Pregnant Date

It is Friday night and I have a date with Meesh.  What are we doing you ask?  Well, don't get wicked jealous but we are taking the dogs for a long walk around the neighborhood.  Good for the circulation.  Then we will probably have a bite at home.  Get into bed.  Meesh will wrap herself in her lifesize, U shaped preg pillow and I will make advances and while I am extending my hand to her proper parts the baby will kick, knocking my hand away.  I will go it again only to be stopped at the pass by the two pups.  I will then say fuck it, grab her boobs and say eee-rrr eee-rrr eee-rrr (I would never actually say eee-rrr but I had to jot it down because this Asian girl I met last night said eee-rrr in response to everything I said.  She would clench her fists and cartoonishly put them over her eyes and flex the fists back and forth whilst saying eee-rrr eee-rrr.  I said "my wife is pregnant."  She said "Eee-rrr eee-rrr."  I said "I am going east for the holidays."  She said...well you know what she said.  Worst part is she thought she was funny. I...did not.)

Pregzeltov

I was about to get something zapped off of my face at the dermatologist when my phone rang.  It was someone who helped me and Meesh a while back (by help I mean guided...by guided I mean talked to...by talked to I mean mentored...get it?)

He said "Mazelpreg!"  Yes...he's Catholic.  As Catholic as the Catskills and my Rabbi.

He heard that we are having...err again...that Meesh is having a baby.  Fuck it, that we are HAVING a baby.  And he was very excited for us.  We talked.  I hung up.  Got my "spot" burned off of my face.  Ever had that done?  Well this guy just threw the goggles over my eyes and started burning my cheek.  No warning.  Fucking killed!  I hate him.

When I got in my car (prius...mind your levels) I was two things:  burning and smiling...fun combo.  I was reflective.  The Mazelpreg man who had walked us through a rough patch had heard through a grapevine that we were bringing a baby into this world.  Into a world, especially now, so wrapped in pain.  A world that can tear so many things apart and has.  And I've never been more...okay.  Don't get me wrong, things are crumbling around me.  Some of my own things.  However, the euphoria and bliss of my real life are truly overwhelming anything awful.  I see Meesh.  We cook dinner.  Us Jews listen to Christmas music round the clock (I begged for a tree years back and Meesh thought it would confuse things (double parenthesis here, what things?  It has been the dogs and us.  I know I'm Jewish.  She certainly knows she is Jewish, just ask her Menorah collection) so we did not get a Christmas tree but she did buy me 15 boxes of twinkle lights and she asked me to download a ton of X-Mas music so I have a good sense that a tree this way will come in time) and our dogs run around and then they tire and lay on Meesh's belly.  Knowing that there is something living in that belly.  They lay there as soldiers waiting to attack any wrong hand that dare touch the expanding stomach.

So yes, the economy is collapsing and we are in a universal rut and heartache is finding its way to us all...but I am choosing to drink the cool-aid of...here it comes...HOPE!

So, to any of you out there pregnant, not pregnant, pregnant with ideas, inspiration, possibility...PREGZELTOV!!

UNITED WE'RE PREGNANT

Our post Thanksgiving flight from Boston to Los Angeles was rife, rife I say, with problems.  

United Airlines decided to pull a holiday switcharoo with our airplane.  Because the flight was not at capacity, the airline just said fuck it...and they put us on a smaller plane and because of that everybody's seats were changed.  Meesh and I still had our ECONOMY PLUS SEATS (don't get excited by the word PLUS.  You're still in coach but you have some bragging rights over the lesser folk in regular coach.  You know when you walk onto the plane and you go through First class?  You can totally see how cocky everyone is.  I say it from experience.  Everytime I sit in First Class I get super arrogant and all of my flying fears are out the window.  Like you can't crash in First Class or if you do it's a more refined crash?  Well, anyway, you can kind of pretend you are in the poor man's first class in Economy plus.  You can flex your legs whilst the Coach Folk pass by en route to their terribly uncomfortable seats.)

That said, our seats were changed and we were not happy about it.  Meesh was very Santa Clausian pre-flight.  She helped a bunch of people who were also scattered all over the plane do seat swaps and the reunions were a lovely thing to see.  We thought, of course, all of that good Karma would come back to us.  We got on the plane.  Five rows away from each other.  I asked everyone around me (well, only the economy plus people because like...who would talk to a Coach person.  Eww.)  and no one offered a solution.  Then, I rang to call button.  The flight attendant told me to figure it our amongst ourselves.  The fuck is this?  Lord Of The Flies?  Lost?  So, I stand up and I say it...I used it..."My wife is six months pregnant!!  Is there anyway someone would be Thanksgiving enough to let a guy sit with his pregnant wife!!"

