boarding pass and go to the gate, because you have to check your luggage, see), the parents are trying to figure out which bags to check, and whether it's worthwhile to take the stroller all the way to the gate. I always wonder why they don't just check the baby - that seems like a simple solution that avoids the always-awkward situation of taking the baby on the plane and then trying to squeeze it into the overhead compartment. Regardless, while they're in line trying to manage their kids in order and pull out their identification, they get no help from the airline employees behind the counter. This is because airline employees are made of pure evil.
The next ordeal is security. Again, I try and make this process as painless as possible by wearing shoes without laces that I can easily slip on and off. I also visualize the amount of plastic bins I'll need, and what items of clothing will go in what bins. I'm not in any way an expert flyer, but I know what I gotta do to expedite the process. With a little kid though? Forget about it. First, parents have to deal with the issue of the stroller; assuming it hasn't already been checked, does it need to be folded and put on the x-ray belt, or can it be walked through the metal detector? Presumably it has to be put on the x-ray belt. That means it has to be folded up. I know from frequent trips to the [insert baby megastore name here] that folding up a stroller is a complicated task facilitated only by multiple mechanical engineering degrees. And I'm sure it's MUCH harder to do when you're standing in the security line, your kid is screaming, there's a line of passengers behind you who hate you because you're slowing them down, and the only thing the TSA officials are telling you do to is "REMOVE YOUR TINY BOTTLES OF LIQUIDS." Then there is the issue of the baby itself. Do you put it directly onto the x-ray belt, or into a separate plastic bin? Neither seems particularly hygienic. Whatever, I know that I'm going to screw it up and get sent to Guantanamo.
Upon reaching the gate, parents of small children are afforded the luxury of entering the plane first so they can get situated and beg the child to not cry for the next four hours (my plan is to use the early entry onto the plane as my opportunity to slip the kid a small bit of nyquil prior to takeoff). While at first I thought this was a nice thing, I realized that this is just more time in which to sit on the small cramped plane, and more importantly, more time for the kid to get restless and anxious and to start screaming because it wants to start moving around. Thanks, friendly airlines!
The time in the air with the baby's ears popping is horrifying (especially if the flight is more than a couple of hours). I cannot bring myself to imagine this time, let alone write about. Although I'll write this - a little over a year ago we were on a flight from DC to London, en route to India. There was a kid, no older than two, who would not stop crying for two straight hours. I'm not kidding. And it wasn't the "I'm crying because there is something wrong" cry, it was the "I'm crying because I want attention and to test my boundaries." It was crazy. His dad was walking up and down the aisle with him, bouncing him, rocking him, begging him to stop. And it was a night flight, so the lights were off and everyone was sleeping. I've never felt worse for a parent. At some point I didn't see the dad walking up and down the aisle anymore, although the kid continued to cry. I assume the dad gave up jumped out of the plane. That's what I would have done.
Finally the plane lands, and everyone hurriedly, but in an orderly fashion, disembarks. Except of course, for the parents and their tiny children. The parents are always the last ones off the plane because they have to reorganize everything, make sure the kids' shoes are on, and the car seat is unstrapped, and the diaper bag is closed. They also have to go last because they need to get their stroller at the start of the jetway. It's almost too much to think about.
This aspect of child-rearing terrifies me. The pain of airports is about to transform from a necessary evil to probably the worst possible thing in the world. And! At some point soon after The Baby Vohra makes its appearance, we'll need to take a trip to India. I'm taking a parachute.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Stupid...
With The Baby Vohra's arrival fast approaching, people are constantly asking me whether I'd prefer a boy or a girl. I honestly do not care, so long as it's not both.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Good Lord She's Huge!
Previously on "Good Lord She's Huge!"
Neha at 29 weeks:
She really is huge! Now you understand my dilemma.
Photo taken April 16, 2008.
Neha at 29 weeks:
She really is huge! Now you understand my dilemma.
