A Salty Salute

My days of caring for a pregnant woman are over, but the scars remain. Here's a throwback to when Julie was pregnant with baby number four.

Inherit the Breeze - originally posted February, 2009

Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time and attention today. Over the next few minutes we will be discussing a topic of grave importance, one that affects not just the parties involved in the incident I am about to describe, but all of mankind. What you are about to observe is not just the retelling of single garish episode of manipulation. Rather, it is but a window into the world of exploit that is the dark underbelly of married life. The mistreatment of married men by their wives, especially the pregnant variety, has gone on long enough.

My client, me, has risked everything to bring this case before you today. No government, no police force in the world can protect him from the blowback that will certainly arise from nothing more than his appearance before you today. My client's bravery, determination and outright selflessness are to be commended. No. Revered. Today my client risks everything for the mere chance at a better humanity.

What you are about to hear may be disturbing, but please listen closely.

The following diagram (Exhibit A) shows the general set up of the second floor of my client's home. Please note the location of the bed and TV in the bedroom, the desk in the office and the stairs that lead to the first floor.



On the night in question, my client's wife, "Hoolie," was in the bedroom watching TV shows about parents with way too many kids, people with mysterious, unsolved illnesses or some other reality rubbish about births, deaths or autopsies. Meanwhile my client was at the computer doing work of great importance to the family, like managing finances or something, not say, reading sports pages, updating his Facebook status, or browsing YouTube videos of people hurting themselves. This diagram (Exhibit B) shows the location of Hoolie in red and my client in green.



At approximately 9:35 PM, Hoolie left the bed and made her way to the office (Exhibit C). She proceeded to call to my client, "Hey. Come here."



Before my client could even respond, Hoolie returned to her original position in the bed (Exhibit D).



My client, being the devoted husband that he is, left his location in the office and proceeded to make his way to the bedroom (Exhibit E). He then climbed into the bed and snuggled up to Hoolie in an affectionate manner, fully expecting that she was in need of some alone time with her hubby (we can all agree that he is quite the specimen) or, at least, that there was something obscenely gross to be witnessed on TV. Surely there must have been some reason to drag my client from his work in the office to join Hoolie in the bed.



And there was a reason, my friends. There was.

For it was at this moment that Hoolie leaned in close to my client and whispered into his ear, "Go downstairs and get me a soft pretzel."

That's right folks. My client was called to bed to take a food order. Had my client's wife not just made the trip nearly halfway to the downstairs kitchen herself? Yes. And, if she didn't want to carry out the task herself, could she not have simply made her request while my client was sitting a few feet from the stairs rather than calling him back to bed (and further leading him on) to place her order? Yes.

And did my client refuse? No! My client, being the selfless marital supporter that he is, then fulfilled Hoolie's request by proceeding downstairs to carry out her order for one, mildly tasty, microwaveable soft pretzel (Exhibit F).



But it doesn't end here, ladies and gentlemen. Upon return with the requested soft pretzel, the following conversation took place:

"Here's your pretzel."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
"You didn't put any mustard on it."
"You didn't ask for mustard on it."
"But you know I like mustard on my soft pretzels."
"But you didn't ask for mustard on it."
"But you KNOW I like mustard on my soft pretzels."
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine. I guess I'll just eat it like this."

There you have it. Undeniable proof that women are crazy and men are their unwitting pawns stuck in a game of psychological mistreatment and manipulation in which they have no real chance of satisfying the whims of their oppressors.

And for these reasons, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask that you award my client damages in the form of the March Madness package on DIRECTV and one PlayStation 3 game or Blu-ray Disc movie of his choosing.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Eliana Quinn

The only time I was separated from Julie was when they wheeled her into the operating room.
It only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

I thought regular deliveries were intense. They're nothing compared to a c-section.

Moments after delivery. Eliana has never been louder.

I LOVE that, much like a Taco Bell drive thru,
the hospital has instructional posters hung in the operating room.

Eliana may be our most chill baby, yet. Julie, are you sure you don't want more?

This is Amelia's life calling. And even the phlegmatic Truman can't hide his fascination.

There is no prouder big brother on the planet.

Good friends of ours were two doors down with their new son Dominic.
With nurses visiting every three minutes, smuggling beer into the room was no easy task.

So sweet. So calm.

Eliana has fully claimed her mum.

You'd think we'd brought home a puppy or something...

Change of Plans

Um, so the second I hit publish on that last post... Julie's water broke.

