Cornelius Jasper McGillicuddy III

Your name is supposed to tell the world who you are and what you're all about.  For example, Andrew means "manly".  I suppose when I sprung forth into this world and immediately wrestled that bear, it was a pretty obvious sign what my name should be.  Personally, I would have named myself Big Daddy Phunk, but hindsight is 20/20.

Now, I'm burdened with the task of naming a child who enters this world with no identity.  Until three months ago this person never even existed.  Now I have to determine what they will be called all the way until their obituary reads:  "Xxxxxx died today at the age of 162 when their hover-bed flew out the window of their hover-hospital after it was accidentally run into by a hover-car attempting to park in the hover-parking garage."  (Man, the future is going to be sweet).  This is a lot of responsibility.  I can't very well name my kid Hunky Brungus and expect that he will lead a normal life.

So how do you pick a name for your child?

The most obvious way is to steal the name of someone you like.  This is why there are so many juniors out there.  Every man believes that he is the greatest person in the world.  I can't use junior because I don't want my wife to get mad when my son's 18 year-old girlfriend calls asking for Andy, and I "accidentally" think they are looking for me.  (Creepy).

Baby books are another good source for names.  Unfortunately, if you've ever been shopping with your wife while she's trying to decide between two eerily similar pairs of high heels, you know that throwing a list of 2,000 names in front of her means your child may or may not have a moniker by the time it can drive.

So here is what I did to whittle down the names of my progeny.

1. Throw out any names that are made up, or appear to be made up.  The telltale sign here is the inclusion of characters that are not letters.  L-A is not a name, it is a reverse alphabetical order for library books that comes after Z-M.  If you're looking for Suzanne Collins' "The Hunger Games", it's down that aisle. (Although I'm pretty sure ~ Swinton won an Academy Award for her work in "Michael Clayton".)
2. Remember, your child's name will not make them who they are.  Naming your kid Rocky will not make him tough and scrappy.  If anything it will make him a slow-witted, punchy, Italian greaseball who doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground.
3. Just because a name you like is used by someone or something famous, it doesn't mean you should exclude it.  Kids are dumb, and they don't care about things that happened more than 4 months ago.  No one is going to go up to your daughter and say, "Hey Josie, where are the Pussycats?"  They're going to go up to her and say, "Hey Josie, you're a slut."  Actually, they probably won't even say it to her face.  They will just talk about her behind her back until she develops an eating disorder.  We're really raising them right.



Joseph?  Like Joseph Stalin?  No way is he playing American hero Bruce Willis.





When in doubt, classic is always better.  People avoid names now like Peter, Bruce, Anna Marie,  Clark, Diana, Barbara, Mindy, Jean, Scott, etc.  because they want their children to stand out of the crowd immediately.  Why?  If your child is truly exceptional their name won't matter.  Also, if you kid ever gets in trouble with the law, and they only know his name is Scott, there's no way they'll ever figure out who it is.  If your kid's name is Keikaku, and you don't live in Japan, the cops are at your door in 20 seconds.

So I guess that's pretty much it.  Don't make up names unless your want your kid to stand out for the wrong reasons.  Know that, if your child is going to be exceptional, it will be because they are, not because their name says they are.  Having you child share his or her name with someone or something isn't bad, as long as your are not intentionally naming them after something ridiculous (like any character from Twilight).  And stick with the classics.  I doubt anyone has ever said, "Can you believe he named his kid Steve?  Why not just tattoo 'Wedgie Me' on his neck?"

Hey, I just realized something.  All those nice, well-rounded, classic names I just listed are all fictional characters.  Not just any fictional characters, but characters your kid will probably love.  Peter (Spiderman), Bruce (Batman & Hulk), Anna Marie (Rogue), Clark (Superman & Griswold), Diana (Wonder Woman), Barbara (Batgirl), Mindy (Hit-Girl), Jean (Phoenix), Scott (Cyclops), and Steve (Captain America).  So there you have it.  Forgo the baby books, just give your wife a heap of your old comics and let her dig through.  She's bound to see something she likes.

