If she sits on you, you will die.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
T-Minus...
The Baby Vohra's expected date of delivery is June 28, 2008. That's exactly one month from now. Of course, that date is an estimate, and the actual window is two weeks from that date in either direction. Meaning it's possible that Neha and I will be parents no more than two weeks from now. Holy ******* ****. We're now in heightened preparedness mode, working under the assumption that Neha could pop out The Baby Vohra at any moment. Accordingly, this is now the blog's official theme song:
Monday, May 26, 2008
Fitting...
I turned 30 today. Good lord am I old. The keys on this keyboard are so tiny! I can barely see them! To celebrate this momentous birthday (so important that it was declared a national holiday), we bought a stroller and a bassinet, and spent more than three hours at Buy Buy Baby and Babies R' Us.
All of which is fitting. Once you start having kids, do you even have birthdays anymore? I'm not sure you do. Honestly, I'm okay with that.
By the way, when I was in college, I always used to say that I'd have two kids before I was thirty. Two. (Maybe I do, and just don't know about them. Ha ha! I'm totally kidding! Seriously.) As The Baby Vohra's arrival approaches faster than I can comprehend and we constantly reassure ourselves that we're ready and we'll make wonderful parents (Neha certainly will; my goal is just to avoid being labeled "deadbeat dad"), the idea of already having two kids causes me to shudder uncontrollably. Which confirms that, if nothing else, when I was in college I was af*cking idiot bit naive.
All of which is fitting. Once you start having kids, do you even have birthdays anymore? I'm not sure you do. Honestly, I'm okay with that.
By the way, when I was in college, I always used to say that I'd have two kids before I was thirty. Two. (Maybe I do, and just don't know about them. Ha ha! I'm totally kidding! Seriously.) As The Baby Vohra's arrival approaches faster than I can comprehend and we constantly reassure ourselves that we're ready and we'll make wonderful parents (Neha certainly will; my goal is just to avoid being labeled "deadbeat dad"), the idea of already having two kids causes me to shudder uncontrollably. Which confirms that, if nothing else, when I was in college I was a
Saturday, May 24, 2008
One Last Hurrah
It's Memorial Day weekend. Neha and I are on a "babymoon" at a resort and spa an hour outside of D.C. This is presumably our last real vacation before The Baby Vohra makes its grand entrance, and we make what I assume will be annual trips to the worlds Disney and Sea.
The original plan was to head to a remote little destination about four hours away, hidden in the Alleghany Mountains. We chose someplace closer upon considering the possibility that Neha might go into labor early, and would have to be tended to by an Appalachian Mountain doctor (that should be the name of a TV show). That would have been bad. Thus we chose our closer destination and have spent day partaking in the ultimate romantic endeavor (kids shut your eyes): outlet shopping. I'm not kidding. I am writing this while sitting in a BCBG waiting for Neha to come out of the dressing room. Admit you're jealous.
The remainder of the weekend promises to be a bit nicer, though I'm not sure how you can beat two hours in the Nike Factory Store. And upon completion of the babymoon, we're just of a month away from the arrival of The Baby Vohra. This is truly amazing stuff, the significance and magnitude of which I am only now starting to comprehend.
It means only thirty more days to pack my stuff and hightail it to the Alleghany Mountains.
The original plan was to head to a remote little destination about four hours away, hidden in the Alleghany Mountains. We chose someplace closer upon considering the possibility that Neha might go into labor early, and would have to be tended to by an Appalachian Mountain doctor (that should be the name of a TV show). That would have been bad. Thus we chose our closer destination and have spent day partaking in the ultimate romantic endeavor (kids shut your eyes): outlet shopping. I'm not kidding. I am writing this while sitting in a BCBG waiting for Neha to come out of the dressing room. Admit you're jealous.