And she immediately went into full blown labor.

And we rushed to the hospital a mere four hours before we were *supposed* to be here for our appointment.

Baby Tiny was still sitting head up. Despite our plans, there was no version attempt.

So Julie had a c-section.

One hour after arriving at the hospital, we had a brand new baby girl.

So let's recap:

Despite all of our other children being born by their 37th week, Baby Tiny waited until within days of her 40 week due date.

Despite most babies staying head down this late in the pregnancy, Baby Tiny decided to flip back to the head up position.

Despite making plans for a possible version or c-section at 6:00 AM this morning, Baby Tiny hustled on out at 3:09 AM.

She is absolutely beautiful. Let's hope she's a little more cooperative going forward.

The Big Day

Tomorrow is the big day. (Well, technically it's already here since it's after midnight.) It's weird that it's finally here after all this waiting. It's like I know what's coming, yet I'm still sure it's going to seem so new and be full of surprises.

Apple is announcing their next iPhone.

Are you as excited as I am?

Oh yeah, and we're having a baby.

I haven't done much blog updating on Baby Tiny lately, so let me give you the latest scoop: Julie has been having contractions for weeks now (some fairly intense) and we've even been to the hospital a couple of times to get checked out, but Baby Tiny has thus far refused to vacate the premises. (The premises being Julie's body.) Basically, the doctors have said her uterus is relaxed enough (thank you twins) that Tiny has plenty of room to maneuver and the contractions haven't been enough to get her to move into the birth canal. On top of that, Julie had an ultrasound two weeks ago and we discovered that Tiny, despite having been head down for many weeks, had flipped over and was breech (headed out feet first). It's unusual for a baby to flip this late in the pregnancy, but again, Tiny apparently is comfortable moving around in there however she pleases.

So here we are, in our 40th week. The plan is to go to the hospital tomorrow at the crack of dawn and do an ultrasound. Hopefully we'll see that Tiny has flipped back to the head down position. If she has, they'll induce labor right away. If she's not head down, they'll try a external version (trying to flip the baby manually from the outside). If they can get her head down, they'll induce. If they still can't get her to go head down, then they will perform a c-section tomorrow.

One way or another, Baby Tiny is joining our clan tomorrow.

I'll admit I'm way more excited about Baby Tiny's entrance into the world than the launch of another iPhone. (Though wouldn't a brand new iPhone be great for documenting and sharing said entrance?) And by excited about Baby Tiny, I think I might mean terrified. It's 1:00 in the morning and I don't feel like sleeping at all. There's a lot of adrenaline already pumping through me. It's not that I'm terrified by newborns or that I'm worried about having five kids aged six and under. But I do worry about Julie and the new baby during the actual birth. I'm nervous every time (though I try not to show it). Plus I'm getting a little anxious about how our whole family dynamic will change, especially after things seem to be so settled now. So while I am excited about meeting this wonderful new daughter, I am also nervous about a day that seems full of uncertainties.

Cross your fingers for us. Pray for us. Wear your lucky underwear. You know, all that good vibe stuff.

Go Home!

8 minute apart contractions + 1 centimeter dilation = go the hell home

Despite Julie's best efforts to get unpregnant today, her mean old doctor sent her home from the hospital. So what you see in the picture below is not a woman getting ready to have a baby, but a woman sent to labor at home with a prescription of getting lots of rest and drinking lots of water. Sound advice if you have a cold, but not that great for this weary trooper who is being awoken by contractions at all hours of the night and who already spends half her day peeing.

It was an interesting trip back to the parking garage as every nurse, doctor and custodian had something to say along the lines of "you're headed the wrong way" or "see you soon!"

My water better not #$%! break on the way home.

We're Not Pregnant!

We're not pregnant. But the next time we are, we're getting pregnancy photos taken. Specifically this pose. And we're sending it to everyone we know.

"I think we should give the 8x10 to your mother."

Thank you to Rebecca at Unexplained x2 for bringing this collection of Awkward Family Photos to my attention. You have to check out the whole thing.

Last Minute Reading

The More You Know

Hey, kiddos! It's time for Learning with James!

Today's topic: the wonderful world of cervical dilation*

This is a sexual education class that will cover many mature topics. If you have not turned in your permission slip signed by a parent or guardian, you may not participate in today's discussion. Please leave immediately. You are free to explore any other blog until lunch when you may rejoin your fellow students in the cafeteria.