The two men in the exit row (even more leg room) behind me stood up and said "take our seats."  I was so thankful.  The only thing I had on me was a small bag of Sour Patch Kids but I offered them up as a sign of gratitude.  Suddenly I hear Meesh in a loud whisper say "Do their seats go back?"  I respond "What?"  Meesh continues "Sometimes exit row seats don't go back."  I said "Do you really want me to ask them that?"  Meesh nodded yes.  I did.  They said the seats do.  I could see it in their eyes "give an inch...take a mile."  Do the seats go back?  The pregnant greed.  

So, we sat in our seats.  Two plush seats.  Not a row of three...just two.  In a spacious exit row.  I could not understand why these guys would give up such comfortable seats.  So I spent the next 30 minutes looking over one of the guys' shoulders to see what he was reading, see if he was fidgeting or sweating and praying that he was not going to blow up the plane.

Happy Thanksnipples

Meesh's cousin Kim said "do you fuckin' love when he tweaks your nipples?"

That came within the first five minutes of Thanksgiving. Meesh went on to say "well...umm...sometimes I guess but..."

Kim swooped in with "Oh my God I love gettin' my nipples twisted, fuckin' bit on..."

Homemade cranberry sauce arrives on buffet table followed by stuffing and coogle (is any holiday involving Jews Jew-food-centric?) followed by sweet potatos...

Kim goes on "Ohhhh, are your tits senstive 'cuz you're lactatin'?"

Forgot to mention we are in a suburb of Boston.

Meesh says "Not yet I don't think. I think that will start when the baby arrives."

Kim's monologue continues with "totally, so wait...you do or you don't like when he plays with your nipples?"

Meesh "welllll...."

Kim "but you're tits are fuckin' huge..."

Kim grabs Meesh's tits.

Meesh "thanks."

Kim "they're like bigger than mine."

Meesh grabs a carrot from the vegetable tray and puts it in her mouth.

Kim says "You fuckin' love a big carrot, huh?"

The Belly Can Hear

Meesh informed me today that we have hit a pregnancy milestone.  The baby can hear. 

Things I will be doing from here on in:

1. Blasting Simon & Garfunkel instead of N.W.A. (come on, I'm a theater Jew - I've been blasting Simon & Garfunkel, Joni Mitchell, Dan Fogleberg and West Side Story since I can remember blasting anything)

2. Watching PBS at night instead of flipping from Real World/Road Rules Inferno to Half-ton Mom on TLC (would prefer my baby not even know that a human being can eat 10 big macs in one sitting)

3. Not allowing anyone who says "Like" and "Umm" and "Do you know what I mean?" near Meesh's belly. 

4. Keeping annoying people very far away so as not to give the baby the option of thinking we are lame as that will obviously come in due time.

5. Bringing the belly around as many funny Jewish people, Black people and British people as possible as I find those people to have the best comic timing.

6.  Religious people...sorry, can't come round.  Don't want the baby to hear preaching.  

7.  Marianne Williamson can preach because I like her voice.  She has a great timber.  As does Suze Orman.  Rachel Maddow.  Chris Matthews is in.  No more The View.  Letterman, Stewart and Maher are in.  Sorry, Colbert is out because the baby might take his fake-republican persona literally.

8.  There was a man I knew years ago with a bubble in his throat.  A permanent throat bubble.  He can't come round as I don't want the baby to think we hang out with frogs.  However, on second thought, I do want the baby to have an endless imagination and that includes the belief animals talk so I guess I have to do a Facebook search for Bubble Throat.  

9.  If the baby could smell I would not allow Meesh anywhere near the Hasidic household down the street.  It's just that one household.  I am not in any way making a sweeping statement.  Those are my "people."  Well, not really.  I'm only a conservative Jew so as I've said before, I'm Irish-Catholic to them.

10.  I will continue to tell Meesh that she is the MOST, the bees to my knees, the light in my otherwise dark, dark night.  I will, however, stop telling her that I would love to hump her and play with her pregnant boobs.