The remainder of the weekend promises to be a bit nicer, though I'm not sure how you can beat two hours in the Nike Factory Store. And upon completion of the babymoon, we're just of a month away from the arrival of The Baby Vohra. This is truly amazing stuff, the significance and magnitude of which I am only now starting to comprehend.
It means only thirty more days to pack my stuff and hightail it to the Alleghany Mountains.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
The Birthing Class - Epilogue
As promised, I write to follow up on our birthing class from yesterday. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting - certainly not a live birth or anything - but at the end I was left wondering if that was all there was. We definitely learned a lot - about contractions, breathing exercises, what to expect during labor, what to put into a the "overnight bag," what types of snacks to pack for when at the hospital waiting on the arrival of The Baby Vohra (not tuna fish, because expectant mothers have a sense of smell that rivals bloodhounds), where to park, and tons of other relevant stuff. So that was good.
First off - I've used this blog as a forum to comment regularly about how large Neha has gotten. I've compared her to a truck, and lamented about how I can barely fit in the bed with her these days (actually I don't think I've yet lodged that particular complaint, but I need to). After attending this birthing class and seeing lots of other pregnant women, I now realize that Neha really isn't all that big. Some of these women in our class with us were huge. What made this even more surprising is that when we all went around saying our due dates, it turns out that The Baby Vohra was the first up. I was totally thrown off. Given the size of some of these ladies, I fully expected them to give birth during the afternoon session. But as it turns out, Neha really is just a tiny pregnant woman. As a result, I will no longer be talking about how ginormous she is.
Oh who am I kidding? She's a frickin' bus.
Anyways, back to the class. What threw both Neha and I off about it, at least in part, was that our instructor (a nurse in the labor and delivery unit), was pretty much a racist. An unintentional, non-malevolent racist, but a racist nonetheless. For example, at one point, our instructor was explaining that after the baby is born, the mom is still must deliver the placenta, a process which can take another ten to fifteen minutes (by the way, the fact that the mom, after delivering the baby, still isn't done with her work, seems totally unfair). The instructor encouraged us, the dads, to watch the delivery of the placenta, because it would be amazing to see this thing that sustained the baby for its nine months in the womb. She concluded her discussion of the placenta, however, by joking that the hospital would not let any of us take the placenta home, which she had to tell us because "some cultures revere the placenta and bury it in the backyard and stuff." It was clear from the way she said this that the notion that anyone could revere the placenta was totally ridiculous. Neha and I aren't planning on burying the placenta, but her disdain for the idea nonetheless seemed awfully obnoxious. Besides, we couldn't help but think that openly dismissing "some cultures" in front of a bunch of people you don't know might be a bad idea. What if we were planning on burying the placenta? We would feel terrible, and be totally offended. Actually, we may have been planning on burying the placenta, and have been shamed out of doing so. I'll never tell.
Later during the class, our instructor was explaining to us the various positions in which the baby rests in the womb. In one of those positions, the baby sits with its back straight and its arms and legs crossed. As our instructor described it, "injun style." I'm not kidding. And then, I guess because she was unsure whether everyone understood what she meant, she clarified, "it sits in there like a little Indian." Neha shifted uncomfortably in her chair. A single tear rolled down my cheek.
Finally our instructor was explaining that because the "birthing suites" are kept very cool (because the moms get so hot during delivery), the dads, in case they have to change into scrubs (if, for example, a c-section becomes necessary), should wear a t-shirt underneath anything else they might be wearing so as to stay warm. She pointed to me as an example, as I had a t-shirt on underneath my button down shirt. As she pointed, she said "wear a shirt like he is wearing." And then speaking directly to me, "I'm not even going to try and say your name, because I can't pronounce it" (we were wearing nametags). I mean, I get my name is somewhat unusual, but is it really that hard? It's not even worth an attempt? I was very hurt by this. Actually, I was not hurt at all, but it was still ridiculous.
