With all of the stuff I’ve been up to lately, doing a bit of writing has fallen by the wayside. Work on the house is still incomplete, but has slowed down because what remains isn’t critical quite yet. Once all of the painting is complete, and I’ve managed to get all of the doors rehung, there will be pictures.

I’ve gone to see The Dark Knight, which was the first time since Abraham graced us with his presence that Debbie and I managed to get out alone. I went to the zoo, where the boy and I became an exhibit to all of the women around when Debbie went to the restroom. I went to Whiskey Island on Friday afternoon for a picnic, took a walk by myself to get some alone time with nature, watched swallow bug-catching, a swallow-heckling oriole, and played with a groundhog for a little while.

Last Monday my office was one of the three County offices raided by the FBI and IRS-CID as a part of their investigation into corruption by County officials. Apparently they came over the intercom and told folks to go to the canteen [which is what everywhere else is called a lunch room]. The design room keeps the overhead speaker turned off because we’d rather not listen to the best in soft rock from the 80s, 90s and now, so I didn’t hear the announcement. I happened to be both on my computer and on the phone, both no-nos, when the FBI knocked on the door. I’d already managed to tell Debbie everything she needed to know to get the scanner at home working though, so it was no big deal.

I went to the canteen, where everyone else was, and filled out a sheet that asked for basic information and job duties, and then got to take the rest of the day off.

When my mom rolled up here for the 4th of July, we planted a tree for Abraham. I had a tree planted for me when I was born as well. I even wrote about it for Young Authors, so you can read that here. Although that picture is from a month ago, Abraham is already much bigger, I’d say near 12 pounds. He’s started smiling and chuckling a little, and I can actually sort of play with him now. The only rough part is that when I’m at work he’s in his best mood, so when I come home I get to interact with him for the part of the day when he’s at his worst. It gets frustrating at times.

I got season tickets to the Notre Dame football games this year, blessed be my monogram. I don’t know that I’ll be able to get to more than one of them, however.

The weather has been wonderful, and today looks as if it will continue that pattern. Dinner is a daily choice between eating on the porch or watching some old school Muppet Show episodes. I recently discovered that I can get Mr. Wizard on DVD as well. Abraham’s going to talk to folks at school about these crazy shows that aren’t on TV anymore and no-one is going to know what he’s talking about except his teachers.

I haven’t been to a rock and roll show in forever. It hurts.

Watching Abraham is a never-ending source of fun. At first he had no volition, at all, but here we are three weeks later and he’s already figured out that he has the ability to control his own body. He’s not very good at it, but I can already see some definite human behavior emerging. He’s a good boy.

In the evening he’s usually overstimulated from all the new things he’s learned during the day, so while he feeds he fusses mightily. Sometimes he gets full and doesn’t really know what is going on and becomes inconsolable by Debbie.

I’m an expert, however, at both waking and getting the boy to sleep. Here’s a demonstration of the former:

The latter basically consists of me laying him across my body and letting him hear my heartbeat and look at my face until he’s out like the fat kid in dodgeball. Takes no more than 10 minutes, every time.

I’ve been reading him Robert Bly’s The Night Abraham Called to the Stars and The Silmarillion.

The other day I referred to him as Lord Squirmoculous, and treated him as if he were a commanding alien from an alien invasion force; disguised as a baby, of course. This has been quite fun, and we’ve been running with it. Saying: “Lord Squirmoculous commands x!” and “Your forces are leaving Squirmocula now, sir!” and “If you don’t listen to Lord Squirmoculous, he’ll unleash the Squirmoculizer!” Poor little guy, he has no idea. Heh.

Routine

Abraham is one week old and I’ve still not managed to get rid of him. I took him to Petco the other day to see if anyone wanted to adopt him. That didn’t work, so I went to Home Depot to try and return him there. Home Depot will take just about anything back but they wouldn’t take the kid.