Blame It On The Belly

No wonder that Man from all the talk shows likes being pregnant. Who wouldn't want to be able to NOT BE ACCOUNTABLE for anything? Being preg is like a get out of jail free card. Yeah yeah...all the cliches - eat what you want, sleep when you want, get massages, be the center of attention, complain all the time or not complain all the time. When preg you can be annoying or not be annoying. Bitchy or not bitchy. My point is, it is the best VIP pass in the world. It is the EZ pass of physical living. Baby in belly means you can be or do anything and it's all good...you're pregnant. Men with vaginas really have a leg up on those of us with lame cock and balls.

I would love to get knocked up by Meesh. I know what you're about to snarkily say..."ohhhh reallyy???!! You want the swelling? the indigestion? the mood swings? the aches, pains and pelvic expansion?!" For jokes sake I would respond "Already got those things...I'm Jewish. Not just Jewish. I'm Ashkenaze (I don't know how to spell it and I don't know what the fuck it means)." But my real response would be "hells yeah...I'll take your aches, pains and tit growth and raise you some sensitive nipples." I would like to have an excuse for being a dick head to those that annoy me. Really. Truly. I want an excuse for it because as of now I don't have one.

Meesh can basically tell someone to shut the fuck up and eat shit and simply say "sorry, I'm pregnant." If I was preg I would ring up everyone I loathe and say things like "you suck ass bunghole fuck hole" and then i would get all cute and coy and pull my sleeves over my hands ala Jennifer Love Hewitt and other falsely-humble girls and say "I'm just wicked pregnant!"

Driving To Alanis

Meesh's long week plus my long week equals...drumroll, please...ARGUMENT!

Right before we left the house last night to go to Alanis Morissette's concert, Meesh said "I have an early morning and I can't be out until 1 a.m."

Well, I thought, what praytell is she really saying? The concert begins at 8 (opening act Alexi Murdoch...a super mellow folk singer) and then Alanis goes on. 1 a.m.? We are going to the Orpheum theater and sitting in proper seats. To see Alanis. 1 a.m.? Not Metallica. There is no raging after party. Just a handful of introspective Alanis-y songs.

I kept hearing 1 a.m. as I drove toward the Orpheum theater. So I did it...did what I should not have done. I asked "What are you REALLY saying when you say 1 a.m.?" Tension begins. "I'm saying that I have to get up extra early for work and that I can't be up until 1 a.m." I respond "I get that, but do you really think we are going to be out that late?" She says "If you want to stay I can take a cab." WOAH!! I say "Can't we just go to the concert and see what we are feeling? Can't we go before we leave?" 1 a.m.? That is like saying "I know we are going to hear Marianne Williamson speak but I just don't want to rage."

I then took it too far. "I've had a long week. I was so looking forward to going to a concert with you and just having fun. And it feels like you are already giving our evening guidelines." UH-OH. "I have a job (stab-i currently do not) and I'm pregnant (double stab- i am not currently pregnant.)" Well, I thought, thank God she told me she was pregnant. I was wondering why the growing belly, all the UPS packages from maternity stores, the donut cravings. We continued to bitch at each other for a few more minutes. I think we both wanted to be mad at someone for the overwhelming week we both had. So going to an early concert at a proper venue is as good a hook for arguing as any.

Got to the concert. I got a beer. Meesh got a coke. A COKE!! A coca-cola. Concert ended at 10:30. Home by 11. Because of the Coke, Meesh didn't fall asleep until 1:45 a.m. Are you laughing?

I'm Maternity, I'm Maternity, I'm Maternity Girl (Livin' In A Maternity World)

I almost bitch slapped a jealous pregnant woman at Gap Maternity today. I walked up through the baby clothes, past the teddy bears and straight on in to the pregnancy section. There was Meesh all glowing and shit. Holding a little black dress...err...holding a BIG black dress up to her body (and by Big I mean Maternity BIG, not *Ruby BIG) when out the corner of my eye - yeah, I said "OUT the corner" - I am intentionally leaving words out so as to sound more rougher and junk. So, I 0ut my eye's corner I see this couple. She's pregnant. He looks suicidal. The story I built for them was this: He hates her but married her because it was easier than breaking up with her and now she is having his child and he is counting down the days until he AXES her for divorce. That said, the bitch was looking Meesh up and down giving her the evil eye and shit. If only Meesh had on her Kabballah string...none of that would have happened. Or like Wonder Woman's wrist cuffs, Meesh could have deflected the evil eye and then Rammmmmmed (sound effect of Wonder Woman jump) out of Gap and into the Grove fountain.