Just don't take J'onn J'onzz.  That one is mine.

Next time:

Seriously, this is terrifying.

Pickles and Ice Cream

**Warning the following post diverts from my typical laid back, chummy, Mike Meyers-esque humor.  I get a little venomous about certain things, for essentially no reason.  Just thought I would point that out before I get a billion comments about how angry I seem.**

Last time I covered the first doctor visit.  Normally, at that visit, the doctor gives you a list of things your wife can, and cannot have to eat.  Most are fairly obvious:  Shellfish, non-shellfish-fish, raw egg, chicken sashimi, etc.  Some are not so obvious, like certain high sodium foods.  Basically if you shouldn't be eating it normally, chances are you definitely should not be eating it while you're pregnant.

The doctor also will probably tell you that a normal pregnant woman gains about 3 or 4 pounds a month.  Let's do that math.  3.5lbs x 9 months = 31.5lbs.  If the baby weighs 7lbs, that means you just gained 24.5lbs.  Not a crazy amount of weight by any means.  I've gained that over 4th of July weekend.  Your doctor just doesn't want you pigging-out everyday and blaming it on the little parasite.

One of my biggest pet peeves is when people use the phase "Pet Peeve".  One of my other biggest pet peeves is when pregnant women say, "I'm eating for two now."  Granted, often it's a joke made simply to make light of the fact that a woman has just eaten an entire cheesecake.  Unfortunately, sometimes it is literally being used as an excuse.  Your baby, who is the size of an orange does not need a Big Mac extra value meal all to himself.  In fact, he does not need a Big Mac at all.

I am all for feeding your cravings.  I live by the food rule that if something sounds good, have it.  Why deny yourself something your entire life?  I'm not going to look back on my death bed and say, "Boy, I sure did eat too much Little Caesar's."  Well, I might if I die of a Little Caesar's related heart condition.  If a woman wants a milkshake or fries or even that Big Mac extra value meal they should indulge.  There are old wife's tales that say that if a woman denies her cravings for strawberries, the baby will be born with a strawberry birthmark.  I think if a woman denies herself a Big Mac, the lack of pink slime in her diet will cause her baby to come out looking like a vessel for Vigo the Carpathian.  But giving in to a craving is not the same as living a lifestyle.

At least "The Sorrow of Moldavia" is a pretty cool nickname.

And I'm not talking about being fat, or being skinny, or dieting.  I'm simply talking about trying.  Putting forth an effort not to die when you're 35.  While I'm no expert on nutrition, I know what's good for me and what's bad.  And though I may not always adhere to this, it is important to make an attempt.  It is even more important to do so when someone in your family is pregnant.

If someone in your house had heart disease, would you make them bacon five days a week?  If someone you loved was diabetic would you make fudge pies for dessert every night?  No.  Absolutely you would not.  And if you are enabling someone in this way, you need to stop.

While pregnancy only lasts nine months, normally healthy women can develop serious conditions that can negatively impact their health.  For example, pre-eclampsia is an onset of high blood pressure that can lead to eclampsia and complications for the baby.  Where would a normally healthy woman get high blood pressure?  Sodium is one way.  Sodium such as the ass-load you would find in a batch of fries that accompany that extra Big Mac you just fed your unborn child.  So not only should you be thinking about the crap going to the fetus, but also know that junk food may severely harm your wife who is now much more vulnerable to illness.

Basically, if you're a man and your wife is pregnant, take charge.  Learn to cook and make your wife some delicious and healthy dinners.  Don't enable by giving in to every crap food choice she wants.  Yeah she's pregnant and you love her, but if you really love her you want her to stay healthy.  If you sit back and watch your wife's blood pressure slowly build, you're not doing your job.  This is your chance to start protecting your family.

Ok, so some fast food, pizza, donuts, ice cream and pickles are alright sometimes, but just because you are pregnant doesn't mean you're trying out to be a competitive eater.  Indulge sometimes, but be mindful.