We’ve been told that routine is the most important thing for a newborn, so we’ve been trying to establish one. Abraham’s in utero routine was to wake up at 10pm and be up from 2-5am every night. This has continued for the most part ex utero. We’ve been trying to change that using various methods. The first is bath time. Every night at 8, and try to keep him awake until we feed him right before 10. By doing this we hope to get a good start to our sleep. This only sort of worked, we neglected to realize that by sleeping all day, of course he’s going to party all night. Yesterday we kept him up with frequent small feedings and he decided to stay awake for a few hours on end on his own. Last night he only fed twice, at 1:30am and at 5. I barely woke up in my memory, but Debbie says I was fussing nearly as much as the baby when he cried.

Naming Convention

We chose Abraham, after a moderate amount of deliberation, because we wanted a strong, biblical name that isn’t used all of the time. The name Abraham certainly fits that bill, and I hope my son grows into it; and becomes as strong and honorable as his namesake[s]. The biblical Abraham is huge figure in Islam, Judaism and Christianity, and Kierkegaard [and other philosophers, so I've been told] have used the story about him and Isaac as a frame to analyze ethical and moral behavior.

There’s also Abraham Lincoln; a pillar of humanity if ever there was one.

In terms of nicknames, I’m not a fan of Abe, but I like Bram. And Abraham rolls off the tongue so well that there isn’t much need to shorten it. Everyone liked the name except for the crossing guard.

Depending on who you ask, you’ll get a couple of different answers for his middle name. Originally, I didn’t want to give him one, Abraham Harvey being imposing as it is. But in February, my grandma died. Her name was Frances Sue. I considered having a boy named Sue for a brief time, but settled on Francis, which works out well since Debbie’s father is named Frank.

Miscellaneous

Abraham wiggles alot.

Chronology

Debbie started having frequent contractions on Saturday morning at 5am. We went to the hospital later that afternoon to see what was up, the contractions were about 5 minutes apart. We get to the hospital and, of course, they slow down. After examination, Debbie was still only about 2cm, so they sent us home. She was still having contractions, and we’d told the contractor working on our house that we wouldn’t be back for a few days, so we stayed at her parents house. We didn’t get much sleep though, as contractions continued throughout the night, increasing gradually in pain. Sunday morning we went back to the hospital and found out that Debbie was at 4cm. Go time. 13 hours later: Abraham.

Calculating labor time is not exact. Technically we could count it from when she started having her contractions early Saturday morning, a 44 hour labor, but I was told that hospitals usually count labor from 4cm, which would make the labor the aforesaid 13 hours. I’m inclined to go with labor lasting from the first signs of pregnancy through the birth, because it appears to be work the entire time. Debbie was certainly doing quite a bit of work starting Saturday morning. Labor, in general, burns about 1000 calories an hour. Debbie’s labor plan was to keep her options open. The intention was a natural childbirth if at all possible. Since she likes being in the tub, we aimed for a waterbirth at first. The only problem was that Abraham’s head had entered the pelvis a bit crooked. This stuck things for a few long [exhausting] hours. The pain was increasing and her energy level was waning, so she took a little Nubain to take the edge off. Being in the tub was helping, but after awhile it slows labor down. Eventually we got out of the tub altogether, because Debbie had no energy left and asked for an epidural.

After the epidural, we both took a brief nap before things got going again. She was already at 10cm so it was pushing time, for almost three hours. Debbie got the head very close, but it seemed to get stuck again, so Colleen, the most excellent midwife suggested using a bit of suction to get him crowned. She left, and Debbie decided she wanted to do it on her own, and with the roaring encouragement of the nursing staff, managed to get the baby crowning by the time Colleen came back with the doctor.

I stopped holding Debbie’s legs, stopped keeping her focused, stopped feeding her popsicles, and put on my catcher’s mitt. It was time to catch the baby. What looked like a tennis ball was already crowned, I thought, “Oh, he’s almost here”, and then after another push, a HUGE, blue-purple, softball-sized head popped out. My thoughts were now nothing more than inarticulate gibberings of shock and joy. The cord wasn’t wrapped completely around his neck, but it was against it, and there was quite a bit of meconium, so Colleen cleaned his nose and mouth before I pulled him the rest of the way out.