Why was this preg bitch hating on Meesh? Not sure. But I will throw this question out there? What happens to a bitchy girl when she gets pregnant? She becomes a bitchy pregnant girl. The more preg people I meet the more I am understanding that growing a baby inside of you does not necessarily make you kinder or more loving...more compassionate or funnier...it kind of just makes you a bigger version of who you already is! Yup, I said IS.

*Ruby is that show airing on Style Network about the 700 pound woman who goes on a quest to become 150 pounds. Yeah, I programmed my Tivo.

Her Bump, Her Bump, Her Lovely Lady Bump

Let me say this first...there is nothing more beautiful than a pregnant woman. My wife especially. Phew, that's out the way!

This morning whilst trying on her fifth outfit, Meesh said "Oh my God, my belly got so big overnight. Must've been the Mexican food."

You see, we went to a birthday party last night. A mexican-fiesta birthday party. And Meesh ate a cute, little plate of food: one corn tortilla (the mini kind) some shredded lettuce (iceberg) and some fix-ins (black beans, sour cream, guac). And then for dessert a small scoop of vanilla yogurt and a piece of chocolate chip cookie.

Um, babe, your belly didn't grow overnight because of the Mexican food. It grew, shot in the dark here, because you are getting very pregnant.

Well, lesson learned. Let her believe it was the Mexican food. Not the baby growing in the belly. Why? Because this was her response to my intimating it could be, may just be the baby.

"Matt, you don't know what it's like to keep growing out of your clothes."
False: I have fat days.
"Matt, you don't know what it's like to not be able to pull your boots off with ease."
False: Why just the other day, when it rained (only time this year in Los Angeles) I spent the better part of 20 minutes pulling my Fisherman Rain Boots off my legs.
"Matt, I feel like I'm getting so big!!"
This one was tricky. A: she is not getting SO big. But B: did you get the memo...this is kind of what happens when you get pregnant. Like, um, you like get like bigger and crap.

Well, here's a memo for you guys. Just say "it was totally the Mexican food...it did seem extra bloaty what with all that MSG (even if MSG is only in Chinese food)." And say "That must be annoying to keep getting bigger. I can't relate but I can sure empathize...scratch that...baby, this may sound wicked odd, but you get more beautiful everyday your belly grows." And also "I think women who take their boots off with ease are total pussies."

Bristol Palin and The Parade She Rode In On

Meesh was Bristol Palin for Halloween. Bristol is the pregnant teenage daughter (not Anna Rodrigo) of Vice Presidential nominee Sarah Jessica Parker Palin.

People thought it was a gas!! And it was. Funniest part for me was that Meesh did not attempt to look Wasilan at all. She was just pregnant. Which made it funnier for me (well that and the Halloween pot I smoked).

When we walked to the parade on Santa Monica boulevard ( a fantastic venue to have a panic attack in) Meesh walked ahead of me. In my attempt to catch up to her, I weaved my way through Geisha Girls (men) Sexy Maids (men) Wonder Woman (man) and Joe The Plumber (proper lesbian) and finally got to her. Reached out for her the way I do these days - arm extends to baby belly - and she turned around and I quickly pulled my arm away...as it was Dora The Explorer...not Meesh. And Dora wasn't pregnant...just, ummm, well Dora likes lots of beer and cake I presume.

Finally found the real Meesh. She was walking alongside a Sarah Palin. It was such a lovely image. Mother and preg daughter strolling through a very liberal parade.

Doula (Oblongata)

We had our first Doula (oblongata...you wanted to say it too, right?) interview today. At Starbucks. My head nearly exploded. She was awesome but her "menu" rivaled Jerry's Deli (an L.A. haunt that has a menu as dense as the bible...or torah...or insert your own wicked long-confusing-too-many-option text).

I found myself pretending to understand the way I did in Math class senior year of high school. I got the whole SOHCAHTOA thing but everything else evaded me. I told the principal that I would like to abandon math for creative writing. The principal said "you need this math class to graduate." I said "I will be hiring accountants and business managers because I am going into the arts." I got out of the math class. And I have a great business manager. And I can totally multiply, divide, add and subtract. So don't try to trip me up with numbers...I got mad 9th grade level skills. Holler!!

That said, before I left the math class, I did a great job pretending to understand everything. Well, great until the exams came. Then...umm...not so great. Hence, creative writing. So, I am going to make it my job to comprehend everything the doula (oblongata) was talking about. This guy is going back to school...baby school.

I'm not afraid of flashcards!

