Thursday, February 21, 2008
woah. ok. now what?
soooooo, Wolfgang A. H. Parsons was born at 10:56 pm on February 19, 2008, after about 18 hours of labor. at birth he was 8 pounds, one ounce, and 20 inches long, with a head full of hair.
we're home now, and kinda tired...more later as we adjust!
Thanks all for your good wishes, words of encouragement, and gestures of goodwill.
we loves y'all!
Heidi, Fred and Wolfgang
pictures to follow, someday.
soooooo, Wolfgang A. H. Parsons was born at 10:56 pm on February 19, 2008, after about 18 hours of labor. at birth he was 8 pounds, one ounce, and 20 inches long, with a head full of hair.
we're home now, and kinda tired...more later as we adjust!
Thanks all for your good wishes, words of encouragement, and gestures of goodwill.
we loves y'all!
Heidi, Fred and Wolfgang
pictures to follow, someday.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
so, like every other thing in my life that I was supposed to accomplish by some milestone deadline date or face certain life-ruining misery forever, His Miniature Majesty is late. Only by three days so far, but late is late. damn it.
The world will have to wait for Yet Another Privileged White Boy to show his privileged face, smile his privileged smile, shit his privileged pants, and make his oppressive way from privileged infancy through his privileged childhood, into and beyond his privileged adolescence and away into his privileged adulthood, crushing the flower of womanhood beneath his heavy bootheel with every step he takes.
or, you know, he could grow up human, despite my best efforts.
That is, if he even shows up at all. I'm starting to doubt I was ever pregnant in the first place, first-trimester misery be damned. I must have made it all up. If I was really pregnant in the early spring of 2007, I'd have a baby by now, right? As it is, all I have now is the ass end of a wicked flu, sneeze incontinence and some seventeen extra pounds sitting lazily across what useta be my waistline (such as ever existed).
I guess he could still show up. I've tried putting a dish of Mountain Dew between my legs, to sort of coax him out, like a cat out from under the sofa, but no deal. same with the dirty ashtray. he's just not interested. I'm finally knitting him a cute little baby hat (well, to be honest, I'm unraveling a baby hat that I thought was cute but turns out to be rife with error), thinking maybe he's shy or concerned with being cold or something. Another thing I'm doing is speculating.
I have avoided making a lot of assumptions or expectations about (or cute little baby clothes for) The Fetus Who Would Be Baby, mostly because I'm a little superstitious. Don't want to jinx him at all. But this does not stop other folks from, you know, setting up due date pools - which are all out of whack now that the lazy little guy is late...wonder if anyone lost money on that? I mean, people will bet on anything - date, time, weight, length, length of labor, circumference of head, anything really.
But this morning I was full of conjecture and speculation. I can't resist any longer. Thought I'd share them with y'all, for your wagering pleasure. this is all highly scientific, of course, being based on exactly nothing. please, feel free to lay whatever odds you like, prognosticate at will, and share with the rest of the class. I'll get you started:
Eye Color: brown
Hair Color: auburn. Texture: Frizzy to a socially-crippling level
Body Type: endomorph (heavyset)
Skin Type: pasty, pale, excessively freckled
First Word: "NO!" age: three weeks
First tooth: four months First Biting of Mommy: four months, one day
First Swallowing of Something Dangerous: one year
First Willful Destruction of Something One Of Us Really Liked: two years
First Incident of Humiliating Parents To Death in Public: two and a half
Learns to Read: three years
Learns to Read Very Dirty Words: three years, one day
First Fire Set: four years
First Emergency Room Visit: five years
First Unanswerable Theological Question: six years Topic: "who did Cain and Abel marry?"
First Fistfight: seven years
First Time Parents Realize They're Late for the Birds and Bees Talk: eight years
First School Suspension: sixth grade
First Cigarette: twelve years
Last Cigarette: twelve years, one day
First Time I Threaten To Send Him To Military School: twelve years, six months
First Shave: thirteen years
First Band That Simply Must Practice In Our Basement: thirteen years Instrument: percussion.
Name of band: Phlegm In My Eyes
Duration of band: six months
First Significant Other: fourteen years
Duration of Relationship: three months
Duration of Unbearable Teen Angst: one excruciating year
First Time I Find a Condom In His Pocket: fourteen years
First Beer: fourteen years Brand: Sam Adams Environment: Home, dinner
First Beer at Raging Kegger: fifteen years
First Hangover: day after Raging Kegger
First Job: sixteen years Workplace: Abercrombie & Fitch Duration: three weeks
First Time Police Bring Him Home: fifteen years, six months
Circumstances: shoplifting socks from Abercrombie and Fitch
First Car: sixteen years Year/Make/Model: 1995 Honda Civic Color: Primer
First Car Wreck: sixteen years, six months
First Time I Find Pot In His Pockets: seventeen years
First Pregnancy Scare: eighteen years
Ah, sweet innocence of childhood!
