getting ready
Being an expectant parent places you awkwardly in the middle of one of the most polarizing subjects of knowledge of which I am aware. Pretty much everyone we know either has no clue about the topic or seems to know everything. It’s an odd sort of reorganization. For instance, we both have younger brothers – mine just couldn’t seem to understand why he had to wait so long to find out if he was going to have a nephew or a niece, whereas Julia’s brother is suddenly our closest source of parental advice. It’s really bizarre.
Of course there are about 5,721,469 books on the subject to thoroughly overwhelm and confuse you. Different and conflicting schools of thought on everything from how long to breast feed to what age you should let your child start crying itself too sleep. In typical fashion, Julia dove headfirst into this vast sea of knowledge, and has been consuming these books at an alarming rate. If a book arrived from Amazon tomorrow titled “Chaos Theory as Applied to Teething”, I wouldn’t even bat an eyelid.
I am terribly far behind in my own reading, a fact which Julia feels the need to remind me of on a daily basis, thus adding to my mounting anxiety. It’s like that feeling in college when you start to fall behind in a class, but it’s already past the add/drop deadline and you start trying to figure out if it’s worth playing the “emotional problems” card to try and get out of the class. Looks like I’ll be doing a lot of skimming and just winging it on the final.
There is also the matter of prepping the apartment, which has slowly evolved into a “This Old House” level restoration. There is a fine line between a charming old brownstone apartment and a paint-chip and mold infested baby dungeon. Over the next few months there will be much caulking, painting, purchasing of new and used furniture and swearing while staring at Ikea directions written in code.
The baby isn’t due until mid-May, but Julia has suddenly decided that we are way behind in preparation. In her deepest fears, we return home from the hospital to a half-painted, toxic fume infested apartment. Later that day, she awakens from a nap to see her slacker husband sitting on the couch, holding an empty bottle of wine and staring at a naked baby who is relieving himself while lying on a pile of unread baby books. That’s when she calls her younger brother for advice.
Of course there are about 5,721,469 books on the subject to thoroughly overwhelm and confuse you. Different and conflicting schools of thought on everything from how long to breast feed to what age you should let your child start crying itself too sleep. In typical fashion, Julia dove headfirst into this vast sea of knowledge, and has been consuming these books at an alarming rate. If a book arrived from Amazon tomorrow titled “Chaos Theory as Applied to Teething”, I wouldn’t even bat an eyelid.
I am terribly far behind in my own reading, a fact which Julia feels the need to remind me of on a daily basis, thus adding to my mounting anxiety. It’s like that feeling in college when you start to fall behind in a class, but it’s already past the add/drop deadline and you start trying to figure out if it’s worth playing the “emotional problems” card to try and get out of the class. Looks like I’ll be doing a lot of skimming and just winging it on the final.
There is also the matter of prepping the apartment, which has slowly evolved into a “This Old House” level restoration. There is a fine line between a charming old brownstone apartment and a paint-chip and mold infested baby dungeon. Over the next few months there will be much caulking, painting, purchasing of new and used furniture and swearing while staring at Ikea directions written in code.
The baby isn’t due until mid-May, but Julia has suddenly decided that we are way behind in preparation. In her deepest fears, we return home from the hospital to a half-painted, toxic fume infested apartment. Later that day, she awakens from a nap to see her slacker husband sitting on the couch, holding an empty bottle of wine and staring at a naked baby who is relieving himself while lying on a pile of unread baby books. That’s when she calls her younger brother for advice.
posted by Justin at 12:11 PM
3 Comments:
I don't think anything that happens in the first twelve years or so matters: it's all about when he turns twelve and is sent to the sweatlodge to go on a vision quest and become a man. Until then, I think it's fine for him to watch Cinemax and eat a lot of Tex Mex.
you are evil. but funny.
chaos theory as applied to teething begins rather predictably: a butterfly in china and so on... but presents a deeply troubling dystopic vision where orthodontists ultimately run the world through microchips implanted in the mouths of the public. not really a baby book at all...
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