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September 5th, 2007
We took a tour of the hospital last night, and I was astonished at how progressive Sacred Heart hospital is. For instance, once the baby is born, they don't whisk the child away to be dried, weighed and poked at with sticks. They actually leave him/her in direct contact with the mother(s)' skin. They also encourage and are extremely knowledgeable about natural childbirth. Most importantly, the tour leader, a nurse and lactation consultant, never once used the word 'husband,' but instead referred to 'support people.' Maybe there is hope...
Enough of this adult stuff, you can get that on my partner's blog. Here, have some childish "na-na-na-na-boo-boos."
August 28, 2007
If you want steady updates on the progress of our little troglodyte, I suggest you check out my very organized and meticulous partner's blog here. In the meantime, what can I say? He's coming soon, to a nursery near you! November 5 is the deadline...
I'm not so good at the baby details, but I can provide entertainment and parental advice. Here's why I think the teletubbies are a positive influence on young minds, for instance.
And here's why we'll be encouraging soccer over football...
And never, ever, feed a hot dog to a kangaroo.
May 23, 2007
I read in the news the other day about a nursery care provider who became impatient with a two year old in her charge and taped his hands together AND taped his mouth (presumably to keep him still and quiet). She left the room for a moment and when she returned, the child was nonresponsive and will now be still and quiet forever.
I also read about another case in which elementary school kids were subjected to a mock gunman attack. The problem was, these kids thought it was real. The idiot adults in charge thought it would be a grand lesson... about what, I don't know. Perhaps a lesson in how one develops PTSD?
WTF?
May 11, 2007
All right, I haven't updated this site in a while. Grad school is essentially legal indentured servitude. At any rate, it takes all your time. It's been even worse for Karrie, who's been frantically trying to write her dissertation proposal in addition to carrying our little Nhamo. This while balancing a relationship with me ( a challenge in its own right). Kudos, sweetie. You're amazing.
But what's new with the pregnancy, you ask? Well, Karrie is showing, which, to me, is surreal. It's like a basketball is slowly inflating in her stomach. The rest of her is as thin as ever. Her morning sickness is finally starting to subside, though meals are still tricky. I look forward to being able to cook with heavy spices again.
I'm doing pretty well. I alternate between moments of panic (I can't be ready to be a parent! I still can't clean my OWN room!!!) and moments of impatience. I think I'm expecting the kid to pop out and say, "Hi Baba! Let's go ride a bike!" I have no idea what to do with an infant. Don't they just ooze and drool?
The second ultrasound had a profound impact on me as I saw our little one's hands, fingers and toes. For some reason, seeing those little fingers, so perfectly formed, really hammered home the responsibility of raising a new life to me. I keep pointing out to Karrie that people start out with such promise as children, then grow up to be complete buttheads who drive gas guzzling SUV's, start wars and vote Republican. She points out that not everyone ends up like this, and that, hopefully, we can raise our kid with the ability to think critically about his/her world. And I think this is a good goal: we can't (nor should we) force our children to take up our politics, but we can equip them with the ability to think. This philosophy is behind the song that accompanies the ultrasound video on the left (I'm trying to learn it on guitar right now).
I'm feeling nesty, like I want to paint the crib, or build something with a hammer and a drill... though I've no idea what. I've started reading to Nhamo at night. Right now, we're on a "Wrinkle In Time" by Madelaine L'engle. Somehow, I missed this as a kid, so I'm thoroughly enjoying it. I feel restless, standing by and watching Karrie get more and more obviously pregnant. I want to 'do' something. (Though, as she wisely points out, I was the one who actually got her pregnant... so I've already done quite a bit.)
All right, that's all for now. Ciao, kiddies.
It's true. As of Monday, March 26, 2007, we are exactly 8 weeks pregnant. Well, Karrie's pregnant. I'm the one going to the store at 11pm for Annie's Organic Cheese Ravioli. Since we had to do everything wrong to finally conceive, we've dubbed the li'l bugger "Nhamo," which means 'trouble' in Shona.
People are often confused by my role in this whole process, asking instead about our sperm donor. So, I'll say this: our sperm donor and his partner are among the most generous, kind, wonderful human beings I could ever have the joy of knowing. I cannot begin to express my gratitude to them in enabling Karrie and I to begin this wonderful journey.
And I am this baby's 'father.' Hands down, end of discussion. See, here's the big secret. Ready? You don't need to have a penis to be a daddy! Nope. Not even a little one. To be a daddy, you need to have patience, love, compassion, patience, a good sense of humor, patience and some more patience. It's great if you can throw a spiral or shoot hoops (yes, I do both), but not necessary. As we will tell our little one when the time comes, "Some people have boy daddies and some people have girl daddies."
So, like many lesbian 'dads' before me, I am going to be a baba. I am a woman with masculine energy who loves being a woman and can't wait to raise this kiddo.
For more adventures in Nhamoland, go here for my partner's blog (which, I confess, is substantially better than what I have here.)
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