Now for the rest of you - let's start talking about the cervix!

Madam Cervix lives in the lower, narrow portion of the Uterine Dormitory (i.e. "The U") just past where Miss Vagina hangs out. Madam Cervix is a tough broad that acts like a bit of gatekeeper to The U. Most days of the month she does her best to keep any undesirables (namely the boys from Sperm State) from gaining access to the unsuspecting girls that take up residence in The U. Occasionally though, she lets down her guard (usually after a few glasses of red wine -- she's a bit of a lush) and some unsavory gentlemen sneak past her. Often times, this leads to a sudden increase in church attendance, an uncomfortable conversation with someone's father and/or a wedding involving a smoothbore gun for firing small shot at short range.

Now let's get a little more technical about cervical dilation.

In the later stages of pregnancy, the cervix may already have opened up to 1-3 cm (or more in rarer circumstances), but during labor, repeated uterine contractions lead to further widening of the cervix to about 6 centimeters. From that point, pressure from the presenting part (head in vertex births or bottom in breech births), along with uterine contractions, will dilate the cervix to 10 centimeters, which is "complete." Cervical dilation is accompanied by effacement, the thinning of the cervix.

General guidelines for cervical dilation:
*Latent phase: 0-3 centimeters
*Active Labor: 4-7 centimeters
*Transition: 8-10 centimeters
*Complete: 10 centimeters - Delivery of the infant takes place shortly after this stage is reached (although the mother does not always push right away).

Symptoms
During pregnancy, the os (opening) of the cervix is blocked by a thick plug of mucus to prevent bacteria from entering the uterus. During dilation, this plug is loosened. It may come out as one piece, or as thick mucus discharge from the vagina. When this occurs, it is an indication that the cervix is beginning to dilate, although not all women will notice this mucus plug being released.

Bloody show is another indication that the cervix is dilating. Bloody show usually comes along with the mucus plug, and may continue throughout labor, making the mucus tinged pink, red or brown.

The pain experienced during dilation is similar to that of menstruation (although markedly more intense). Most of the pain during labor is caused by the uterus contracting to dilate the cervix.

Got all that? The cervix is going to open up and thin out so this baby can be born. In other words, it's like hand-tossed pizza dough with a hole in the middle of it. As it keeps getting tossed in the air, the dough is going to thin out and the hole is going to get bigger and bigger, until, Mama Mia! Eetsa baby!

So where does Julie stand right now? One centimeter at last Thursday's doctor visit. Lots of painful contractions and cramping the last couple of days. No sign of any bloody mucus plugs.



*Cervical dilation information courtesy of Wikipedia and my wife's thoroughly familiar doctor. Bad pizza dough analogy -- all me.

Warning: NSFL (Not Safe for Lunch)

OK, if you're about to eat or are particularly squeamish, turn back now. I'll post some cutesy kid photos later and you can pretend this post never happened. Seriously. Stop reading.

Different strokes for different folks.

People do a lot of things that I might consider crazy, but hey, to each their own. I'm not going to judge you. I'm not going to tell you what you should and shouldn't do. Willing to pay a spa hundreds of dollars so you can stick your feet in a bucket of flesh eating little fish? Enjoy! Want to get a tattoo of a penis on your forehead? Go for it! Thinking about growing a lame ass beard for no apparent reason? More power to you! (Seriously, more power to you. Because growing a beard is effing rad.)

But just because I respect your right to do the allegedly absurd doesn't mean I won't dry heave at the mere thought of your actions.

Like, say, the act of eating placentas.

It may sound crazy, but placenta (or "afterbirth") eating isn't, by any means, a new idea. It's a traditional practice in some cultures. Placentas have also been used in ancient Chinese medicines since, um, ancient times. And cows have been down with eating their own placentas for years (and not just the hippie cows, either). So, this isn't some trendy "I drive a Prius and eat placenta" fad -- there's actually some history to it.

By the way, for those of you that don't know (I didn't know before Jameson was born), the placenta is this big organ thingy that grows inside pregnant mammals and pumps all the life juices from the mom through the umbilical cord to the baby. Once the baby is delivered, this organ has to be delivered, hence the name "afterbirth." Take all the beauty and splendor and miraculousness of a brand new baby and then think of the exact opposite. Then dunk it in blood salsa. That's the placenta.