My son was then taken from me. Taken. From me. But they gave him to Debbie, which is okay, I guess. I cut the cord with one snip. It is tough like a fleshy electrical cord. They whisked him away to the warmer while I heard him start to scream lustily. I don’t really remember what I told Debbie, but I went over to “check out” the baby. What I was really doing was guarding him. Guarding my son. He was bright red and squalling. A beautiful, healthy boy. I looked over just in time to see the placenta plop out of Debbie. I wasn’t much interested in the placenta, so I hung out with my son for a bit before going back to Debbie and getting a few pictures. I wanted a good shot of me delivering the baby, but with all of the excitement, it didn’t turn out that way.

Debbie’s parents came over that night to meet little Abraham. We ended up going to sleep around 3, only to be woken for poking and prodding around 7. The first day in the hospital went quite well. The staff, including the students, were helpful and compassionate. The second day, though, was hell. Debbie had been up until 5 trying to feed the baby and was completely out of energy. Our morning started with a barrage of loud knocks on our door, and a male student who was anything but quiet for 7 in the morning. People were poking and prodding Debbie for most of the morning and afternoon. She was exhausted and all she needed was people to listen to her when she expressed her needs. Instead, when she said she was dizzy, they started asking too many questions and just made things worse. All she needed was food. Which took about 2 hours to arrive. We’d been mentioning to people all day that she wasn’t getting any rest because of all the checkups. At one point she was lectured by a nurse that she should be sleeping when the baby sleeps; which she can’t very well do with people waking her up every half hour. Eventually she was so tired that she started crying when a nurse asked, for about the millionth time that day, how her bottom felt on a scale of 1 to 10. The nurse immediately asked Debbie if she had a history of depression in her family. That set Debbie off. “I’m just TIRED!” she yelled. Evidently after the nurse left, she finally spread the word [apparently the Do Not Disturb sign on our door wasn't a clue to them] and we stopped getting incessant visitors. It only took about 12 hours. Pretty much the only upside to the day was a visit from my mom. She came up for a couple of hours to meet her grandson and it was great to see her.

We let the baby go to the nursery for most of the night so that we could catch some shut eye. He got bottle-fed once through the night so the upshot was that we got to sleep for about 6 hours, straight. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of the hospital by this point, they had a hide-a-bed that was lumpier than a toad’s back and was too short and angled to sleep on comfortably. My neck and back are killing, but it was nice to be allowed to stay in the room with Debbie and Abraham. I’d been out making errand end runs to home and the grocery, since Debbie is now hungrier than when she was pregnant. We made it out of the hospital a bit after noon, and the day was much more relaxed after that.

Miscellaneous

We didn’t get Abraham circumcised. Apparently only 50% of boys get circumcised anymore, it is more traditional than medical. No one has vehemently disagreed with our decision apart from a few of my coworkers.

Letting Abraham sleep on and next to me makes me realize just how much I am an animal. To him I must seem this great, furry breathing source of comfort and protection, when I nuzzle him I remind myself of all of those nature documentaries where critters care for their young. I’ve got one for myself now, and the challenge of fatherhood suits me well. I’d been wanting a new difficult and meaningful challenge in my life. I love him.

Sleepdep is already in full effect. Abraham only needs fed about twice during the night, but it isn’t that easy. If he does eat right away, that takes about half an hour, followed by burping, possible diaper changing and getting the little feller asleep. Then we have a chance to use the restroom and grab a bite to eat ourselves. By the time all that is taken care of, it is pretty much time to feed him again. And that’s only if things run smoothly. Sometimes he won’t latch, will fuss because he’s too hungry to sleep and too tired to eat, or just because 10pm and 3am were his favorite times to party in the womb. I’m getting the idea that I’ll never catch up on sack time.

