Pimp My Ride

Earlier in this blog, I touched on transportation, namely, my lack of it. To resolve our "Bringing Home Baby" issue, my wife and I wisely decided to rent a car for one week. That got us to the and from the hospital, back to the hospital for various jaundice-related reasons, to the pediatrician and the grocery store.

Our life as non-car-having semi-urban hipsters ended yesterday. Buying a car, in retrospect, was one of those things we should have done months ago. With the money we spent on rentals or Zipcars in the past 12 weeks, we could have easily made monthly payments for a while. Money was never the issue, honestly, it was equal parts research, laziness, and misguided hope that we could easily manage without a car. There's no doubt we could have survived without a car, but whether it would have been easy is another story. Any lingering thoughts of staying carless evaporated during our midnight ride to the emergency room (everything was, ultimately, fine - that was the turning point in our battle against jaundice).

Our first thought was to check out Hondas - they are relatively safe, reliable, and a used one can run for years. But the local Honda dealership had something better. Something that is undoubtedly safer and just as reliable. Since my wife and I had gone so long without a car, the make, model, or style is not important. What is important is safety, security, and piece-of-mind.

No, friends, we did not join the ranks of the SUVs. Nor did we settle on a sedan, we just may need more space that your typical four-door can offer. My wife and I think of ourselves on the cusp of the next great retro craze. What offers more space than a sedan, better gas mileage than a SUV and the safety of a steel cage?




That's right, we roll in a Volvo station wagon. Big muthafuckin' pimping.

The Second Pot

My dearest morning pot of coffee, I love you more than I can say. You are always there for me, coaxing me awake, chasing away my slumber, a morning lover whose sweet kisses danced along lips like a secret mistress. My dearest morning pot of coffee, we have spent nearly every morning, weekday and weekend together, and my respect and admiration remains for you.

But there is another.

I can no longer live a double life, I must confess. I have been seeing a second pot of coffee in the evening. By the time five or six o'clock rolls around, morning pot of coffee, you are nothing but an afterthought, a fleeting memory of a day gone by. I turned to this second pot of coffee out of desperation, a necessary evil when faced with heavy eyelids and impending company. But this innocent sampling has become something more, something greater, something I cannot control.

You know, morning pot of coffee, that I have my indiscretions. Once, twice, even sometimes three times while I am away at the office. But this is no mere dalliance with a new flirtation. I have come to love, to desire, to crave the second pot of coffee and I am helpless against it. I come to you out of respect, out of our history together. This need not be the end of our relationship. I will come to you faithfully upon my rise each morning. But know this, sweet morning pot of coffee - there is another. Not a replacement, but a complement. And this will not soothe the blow, it may worsen it: my wife is no stranger to the second pot of coffee, either.

Please try to understand.

The Importance of Being Baby

When I was a junior in college, I had an internship at a small PR firm. The firm's owner had a background in marketing, public relations, and communications, including a stint with a local sports team. He was a bit of a sports nut, so he and I developed a good relationship. Despite his zeal for all things sports, I remember being surprised that I was constantly updating him on the results of games and the latest news. I was shocked, *shocked*, at discovering he didn't watch a single pitch of the baseball all-star game that year. He was the owner of a small business, handling a lion's share of the work, and also a parent to two young children. He loved baseball, he explained, but he simply didn't have the time.

I've embraced that sentiment over the past week. So many things that I would typically use to fill my time have fallen by the wayside as I focus on my baby and being a parent. Even basic daily elements of my routine have been shed. In the past year, I have averaged one day a month where I don't shower. Now, I haven't showered twice in the past four days. It's not that I don't have the time, I'm just too busy watching my cute daughter (and not leaving the house).

Here are a few other things that have plummeted on my interest list in the past week:

• Exhibition NFL games
• Crossword puzzles
• Most non-baby-related Internet activity
• Speaking in coherent, grammatically-correct sentences
• Updates from my mother on random people I went to high school with
• Dinner
• Jeopardy!
• Having more than one beer
  
• Shaving
• The life-altering relationship problems faced by the Sydney cast of "The Real World"
  
• Anything occurring after 10 p.m.