Baby Disc

My wife is on her way home with a new DVD. It is starring our baby. There are not a lot of locations. Just a womb really. So, production was wicked cheap.

I could not make the doctor's appointment today so Meesh went solo. She called after to tell me that everything looked perfect and told me "Maybe it is better this way...I go and get a DVD for you." She said that because I break out into cold sweats before the doctor gels her belly. Meesh is fine. Like when we fly. I can't breathe and she reads The Barefoot Contessa. If this is any indication of how Jewishly worried I am going to be as a Dad...shit, I need therapy...or valium (yay).

Those BOOBS are made for walking...and other things

The last time I had an intimate experience with such wonderfully, large breasts was, I think, in the fifth grade. Mrs. Maderos was my teacher and she would hover above my desk and shade me from the flourescent lights. Yep, her boobs were that big. Big enough to eclipse things. And she wore them in a bra that made them desk-like. I used to laugh to myself thinking I could actually do my homework on her chest. Where's my number 2 pencil? Likely, on her chest. Her desk chest. Chest desk. I thought that if it poured during recess and I was umbrella-less, I could find shelter under the bosom of Mrs. Maderos. Her nickname was torpedo tits.

Okay, you can't do your algebra on Meesh's pregnant boobs - they're not THATTT big. But let's just say I am proud of them. Better than that, Meesh is proud of them. Wears 'em like a badge, errr, badges of honor. The boobs are just one of the things Meesh loves about being pregnant. She is cooking a quiche right now while talking on the phone with our friend. I am writing this and overhearing her say through a smile "I love being pregnant! I am so happy." Fuck...I found the Golden Tickkettttt! That was all I had to do. Get her pregnant? I warned her that if she keeps this up...this overwhelming bliss...I am going to have to keep her pregnant for years...nee...forever and ever.

Anna Rodrigo

I woke up this morning thinking I was married to Anna Rodrigo. And never have I been more frightened. My biggest fears...flying, jail (although I love saying things like "this ice cream is jail good") and dinners with boring people ain't got nothing on my fear of Anna Rodrigo.

Anna was pregnant with her second child when she was 15. She was still in 7th grade. She may, in fact, still be in 7th grade. She wore huge hoop earrings. She had a flat top and a tail that she chewed on. She beat up my friend Jojo (a Jewish, musical theater girl) because she didn't like that Jojo "thought she was all that cuz she could sing and shit." A week later, Jojo came back to school with her own hoop earrings and a Puerto Rican accent and she shoved Anna into a locker. Jojo got suspended because Anna was pregnant. Apparently you can't push a pregnant bully into a locker...in the 7th grade.

Anna's pregnant belly was as much a bully prop as her tail and those fucking hoop earrings. She would shove people out of lunchroom lines because "My fuckin' baby need a twinkie." Her baby bump made her bigger and more intimidating. She could part a crowd in a corridor like no other. Bitch was the Moses of our Junior High School.

She would push an empty stroller around school "cuz I'm preppin' for Anna Junior." These 7th grade Jewish eyes had a hard time comprehending the visual. And the day my knees buckled was the day I tried to make sense of the visual. I found myself in a dead-lock stare. Staring at Anna Rodrigo. I was at my locker and she was talking shit with some of her friends (and by friends I mean girls who were so scared of her but did not want to get beaten up so instead they split a necklace with her) and she was wearing a bikini top. Flat-top. Tail. 8 months pregnant and a bikini top. Mid-winter in New England. Are you scared?

I couldn't help but STARE. It was one of the greatest things I had ever seen. Fuck THE DAVID, I got Anna Rodrigo. Well, she caught my eyes. And this is how it went.

"The fuck you lookin' at? You Jewin' my belly? My belly could beat yo ass up. Talkin' bout you 'lil Jew. My belly could knock you right good."

Then I blacked out. She never touched me. But I blacked out. Literally. My first experience with sniffing salts.

And this morning, I woke up from a nightmare that the pregnant woman in my bed was Anna Rodrigo.

It wasn't. It was Meesh. And she was pretty and sweet. But she was chewing on her tail and her belly did kick my ass.

It happened just like this, the house literally began to twitch

It could have happened in Los Angeles. The morning before we left for Italy. At 8 a.m. we did that thing called "trying." Still confused about that expression "we're trying to get pregnant." Correction, "we're banging...a lot...on a cycle in fact...one according to ovulation and moons and tides and the Princes of them..." We're trying to get pregnant is like "I'm trying to win lots of money at the blackjack table by the pool at the Atlantis." You're playing blackjack and if luck strikes you will find colorful chips in front of you. If my sperm does a great breast stroke, Phelps style, I will find chips in front of me, too. Blackjack, babies. There's no trying in Babesball.