If you are a husband, take over making dinner and make them healthy.  Above all, keep your wife happy.  Don't forget, if she wants to pig out on BBQ pulled pork, you get to as well.

And never forget, keep away from the seafood.  For your health.

Next time:

Your Baby Names Suck!

Hey You. Get Your Damn Hands Off Her

I think I'll name my first son after Crispin 'George McFly' Glover 

No one likes going to the doctor.  For every life they save, at least two people leave missing a perfectly healthy appendage. Personally, anytime I go to someone's place of business and their first move is to ask me to disrobe, that's a red flag.

But, if you're a first time dad joining your partner to the OB/GYN, you should be excited. You want to be a dad right?  Well a little piss on a cardboard stick isn't exactly cutting edge technology. Leave it to the professionals.  And what better way to enjoy one of the most exciting and initiate moments of your life than under the glow of florescent lights surrounded by the smell of strong disinfectant.

Now the waiting room is terrifying at any doctor's office. This one is no different, but it is unique. Those perpetually pregnant moms with five kids you see haunting the aisles of K-mart, well apparently this is where they live. Whatever you do, do not make eye contact. Any badboy quality you had has all but evaporated as you are now a gentleman who takes his wife to the lady part doctor. Women who used to close the shutters and pull their kids off the street when they saw you coming, will now not only approach, but also openly engage you in conversation. This must be avoided.  Talking to a mother of 12 about her mucus plug is not the way you want your first real experience as a father to go.  Here is an effective and discreet solution.  Whenever one of these women makes eye contact, give a small shrug, motion toward your partner, and mouth, "V.D.".  There, you are no longer the concerned father, you're the creepy dude with the trampy wife.

Eventually, a girl will lead you back to the exam room.  As you progress you'll notice a change in decor.  In the waiting room the walls were lined with pictures of blonde cherub-y babies, and the occasional water color of a Victorian Age woman holding a parasol standing by a lake.  In the hall the walls are mostly bare, with the exception of the bulletin boards full of pictures of healthy toddlers that had, presumably, been delivered by the doctor you are about to see.  All very cute and cuddly, and in now way does it prepare you for what lies in the exam room.

Vaginas.  Lots of them.  The insides.  The outsides.  Lots of parts with names that rhyme with Seinfeld characters.  I imagine the suicide rate for people who work at vagina poster manufacturer is probably pretty high.  It's a little worrisome, all the pictures with labels on them.  It's kind of like walking into a dentist's office and seeing a lot of drawings of open mouths with arrows that say, "Teeth".  Do they really not know their way around down there?  Maybe it's for the male doctors.  Nothing like a good map when you're traveling to a foreign country.

So the excitement has built, and you're ready to hear for sure if you're going to be a dad.  Really what it amounts to is the doc's hands disappearing beneath a sheet and seconds later saying, "Yup you're pregnant.".  Seriously?  I could have done that.  It can't be that hard.  Just poke around a while until you feel a foot or a head.  That's why you have to do the classic "We're just really worried first time parents" routine and get yourself an early ultrasound.

Now you must understand, this is not free.  They don't just wheel around that fancy ultrasound that looks like a sex toy for free.  Yeah, turns out you can't do an ultrasound on the outside when the baby is the size of a fingernail.  They have to get up-close and personal.  God bless the women for putting up with this shit.  If I was a girl, the first time somebody told me about having a baby, I would have gotten my tubes tied.  I'm not pushing anything out of me bigger than a snickers bar.  And then, on top of actually giving birth, they have to deal with all these crazy bodily assaults beforehand.  Not least of all the conception.  But I digress.

If you do get an ultrasound, you will see a tiny dot of a baby.  You may see a flicker of the heartbeat (a very good sign).  You may even hear the heartbeat (even better).  What you do not want, is to see more than one heartbeat.  You've probably already resigned yourself to being poor for a long time, but if you're having multiples, you're going to be poor forever.  