I Used to be Smart

They say that men have two brains, one in their head the other in their pants. The common joke is that men only have enough blood to use one of those brains at a time. I think parenthood has given me a parallel to that.

You see, I used to be smart. Just one week ago, I was rattling off answers on Jeopardy! telecasts, could concentrate on a thought to completion, even carry on meaningful conversations. What has happened since? I can't really do any of those things.

Parenthood isn't rocket science, but it does take a fair amount of brain power and equal parts common sense, perseverance and patience. You can read, watch television programs, and interrogate other parents as much as you want, but nothing can prepare you for the real thing. Being a parent has taken most of my concentration lately and, when mixed with a sleep-deprived schedule that would make an Abu-Ghraib official shudder, it has left me unable to do much else.

Since Rebecca was born, I have learned the optimal way to feed her, bathe her, change her, hold her and clothe her. This has come at the expense of the remainder of my intellect. You see, while I've become adept at parenting skills, I have lost the command of other basic skills and sense.

Two days ago, I boiled water to sterilize some pacifiers and bottles. Twenty minutes later, I walked into the kitchen, oblivious to the pot of water, nearly boiling over, without anything else inside. Our lactation consultant, so instrumental in helping Rebecca eat properly, generously gives out her home phone number to new parents. She is often the most essential early presence in a child's life, but after five-ten days, she isn't necessary. After giving us the basics on feeding, she regretfully had to pass us along to another nurse. She was leaving the country on vacation, that morning, for more than two weeks. I asked her for her home phone number, in case we needed it while she was away.

I had a third example (three is a trend, you know), and a fourth. But now, I cannot remember them. I can't have more than a basic conversation - enough to complete a transaction at the supermarket, but not really able to go into any detail about my life without losing my train of thought.

I used to get in trouble when the blood from my brain rushed out of my head and to my other brain. That got me where I am today.

Now, it takes all the brain power I've got to maintain focus as a parent, learning as I go, to keep my baby happy and healthy. But it comes at the expense of the rest of my life. I'm happy to talk to you about being a parent, just don't ask me about anything else.

My Yellow Baby

You may recall that my wife and I painted our nursery yellow with some fairly radiant consequences. We eventually repainted the nursery a less-obscene shade of yellow, which is probably for the best: My baby is incredibly jaundiced.

Jaundice is fairly common, especially in babies born via induction or premature. My wife and I were both jaundiced as infants. I spent a few days under the heat lamps, right next to hamburgers and fries, before I was able to go home.

My baby's lucky, she gets to be home. After visiting the pediatrician and lactation consultant yesterday, we were given some strict marching orders: feed her, feed her regularly, and hope she poops. The life of a baby, right?

So now, instead of just enjoying the frustratingly delightful first few days of parenthood, letting our natural intuition and ignorance battle it out, my wife and I have a goal: keep baby home. Little Rebecca's flirting with going back to the hospital to be put under the florescent lights. Our pediatrician recommends a hospital stay (however brief) if a baby's bilirubin number hits 19. Rebecca was 12.5 when she left the hospital, 17.2 yesterday, and 17.7 today. We're hoping that by tomorrow, after a full 36 hours of bi-hourly feedings, her count will fall, her yellow tint will fade, and the jaundice subsides.

In the meantime, we have to feed her every other hour. The process takes about 30-45 minutes. Overnight, from about 11-7 am, we can stretch feedings to every three hours. I hardly know what to do with all that free time.

Rebecca is fairly oblivious to all this, changes in her poops aside. Jaundice has some cyclical effects that are counterproductive. Jaundiced babies can naturally lower their bilirubin count by eating regularly, gaining weight, and excreting regularly. Jaundiced babies are also notoriously lethargic and sleepy. Keeping her awake between feedings is tough, sometimes she's curious, other times she cries, but mostly she sleeps. We have to wake her up to feed her. We should all be so lucky to have such a schedule.