Photo taken April 16, 2008.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
The Hugging Dilemma...
One pleasant side effect of the pregnancy is Neha's general cuteness level, which exponentially increases the bigger she gets. Because she is now as big as a house, Neha is indisputably adorable. The problem, however, is that I am now scared to hug her, for fear of crushing The Baby Vohra (when I hug, I come strong). This frustrates Neha, who claims that I don't "show her enough affection," which she needs now more than ever. Her complaint is understandable - who wouldn't want to be hugged by me? She also thinks the notion I might be crushing the baby is absurd, but I just cannot get out of my head the idea that each time I hug Neha, The Baby Vohra says "ow!" And I just can't take that chance. It's not that I'm not being affectionate, it's that I'm being a good parent. I should be commended.
Nonetheless, to address my alleged lack of affection, I have been working on a number of potential solutions:
1) The handshake. When I see Neha, I greet her with a firm handshake. At first I would add in a hearty slap on the shoulder with my non-shaking hand, but pregnant women can be a bit clumsy, so I have removed this aspect of the greeting. It would be bad if she fell down. The handshake conveys how excited I am to see her, as well as my intent to treat our child-rearing as a business partnership. Which, in retrospect, makes me think that the handshake is not at all affectionate. Crap.
2) The "side-hug." This involves me standing side-by-side with Neha and throwing one arm over her shoulders. When my friends and I were in junior high and starting to realize that girls were, well, girls, getting a side hug from a cute member of the opposite sex was the ultimate way to establish street cred (the street may have been in a quiet, tree-lined Chicago suburb, but it was a street nonetheless). If you were able to give or get a side-hug, you were cool. Needless to say, I was involved in very few side hugs when in junior high. Now I give them whenever I want. Neha's pregnancy = my seventh grade redemption.
3) The chest bump. This is actually not a particularly good idea, although it looks awesome. The problem is the chest bump is that it presents the same potential problems in terms of The Baby Vohra's comfort as does a solid hug. Besides, Neha is the size of a truck, and at this point, I'm not sure she can jump.
4) The "butt-out" hug. This is the best solution I have come up with. It involves me sticking my butt our awkwardly when hugging Neha, so that our upper bodies connect, but no contact with her giant belly. It requires quite a bit of agility as it forces me to hunch over and wrench my back out a bit, but it's worth it. Neha, however, is not a fan, and always tries to force me into a "regular" hug, mushing her belly into me. I fight as best I can, but it's not always easy. Neha is carrying all this extra weight now, and she knows how to use it. Today she threw me against the refrigerator and gave me a full-body hug and a kiss on the cheek. It was horrible. I'm sorry Baby Vohra!
These are our struggles, and they aren't going away. Now that she's well into her third trimester, both Neha's stomach and my fear of squeezing too tight are growing faster than ever. I've got to figure something out. Otherwise, by the time Neha is full term, the only thing I'm going to feel comfortable doing is patting her on the head. And even that I'll probably do with my butt sticking out. Just to be safe.
Nonetheless, to address my alleged lack of affection, I have been working on a number of potential solutions:
1) The handshake. When I see Neha, I greet her with a firm handshake. At first I would add in a hearty slap on the shoulder with my non-shaking hand, but pregnant women can be a bit clumsy, so I have removed this aspect of the greeting. It would be bad if she fell down. The handshake conveys how excited I am to see her, as well as my intent to treat our child-rearing as a business partnership. Which, in retrospect, makes me think that the handshake is not at all affectionate. Crap.
2) The "side-hug." This involves me standing side-by-side with Neha and throwing one arm over her shoulders. When my friends and I were in junior high and starting to realize that girls were, well, girls, getting a side hug from a cute member of the opposite sex was the ultimate way to establish street cred (the street may have been in a quiet, tree-lined Chicago suburb, but it was a street nonetheless). If you were able to give or get a side-hug, you were cool. Needless to say, I was involved in very few side hugs when in junior high. Now I give them whenever I want. Neha's pregnancy = my seventh grade redemption.