Well, for whatever reason, I've seen this topic discussed a few times recently. At first I thought I dreamt this all up as a result of drinking and watching too much Man vs. Food and Dr. G: Medical Examiner. It's very real, though. Technically, it's called placentophagy. The people that do it typically believe the placenta provides nutritional value and/or prevents postpartum depression. In my three and a half minutes of Yahoo! searching, I couldn't find any medical research that supported these claims. My own personal and very scientific research on the matter has shown that, in person, a placenta looks like a Louis Vuitton handbag made out of a horse's spleen and heart and I would rather eat nothing but peas for every meal for the rest of my life than take one bite of a placenta. (But Julie, I'll give you twenty bucks if you eat yours.)

For those of you that haven't already passed out, thrown your laptop out the window or switched to watching two girls, one cup, then you can further dive into this topic with the links below. And for those of you that like to eat placenta, good for you. You're gross. But you're gross and doing your own thing.

Time Magazine: Afterbirth: It's What's for Dinner

BBC News: Why Eat a Placenta?

For those of you who just want to see what it's like to cook one of these bad boys, enjoy the following video.

I'm Still Alive (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)

The surprise party was a success. Julie had no clue it was coming and I think she had a really great time. (At the very least, the kids had an unbelievable time.) She was pretty exhausted by the end of the day but she appreciated all the festivities. Plus, she got a facial and cute haircut out of the deal. (Her mom noted that if her husband had done something like this for her, she would have killed him. Exactly the response I was worried about.)

Maybe the best part of the whole day was the fact that the kids got to play outside all day. This, of course, means they were exhausted and ready for early bedtimes. With the house full of sleeping babies Julie and I actually got to enjoy a movie (and finish off the chips and salsa from the party). As if Julie wasn't impressed enough by the day's events, I put the icing on the cake by renting He's Just Not That Into You. Usually my Netflix deliveries are reserved for Jason Statham movies, but this was Julie's day after all. Next in the queue: Gran Torino. Don't let me down, Clint.

Side note movie review: I'm really not anti-chick flick, but I just wasn't that into this movie. (Ha! See what I did there!) Anyway. It was your typical relationship movie. The kind that has to be remade every four or five years to update the context. The problem with this one was that at no point did I emotionally connect enough with any of the characters to actually give a flying procreational act how their relationships failed or succeeded. Maybe there were too many characters. Maybe the acting was too mediocre. Either way, I wanted to just skip to the end to see what cheesy cliches they would use to wrap it up. It was predictable as ever, but I guess there's a pattern you are required to follow in these movies. On the plus side, Ben Affleck was only 1/3 as annoying as usual. By the way, Scarlett Johansson is yet another "hot" actress that does not register in my book. She wouldn't make it out of round one in my brackets.

OK, back to the business at hand. Here are a few pictures from the party. The kids pretty much spent the entire day in the water or in the sandbox. Or both at the same time. The kids weren't the only ones to be exhausted at the end of the day -- be sure to check out the video.

We've gone through a couple of lame sprinkler attachments the last couple of years. The blow up fire truck has been a hit, though.



"Fer crying out loud, I can't believe the wait is this long for shuffleboard."



No time to eat when there's a running garden hose.



Margarita break!



Jameson was so tired he actually fell asleep in the shower. No joke.

Now this video is the pièce de résistance. This was taken shortly after dinner and though it may resemble Shady Acres Retirement Home, it was shot in my living room. The instrumental section of "When the Levee Breaks" was playing in the background and for some reason seems to fit this so well. The stars of this video are my father, Jim, my great uncle, Ron, and my uncle, Mike. As my family will recognize, this scene could have been plucked from just about any family function of the last couple of decades.

Surprise! (Don't Be Mad)

I'm rolling the dice a little today. I've planned a surprise party/cookout in Julie's honor. We're less than ten weeks away from welcoming baby number four into the family and I don't think we've made much fuss about it. Julie has been incredibly busy at work. I've been incredibly busy not strangling the kids. We haven't had much time to reflect on the fact that we'll soon have another life in our home. And, frankly, the novelty of pregnancy has worn off a little this third time around. It's not to say that Julie isn't 100% aware that she's the size of a beach ball, is constantly kicked from the inside out, and is perpetually tired, hungry and ready to pee. We are all well aware that she's pregnant. But I don't think we've given Julie or this baby their proper due. We haven't looked at any baby name books. No need to shop for baby clothes. No wild ass speculation about the sex of the baby. Much of the lack of hype is a credit to Julie. Physically and mentally she's handled this pregnancy better than the previous two. She's been diligent about watching her blood sugar. She was still taking karate classes up until a few weeks ago. (Don't worry, no sparring.)