That's about all I can think of, for the time being. I feel strangely a little better, seeing all my dire predictions all laid out like that.
I feel better reminding myself that I am not giving birth to a precious little bundle of perfection personified, but in fact to a baby human being, who's gonna fuck up the same as I did, and needs to learn to be in the world in as respectful and decent a fashion as possible.
Lest I be misunderstood, I don't plan to greet his every act of criminal mischief (or worse) with a cup of hot cocoa, a tilt of my head and a "boys will be boys!" I mean, I do understand that raising a boy to be a good man, by which I mean a man of kindness, empathy, altruism, loyalty, gentleness, strength, etc - it might require a hard line on some things, harder than I can even comprehend. I might need to (quel horreur!) spank or something. I and my husband may need to Talk To The Boy, for hours and hours on end.
"Look kid - the expression is 'boys will be BOYS', not 'boys will be disrespectful, inhumane, destructive, hateful, spiteful, naughty, thoughtless, obnoxious, bullying little monsters'. You will apologize/make restitution/knock it off/ RIGHT THIS MINUTE!"
I do, however, want to be sure I have as realistic a view of parenting as possible, so I'm not surprised when my kid acts all...well...naughty. Like I did. Like my husband did.
looking forward to your predictions, folks. Wish I knew how these mysterious "odds" worked.
The world will have to wait for Yet Another Privileged White Boy to show his privileged face, smile his privileged smile, shit his privileged pants, and make his oppressive way from privileged infancy through his privileged childhood, into and beyond his privileged adolescence and away into his privileged adulthood, crushing the flower of womanhood beneath his heavy bootheel with every step he takes.
or, you know, he could grow up human, despite my best efforts.
That is, if he even shows up at all. I'm starting to doubt I was ever pregnant in the first place, first-trimester misery be damned. I must have made it all up. If I was really pregnant in the early spring of 2007, I'd have a baby by now, right? As it is, all I have now is the ass end of a wicked flu, sneeze incontinence and some seventeen extra pounds sitting lazily across what useta be my waistline (such as ever existed).
I guess he could still show up. I've tried putting a dish of Mountain Dew between my legs, to sort of coax him out, like a cat out from under the sofa, but no deal. same with the dirty ashtray. he's just not interested. I'm finally knitting him a cute little baby hat (well, to be honest, I'm unraveling a baby hat that I thought was cute but turns out to be rife with error), thinking maybe he's shy or concerned with being cold or something. Another thing I'm doing is speculating.
I have avoided making a lot of assumptions or expectations about (or cute little baby clothes for) The Fetus Who Would Be Baby, mostly because I'm a little superstitious. Don't want to jinx him at all. But this does not stop other folks from, you know, setting up due date pools - which are all out of whack now that the lazy little guy is late...wonder if anyone lost money on that? I mean, people will bet on anything - date, time, weight, length, length of labor, circumference of head, anything really.
But this morning I was full of conjecture and speculation. I can't resist any longer. Thought I'd share them with y'all, for your wagering pleasure. this is all highly scientific, of course, being based on exactly nothing. please, feel free to lay whatever odds you like, prognosticate at will, and share with the rest of the class. I'll get you started:
Eye Color: brown
Hair Color: auburn. Texture: Frizzy to a socially-crippling level
Body Type: endomorph (heavyset)
Skin Type: pasty, pale, excessively freckled
First Word: "NO!" age: three weeks
First tooth: four months First Biting of Mommy: four months, one day
First Swallowing of Something Dangerous: one year
First Willful Destruction of Something One Of Us Really Liked: two years
First Incident of Humiliating Parents To Death in Public: two and a half
Learns to Read: three years
Learns to Read Very Dirty Words: three years, one day
First Fire Set: four years
First Emergency Room Visit: five years
First Unanswerable Theological Question: six years Topic: "who did Cain and Abel marry?"
First Fistfight: seven years
First Time Parents Realize They're Late for the Birds and Bees Talk: eight years
First School Suspension: sixth grade
First Cigarette: twelve years
Last Cigarette: twelve years, one day
First Time I Threaten To Send Him To Military School: twelve years, six months
First Shave: thirteen years
First Band That Simply Must Practice In Our Basement: thirteen years Instrument: percussion.