3) The chest bump. This is actually not a particularly good idea, although it looks awesome. The problem is the chest bump is that it presents the same potential problems in terms of The Baby Vohra's comfort as does a solid hug. Besides, Neha is the size of a truck, and at this point, I'm not sure she can jump.
4) The "butt-out" hug. This is the best solution I have come up with. It involves me sticking my butt our awkwardly when hugging Neha, so that our upper bodies connect, but no contact with her giant belly. It requires quite a bit of agility as it forces me to hunch over and wrench my back out a bit, but it's worth it. Neha, however, is not a fan, and always tries to force me into a "regular" hug, mushing her belly into me. I fight as best I can, but it's not always easy. Neha is carrying all this extra weight now, and she knows how to use it. Today she threw me against the refrigerator and gave me a full-body hug and a kiss on the cheek. It was horrible. I'm sorry Baby Vohra!
These are our struggles, and they aren't going away. Now that she's well into her third trimester, both Neha's stomach and my fear of squeezing too tight are growing faster than ever. I've got to figure something out. Otherwise, by the time Neha is full term, the only thing I'm going to feel comfortable doing is patting her on the head. And even that I'll probably do with my butt sticking out. Just to be safe.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
The Baby Vohra Baby Shower: An Uncle's Perspective
[Ed. note - So as to provide The Baby Vohra with a true glimpse into its parents' lives during the gestational period, I have invited guest posts from people The Baby Vohra will consider its annoying relatives extended family. First up: my buddy Kumar, who has chosen to reference certain events from college about which I am not proud. This may have been a mistake.]
Anuj has been asking me to write a guest post for a while now, and I think I finally have something interesting to write about and memorialize my thoughts in my first contribution to The Baby Vohra Blog (i.e. I am leaving my job in two weeks and am avoiding doing any real work).
Before I begin, I should probably introduce myself. As many of the current blog readers know, I am a friend (Anuj would say "buddy" but I think that word is extremely goofy and reminds me of that weird 80s toy "My Buddy and Me", so I refuse to use it) of both Anuj and Neha for over 10 years - going back to September 1996 (Anuj) and circa spring 1997 (Neha). Good lord that is a long time. But it gives me the opportunity to post a gratuitous shout-out to our days at the University of Michigan.
I also lived with Anuj in college, which could easily be the subject of a future blog and/or psychotherapy sessions. In any case, Neha and I, therefore, have the dubious experience of both having lived with Anuj for at least three years. I was going to say that me and The Baby Vohra actually have a lot in common too because your dad threw up on me too, but that makes no sense since The Baby Vohra will be the one presumably vomiting on Anuj and not vice-versa. Knowing Anuj, I guess we can only hope..... That being said, I will take great solace in knowing that Anuj will finally know what it feels like to be vomited on. Just let it out, Baby Vohra, let it all out. But I digress.
First-off I needed to ask a semi-rhetorical question that I have been recently struggling with.** Are "baby showers" for the soon-to-arrive baby whom friends and family are excited to meet? Or are they for deserving soon-to-be-mothers who have been facing various physical and emotional experiences over the last 5-7 months? (To maintain any credibility, I won't even bother suggesting that baby showers are for dads. Hoot.) It appears to me, based on at least my experience at the Vohra Baby Shower, that they are a celebration of all members of the soon-to-be-nuclear family, baby, mom and dad together. **I should note my current status as an invitee to FOUR baby showers over THREE straight weekends (one down).
Although I have been to just one other one, I was pretty surprised to be invited to all these baby showers. Sure, they are for all my close friends, but I always thought of baby showers as a SUPER girly party where female friends and family all dressed in pink or light blue sit around the pregnant woman (also in pink or light blue) and they all take turns carefully opening gifts covered in various pink and light-blue wrapping paper, followed by a unison of "awwww". Then they play some random games involving diapers and baby bottles. Then they talk about which woman is the proverbial next. Then they all giggle about the various physical issues involved in becoming pregnant, being pregnant and delivering the baby. Look, I am not some sort of crazy alpha-male, but there is no way I could have handled that. Heading down to the baby shower, I was decently nervous.