She's sleeping behind me, bathed in sunlight, as I write. She took a few active moments to open her eyes earlier, that doesn't happen too often (at least until around 4 am).

My wife and I closely monitor and track her intake and output. We try to keep her awake during feedings and we try to keep her excited and awake between feedings from time to time. All in an effort to keep Rebecca out of the hospital and in our home. Admitting an infant for jaundice is usually a 24-hour process. A baby enters the hospital, spends most of her time under special lights, parents can come visit, and everyone goes home happy the next day.

Were Rebecca's count to hit 19, that's what would would happen. She'd go into the hospital, mom and dad could only visit and have to spend the night at home, quietly, without a crying child. And we are both actively working to prevent this. We're working to keep our daughter home, where we can watch her, and feed her on the hour of each odd hour; where I can watch her start to squirm and cry as she discovers how to poop, and she can mostly lay silent, asleep in her chair, while her mother and I worry about her health, her personality, and what college she might want to attend.

Ask me last week whether I'd choose the one-night reprieve from baby duty over the 24-hour routine, and you'd get a different answer than now. Don't get me wrong, we want what is best for our daughter. We want her healthy, happy, and a normal hue. But we want to try it ourselves - try to feed her and change her and take care of her - before medical professionals kick in.

We're parents.

Oh, and since I don't really have the time or inclination to write/update as much as I'd like, enjoy this baby photo from earlier today.

The First 48 Hours

This is going to be one disjointed-ass post.

Random thoughts, remarks, and observations on my first 48 hours as a parent...

If you asked me, around 4pm yesterday, how being a parent was, I'd have to tell you it was going remarkably well. I suppose that it still is going remarkably well, though there's a bit more fussing and crying over the past 12 hours.

Rebecca *hates* having her diaper changed. She cries like a banshee when she is put down and her diaper comes off (I am encouraged at her reaction to being bottomless, perhaps that will keep). Of all the basic functions babies are born with, pooping is the strangest and scariest. Can you imagine figuring out what your body was doing down there if you had no idea? Also, I'm pretty sure I know what is going "in" so why does it look like black tar heroin coming out?

If you need to reach me, try between midnight and 4am, I'm usually up, but my hands are full.

She opened her eyes and looked at me yesterday, and I damn near died.

Allow me state and reiterate how awesome my wife -- and all mothers -- are. Babies don't do much their first few days or weeks, but they definitely eat. They eat every few hours and it's not something that can really be done half-ass. My wife just asked me to hold Rebecca for a while so she could shower for the first time in days. I will happily oblige.

...more to come, must relieve mommy for a bit...

What's Dis?

Huh? Where am I? What's dis Interweb thing?

Why iz it so hard type wif dese mittens on? What does dis say, I cannot read.

Oh, hai. My name is Rebecca Marquis and I was born yesterday at 7:25 pm. I do not like to miss Jeopardy!, so I came out just in time.

I weigh 6 lbs and 10 ounces. I really like eating. My mommy and daddy are pretty cool people, but I'm not sure they know what hey are doing.

Ok, I'm bored and tired now. I go bak to seepin. Kiss me I'm cute. Luhzu all, bye bye!

We're Off To See The Wizard

I'll be spending the next three hours pacing, mumbling, double-checking and second-guessing. Then, around 7 o'clock, it's off to the hospital. When we return, if all goes as planned, we will be three.

Despite bringing the laptop to the hospital, I will not be live-blogging the birth. That's probably best for everyone.

I'll update this space as I can, most certainly with photographs. I'm not sure what will happen to this blog after I return home with an infant. Technically, the "nine month odyssey" is over, but another has just begun. Regardless, I'll be up at odd hours and will need an outlet.

Thanks for paying attention to my ramblings. It's nice to know that I'm not alone in my anxieties, beliefs, and peculiarities.

See you in a few days.