But aside from the length of the class and our instructor's latent racism, it wasn't all that bad. There was unlimited orange juice, and we got coupons to buy more baby crap, of which I've learned you can never have enough. We weren't in the same classroom as our friends AC and Sejal, so playing Gameboy was out, but we were able to get together to watch the birth video. Hooray for the birthing video!
Ok, so the birthing video. I was horrified going in, and was pretty sure that the video might scar me for life. I imagined that as a result of watching it, I was going to have to hire a surrogate to take my place in the delivery room. I'd actually already interviewed a bunch of people. I am happy to report, however, that it wasn't all that bad. I mean, it was bad, but in a weird way, the birthing video actually eased my fears somewhat, because the four (yes, four) births they showed weren't nearly as awful as I had expected them to be (though seeing a doctor deploy the forceps did cause me to nearly wet myself). In fact, I spent less time freaking out about what was happening, and more time wondering what it was compelled these four couples to allow their births to be filmed. Graphically filmed, for the ostensible purpose of scaring the crap out of prospective parents. Were they getting paid? Were they hoping to use their screen time as a springboard to a lucrative film and television career? Were they getting free health care as a result? I was thoroughly confused. For each of the moms on the screen, I also couldn't help but wonder, "if you knew you were going to be filmed, couldn't you at least spend a bit more time on your hair?" The thoughts I had along those lines were pretty evil, but I'm not the one angling for a lucrative film and television career. These ladies should have known that such superficial criticism is the cost of being a celebrity.
Overall, I'd say the class was a net benefit. It could have been half as long as it was, and would have been fine with a third of the racism, but overall it was pretty good. It wasn't nearly as exciting as I had anticipated - maybe I was expecting a live birth - but I'd say it served its purpose. Neha and I are now as ready as we're ever going to be for the big day, which is now only about 6 weeks away. I know what to put in Neha's overnight bag. I know that our snacks will be peanut butter, not tuna sandwiches. And I know that when Neha does finally go into labor, and we're only hours away from the incredible feeling of meeting our child for the first time, her hair needs to be done.
First off - I've used this blog as a forum to comment regularly about how large Neha has gotten. I've compared her to a truck, and lamented about how I can barely fit in the bed with her these days (actually I don't think I've yet lodged that particular complaint, but I need to). After attending this birthing class and seeing lots of other pregnant women, I now realize that Neha really isn't all that big. Some of these women in our class with us were huge. What made this even more surprising is that when we all went around saying our due dates, it turns out that The Baby Vohra was the first up. I was totally thrown off. Given the size of some of these ladies, I fully expected them to give birth during the afternoon session. But as it turns out, Neha really is just a tiny pregnant woman. As a result, I will no longer be talking about how ginormous she is.
Oh who am I kidding? She's a frickin' bus.
Anyways, back to the class. What threw both Neha and I off about it, at least in part, was that our instructor (a nurse in the labor and delivery unit), was pretty much a racist. An unintentional, non-malevolent racist, but a racist nonetheless. For example, at one point, our instructor was explaining that after the baby is born, the mom is still must deliver the placenta, a process which can take another ten to fifteen minutes (by the way, the fact that the mom, after delivering the baby, still isn't done with her work, seems totally unfair). The instructor encouraged us, the dads, to watch the delivery of the placenta, because it would be amazing to see this thing that sustained the baby for its nine months in the womb. She concluded her discussion of the placenta, however, by joking that the hospital would not let any of us take the placenta home, which she had to tell us because "some cultures revere the placenta and bury it in the backyard and stuff." It was clear from the way she said this that the notion that anyone could revere the placenta was totally ridiculous. Neha and I aren't planning on burying the placenta, but her disdain for the idea nonetheless seemed awfully obnoxious. Besides, we couldn't help but think that openly dismissing "some cultures" in front of a bunch of people you don't know might be a bad idea. What if we were planning on burying the placenta? We would feel terrible, and be totally offended. Actually, we may have been planning on burying the placenta, and have been shamed out of doing so. I'll never tell.