But, it may have been that morning. The morning that the 'moons' were so powerful...bed shaking, head hitting wall and back nearly breaking. At the 'climax' of this story, I yelped for two reasons. One was...well...and the other was that my back done thrown out. Never have I felt more Jewish. More not 25. Great preparation for Daddy-hood. I spent the next five hours on stretching machines and big, bouncing balls. Being cracked and massaged. My neck could not move. If I had to move my neck that meant I had to move my body. I was basically Vicki from Small Wonder. I had to fly from Los Angeles to Rome with this. I had to go to Rite Aid and buy heating pads and Icy Hot and on a happy note, fill my prescription of Vicodin (yay) and Ibuprofen (boo). But if all of this pain meant we were....errr...meant SHE was pregnant well then who the fuck needs mobility.

Warning: If SHE is following an ovulation cycle, a calendar of BEST MOMENTS TO GET PREG, beware. You will have to drop your pants whenever she calls...albeit en route home from work, on a lunch break from work, in the wee hours of morning before sun rises, before sun sets, before you can think...brush your teeth...while you're dreaming, blacked out from drinking. It doesn't matter. She want it...she gon' git it.

p.s. getting an erection on command is up there with farting on command, being funny on command or remembering the Bush Doctarine on command.

A baby this way comes

I am having a baby. My first. Well, let me clarify. I am NOT having the baby. My wife is. However this baby is my first...baby that I am not carrying but fathering. Is that right? Fathering? Sounds like it was a deal. It was not. We decided to get pregnant...oops a daisy...we decided that we wanted to have our first child and that Meesh would (fingers crossed) get pregnant. And she did. She got pregnant right around our first year wedding anniversary. She woke me up at 6 a.m. waving what I thought was a popsicle stick in my face. My first thought was "lady, get out my face." My second thought was "we have popsicles in the freezer?" When my eyes focused and my mind connected to what I was seeing I jumped out of bed. Freaking out. Excitedly freaking out. Overwhelmed with freak out. I asked first "should we frame it?" "It...?" my wife asked. "Yeah, the stick. The plus sign. Do we keep it?" I collect memories. Movie tickets. Notes from people. I have a box of wrist bands from concerts and waterparks and lame V.I.P rooms. So, why not a pregnancy stick? Meesh was quick to remind me that the stick was urinated on. This reminder after I grabbed it from her hand. I suppose, though, if I am adult enough to help make the stick a plus sign I can certainly get some sissy on my hands. (My mother taught us to pee in the toilet by saying "want to make a sissy?" I now use it for my dogs. Try it...something about the sound of the word just makes you want to, well, make a sissy.)

Alas alack (always wanted to use that expression) that stick was accurate. We were, are, indeed having a baby. Our first. Some months from now I will be someone's father. I will have fathered someone. I will, for the rest of time, be father to someone. Holy shit!!!!!!

I will be writing here to tell you all the tales of what it is like to be the one NOT carrying the child. The one dealing with the one who IS carrying the child. I feel much like I felt on semester abroad in Europe. I had never been to Europe so everything was so NEW. New enough to write every detail. You know when you are 20 and you do anything NEW...everything is so big in your mind. You see a fat drunk guy in an English pub and he is singing songs you've never heard and you are blown away and calling your parents to tell them and talking about fat drunk guy for weeks and referencing him to other backpackers on trains. I am not saying my wife is a fat drunk guy, on the contrary she is a beautiful brunette with a gorgeous baby bump...but yeah, I am feeling 20 and fat-drunk-guy-referency these days. You know you're in that space when you are around people who already have kids and you tell them things like "dude, she was so nauseous and tired the first three months." And those people just Laughhhh at you. Yes, AT YOU! They've been there and done that. They are thinking "ohhh you...look at you...so cute you are having your first..." Yep, I've realized that people with children look down on those having children. It reminds me of going to my Hasidic cousin's wedding (yes, I hugged the bride...NOT ALLOWED TO DO THAT) but moreso I felt Catholic. My Judaism was nothing but a thang compared to their Hasidiasm. So it is, people having their first child must beware of sharing too much with those who already had the children.

Gotta go. Have to decide on everything for the next 25 years. Bye.