A Letter To My Daughter

Hey there kiddo, how ya doing? Within 48 hours you and I will meet face-to-face, and I gotta say, it’ll be among the best days of my life. I’ve spent the last nine months thinking about you, giving you a personality, and dreaming about you in my life. On Monday, you move from a concept – a lump in my wife’s belly – to a reality. I hope, when you read this, you’ll know that I tried my best.

See, we all grow up thinking our parents are more than they are. To a child, parents are providers and pacifiers. The cycle of the parent/child relationship goes like this – For a while, you won’t recognize us, but we’ll still care for you. Soon, you will recognize us, by face and voice, and we’ll still care for you. When you first call us by name, our hearts will melt, and we’ll rush to you. But at some point, and it might not be for a decade or so, your wonder in us will fade. We’ll just be your parents, a speed bump on your road to fun. But we’ll still love you.

Perhaps at some point, you’ll succumb to cliché and prattle on about how you didn’t ask to be born. Perhaps you’ll withdraw from us for a while and try to find yourself. Your introspection is a benefit, but it won’t be easy on us.

Look at me, going on like some kind of weathered expert. Truth is, kiddo, I don’t know shit about raising a child. I’ve read some books, watched some programs, talked to some people…but I won’t know what to do until you get here. And I may not be the most technically proficient parent. Your diapers may not always stay on, you might develop a rash, your clothes will certainly not match. But I’ll make up for it.

I’ve got something that cannot be replicated. I can tell you now, before you are born, that I will try my hardest to be the best parent I can be for you. Your mother and I – we love you more than you will know until you have a child of your own – we will always look out for your best interests.

I guess it’s a good thing that you won’t remember much of your infancy; we’ll still be feeling it out, ourselves.

Sleep tight, tonight, my unborn child. Tomorrow and Monday will be busy days. Your mother and I have done a thorough job of preparing for your arrival, but it won’t be perfect. All we ask is that you bear with us, and we promise to raise you the best way we can

An Important Message To My Wife

Dear Lovely Wife,

The free-wheeling codeine abuse will have to stop if you plan on breastfeeding. This is serious news. Apparently, the article states, codeine is in *everything* - cough syrup, pain killers, Cheerios, you name it - that is part of a healthy new mother's diet. I did my own research during lunch and have determined that you had best avoid ingesting the following while breastfeeding:

• Methamphetamines
• Poison Ivy
• Quaaludes
• The Japanese fugu fish
• Rubber Cement
• Other babies
• USDA Beef - Grades B-D
• Turducken (well, just the Tur and the -en parts)
• Paper made from more than 20% recycled materials
• Grass clippings
• Unwrapped afterdinner mints
• Crack

It's the Final Countdown!

This is a very "is it the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning type of post."

Went to a baseball game last night with a friend of mine (my last three evenings have been spent at two games and a fantasy football draft, btw), and I commented, "this is my last night out without a kid. Tomorrow, that's our last night hosting our friends, and Saturday, that's our last night together."

I've been focusing a bit on "the is the last" as the baby countdown drops lower. I think it's only natural - it's a way of marking milestones as the due date approaches. But I don't want to come across like I'm lamenting anything.

I started writing here in late December, mainly because I was freaking out, believed I had a few earth-shattering thoughts, and can never read my own writing in a journal. Back then, there were times when I really thought my life, as I knew it, was going to end. It was a tough mental transition.

Since then, I've calmed significantly. General freaking out has given way to typical parental anxiety (how will we afford college/will I drop her)...you know, the much more "normal" things to worry about.

My main concern now is keeping all the relationships in my family strong and healthy. You hear couples getting married say things like "now two become one." For me, that's a lot easier to manage than "two become three." The next few weeks and months of my life will be consumed by this new person, this new dynamic in my family. I imagine that I'll have minor freakouts about the adjustment of going from "couple" to "family." But I am trying to keep the longview in mind. The family relationship is important - but shouldn't override or seek to replace the relationship I have with my wife, that I have with my daughter, that my wife has with my daughter, that I have with my television.

