Accidentally Pissing Off Legions of Pregnant Women

Hypnobirthing does, too, work you HUSSIE.

Usually, the only pregnant woman I piss off is my wife. Like the time I accidentally called her fat. And old. Or the time I let everyone know that the, um, bang-bang train left the station at week 24.

Yet today, I accidentally pissed off legions of pregnant women over at Babble. Or so I gathered by the comments left on Babble’s FB page, many of which referred to me as an “arrogant man.” The one I quote below? She didn’t call me an arrogant man, but she did call me a “man” (gasp) and even went so far as to pity my wife for merely being married to me. Check it out:

Obvouse that this was written by a man, kinda of insulting to say the least the way it was written. I feel bad for his wife though 4 plus one on the way yikes.

Such an enlightened and well thought out critique has left me devastated. Humiliated, even, yet not to the extent I might be were I the one rocking the third-grade grammar. (Pretty “obvouse” that someone needs a little Hooked on Phonics.)

Indeed, all this negativity because I had the audacity to write a tongue-in-cheek post that suggested that there were 5 different types of pregnant women. Boy have I learned my lesson.

Okay, that’s bullshit. I totally haven’t learned my lesson. Because I’m arrogant.

And a man. An arrogant man.

But take pity on me, I beg of you. Because I’m also a self-professed idiot. Well, not a grammatical idiot like ol’ Ms. Obvouse over there. But an idiot nonetheless. Should you wanna read this idiot’s assessment of the 5 different types of pregnant women, click here.

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An Aggressive Nesting Initiative Leads to Some Conservative Mounting

 

Caroline's been on a huge nesting bender.

So Caroline’s been on this huge nesting bender. In fact, I dare say it’s the nesting bender of all nesting benders. Because not only are we preparing for child number five (Grand Finale Osborne), but we’re also moving into our house.

That’s right. Moving into our house. The one we’ve been living in for nearly four years now. Because just 12 hours after we originally moved in? Caroline was put on hospitalized bed rest for what ended up totaling 11 weeks. Suffice it to say that during that time, very little got accomplished. Then, of course, the tiny trio came on the scene and, well, we haven’t been the same ever since.

Which is why it feels like we never officially moved in. At least not like we would have under “normal” circumstances. But Caroline’s aggressive nesting initiative is changing all that.

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5 Quirks My Wife Found Endearing…Before She Was Pregnant

Those sunglasses atop my head? I lost them 5 minutes after this pic was taken. Along with my car keys.

Even those of us in the best of matrimonial arrangements would likely agree that marriage can often be hard work. And my marriage is no exception. Only it’s a breeze for me. The hard work, it turns out, is all Caroline’s. Because I’m tough to stay hitched to. If for no other reason than a series of well-intended quirks that make me a bit…

strange.

But here’s thing: Caroline used to love these quirks. Sadly, now she doesn’t. See, this pregnancy has made my wife increasingly irritable. (In a sweet way, honey.) As such, she doesn’t have the patience she normally has. Which is bad news for me and my, um, proclivities. For they’re no longer deemed quirky and endearing. They’re deemed annoying. And here are the top 5:

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10 Things This Baby Should Know About His Family

Soon we'll need another stool...

Now that Caroline has crossed over the halfway point of her pregnancy, we’re starting to creep ever closer to the actuality of adding this little guy to our crazy mix. As such, we’re going through what few baby clothes we didn’t give away (since we thought we were done) as well as tinkering around with different sleeping arrangements. We’re also making note of everything we’ll need — from bouncy seats to gliders to receiving blankets to outlet covers.

And just last night, something occurred to me. We’re making all these preparations based on the fact that a little boy is about to join the fray. So in fairness to Grand Finale (as I’ve taken to calling him), I thought I’d let him know 10 things about his family that he ought to be aware of. You know, in case he wanted to make any adjustments of his own.

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The Time I Ran Away From My Pregnant Wife

Sometimes running away proves you'll never, ever leave.

It was a quarter after ten. Caroline was already out like a light though I was anything but, tossing and turning by the dim glow of the TV. Not even ESPN could lull me to sleep, my mind racing with a mix of anxiety and guilt. I was anxious because I wasn’t really excited about doing it alone. That certainly hadn’t been the plan. But four hours earlier my friend had unexpectedly bailed on me. And it was too late to turn back.

The guilt was because I didn’t feel good about leaving her, a thought that accompanied me as I shuffled my bare feet across the cold hardwood planks to the kitchen and checked the list again. Yep. Four different telephone numbers and as much detail as I could possibly provide. I crawled back into bed and held her tighter than normal. Not too tight, of course. Not at 20 weeks.

My tossing and turning would continue, and at four in the morning, she stirred for the first time all night. ”Do you have to go?” she asked while tracing a line on my hand with her index finger until it stopped on my wedding band.

