Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Stray Thoughts & Loose Ends

The day is fast approaching.

Technically, Mrs. Blackwell is due to deliver our new son this November 5, 2015. But, for all intents, purposes, or favorable perceptions of reality, it could happen any minute now.

Measuring for blinds. My what a  rewarding household task! 
Until then, I'm in a holding pattern, or limbo, or whatever else you call knowing that one's world is about to shift from its foundation and reshape itself again.

With that craziness ahead, loads of stuff jumps into your mind.

So, here now, some stray thoughts as I look around my home and realize that...


The to-do list Mrs. Blackwell and I have been drafting has been getting item after item crossed off. That's right, we've been a couple of whirling dervishes,
finishing jobs left, right, upstairs and down.

Ta-Da! Don't they just look totally forgettable fantastic!
The flipside to this wonderful fact is the equally sad reality that, as we progress, we're adding more and more items.

So for every task completed at least one more rises to take its place. Case in point: last weekend we worked hard inside our house and I'd say we're about 99 percent there as it pertains to being prepared for the baby.

Meanwhile outside my home, every leaf on every tree in my yard figured the time was right for mass suicide and fell to the ground in unison. You can't see the lawn in my backyard. It's completely covered. One job is done and another pops up.

It's wack-a-mole except the moles are time-consuming acts of labor that often leave me frustrated and my reserve of swear words completely exhausted. Which brings me to the fact that....


That's right. I can't call the Phillips head screw that I've just stripped a "G.D. Bas!*#@" in front of my son. And it would be completely inappropriate to refer to the broken light bulb stuck in the socket as a "S.O.B" with my wife and unborn son within earshot.

So instead, I've begun adopting language my son picked up from one of his games.

For instance, in lieu of belting out a good, old-fashioned "Oh, $#!*",  when I drop, break, crack or otherwise screw something up, I'll frequently say "Oh, crudders."

Sometimes, I even manage to break out, "Oh crumbling cupcakes."

I still slip occasionally. I said "crap" in front of the boy last week. Not a terrible word, and if my usual words are the measuring stick, it could have been infinitely worse.

However, the boy heard it and then started saying it.

"Oh crap," he said. "Crap. Crap. Crap."

Hearing that come out of a three-year old's mouth is two things: hilarious and totally not appropriate.

So, I pivoted quickly to "crudders" and the boy followed suit. Within a matter of seconds he was no longer saying "crap" and I haven't heard him say it since. (Which means he's probably saving it for his buddies at preschool.)

The boy's language is bleeding into my non-swear word vocabulary too. Just this week, I caught myself repeating one of the boy's lines while I was pouring myself a beer

"One, two, three! That's enough for me!" I said as I filled a pint glass.

Which brings me to the unfortunate reality that.....


'Til we meet again old friend. 
Yes, we all make sacrifices and, given that we're set to welcome a new little one to the family, I'll need to make this one — at least partially.

Not that drinking 11 beers is part of my current repertoire but, those midnight feedings sure are tougher when you've knocked back a couple of nice, heavy, boozy beers.

And this time of year, that's all I like to drink. Imperial IPA's. Autumnal seasonals. Octoberfests. Pumpkin Ales. All of it. And the vast majority of it starts at 6.5%.

So, as a new dad, (at least I'm new to this little guy we're about to welcome into the world) I'd like the chance to make as favorable impression as possible.

That means being on my toes seven days a week, at least until he's sleeping through the night. Because, let's face it....


And she's earned it too. This pregnancy is starting to remind me of the neighbor Bonnie from "Family Guy." My wife has been pregnant forever. And, while I live next to it, she lives in it.

At this point, it can't be comfortable. On a recent doctor visit, the nurse practitioner told my wife that she didn't have any reason to whine.

"You look great!" the nurse exclaimed. "Your legs look great. Your feet aren't swollen. You're thin. You're pretty."

Now, I've told my wife all of this before but, as we all know, a husband's compliments are like wrapping paper on a birthday gift — compulsory but completely forgettable. And speaking of birthdays, that brings me to the fact that.....


Momma and baby. Name TBD.
I am so, incredibly excited to do this again. Diapers, late night wake-ups, carrying a car seat everywhere, diapers, changing clothes 18 times a day, feedings every couple hours, diapers, wiping drool from his chin, working my ass off just to make him giggle at me and, did I mention diapers?

The last time Mrs. Blackwell was pregnant, everyone asked me if I was ready.

Not wanting to appear too comfortable, I always hedged myself and replied that I wasn't ready but, I was as prepared as I could be.

This time, I'm both. And I know Mrs. Blackwell is too. We've done this before. We've got an idea of what we're in for, and we're looking forward to it. I'm not too comfortable, maybe just a little cocky.

So, bring it on little buddy, we're ready when you are.

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