Later during the class, our instructor was explaining to us the various positions in which the baby rests in the womb. In one of those positions, the baby sits with its back straight and its arms and legs crossed. As our instructor described it, "injun style." I'm not kidding. And then, I guess because she was unsure whether everyone understood what she meant, she clarified, "it sits in there like a little Indian." Neha shifted uncomfortably in her chair. A single tear rolled down my cheek.
Finally our instructor was explaining that because the "birthing suites" are kept very cool (because the moms get so hot during delivery), the dads, in case they have to change into scrubs (if, for example, a c-section becomes necessary), should wear a t-shirt underneath anything else they might be wearing so as to stay warm. She pointed to me as an example, as I had a t-shirt on underneath my button down shirt. As she pointed, she said "wear a shirt like he is wearing." And then speaking directly to me, "I'm not even going to try and say your name, because I can't pronounce it" (we were wearing nametags). I mean, I get my name is somewhat unusual, but is it really that hard? It's not even worth an attempt? I was very hurt by this. Actually, I was not hurt at all, but it was still ridiculous.
But aside from the length of the class and our instructor's latent racism, it wasn't all that bad. There was unlimited orange juice, and we got coupons to buy more baby crap, of which I've learned you can never have enough. We weren't in the same classroom as our friends AC and Sejal, so playing Gameboy was out, but we were able to get together to watch the birth video. Hooray for the birthing video!
Ok, so the birthing video. I was horrified going in, and was pretty sure that the video might scar me for life. I imagined that as a result of watching it, I was going to have to hire a surrogate to take my place in the delivery room. I'd actually already interviewed a bunch of people. I am happy to report, however, that it wasn't all that bad. I mean, it was bad, but in a weird way, the birthing video actually eased my fears somewhat, because the four (yes, four) births they showed weren't nearly as awful as I had expected them to be (though seeing a doctor deploy the forceps did cause me to nearly wet myself). In fact, I spent less time freaking out about what was happening, and more time wondering what it was compelled these four couples to allow their births to be filmed. Graphically filmed, for the ostensible purpose of scaring the crap out of prospective parents. Were they getting paid? Were they hoping to use their screen time as a springboard to a lucrative film and television career? Were they getting free health care as a result? I was thoroughly confused. For each of the moms on the screen, I also couldn't help but wonder, "if you knew you were going to be filmed, couldn't you at least spend a bit more time on your hair?" The thoughts I had along those lines were pretty evil, but I'm not the one angling for a lucrative film and television career. These ladies should have known that such superficial criticism is the cost of being a celebrity.
Overall, I'd say the class was a net benefit. It could have been half as long as it was, and would have been fine with a third of the racism, but overall it was pretty good. It wasn't nearly as exciting as I had anticipated - maybe I was expecting a live birth - but I'd say it served its purpose. Neha and I are now as ready as we're ever going to be for the big day, which is now only about 6 weeks away. I know what to put in Neha's overnight bag. I know that our snacks will be peanut butter, not tuna sandwiches. And I know that when Neha does finally go into labor, and we're only hours away from the incredible feeling of meeting our child for the first time, her hair needs to be done.
Friday, May 16, 2008
The Birthing Class - Prologue
Tomorrow we're signed up for an all-day "birthing class" which, as best I can tell, is a class in which they teach Neha how to give birth. I don't know why I have to attend.
From reviewing the class "syllabus," the birthing class will tell us everything we need to know about the actual labor and delivery, and everything else that leads up to the big day. We'll receive instructions about what Neha will be feeling over the next month, when to do when the contractions (both the false alarms and the real things) start kicking in, what to pack for the hospital and how to breathe and everything (I believe this used to be called "Lamaze," but I don't know if that's still the case). We'll also get a tour of the hospital and the rooms in which we'll be delivering. So we know the lay of the land in case we have to rush over there in a panic because Neha goes into labor at some random moment. The instructors may also ask us about a "birthing plan," though I have no idea what that is or what it means. I mean, my plan is to take Neha to the hospital and have her pop out The Baby Vohra. I can't imagine that there are a lot of different "birthing plans." I'm pretty confident they all have similar results.