It is around this time the doctor will tell your wife that she has to go to the lab for more tests.  So after intruding on her privates with hands and utensils, they now wish for some of some of her fluids for their collection.  All the developing baby pictures, cross-sectioned lady part pictures, probing, and fluid stealing really makes you feel like you're witnessing an actual alien abduction.  The only difference is the doctor isn't nice enough to wipe your memory before you get home.

So there you have it.  All the pretty little ducks of the Obstetrician in a neat row.  Don't be scared it's not bad, if you're the husband.

Next Time...

Nutrition

The Big Reveal (Or: I Knocked up Your Daughter)

I know what you're thinking.  "Damn, two posts already!?!".  I know it's crazy, but I'm 13 weeks in and have a lot of stuff to catch you all up on.  Also, pregnant people are sleepy.  Sleepy and hungry.  Sleep, hungry and grumpy.  Hell, they're pretty much all of the 7 dwarves.  Point is, I've got time.

So the deed is done.  What happens now?

Well, chances are, you found out from your wife.  Unless you're into some kinky stuff, you weren't any closer than earshot while your lady-friend whizzed on that overpriced litmus paper.   When she does tell you, the proper response is to say "YAY!".  Then make an excuse to leave, and sob quietly in your car.  I, personally, took it like a man, and began stress eating immediately.  It's hard to cry when your mouth is full of Little Caesar's.

Of course, after you know, you have to pretend to be excited.  Jump up and down.  Stomp your feet.  Scream at the top of your lungs.  Just don't you dare tell anyone else.  Not a soul.  The general consensus is that the child should be at least 9 years-old before you tell the immediate family.

I'm not sure Hungry was a dwarf.

After the state mandated amount of time has past, and you are given your Impending Pregnancy Announcement Permit, you have to decide how to tell the ones you love.  At some point you'll also have to decide how to tell your family.  If you're anything like me, your first thought was to just send people a postcard of the conception.  It's quick, clean, and it gets the point across.  Unfortunately, I get mistaken for a Yeti when I have my shirt off, and I didn't want my picture ending up on the Discovery Channel.

A good alternative is to use a holiday as a reason to get together and reveal.  Every month has one, and they've all got traditions that can be useful.  For instance, on Thanksgiving you could get together with friends and family and say you're thankful for expecting a child.  On Christmas you could send out cards of your wife sitting on Santa's lap with his hand over her uterus.  On Secretary's Day you could say something like, "Happy Secretary's Day.  We're pregnant." OK, I'm not sure about that last one.  You might not want to ruin the majesty of Secretary's Day by making it about you and your poor life choices.

Nope, definitely not Hungry.  I think maybe it was Doc.

There is one thing more important than telling the people closest to you:  Telling the people whose faces your want to rub it in.  That's right, I'm talking about Facebook friends.  "Oh, another picture of your dinner huh?  Well guess what, guy I rode the bus with in 4th grade and haven't talked to since, I impregnated my wife!  Bet that makes your lonely man's individual serving of turkey pot pie taste like shit!"  You can't say that though.  Bus guy would delete you as a friend, and your total would go down.  Then how would you win Facebook?

They say the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.  I think the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing his Facebook friends that he wasn't a total ass.  One way to accomplish this: Don't...say...a..........word.  Post a picture, like an empty onesie.  Let about 6 people post comments speculating about what it means.  After a few days, comment with just a "........".  This will further the speculation.  Continue periodically posting vague pictures, maybe some Georgia O'keeffe style vagina-flowers, or pictures of the face-hugger from "Alien".  Let this go on until your kid is old enough to tell you Facebook is lame, which should be when they're about 8 months old.

I know, it wasn't Doc, it was Klepto.  The 7th dwarf was named Klepto.

Ok, so it's not rocket surgery.  You just have to open your mouth and say it.  But, like everything in life, there are strings attached.  And there is a big fat gym climbing rope attached to this: People now know you've had sex.    Not only do they know, they want to know about it.  Your friend wants to know if it was morning or night, because your morning sickness will be much worse if the conception happened at night.  Your great aunt wants to know the position because that's what determines the baby's sex.  And, some relative you've never met, wants to know if you kept your socks on (like there's a reason to take them off).  Apparently it's good luck.

