That damn kid, not even born yet, already kicking me. It’s going to be a long 18 years. Sheesh.
Archive for the 'Emery' Category
It is so weird, but three people have told me today that I’m
having a boy! I’ve had a feeling it’s a boy for a while now, but
like I said before, I thought Lindsay was a boy until about a week
before she was born, so who knows. I just think it’s really weird
that everyone is saying it’s a boy! I don’t know why everyone
thinks that, especially since I’m not really showing enough yet for
people to speculate based on how I’m carrying. I can’t wait until
August to find out.
I’m starting to go through that freaking out about everything phase
again that I went through with Lindsay where I morbidly, constantly
think the baby has died. I know, I’m terrible, but I felt Lindsay
moving at 16 weeks, and I’m past that now, and…nothing. Barney
must be so sick of me asking him if maybe it died. God that’s
horrible, but these are the kinds of things that run through my mind in
flashes.
I need help. 
We now have irrefutable proof that obsessive-compusive humping is a
hereditary trait. First I did it. Then Lindsay did
it. And how Hangnail does it. We have witnessed nearly one
full minute of it’s life, and what did it spend that minute
doing? Yeah, that’s right. The Humpy Dance. No
twisting, no sucking it’s thumb, no just laying there. There, in
all it’s less-than-an-inch-long glory, was this tiny little person,
complete with identifiable head, arms and legs, doing the humpy
dance. The picture quality wasn’t so good, but it was
unmistakable.
The format changes based on size and coordination levels, of course,
from the minute wrigglings of a ~9-week fetus to the spastic flailings
of a ~9-month old to the carefully choreographed undulations of a
~9,000-day man. Oh, and I dare you to go do the math - the margin
of error is the smallest on the 9,000 days.
Oh, and the name. Unlike Lindsay, whom we didn’t get around to
naming until well into her development (till she was about the size of
a Chicken McNugget, surprisingly enough), we’ve already named this
one. As is common knowledge, I am the namer-of-all-things in
Heather and my relationship. We both wear pants (at least most of
the time), but I do the naming. When the discussion happened, I
figured it was about the size of a hangnail, and so there you go.
She wanted to go with "Peanut", but as is quite obvious, Hangnail was
nowhere near the size of a peanut after only a few weeks of
growth. Heck, it’s barely that big now. Silly wife.