The most exciting/horrifying aspect of tomorrow's birthing class? The birthing video, which, from what I hear, is a graphic presentation of an actual birth. We're talking front-row seats. I'm not sure I can handle this, nor am I really sure why they show the video. The ostensible purpose, I suppose, is to prepare the parents for what is going to happen on the big day, but can a video really do that? For the mother, there is obviously a certain amount of pain that cannot be replicated. For the dad, I'm pretty sure it's straight-up horrifying, and I doubt it's going to be any less so when it actually happens, simply because we watched the "birthing video." Veeral (my Yoda when it comes to this stuff) suggested that during the video, I stare at the frame of the television, without actually looking at the screen. That seems like a good idea. And if that doesn't work, I'll just jump out the window.
Overall, I am very excited about the class (if not the video). It's basically the last big milestone in the pregnancy prior to Neha's water breaking, so that's a big deal. It's also an opportunity to meet other couples that are in our position, and perhaps foster new friendships. Though I doubt it - I usually prefer to make fun of people I meet in group settings. But I think I'm coming around a bit. We're attending tomorrow's class with our pregnant friends Sejal and A.C., which should be fun. I'm trying to dig up a couple of old Gameboys so that A.C. and I don't have to pay too close attention.
I plan to write all about the birthing class tomorrow. Assuming, of course, I can be revived after watching the video.
From reviewing the class "syllabus," the birthing class will tell us everything we need to know about the actual labor and delivery, and everything else that leads up to the big day. We'll receive instructions about what Neha will be feeling over the next month, when to do when the contractions (both the false alarms and the real things) start kicking in, what to pack for the hospital and how to breathe and everything (I believe this used to be called "Lamaze," but I don't know if that's still the case). We'll also get a tour of the hospital and the rooms in which we'll be delivering. So we know the lay of the land in case we have to rush over there in a panic because Neha goes into labor at some random moment. The instructors may also ask us about a "birthing plan," though I have no idea what that is or what it means. I mean, my plan is to take Neha to the hospital and have her pop out The Baby Vohra. I can't imagine that there are a lot of different "birthing plans." I'm pretty confident they all have similar results.
The most exciting/horrifying aspect of tomorrow's birthing class? The birthing video, which, from what I hear, is a graphic presentation of an actual birth. We're talking front-row seats. I'm not sure I can handle this, nor am I really sure why they show the video. The ostensible purpose, I suppose, is to prepare the parents for what is going to happen on the big day, but can a video really do that? For the mother, there is obviously a certain amount of pain that cannot be replicated. For the dad, I'm pretty sure it's straight-up horrifying, and I doubt it's going to be any less so when it actually happens, simply because we watched the "birthing video." Veeral (my Yoda when it comes to this stuff) suggested that during the video, I stare at the frame of the television, without actually looking at the screen. That seems like a good idea. And if that doesn't work, I'll just jump out the window.
Overall, I am very excited about the class (if not the video). It's basically the last big milestone in the pregnancy prior to Neha's water breaking, so that's a big deal. It's also an opportunity to meet other couples that are in our position, and perhaps foster new friendships. Though I doubt it - I usually prefer to make fun of people I meet in group settings. But I think I'm coming around a bit. We're attending tomorrow's class with our pregnant friends Sejal and A.C., which should be fun. I'm trying to dig up a couple of old Gameboys so that A.C. and I don't have to pay too close attention.