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Ultrasound Arguments: 5 Reasons to Find Out the Sex

Before I start today’s post, I want to encourage you to read the poem I wrote honoring both Dr. Seuss (his birthday is coming up) as well as Caroline’s pregnancy. Many people missed it b/c it was posted on the same day as “Boy or Girl: The Indecision Continues.” I guess gender speculation is more exciting than Seussian parodies, but this particular one is set to Green Eggs and Ham and is one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. Those who know me know I don’t say stuff like that too often, so check it out by clicking HERE.

Ultrasound Arguments: 5 Reasons to Find Out the Sex

Okay, guys. I need to know if you wanna find out or not.

Caroline and I had two appointments yesterday. One involved estate planning attorneys and life insurance agents. Not fun. The other involved ultrasound technicians and our fifth child. Quite fun. There was only one problem. We still weren’t sure whether or not we wanted to find out the sex of the baby. At least Caroline wasn’t sure. I was. I wanted to find out. But I also wanted Caroline to make the decision.

As we left the estate planning meeting, one thing was clear. That decision would have to be made during the commute to the doctor’s office. Or so I thought.

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Image: stock.xchng

Boy or Girl? The Indecision Continues.

Boy or girl? Tough to say.

So this is a pretty big week for us. It’s time for Caroline’s anatomy ultrasound. Which is really good news, if you ask me. I’m one who likes to find out the gender. You know, it’s funny. When Caroline got pregnant last time, I was adamant that we NOT find out the gender. But once we learned she was carrying triplets, we figured we were pretty good on surprises. At that point, we decided that the more we knew about our uncertain and chaotic future, the better.

So we opted to learn the sexes and were thrilled at the BBG combo we were given. Once we found out the gender for the triplets, it only seemed natural to go ahead and find out the gender of this child, right? I mean, after all, s/he was quite a surprise to begin with. No need to make a mystery out of the gender.

Yet a mystery is what it, indeed, has become.

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Image: Wikipedia

Dr. Seuss and Pregnancy

Ted Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss

Well, March 2nd is right around the corner. And guess what that day is? The birthday of the late, great Ted Geisel. Who’s Ted Geisel, you ask? Why, Dr. Seuss, of course. Did you know that his legendary book, Green Eggs and Ham has only 50 different words in it?

How cool is that? So brilliant. To honor Dr. Seuss and his brilliance, I’ve decided to write a Cat-in-the-Hat-style poem about pregnancy. Only unlike Dr. Seuss, I wont limit the number of words I’ll use.

But I will stick to the theme, which, essentially, is one character pestering another. But instead of Sam-I-am, the character will be called Dad-I-be. And instead of green eggs and ham, Dad-I-be’s pestering will center around pregnancy. My wife’s responses to Dad-I-be are in italics.

Oh, and by the way, gimme a break on the the Dad-I-be deal. Dad-I-am doesn’t rhyme with pregnancy. Okay. Here goes:

continue to poem (for what it’s worth, it’s one of my stronger efforts. i think…)

Image: Wikipedia

10 Signs Your Wife Might Be Pregnant

Dude. She's pregnant.

I’m not really one for gender-based stereotypes. I mean, I write for a blog called Being Pregnant. That should tell you something right there. (No, not that I’m lactating.) Given that I’m not one for such stereotypes, I hesitate to even throw this one out there, but it’s Friday, so what the hell.

Sometimes men don’t notice things that women wish they would. You know. New shoes. Haircuts. Manicures. Couch-pillow-fluffening endeavors. But one thing a man is sure to notice is whether or not his wife is pregnant. And just in case you / your husband is such a Neanderthal that even this might escape escape you / him, fear not. Because after extensive research, I have come up with a list of 10 signs that strongly indicate a woman may be pregnant.

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Does This Baby Make My Ass Look Fat?

Nice ass.

There are any number of conversations I intentionally avoid having with my wife. Primary among them are any which pertain to her ass. Because let’s face it, that’s a bad situation waiting to happen. Here’s the deal, though. My wife is 5 feet 2 inches and weighs (when not pregnant) a buck o’ five. Soaking wet. She routinely (and inadvertently) draws the ire of many a woman for her petite, fit frame. Not only did she totally regain her figure after having the triplets, she regained it in within the timeframe one could reasonably expect to recover from the flu.

But, sadly, she’s not aware of how incredible her body is. That’s not to say she’s one of these types who constantly thinks she’s fat, mind you. She realizes that in the grand scheme of things she’s just fine. Still, best to avoid answering any questions that begin with Does my ass. Especially when she’s pregnant. So when I got one such question this past Sunday, I nearly fainted.

continue reading (and marvel at my ineptitude)

Image: stock.xchng

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