I’ve lived in this house for almost a year and I’m still not moved in. The work on fixing the place up continues, and tomorrow the embiggening of the bathroom and closet [to the dearth of the tiniest bedroom] begins. Since we’re in the process of painting the entry room, this means that 4 of the rooms can’t have anything in them right now. It will be 5 if we don’t manage to complete the painting and quarter-rounding of the entry room by the time the big room by the kitchen is ready to have the flooring put down.

We’re pretty stressed and cramped, living in two rooms with the floors covered in crap from the other rooms, and the kitchen. We’ll have to go upstairs for most of the bathroom needs. Plus, an imminent eminent like a thief in the night baby on the way. Compared to the hectacular hecticness of our current lives, being settled in with a finished house and a finished baby seems positively cromulent.

Yesterday was a bit of a wash in terms of accomplishment. I had some appliances delivered ass-early in the morning, which turned out to be excellent, because by 9am I was at the hospital with Debbie. She’d been having erratic contractions all night and since she’s 32 weeks along Colleen our midwife had us come in for a checkup. Turns out Debbie’s cervix was 75% effaced, in preparation for labor. I was an early bird and it looks like the kid will be too. But not quite yet. They gave Debbie a drug that was originally used for asthmatics to stop the contractions, 2L of saline and a steroid shot for the kid to help develop his lungs in case he does come early. Apparently male lungs develop slower than females. Debbie had to go back to the hospital for another steroid shot today and she’s on 3 weeks of bed rest. Gotta keep him in there as long as possible

We were at the hospital for 6 hours, so I didn’t get to accomplish all the things I wanted in the morning, including having my friend Chris come and install a faucet, Punk Rock Softball, and hanging out with Rafeeq. Instead, it was time to clean and organize. I was emotionally and physically exhausted so I crashed at 9:30 and didn’t wake up until 8:15.

Today I just went ahead and installed the faucet myself. It took a couple of hours, but I did it well, and now the upstairs is ready for renters.

Apparently, if I behave myself, I’ll be allowed to catch the kid as Debbie pushes him out. I’ve been practicing. A few weeks ago I bought a catcher’s mitt; I’m softening it up with mink oil and keeping it wrapped around a softball to get a nice pocket created for the kid’s head.

Catching my son will be the best thing to ever happen to me.

• $110 will get you approximately 250 items of secondhand baby clothes. No one needs to buy us anything resembling a baby cloth for at least the next 9 months.
• The Bobby website accessibility validator is no longer available online. It is now bundled into a piece of IBM software for purchase only. This makes it harder, not easier, for web designers to build accessible websites.
• It is faster to ride RTA downtown than drive, since the E 9th and Euclid intersection snarls everything up. It is actually faster to exit on E 22nd Street and backtrack.
• No one is used to the bus lanes yet, they’re being used as right turn lanes, which further snarls traffic.
• After 3 years of paying my consolidated college loans on time, I just received at 1% reduction in the interest rate. Now it is at 2.375%, which is awesome. I can pay it off faster now.

Onesy Ideas:

• An arrow on the front pointing to the mouth with Food written under it; on the backside, an arrow pointing to the butt with Poop written over it.
• A snake mouth on the bottom half of the onesy; so it looks as if the baby is being eaten.
• Basic animal onesies, all ferocious and ravenous looking; not cute and cuddly.
• Gender-benders: Girl-onesies with sparkly, vicious, toothy T-Rexes; pink and purple fire trucks; etc. Boy-onesies with camo-print prancing ponies.
• His and Her: Mommy Loves Me; Daddy Doesn’t and Daddy Loves Me; Mommy Doesn’t.

Pregnant Woman T-shirt Ideas [all of these prints go on the lower part of the shirt, so the belly fills them out]:

• Disco Ball [thanks to Noah Pfarr]
• Death Star
• Globe
• A monster mouth with sharp teeth [to discourage people from touching the pregnant belly].

13 weeks after
tears and trepidation,

it happens quickly. You
wrought to sound;

she the seashell
woman you hide inside.

The day you first spoke to
me; I put my ear

to our blood ontology.

like first steps,
like the sea.