I guess what I'm realizing - and what I'm trying to say - is that there isn't a balance just between work and home, but also within the home. My daughter will grow up in a loving home, but I also want her to have a loving relationship with each parent - independent of the other - and see the loving relationship between her parents. It is important that I embarrass my daughter by publicly loving my wife.

I think we can make it happen. I got mad love to give.
For real.

The To-Do List Grows

T-minus five days and holycrapwhyhaventweevenpackedthehospital-
bagyetshecouldgointolaborATANYMINUTE...

Somewhere between "prepare nursery" and "do not drop on floor" there's a whole laundry list of items that need addressing. It's weird to think of the paperwork and administrative items that come along with having a baby, but often, that's the most important part. This technological age doesn't make things any easier, either. It just makes the list longer. Here's my list of things I need to address on behalf of my baby:

• Birth Certificate (triple-check spelling of name, don't want this to happen)
• Get a Social Security Number, Card. Memorize number, eat card as identity protection measure
• Do that ink-footprint thing - it's important, and cute
• Set up baby's first e-mail address (note: need name first or check on stinkycrier@gmail.com)
• Register URL of baby name in case of future famousness
• Put her up on Facebook (what do you mean I'm already three months behind?)
• Draft baby's first fantasy football team (and watch her beat daddy and mommy to win the division)
• Set up 529 to relatives and friends can contribute electronically in lieu of gifts for the next 18 years
• Pre-register for toddler day care, pre-school, elementary school, dance lessons, summer camp, and after-school counseling program, just to be safe
• But baby's name on season ticket list for Maryland basketball tickets

I'm sure I'm missing a few things, but this is a start.

I Cannot Haz Update?

This is odd.



Checking this blog from work doesn't show the most recent post or that any comments may or may not have been registered for a few days.



Checking the blog from home shows everything is updated.



According to the computer I'm on now, there haven't been any new posts since the weekend, but I know there have been.



Please excuse my technical difficulties and enjoy this picture of a cute baby yawning.


If only I could see it from my work computer.

I Feel a Bit Ripped Off

My wife is 37+ weeks pregnant. My wife's belly has a 6+ lbs. baby inside of it. Yet my wife's belly button remains an "innie."

When the baby books I read warned that not all expectant mother's belly buttons turn from innies to outies, I shrugged if off. Of course baby books have to say that, just as they say that my child might not ever cry or fuss for more than a minute. They have to cover all bases.

I was all excited for my wife to pop an outtie, but we're running out of time. I don't think it's going to happen. It's not just sad, but a little disconcerting, too. If her belly button doesn't pop out, how will I know the baby's done cookin'?

Things My Child Will NOT See

Predictably, we've been watching a good deal of "Birth Day" lately. Over the weekend, we caught two episodes, Natural Birth and Home Birth - The Bradley Method, that featured a somewhat disturbing trend: siblings in the delivery room.

I'm not talking about adult, teenage, or even adolescent children assisting in delivery, I am talking about toddlers and elementary-school-age children, confused and frightened as their mother screams during contractions.

I should have thought about this when I was learning about Free Birth, but was too distracted by questions about linens. Far be it from me to criticize how someone handles their delivery, but in how is involving a four-year-old in childbirth a good idea?

In the episode I watched, a New Mexico woman had her son in her delivery room while she gave birth naturally, without any pain medicine. During the episode, this child tried to distract his mother by reading to her during contractions (cute), put his hand over his mother's mouth as she screamed during labor, had to be pulled away from his mother by his father during delivery, and watched in (I can only imagine) horror as his mother's perineum tore (this is an assumption, but it's my wife's best guess). The camera showed him turning away as his sibling's shoulder's were caught in his mother's pelvis and had to be gently twisted out of her vagina.

