Meet the Fockers

So last week Gavin and I went to our first childbirth class. One perk of living in a college town is that you can take advantage of all the University offers. For example, FSU has a program for first-time parents that is supposed to be really good, AND it's totally free as long as you are selected to participate. Our doctor informed us about it, so Gavin and I thought, what the hell. We completed a few questionnaires and an interview and were selected, so off we went to the first class.

The people who teach it are a husband and wife. They are prob in their late 50s/early 60s, are certified for all this childbirth stuff as educators, doulas, midwives, etc., and are extremely qualified. They are lovely people. To them, the birth experience is "the most sacred life event" there is. Essentially, they are the Fockers from Meet the Fockers. I know I will love them.

The classes are held at their house, so we show up there for our first meeting. The first thing we have to do is take off our shoes, sit on the floor in a circle, light candles for all the mothers giving birth that day, take deep cleansing breaths, find our "centers", share with the group about "what our birth story looks like" and describe all our fears, anxieties, etc. Not exactly what I was expecting, but whatevs. I’m a student of life, here to learn, rollin' with it.

The best part, however, was when they explained to us that childbirth, when allowed to occur naturally (that is, no drugs whatsoever) can be an "orgasmic" experience. Literally. As in, you actually have a massive orgasm as you give birth. Beg your pardon? No effing way, lady. But yes, and they showed us videos to prove it. The videos basically consisted of present-day hippies giving birth outside in their backyards, on all fours, and experiencing what they swore were orgasms. WTF is all I have to say. We saw everything, and I mean everything. And heard everything. And what we were hearing just didn’t seem to go with what we were seeing. Part of me felt like I was watching porn. Frightening, confusing porn. Porn that completely misses the point.

The classes ended with a “dream catcher” ceremony that explained the purpose of the Native American dream catcher and how we can use one in the delivery room to help us give birth. We are told that the classes will become more scientific and medical and technical, but wow, how bout that for an introduction. Next class is Wednesday!

What else, what else. Well, I was sick all weekend with a terrible head/chest cold thing. Gavin took care of me, brought me a humidifier and anything else I wanted besides actual medication, since I can’t take jack. Yayyyy Gavin! I wason the couch all weekend watching stuff we have saved on our DVR. We always have a bunch of murder mystery 20/20s or 48 Hours Mystery episodes on there for times like this. I was watching one when Gavin walked in after mowing the lawn. Here’s how that went:

Gavin: What are you watching?

Me: 48 Hours Mystery.

Gavin: Without me?!

Me: (thinking: shat.) Um, well it’s nothing exciting, honeybear.. just your typical husband-kills-wife episode.

Gavin: You know those are my favorite. (walks away in a fake huff)

Hahaha – love that guy!

Hope everyone has a great week!

Conferencin'

So I'm down in Orlando for a lawyer conference thing and really enjoying it so far. I am staying in one of those Disney-run hotels right next to Disney World: awesome. Due to time constraints, I won't be able to actually go to Disney World: not awesome. My balcony overlooks the Magic Kingdom and it is magical. I hate that I can't go and ride some rides and get some pics taken with the Disney gang. It's like staying on the beach but not being able to romp in the surf. WTF. At least tonight I got to see the fireworks. They were exquisite.

My hotel is one of those futuristic-ish themed hotels where the decor is very contemporary and cutting edge and designed to look like the future. Nice place, but apparently in the future, they won't have microwaves or wireless internet or toilets that flush consistently.

Staying here is truly like peering into the future in other ways. Everywhere I go I am inundated by children and beleaguered parents. Today I was walking through the lobby and observed a stroller parking area with rows and rows of strollers. I observed them with interest, since Gavin and I have been researching these compelling apparati.

My inner monologue: "Now there's a nice Chicco travel system. Agile, utilitarian, and I enjoy the color." or "Ooh - that couple went with the MacLaren Technno XLR. They must be doctors."

The flight down was interesting. Seated right next to me was a little fluffy yellow lab service dog. Very Sugarbear-esque. I could not believe my luck. She is trained to alert her owner, who has Type I diabetes, whenever he needs blood sugar or insulin. She was soooo cute and drugged up on Valium for the flight. I was allowed to love all over her, which was great. The flight scared her, and me, and everyone else on board, because we encountered thunderstorms and nasty turbulence. Poor baby, and yes I mean me.

Finally, I have to comment on the recent pop culture trend toward skinny jeans. These jeans would be fine if only the fat population had not decided to embrace them so feverishly. As I walked through the Orlando airport I became aware of just how pervasive the problem has become. I don't touch these jeans. I don't even have to try them on to know they are bad news bears on this caboose. If only others were as considerate. Dear Orlando and the rest of the world: Skinny jeans are for skinny people, so unless you're a celebrity, a European, or completely indifferent to food, statistically speaking, you should just move along.

I like to end on a b*tch note. Later!

If you're like me, and uncomfortable situations make you laugh.....

So one of my favorite websites is this one where folks submit various passive-aggressive notes that they have received for everyone’s enjoyment.

It is pretty hilarious, because who hasn’t received one of these in their lifetimes? It's only human nature to communicate this way: I want to confront you, but I don't want to do it in person, because I'll look like an asshole, even though I have to be aware that I end up looking like an asshole ultimately anyway, but I'm still going to do this. Facebook has added an exciting new dimension to this communication genre, because it's leaving a PA note for someone that everyone else gets to read. Delicious.