To be brief, the shower was the total opposite of what I had expected. There was 1) tons of cold
beer floating in an ice bucket; 2) NCAA final four basketball playing on TV without interruption or stoppage; 3) comfortable couches with view of said basketball; 4) an insane amount of belch-inducing Mexican food; 5) by the end of the night, spilled alcohol on the floor; and 6) just 20 minutes of what were actually pretty fun games inspired by such classics as Boggle and Jeopardy. I even had to pull myself out of these games because I was becoming too competitive and am generally prone to getting carried away and swearing a lot in such situations. It was basically a full-on frat party.
Oh, and then after the "baby shower" which went till like 10pm, about 15 of us went to the club. Seriously, it was a club. Like there was a line outside and we had to paid money to get in. Some of us were there till they turned the lights on and closed the club for the night. One of The Baby Vohra's aunties even got into it with the Po-lice outside the club. It was insane. No joke, the baby shower night was more bumpin than 2 out of 3 nites of my most recent Vegas weekend trip. And our Vegas trips get pretty crazy (also a source of my future psycho-therapy sessions). I was telling Anuj today that besides the fact that there was no pool table in the party room, this is a solid artistic representation of the baby shower.
Kudos to The Baby Vohra's parents and aunties for organizing a really fun evening. Although it did not have the hallmarks of a typical baby shower (supra section above), I am confident that the event set out and achieved its intention. We all got to see how great and happy Neha looked and how Anuj is looking more and more like a dad. We got to meet up with friends who we have not seen in a while and who will all play a significant part in The Baby Vohra's life. And of course, we got to shower attention onto The Baby Vohra and pass on our positive energy for these final few months. So Baby Vohra, no need to thank your parents' friends for your fancy strollers, car seats and baby wipe warming machines (I may have to get one of those) - just invite us to your 21st birthday. If its anything like your baby shower, it'll be off the hook.
Anuj has been asking me to write a guest post for a while now, and I think I finally have something interesting to write about and memorialize my thoughts in my first contribution to The Baby Vohra Blog (i.e. I am leaving my job in two weeks and am avoiding doing any real work).
Before I begin, I should probably introduce myself. As many of the current blog readers know, I am a friend (Anuj would say "buddy" but I think that word is extremely goofy and reminds me of that weird 80s toy "My Buddy and Me", so I refuse to use it) of both Anuj and Neha for over 10 years - going back to September 1996 (Anuj) and circa spring 1997 (Neha). Good lord that is a long time. But it gives me the opportunity to post a gratuitous shout-out to our days at the University of Michigan.
I also lived with Anuj in college, which could easily be the subject of a future blog and/or psychotherapy sessions. In any case, Neha and I, therefore, have the dubious experience of both having lived with Anuj for at least three years. I was going to say that me and The Baby Vohra actually have a lot in common too because your dad threw up on me too, but that makes no sense since The Baby Vohra will be the one presumably vomiting on Anuj and not vice-versa. Knowing Anuj, I guess we can only hope..... That being said, I will take great solace in knowing that Anuj will finally know what it feels like to be vomited on. Just let it out, Baby Vohra, let it all out. But I digress.
First-off I needed to ask a semi-rhetorical question that I have been recently struggling with.** Are "baby showers" for the soon-to-arrive baby whom friends and family are excited to meet? Or are they for deserving soon-to-be-mothers who have been facing various physical and emotional experiences over the last 5-7 months? (To maintain any credibility, I won't even bother suggesting that baby showers are for dads. Hoot.) It appears to me, based on at least my experience at the Vohra Baby Shower, that they are a celebration of all members of the soon-to-be-nuclear family, baby, mom and dad together. **I should note my current status as an invitee to FOUR baby showers over THREE straight weekends (one down).