I plan to write all about the birthing class tomorrow. Assuming, of course, I can be revived after watching the video.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
The Baby Vohra Is An Alien
Last week we had another checkup with the OB/GYN, who asked about the baby's movements. Neha informed him that The Baby Vohra was moving pretty much all the time, and when he placed his hand upon her stomach to feel for himself, he remarked "wow! That's an active baby!" The doctor was being polite, but he, along with Neha and I, knows the truth.
The Baby Vohra is an alien.
I'm sure saying as much seems mean or improper, but I assure you that I do so with no malice of intent. I don't know for absolute certain, but it has to be true. Neha's stomach is inexplicable. It's constantly changing shapes (!), as if there was a little shark inside, its dorsal fin trying to break through the surface. It’s terrifying. Sometimes, Neha’s stomach will be perfectly still and peaceful. And then all sudden she will let out a scream, and her perfectly rounded stomach will reveal a huge bulge as the "baby" kicks or punches or makes some internal adjustment. At other times there are multiple bulges in Neha's stomach all at once. The Baby Vohra appears to be everywhere. These cannot be the actions of a human. Therefore the only reasonable explanation is that The Baby Vohra is an alien. I’m not doing a good job of describing the insanity that is Neha’s stomach, but believe me: alien.
At first I was a little unsure how I felt about being the parent of an alien. There were definitely some conflicting emotions. But now I've come to terms with it, and I'm pretty excited. Before we realized we were having an alien, the only mystery was whether The Baby Vohra would be a boy or a girl. Now we have no idea what The Baby Vohra will even look like (I'm hoping it looks like Gizmo). There are other considerations as well - what will it eat, and when (if it's like Gizmo, midnight feedings are out)? Will an alien be able to fit into our carseat? Or our stroller? It had better, because those things are pretty nice, and I'd hate to see them go to waste. Also, will being an alien affect The Baby Vohra's ability to be admitted into a good daycare? I don't recall seeing anything about this, one way or the other, in any of the literature we have received.
That being said, I think having a small alien, which I am sure will be adorable regardless, will be an overwhelmingly positive experience. I just hope the delivery goes better than this:
You're probably asking yourself: was this whole post a poorly concocted ruse to include that horrific Spaceballs clip? The answer? Yes.
The Baby Vohra is an alien.
I'm sure saying as much seems mean or improper, but I assure you that I do so with no malice of intent. I don't know for absolute certain, but it has to be true. Neha's stomach is inexplicable. It's constantly changing shapes (!), as if there was a little shark inside, its dorsal fin trying to break through the surface. It’s terrifying. Sometimes, Neha’s stomach will be perfectly still and peaceful. And then all sudden she will let out a scream, and her perfectly rounded stomach will reveal a huge bulge as the "baby" kicks or punches or makes some internal adjustment. At other times there are multiple bulges in Neha's stomach all at once. The Baby Vohra appears to be everywhere. These cannot be the actions of a human. Therefore the only reasonable explanation is that The Baby Vohra is an alien. I’m not doing a good job of describing the insanity that is Neha’s stomach, but believe me: alien.
At first I was a little unsure how I felt about being the parent of an alien. There were definitely some conflicting emotions. But now I've come to terms with it, and I'm pretty excited. Before we realized we were having an alien, the only mystery was whether The Baby Vohra would be a boy or a girl. Now we have no idea what The Baby Vohra will even look like (I'm hoping it looks like Gizmo). There are other considerations as well - what will it eat, and when (if it's like Gizmo, midnight feedings are out)? Will an alien be able to fit into our carseat? Or our stroller? It had better, because those things are pretty nice, and I'd hate to see them go to waste. Also, will being an alien affect The Baby Vohra's ability to be admitted into a good daycare? I don't recall seeing anything about this, one way or the other, in any of the literature we have received.
That being said, I think having a small alien, which I am sure will be adorable regardless, will be an overwhelmingly positive experience. I just hope the delivery goes better than this:
You're probably asking yourself: was this whole post a poorly concocted ruse to include that horrific Spaceballs clip? The answer? Yes.
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