Rambo’s Bandana

Image: danmeth‘s photostream via Creative Commons

“Oh my Gosh,” said Caroline early this morning, her back to me as she stood at the kitchen counter consulting her laptop. “Karen’s totally right.”

“Who’s Karen?” I asked as I wiped the sleep from my eyes.

“The incredibly insightful woman who commented on your wives’ tale post yesterday. The one who said that walking helped bring about labor with her children, both of whom were late.”

“Ah,” I said, immediately knowing who she was talking about. “The woman who walked for hours on end at the Atlanta Olympics.”

“That’s right, honey. So what are you waiting for?” Caroline asked as she turned around and looked me square in the eye with uncommon determination. “Go get your shoes.”

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Nipple Stimulation, Castor Oil and a Half Rack of Ribs

Caroline has officially entered the Wives’ Tale portion of her pregnancy.

Hi everyone. My name is John Cave Osborne and I’m married to the lovely and charming Caroline. And I’d like to welcome you to the Wives’ Tale portion of her much ballyhooed pregnancy. Though she would probably refer to it as the Something’s Gotta Give portion. Because, well, something’s gotta give with this kid.

I mean for days now we’ve been living under “any minute” status. Yet for days now? Nothing. Zip. Nada.  And it’s starting to feel as if we’re Waiting for Godot over here. Caroline? She’s had about enough of it. As such, she’s been consulting various wives’ tales in hopes of enticing the little fella out of her womb, dropping said wives’ tales (out of nowhere) in casual conversation as if they were as ordinary as items on our grocery list.

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Dear Pregnancy Gods, Please Gimme My Wife Back

Image: mendhak‘s photostream via Creative Commons.

Dear Pregnancy Gods,

Please gimme my wife back. Don’t get me wrong, this lactose dependent being (as presumed by her legendary and daily ice cream consumption) is charming, and she looks as beautiful as ever, swollen belly and all. And, what’s more, she’s still carrying on much as she did before her pregnancy. Just yesterday for example, she reigned supreme (yet again) in her tennis match. On court number one, mind you. And at 39 weeks and 1 day pregnant, no less.

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Caroline Discusses Her Pregnancy (Video)

You know what I thought would be fun? To make a video of me interviewing Caroline about her pregnancy while we were on Spring Break this past March. It was to be called “Lifestyles of the Hitched and Aimless — The Barefoot and Pregnant Edition” and was sure to be equal parts charm and hilarity. Yet as we tried to film it? Neither one of us was feeling it, so we nixed it. But this past weekend, we decided to give it another go, only without the whole fancy-name bit — just a good-ol fashioned interview in which we hoped to showcase a bit of the playful banter in which we often engage.

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If you look inside our window, you’ll see a new addition! Image: MollyPop’s photostream via Creative Commons

So, yesterday started off as just another ordinary day. Well, except that it was the 4th of July and all. But my point is that it didn’t start off any differently than any other day. Aside from the firecracker vibe that comes along with Independence Day, it was just your average Monday. Little did we know that we were just hours away from the newest addition to our family.

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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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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

Coming Up With Baby Names Would Be Easier If My Wife Weren’t Pregnant

So, seriously, Casper's not an option?

So last night it happened. The moment I’ve been dreading. And it came outta nowhere. Alli was at her dad’s and Caroline and I had just finished bathing our three little monsters. As the tumultuous trio rummaged through our collection of books, my beautiful wife turned to me and, without warning, uttered three words that nearly brought me to my knees.

“What about names?”

Oh boy.

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Image: Wikipedia

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5 Things I’ve Learned About My Wife’s Pregnancy

Put the ice cream down, raise your hands in the air and slowly back away from the table.

When Babble invited me to blog for Being Pregnant, I wasted no time in accepting. That said, I did wrestle with one tiny logistical concern. I’m not pregnant — a fact my pregnant wife has delighted in pointing out on numerous occasions. This helpful observation is offered as irrefutable proof that I can’t possibly imagine what it’s like to be her. At least that’s what I’ve gathered when she follows “you’re not pregnant” with “so you can’t possibly imagine what it’s like to be me.”

Touché. But two can play that game, my friends. For there’s something that my wife cannot possibly imagine — what it’s like to be married to someone who often holds biological impossibilities against me during hormone-fueled attacks.


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Your Wife’s Pregnancy Is What You Watch

Caroline's surprise pregnancy is starting to resemble something...

Have you ever heard the phrase you are what you eat? Certain amount of truth to it, right? Well I’ve got another one for you. Your wife’s pregnancy is what you watch. Because that’s what seems to be happening to us.

Let me make something very clear. I’m NOT afraid to watch sports. Nor, for that matter, am I afraid to watch the NFL playoffs. In fact, I’ve been doing so with my typical abandon this year despite the fact that it often feels like I have more kids than the Walton’s.

Plus the Brady’s.

And the more I watch these NFL playoffs, the more my wife’s pregnancy seems to resemble them.

Let’s start with the esthetically obvious. At 13 weeks, my lovely and petite wife is starting to show — just a slight hump between her breasts and hips. About the size of, well, a football.

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