Although I have been to just one other one, I was pretty surprised to be invited to all these baby showers. Sure, they are for all my close friends, but I always thought of baby showers as a SUPER girly party where female friends and family all dressed in pink or light blue sit around the pregnant woman (also in pink or light blue) and they all take turns carefully opening gifts covered in various pink and light-blue wrapping paper, followed by a unison of "awwww". Then they play some random games involving diapers and baby bottles. Then they talk about which woman is the proverbial next. Then they all giggle about the various physical issues involved in becoming pregnant, being pregnant and delivering the baby. Look, I am not some sort of crazy alpha-male, but there is no way I could have handled that. Heading down to the baby shower, I was decently nervous.To be brief, the shower was the total opposite of what I had expected. There was 1) tons of cold
beer floating in an ice bucket; 2) NCAA final four basketball playing on TV without interruption or stoppage; 3) comfortable couches with view of said basketball; 4) an insane amount of belch-inducing Mexican food; 5) by the end of the night, spilled alcohol on the floor; and 6) just 20 minutes of what were actually pretty fun games inspired by such classics as Boggle and Jeopardy. I even had to pull myself out of these games because I was becoming too competitive and am generally prone to getting carried away and swearing a lot in such situations. It was basically a full-on frat party.Oh, and then after the "baby shower" which went till like 10pm, about 15 of us went to the club. Seriously, it was a club. Like there was a line outside and we had to paid money to get in. Some of us were there till they turned the lights on and closed the club for the night. One of The Baby Vohra's aunties even got into it with the Po-lice outside the club. It was insane. No joke, the baby shower night was more bumpin than 2 out of 3 nites of my most recent Vegas weekend trip. And our Vegas trips get pretty crazy (also a source of my future psycho-therapy sessions). I was telling Anuj today that besides the fact that there was no pool table in the party room, this is a solid artistic representation of the baby shower.
Kudos to The Baby Vohra's parents and aunties for organizing a really fun evening. Although it did not have the hallmarks of a typical baby shower (supra section above), I am confident that the event set out and achieved its intention. We all got to see how great and happy Neha looked and how Anuj is looking more and more like a dad. We got to meet up with friends who we have not seen in a while and who will all play a significant part in The Baby Vohra's life. And of course, we got to shower attention onto The Baby Vohra and pass on our positive energy for these final few months. So Baby Vohra, no need to thank your parents' friends for your fancy strollers, car seats and baby wipe warming machines (I may have to get one of those) - just invite us to your 21st birthday. If its anything like your baby shower, it'll be off the hook.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
So Fresh And So Clean...
On Saturday, The Baby Vohra's 2008 USA Baby Shower Tour began here in Washington DC (future stops: 4/12 - Ann Arbor, MI; 4/19 - Chicago, IL. Get your tickets now!). Saturday's shower was a rollicking event that saw our friends come in from all across the country (including one of The Baby Vohra's first friends, baby Kavi). I never realized quite how many friends we had, but it turns out that Neha and I (and perhaps our unborn baby) are a pretty good draw. The shower was especially excellent because we got food from Neha's favorite Mexican restaurant, Mexicali Blues, which gave us 50% off our order because they were 20 minutes late in preparing everything. The Baby Vohra is good luck and gets us discounted food! The shower was unusual in that in addition to having baby discussions and baby games, it also featured lots of alcohol, college basketball, and a crowded room that was about ten degrees too hot. It was basically a hip sports bar with good lighting and baby trivia. That might be the greatest description of anything ever.