Like with my friends the Free Birthers, I can almost understand the mentality. I can almost buy that childbirth is a natural, beautiful process that should be shared with the whole family. I can almost see that perspective. Childbirth is a beautiful moment, adding a family member is special. But the act of childbirth is no place for, ironically, a child. Would these same people allow their four-year-olds to watch movies or television programs that contained the amount of blood, or pain, or screaming, or even nudity that often accompanies childbirth?

Again, I don't deny that the moment of childbirth isn't beautiful and special. I allow that delivering a new life into this world is seen as a miracle. I think that children should be fully aware and invested in their mother's pregnancy and their sibling's lives. I just really don't agree that it is appropriate for a child to be in the delivery room.

And to those people that believe otherwise, more power to you. But I ask you this, if having your child present during their sibling's birth is so important to you, where were they during the conception?

Update: New Operating Procedure

As a technical matter, I have just been informed that I am no longer allowed to call either of my in-laws without beginning the conversation with, "We are not on the way to the hospital, all is well." This rule, of course, only applies if we are NOT on the way to the hospital and all IS well.

Who knew wishing someone a "Happy Birthday" could get someone's heart rate up so quickly?

This Is Not My Baby

...but it doesn't mean she's any less cute.

This is actually my friends' baby. If you know, have met, or ever heard of my friend Chris, aka "Doc," this is his third daughter, Sophia Rachael. Sophie was born at 12:21 am on August 4. Despite being born nearly a month early, Sophie checked in at a healthy 7 lbs 3 oz and 19 1/2 inches.

Chris' wife and mine shared the same due date. Chris' wife was, like mine will be, induced. Chris' wife endured 31 hours in the hospital after the first doses of Pitocin before little Sophie decided to come out. Those numbers frighten me and my wife, but how can you stay upset when looking at a cute little face like that?

Congratulations to my friends on the new addition to their family. Chris now shares a home with his wife and three daughters who, in 2021, will be 18, 16, and 14. May God have mercy on his soul.

Oooooh, You're My Best Friend

I want my daughter to grow up to be socially responsible, self-aware, courteous, and having a good sense of how to successfully work and play with others. To get there, I realized that my wife and I can only provide partial support. At some point, my kid's gonna need a friend.

Now, I'm not worried about finding a friend for my daughter to play with. For the first few years, I don't think my daughter will be too discriminating about her playmates. So long as they keep their drool and dagger-like little infant fingernails to themselves, any two babies can get along. But can their parents?

It's not finding a playmate for my daughter that worries me, it's finding one with parents that my wife and I can tolerate. We're not antisocial people, by any means. Many times, however, we just like to be left alone. Outside of my work environment, I don't think I've made any new friends since 2004. And I'm ok with that. It will be interesting to see how we evaluate potential playmates and what, if any, interaction we have with that child's parents. I'm not sure how it's going to work, is there speed dating for parent-friends?

I don't even really know how to approach someone as a friend anymore. I used to joke, shortly after getting married, that I lost any semblance of a "game." Not that I had much game prior, but I did have a little amount of that mojo that causes people to start conversations with strangers for ulterior reasons. I need to rekindle that mojo a bit so I can approach people about being friends. I have to find someone(s) that I (and my wife) is compatible with for the benefit of my daughter. I'm not trying to go home with anyone, but I'm trying to get their number -- their pediatrician's number.

So after a few years of relative social isolation, enjoying the antics of my friends as they hit on various strangers, I guess I'm going to have to get off the shelf. Somewhere, deep inside of me, is that game, that mojo, that guy who'll chat you up while sizing you up. Only problem is, I used to rely on a few drinks before I did that -- think I can sneak a flask onto the playground?

More August 20 Trivia!

Hey, did you that there's an August 20 each year? And that stuff has happened on that date...just about each year? Seriously, August 20 is smack in the middle of the dog days - when no one is working and everyone cranks up the air condition. Yet, things still happen - and have for years. Let's dig a bit deeper than music history and discover the wonders of August 20. (Tip of the ol' baby cap to Crazy Aunt Lesley for the link. Despite the name, Crazy Aunt Lesley is neither crazy, nor biologically speaking, an aunt. Her name is Lesley, though. I think.)