I don't recall ever leaving anybody one of these. I'm more of a "suffer in silence and avoid confrontation at any cost" type person when it comes to my interpersonal relationships, but I have gotten a few. There was that time in law school circa 2003 when my Russian PhD student neighbors upstairs left me about a two-page note about how Maddie barks when I’m not there. It was a great note, complete with lots of incorrect English. I hope they were studying physics or something. You could tell they were really trying to be polite before calling management and having me kicked out or my new skinny scruffy separation-anxiety suffering shelter dog hauled to a Gulag pound.

Then there was that one in Denver circa 2006 when my friends and I rented a white Expedition (or was it an Excursion) and didn’t quite know how to park its huge Expedition/Excursion ass. That elicited a hastily scrawled “Nice park job, asshole” on an index card attached to the windshield wiper. We laughed for days at that one.

Anyway, the site is funny – make sure you read the brief blurbs accompanying the notes so you get the contexts – it makes it even more hilarious. Enjoy.

Random thoughts and life updates.

So I was at the gym the other day and of course my gym-esis Stinky was there because she’s always there when I’m there. (For more information about Stinks, please see here or here). But here’s the big news. As I was about to leave, I spotted her emerging from the locker room having obviously just taken a shower. I was frightened and confused by this sudden paradigm shift. I totally thought she didn’t do that. Ok, so this means we can rule out non-bathing as the problem and focus on the incorrect use or outright abhorrence of traditional deodorant. A breakthrough.

Also, thanks everyone for all the sweet comments about the Burglet and the expanding fam-damily. I think it’s going to be hilarious. Gavin and I are both the youngest in our families and haven’t spent much time around babies AT ALL so it is like the blind leading the blind over here. We are both completely clueless. Yesterday we decided we want one of those baby carrier things that you put the baby in and strap to the front of your torso, so we were looking online and found a few. The ones we found were good up to 25 lbs. We kind of looked at each other like, when does a baby typically hit 25 lbs? 3 months? a year? 2 years? We really had no idea. We’re def taking classes.

Also, check out the picture below.

Yes, classic bear-havior. A few months back I did a post about black bear fun facts. Clearly I painted a far too rosy picture of the species and should add a #7 to the list to state “Black bears say they’re going outside to rake the leaves and then pass out on a hammock as soon as you turn around” to the list. You know, I’d like to swing on a nice comfortable hammock in a woodsy back yard but I have responsibilities, Black Bear. Unbelievable.

Coming soon through a birth canal near you....

So… here’s some news. Gavin and I are all set to spawn in mid- November! Get excited! We are just now into our second trimester (I like how I say “we” even though “we” won’t be popping the puppy out of “our” area. Not fair. Blog for another time…).

Anyway, we don’t know the sex yet, but there are a few things we are pretty sure we do know about the Burby.

First, this will probably be the whitest baby you have ever seen. Get your sunglasses ready. I hope the little guy/gal wasn’t hoping for a golden-tan complexion, because it's just not on the genetic menu.

Second, the Burglet is sure to be a smartass of epic proportions. I mean, look at the parents. And the grandparents. And the aunts and uncles and cousins. When Gav and I got together, it was basically a perfect storm of smartass, and looking back over several generations, it is evident that the assh’le doesn’t fall far from the tree. So everyone just get ready.

For example, at our 12 week ultrasound, as you can see below, the Burglet was moving around and waving at the camera, workin' it like s/he owns my uterus. Typical! Gavin and I also agree that the Burby looks a little like Strong Bad in this frontal shot.

Burglet.

Strong Bad.

As a side note, I feel a little weird posting these ultrasound pics on the web, because basically it’s like saying, hey everyone, check out my uterus. Normally that’s a private part, but then someone moves in and all of a sudden it’s acceptably on display for everyone. I’ll try not to think of it that way, because I’m pretty sure all my dignity will be gone at the end of this process anyway, and let's face it, after this experience, that ship may have already sailed.

So the preg and all the things that go along with it will prob be making an appearance in the blog from time to time, but I don’t intend to become one of those bloggers I looooathe and blog solely about pregnancy and mommyhood. I’m pretty sure most of the content will stay the same, so stick with me!

So that’s our news. Talk amongst yourselves….

I need a new blog picture.

I’ve only had this one up for about forever. I think we all four look pretty much the same as we do now, but some updating may be in order. I mean, really Bets? It’s not Christmas all year round. As much as I enjoyed the festivity of the 2007 yuletide season, it’s just not appropriate in May 2009. This is completely unsouthern of me… way worse than white after labor day or linen before Easter. I'm surprised my mom hasn't said something.

I’m going to poke around my jpeg jungle for some updated pics. The problem is, we don’t have that many pictures of all four of us together – we really only do that for the Christmas card because it’s such a production to get both dogs to look at the camera simultaneously. I’ll think of something. You deserve it.

Get the taser. I'm out of control.

So not too long ago, I blogged about Bea Arthur checking out, and reminisced about how much I loved the Golden Girls. Not long thereafter, I told Gav I wanted to start DVR-ing Golden Girls again. Fast forward a few weeks, and I have a problem. A Golden Girls problem. But it hurts so good. I always have at least 4 episodes on my DVR, and since GG comes on every single day, these epis are always being replenished as I watch them and delete them. That means, in the morning getting ready? Golden Girls. Lunchtime? Ahh, Golden Girls. After work? How 'bout some Golden Girls. It's awesome. Approaching problematic, but currently just awesome.

Hmm... what else. Things are good. I started Twittering, and that's fun. I am always looking for new opportunities to be a smartass on the internet, so bring it, Twitter. If anyone else is Tweeting these days, hook up with me - http://twitter.com/betsburgess. I have identified some celebs to follow. Diablo Cody is HILARIOUS. She wrote the screenplay for Juno, and I'm pretty sure she's my smartass hero. I'll never be as proficient as her, though. Snaps.