The success of The Baby Vohra's DC baby shower was due entirely to The Loving Aunties Of The Baby Vohra ("TLAOTBV"), a group of Neha's closest girlfriends, who handled all aspects of the planning, from the food to the decorations to the games that involved completing the lines to dirty limericks (actually they were conventional nursery rhymes, but same difference). Seven weeks ago, for about thirty seconds, I thought I could plan the baby shower. When I tried to come up with an appropriate "baby game," I started to convulse (though "pin the tail on the baby" would have been awesome). As it turns out, I couldn't do anything baby shower-related. But TLAOTBV took over, told me to get out of the way, and made the magic happen. They did everything I couldn't. Which was, um, everything. I owe them my life. If The Baby Vohra is a boy, I'm planning on enlisting TLAOTBV six years from now to teach him how to throw a baseball.
Who else made the baby shower awesome? The Baby Vohra. The Baby Vohra was able to do what Neha and I never could - get many of our friends to come out and visit us in DC. We got to share in our friends' excitement about the impending new addition to our family, and it was just a wonderful, happy feeling. Is it humbling that our unborn baby is a far bigger draw than Neha and I could ever hope to be? A bit. But I imagine that such will be the case for the next 20 years, so we'd better get used to it. Besides, having friends who come to see the baby is better than having no friends at all. Thank you The Baby Vohra!
What made the first baby shower a little scary (in the good and exciting way)? It was the next big milestone prior to The Baby Vohra's birth. Two more baby showers to go, and a birthing class, and we're basically there. We're at t-minus three months! Of course there has really been no turning back since the first test came back positive in October, but still, the passing of each big event just brings it a little closer to reality. Holy cow. I can't believe we're less than 90 days away. I gotta get up to speed on those (non-dirty) nursery rhymes.
The success of The Baby Vohra's DC baby shower was due entirely to The Loving Aunties Of The Baby Vohra ("TLAOTBV"), a group of Neha's closest girlfriends, who handled all aspects of the planning, from the food to the decorations to the games that involved completing the lines to dirty limericks (actually they were conventional nursery rhymes, but same difference). Seven weeks ago, for about thirty seconds, I thought I could plan the baby shower. When I tried to come up with an appropriate "baby game," I started to convulse (though "pin the tail on the baby" would have been awesome). As it turns out, I couldn't do anything baby shower-related. But TLAOTBV took over, told me to get out of the way, and made the magic happen. They did everything I couldn't. Which was, um, everything. I owe them my life. If The Baby Vohra is a boy, I'm planning on enlisting TLAOTBV six years from now to teach him how to throw a baseball.
Who else made the baby shower awesome? The Baby Vohra. The Baby Vohra was able to do what Neha and I never could - get many of our friends to come out and visit us in DC. We got to share in our friends' excitement about the impending new addition to our family, and it was just a wonderful, happy feeling. Is it humbling that our unborn baby is a far bigger draw than Neha and I could ever hope to be? A bit. But I imagine that such will be the case for the next 20 years, so we'd better get used to it. Besides, having friends who come to see the baby is better than having no friends at all. Thank you The Baby Vohra!
What made the first baby shower a little scary (in the good and exciting way)? It was the next big milestone prior to The Baby Vohra's birth. Two more baby showers to go, and a birthing class, and we're basically there. We're at t-minus three months! Of course there has really been no turning back since the first test came back positive in October, but still, the passing of each big event just brings it a little closer to reality. Holy cow. I can't believe we're less than 90 days away. I gotta get up to speed on those (non-dirty) nursery rhymes.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
The Exception to The Rule...
I don't consider myself particularly idiosyncratic, but one thing I cannot stand is when people talk on the subway during the daily commute to and from work. In the morning I believe commuters should be quiet so that we may contemplate in silence the crappy day that lies ahead of us. In the afternoon, talking on the train is a bit more tolerable (barely), so long as those speaking remember to maintain the reverential, hushed tones appropriate for the Metro. If you're talking on your cell phone on a crowded train, you deserve to be punched in the face.
Sometimes when Neha and I ride the train together in the morning, she insists that we talk, egregiously violating the rules she knows better than anyone (because I bitch constantly). All I can say is that she's lucky she's my baby mama.