8/20/94: Temperatures hit 109.8 in Spain (see honey, it could be worse!)
8/20/92: England get 7-363 in 55 overs vs Pakistan, then world ODI record (I have no idea what this means)
8/20/91: Estonia declares independence from U.S.S.R. (since she's being induced, I think Lefty's technically being "liberated" from my wife)
8/20/89: Howard Johnson joins B Bonds and W Mays to hit 30 home runs and steal 30 bases (but he makes the breakfast of all three)
8/20/86: Phils Don Carmen loses perfect game in 9th inning (welcome to the crushing heartbreak of being a Philly fan!)
8/20/80: Mt. Everest climbed by Italian Reinhold Messner, alone (Daddy once walked up the
steps of the Bethesda Metro station when it wasn't operational)
8/20/74: Gerald Ford assumes the presidency (Do you like nachos, Homer?)
8/20/61: Phillies set then dubious record of 23 straight loses, beat Braves (The record is no longer dubious?)
8/20/48: 78,382 watch White Sox play Indians at Cleveland (television was invented the next day)
8/20/30: Dumont's 1st TV broadcast for home reception (Way to ruin a joke, history)

There are plenty more, but I need to get back to work. Explore amongst yourselves!

The General Rule: Hit on 16, Stay on 17

Welcome to the world, Jennifer Danielle Duggar. Jennifer is the latest addition to the Duggar family of Tontitown, Arkansas. She is her parents' seventeenth child.

If the Duggar family and its double-digit brood rings a bell that's because they have been featured on several television programs and in People magazine.

Here are some fun facts on the Duggar family, passed along through Discovery Health and the Associated Press:

• The 19 member family live in a 7,000 square foot home.
• Every Duggar child has a first name beginning with the letter "J." Some are run-of-the-mill (Jennifer, Joshua), others not so much (Jinger, Jedidiah)
• No Duggar child has ever been born in June
• Jennifer's oldest sibling (Joshua) is 19
• All Duggar children have been home-schooled
• 90,000 diapers
• Parents Jim Bob and Michelle are already thinking of having another
• Michelle Duggar is 40 years old and has been pregnant for 25% of her life

I worry about being a parent to one child. I worry about being a parent to two children. I cannot imagine being a parent to four or more children. I cannot fathom a reason that I would want to father 17 children. Father Jim Bob Duggar credits God for his healthy children, while mother Michelle admits the couple love "the ruffles and lace" that come when having an infant. I see something else, another reason for the procreation. Something a bit more covert.

Tontitown, Arkasas had a population of 942 according to the most recent census data. Allowing for an annual 1% growth rate (I mean, the Duggar's have to be responsible for that number alone!), the town's population is somewhere around 1,000. The Duggan family is nearly 2% of the entire town's population. Father Jim Bob is a former state representative. Is the Duggar family simply following the Bible's "go forth and multiply" or is Jim Bob Duggar trying to wrest political control of his town by fathering a majority of its inhabitants? Someone check that house for "Vote for Dad" posters!

Hey, It's August!

Look at that, the calendar changed. It's now August. That's August as in:

"Hey, what are you doing in August?"

"Not much, no real vacation planned. Oh, and we're having a baby."

Yes, there aren't many more milestones that we can cross before Lefty arrives. The due date is no longer some ethereal day well into the future. It's on my calendar. I am looking at it now.

Looking at my schedule, it reads like this:

This Week: Meetings, baseball game, deadlines
Next Week: Deadlines, editorial planning, writing
The Next Week: Meetings, baseball games, fantasy football draft, more deadlines
The Following Week: Watch baby born...(scheduler goes blank after that)

It's on my calendar, right there in ink. August 20, "Baby." Other events surrounding it on my calendar, " August 16, Phillies/Nats Game" and "August 24, Payday." See how it just fits right in there?