So, I decided to invite some neighbors, friends and local family over to lavish a little attention on Julie and the new baby. Right now she's off to the salon for a haircut and a facial. When she gets back we'll surprise her.

Now please pray for me that this isn't the exact opposite of what a six and a half month pregnant, full-time working, mother of three would want.

Where I Fit in the Sex Food Chain

Actual conversation in bed:

Me: "Are we about to have sex?"
Pregnant Woman: "I'm eating crackers."

I have a place. And I was officially put in it.

(And they were saltines.)

[sigh]

Uh-Oh... Help!

Jameson just asked how we're going to get the baby out of Mom's belly. He wasn't satisfied with "the doctor will take the baby out."

"But HOW?"

Inherit the Breeze

Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time and attention today. Over the next few minutes we will be discussing a topic of grave importance, one that affects not just the parties involved in the incident I am about to describe, but all of mankind. What you are about to observe is not just the retelling of single garish episode of manipulation. Rather, it is but a window into the world of exploit that is the dark underbelly of married life. The mistreatment of married men by their wives, especially the pregnant variety, has gone on long enough.

My client, me, has risked everything to bring this case before you today. No government, no police force in the world can protect him from the blowback that will certainly arise from nothing more than his appearance before you today. My client's bravery, determination and outright selflessness are to be commended. No. Revered. Today my client risks everything for the mere chance at a better humanity.

What you are about to hear may be disturbing, but please listen closely.

The following diagram (Exhibit A) shows the general set up of the second floor of my client's home. Please note the location of the bed and TV in the bedroom, the desk in the office and the stairs that lead to the first floor.



On the night in question, my client's wife, "Hoolie," was in the bedroom watching TV shows about parents with way too many kids, people with mysterious, unsolved illnesses or some other reality rubbish about births, deaths or autopsies. Meanwhile my client was at the computer doing work of great importance to the family, like managing finances or something, not say, reading sports pages, updating his Facebook status, or browsing YouTube videos of people hurting themselves. This diagram (Exhibit B) shows the location of Hoolie in red and my client in green.



At approximately 9:35 PM, Hoolie left the bed and made her way to the office (Exhibit C). She proceeded to call to my client, "Hey. Come here."



Before my client could even respond, Hoolie returned to her original position in the bed (Exhibit D).



My client, being the devoted husband that he is, left his location in the office and proceeded to make his way to the bedroom (Exhibit E). He then climbed into the bed and snuggled up to Hoolie in an affectionate manner, fully expecting that she was in need of some alone time with her hubby (we can all agree that he is quite the specimen) or, at least, that there was something obscenely gross to be witnessed on TV. Surely there must have been some reason to drag my client from his work in the office to join Hoolie in the bed.



And there was a reason, my friends. There was.

For it was at this moment that Hoolie leaned in close to my client and whispered into his ear, "Go downstairs and get me a soft pretzel."

That's right folks. My client was called to bed to take a food order. Had my client's wife not just made the trip nearly halfway to the downstairs kitchen herself? Yes. And, if she didn't want to carry out the task herself, could she not have simply made her request while my client was sitting a few feet from the stairs rather than calling him back to bed (and further leading him on) to place her order? Yes.

And did my client refuse? No! My client, being the selfless marital supporter that he is, then fulfilled Hoolie's request by proceeding downstairs to carry out her order for one, mildly tasty, microwaveable soft pretzel (Exhibit F).



But it doesn't end here, ladies and gentlemen. Upon return with the requested soft pretzel, the following conversation took place:

"Here's your pretzel."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
"You didn't put any mustard on it."
"You didn't ask for mustard on it."
"But you know I like mustard on my soft pretzels."
"But you didn't ask for mustard on it."
"But you KNOW I like mustard on my soft pretzels."
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine. I guess I'll just eat it like this."

There you have it. Undeniable proof that women are crazy and men are their unwitting pawns stuck in a game of psychological mistreatment and manipulation in which they have no real chance of satisfying the whims of their oppressors.

And for these reasons, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask that you award my client damages in the form of the March Madness package on DIRECTV and one PlayStation 3 game or Blu-ray Disc movie of his choosing.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Announcement II

Oh, and I think I may have forgotten to mention... we're pregnant. :)