Why is all this relevant? Because when I got on the metro today after work, there was a mom (who looked like Evangeline Lilly's older sister) with three young daughters, the youngest who could not have been older than three. The three-year old, apparently, was not aware of the no-talking-on-the-train rule. Instead, she thought it would be a good idea to sing her ABCs over and over again as loud as she could. Her version of the ABCs went something like this:
"Abcdefg, hijk...warblewarblewarblewarble...now I know my ABCs, next time won't you sing with me."
It was...awesome. I know that I've set forth my very rigid rules regarding train communication, but every time the little girl finished her ABCs, her mom and I would look at each other and start laughing. It was just too funny. Sadly, the remainder of the people on the train seemed generally unmoved by the whole thing. The little girl sang her heart out, but the commuting masses just looked off into the distance unhappily.
Then something incredible happened.
After the third or fourth time the little girl completed the song with "next time won't you sing with me," her mom pointed out that no one, in fact, was singing with her. This got the attention of the middle daughter who shouted at the rest of us disapprovingly, "you're not singing with her!" When the little girl started singing her ABCs again, both of her older sisters joined in. Then her mom, who seemed a little embarrassed at first, joined in as well. It was very sweet. Then the singing got louder. Inspired by the middle daughter's admonition, random people on the train started singing along as well. And while most everyone knew the middle section of the song (I hope) that the littlest girl did not, we all warbled right along with her. It was one of those bizarre, wonderful things you'd see in a movie too cheesy to be taken seriously. It made me excited to be a parent. It made me proud to be a human.
...
Okay none of that actually happened. I mean, some of it did. The little girl sang her ABCs, and her mom and I laughed, but no one sang along. In fact I'm pretty sure it pissed some people off. I thought it was adorable though. Hearing that little girl sing just increased my anticipation and excitement for The Baby Vohra. I can't wait until we warble our ABCs.
Sometimes when Neha and I ride the train together in the morning, she insists that we talk, egregiously violating the rules she knows better than anyone (because I bitch constantly). All I can say is that she's lucky she's my baby mama.
Why is all this relevant? Because when I got on the metro today after work, there was a mom (who looked like Evangeline Lilly's older sister) with three young daughters, the youngest who could not have been older than three. The three-year old, apparently, was not aware of the no-talking-on-the-train rule. Instead, she thought it would be a good idea to sing her ABCs over and over again as loud as she could. Her version of the ABCs went something like this:
"Abcdefg, hijk...warblewarblewarblewarble...now I know my ABCs, next time won't you sing with me."
It was...awesome. I know that I've set forth my very rigid rules regarding train communication, but every time the little girl finished her ABCs, her mom and I would look at each other and start laughing. It was just too funny. Sadly, the remainder of the people on the train seemed generally unmoved by the whole thing. The little girl sang her heart out, but the commuting masses just looked off into the distance unhappily.
Then something incredible happened.
After the third or fourth time the little girl completed the song with "next time won't you sing with me," her mom pointed out that no one, in fact, was singing with her. This got the attention of the middle daughter who shouted at the rest of us disapprovingly, "you're not singing with her!" When the little girl started singing her ABCs again, both of her older sisters joined in. Then her mom, who seemed a little embarrassed at first, joined in as well. It was very sweet. Then the singing got louder. Inspired by the middle daughter's admonition, random people on the train started singing along as well. And while most everyone knew the middle section of the song (I hope) that the littlest girl did not, we all warbled right along with her. It was one of those bizarre, wonderful things you'd see in a movie too cheesy to be taken seriously. It made me excited to be a parent. It made me proud to be a human.
...
Okay none of that actually happened. I mean, some of it did. The little girl sang her ABCs, and her mom and I laughed, but no one sang along. In fact I'm pretty sure it pissed some people off. I thought it was adorable though. Hearing that little girl sing just increased my anticipation and excitement for The Baby Vohra. I can't wait until we warble our ABCs.
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