The point is, be ready.  You want to talk about cute baby stuff, everyone else just wants to pry into your sex life.  Perverts.

Sleepy
Happy
Dopey
Grumpy
Klepto
Kegel
Marty McFly

Yeah, that's all 7.  I knew I'd remember.

Next time....

The Gyno for Guys

P.S. When the ball really gets going with this I will probably be posting once a week or so.  Currently, I'll probably post until I've run out of things to discuss, then go to a more scheduled format.  But who the hell cares?  If you're reading this your name is Andy and your only half paying attention and half watching football.  

And Here...We...Go...

By the title of the blog I'm sure it appears that I'm going to be writing about my little angel.  How sweet and perfect it is.  How it poops pizza and pees delicious craft beers.  Not the case.  This is as much about me and the ripening love goo currently residing in my wife's bread basket, as "'Salem's Lot" is about the state of Maine.  King knows Maine.  I know what's happening in my home.  That's about the extent of it.  The real reason is catharsis.  It's best to talk to people about things, and since my wife, friends, family, and coworkers have all told me that I have been talking WAY too much about this, I decided to put my thoughts somewhere that they would be around forever (I like to be reminded of my mistakes for the entirety of my life).  That, and maybe I'll make someone laugh.  Even if that person is me.  So with that, let me put down a few things before I really get underway.

1. The forthcoming posts will be PG-13.  Which means if you're reading this shit to your 3 year-old as a bedtime story, you're going to have to censor it yourself.  Sometimes words that others consider "bad" are the only real and forceful way to express how you feel.  I'm sure most of the folks who would actually take the time to read this wouldn't care what I say, but hell, I'm considerate.  I wouldn't want make any one's eyes bleed with my dirty typing, so I'm giving fair warning.  Plus, my grandmother's favorite word is "Shit" and she told me since we won't name the baby Shirley, I owed her something.  In my defense, my wife and I were worried if we had a boy and named him after an octogenarian, he'd be some sort of transgender Benjamin Button.
2. I am not a writer.  My English ain't so hot, and my punctuation is even worse so if you have a comment about how I write you can bite me sometimes a run-on sentence is the only way I know how to express myself.  
3. I don't intend to tell you how to raise your children.  Granted, if you do the things I do to raise your kids, they will probably turn out awesome.  However, I don't know what the hell I'm doing.  I'm one of those fly by the seat of your pants OCD planner types.  Which essentially means, I worry my ass off to the point where I'm too tired to do anything to prepare.  What I want is for people to read this and break their worry.  There is too much to worry about if you're having a baby.  It's like dreaming your whole life that you could skydive but you've been putting it off. But suddenly, while you're flying to Hawaii, the plane's door rips off and you get sucked out.  Sure you get to feel the rush of the free-fall, but you also, in the back of your head, realize you're heading toward your doom.  Your glorious, loving, cuddly, bouncing-baby doom.  It's the most bizarre combination of happy and deathly afraid you can imagine.
4. If you don't get satire, or melodrama, or sarcasm this may not be for you.  Normally writers don't have to explain that the things they say are exaggerated.  Unfortunately, in this day and age, people are either hypersensitive or complete morons.  So I'm only spelling this out once:  If you don't get the joke, then the joke is on you.  

That's it.  I'll be posting about what's happening in the pregnancy.  Thoughts, feelings, demented psychotic ravings, worry, references to Pop Culture (Bonus points if you got the reference in the title), and, uh, life (I don't know.  I just needed one more for the list).  This isn't just for parents, parents-to-be, fathers, wives, or necrophiliacs.  It's for all of them, and everybody else.  So, please, read and enjoy my upcoming posts.  Or not.  I don't really care.  I'll still write them and send you reminders on Facebook every other day.  

Next topic....

The Big Reveal