Name of band: Phlegm In My Eyes
Duration of band: six months
First Significant Other: fourteen years
Duration of Relationship: three months
Duration of Unbearable Teen Angst: one excruciating year
First Time I Find a Condom In His Pocket: fourteen years
First Beer: fourteen years Brand: Sam Adams Environment: Home, dinner
First Beer at Raging Kegger: fifteen years
First Hangover: day after Raging Kegger
First Job: sixteen years Workplace: Abercrombie & Fitch Duration: three weeks
First Time Police Bring Him Home: fifteen years, six months
Circumstances: shoplifting socks from Abercrombie and Fitch
First Car: sixteen years Year/Make/Model: 1995 Honda Civic Color: Primer
First Car Wreck: sixteen years, six months
First Time I Find Pot In His Pockets: seventeen years
First Pregnancy Scare: eighteen years
Ah, sweet innocence of childhood!
That's about all I can think of, for the time being. I feel strangely a little better, seeing all my dire predictions all laid out like that.
I feel better reminding myself that I am not giving birth to a precious little bundle of perfection personified, but in fact to a baby human being, who's gonna fuck up the same as I did, and needs to learn to be in the world in as respectful and decent a fashion as possible.
Lest I be misunderstood, I don't plan to greet his every act of criminal mischief (or worse) with a cup of hot cocoa, a tilt of my head and a "boys will be boys!" I mean, I do understand that raising a boy to be a good man, by which I mean a man of kindness, empathy, altruism, loyalty, gentleness, strength, etc - it might require a hard line on some things, harder than I can even comprehend. I might need to (quel horreur!) spank or something. I and my husband may need to Talk To The Boy, for hours and hours on end.
"Look kid - the expression is 'boys will be BOYS', not 'boys will be disrespectful, inhumane, destructive, hateful, spiteful, naughty, thoughtless, obnoxious, bullying little monsters'. You will apologize/make restitution/knock it off/ RIGHT THIS MINUTE!"
I do, however, want to be sure I have as realistic a view of parenting as possible, so I'm not surprised when my kid acts all...well...naughty. Like I did. Like my husband did.
looking forward to your predictions, folks. Wish I knew how these mysterious "odds" worked.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
so, first things first: an update on The Littlest Patriarch, aka the Little Yolk Sac That Could,aka The Products of Conception, aka Wolfgang P., in utero -
The health care professional in charge of this whole thing tells me that his head is in position (headfirst, not feet first, or shoulders first, or some other complicated breech presentation) and he's estimated to weigh some seven pounds, and it's just a matter of days now until labor begins.
of course, I've heard that weight estimates are wildly inaccurate, and "a matter of days" may well mean something very different to the fetus than it does to me.
If anyone out there is my psychic friend, or wants to consult the cards or other handy oracle, please feel free to share.
but, if you're new here, I bet you're not so interested in stupid baby crap. I bet you totally don't give a shit about the new baby rapist I am certain to raise, from the minute he takes his first patriarchal breath. I bet you're far more interested in that pandagon thread.
well, far be it from me not to give the people what they want.
here's the big unforgiveable Fuck You post.
here is the post where I selfrighteously bloviated from my mountaintop about Heart's blog attack and related issues.
and here's where I bombastically and pompously declare that The Patriarchy Does Not Exist.
and here's a little bit on being sex-positive.
so. as usual, draw your own conclusions. I've been accused in the past of being a fencesitter, and that's probably true. Maybe that's a character flaw I ought to work on.
I've also been accused of being passive-aggressive. of course, every time I experiment with being regular aggressive, the situation really does not improve, so I'm not sure what to do about that particular critique.
but, yeah, conclude as you will, comment as you wish.
The health care professional in charge of this whole thing tells me that his head is in position (headfirst, not feet first, or shoulders first, or some other complicated breech presentation) and he's estimated to weigh some seven pounds, and it's just a matter of days now until labor begins.
of course, I've heard that weight estimates are wildly inaccurate, and "a matter of days" may well mean something very different to the fetus than it does to me.
If anyone out there is my psychic friend, or wants to consult the cards or other handy oracle, please feel free to share.
but, if you're new here, I bet you're not so interested in stupid baby crap. I bet you totally don't give a shit about the new baby rapist I am certain to raise, from the minute he takes his first patriarchal breath. I bet you're far more interested in that pandagon thread.
well, far be it from me not to give the people what they want.
here's the big unforgiveable Fuck You post.
here is the post where I selfrighteously bloviated from my mountaintop about Heart's blog attack and related issues.
and here's where I bombastically and pompously declare that The Patriarchy Does Not Exist.
and here's a little bit on being sex-positive.
so. as usual, draw your own conclusions. I've been accused in the past of being a fencesitter, and that's probably true. Maybe that's a character flaw I ought to work on.
I've also been accused of being passive-aggressive. of course, every time I experiment with being regular aggressive, the situation really does not improve, so I'm not sure what to do about that particular critique.
but, yeah, conclude as you will, comment as you wish.
