Note to Self

Yo Mabelle, one of the reasons that it is important to keep this record of your life pre-baby is because it seems that once a human becomes a parent - she foregoes what all is important in life pre-baby. This ranges from common sense to personal style to home decor.

I KNOW. I GET IT. Baby comes first.

But since you talk a lot of smack right now, I want you to be able to look back at this and remind yourself of what you think is completely unacceptable. So Mabelle, here are a few things you should remember.

1. Being a parent does not give you license to have toys scattered all over the place (or at least when company comes over).

2. Being a parent does not give you license to look like a slob (at least when you go out in public). And this goes for pregnant chicks too. I'm of the opinion that when you're pregnant, you look your worst. Can we all just take a moment to appreciate the gross assymmetry of the pregnant body? That said, an expectant mom really should put earrings on, or good shoes, or something to make it look like she hasn't prematurely surrendered to the hell that is in her imminent future.

3. Being a parent does not give you license to just sit around, eat donuts, and watch from the window as life passes you by. Keep moving! Now's not the time to get SOFT! I've heard it time and time again. "You have no idea how exhausting your life will be." You know what else is exhausting? Worrying about where the Size 4 You is and if she'll ever return again. So you're signed up for your first half marathon, post baby. It's about four weeks after the birth so the doc says you are pushing it but if all goes well (cross your fingers they don't cut you up), she's given you the greenlight. You'll only be walking, but it's 13 miles and it's the perfect kickoff for your running season. You should expect to run a half marathon in early spring. Now that it's in writing, there's no backing out...

Name That Two

One of the dumbest things I've ever done in my life is to utter these words: "No, but we're open to suggestions." And the magic question that prompted such a response?

"Oh have you guys got a name?"

No, we didn't think of a name. According to our master plan, I shouldn't even be pregnant right now. We should still be trying.

So we've been calling the growth in my midsection Little Two. John calls me Little One so it would make sense that Little Two would be called Little Two. Duh.

In the meantime, we have opened the flood gates for the dumbest, most inapropriate, and just plain lame suggestions for names. Right away, one person was banned from offering ideas - my mother. Jesus Christ, you'd think the lady would know a thing or two about her kid and that her kid would never name her grandkid names plucked from the grounds of Versaille.

Then there's that one relative who's insisting we name our kid a certain name that we'd suggested awhile ago. Before, I'm pretty sure she thought the name was dumb. After watching some movie that happened to show this character with said name in a positive light, she's had a change of heart. She is now actually calling my kid that. Are you kidding me?

And, of course, all the ideas that John and I have, and have shared with others, get shot down or ridiculed.

My friend Aine's signature response to "How about XXXXXX?" is "How about not?"

Nice, people.

Now I may be an asshole when it comes to a lot of things, but I know I have never told someone who was expecting that their future child's name was retarded. (Which is not to say that I hadn't thought it).

My friend Doug gave me the most valuable piece of advice - once you pick a name, don't tell anyone until the kid's born. He said when he and his wife first started telling people what they were going to name their daughter, they got the most jacked up responses from some people in the vain of, "You're going to name her that!?!?!?" (Which, p.s. is insane because they gave their daughter one of the coolest names I have ever heard.)

But at this point, the contest is over. (Aine's boss - a man I have never met - said whoever picks the name for the kid - gets breakfast). John and I settled on a name last night for our little boy. And, for the record, we'll be buying each other breakfast because we came up with the name together, on our own. It's a special name to us and when my kid asks where his name came from, there will be more of a story to it than, "We just liked it."

And while I'm sure that behind our backs, people will wince at the name, call it weird, or roll their eyes, I can't hold it against them. Lord knows I've heard my share of stupid baby names. That's Karma for you.

But for now you can keep calling the kid Little Two. Actually, for another five months.

I Really Did

There is a not-so-subtle suggestion among my school mentors that one should take Human Reproduction as part of one's general education. The idea behind it is that it's a really easy class and it'll satisfy your math/science requirement. After all, when you're busy making important films, who's got time to worry about calculus or molecular biology?

So, during my final year at school, I signed up for the class, along with my dear friend/suitemate Karen. It was all fun and games (and old movies about sex experiments by Masters and Johnson) until we had to take the tests. There were three tests for the class. I know, for sure, that I failed two of them. Badly. Like in the 20th percentile. I'm pretty sure I failed the last test. I was as clueless about that material as I was with previous tests. Now I am certainly not the most attentive student so I may have missed a few details here and there but I will go to my grave swearing the stuff on the tests was not at all what was covered in the lectures. And if you don't believe me, find Karen (who now goes by Haiyen) in Chicago and she will vouche for this. What was on the tests then? Well, tt was more like, uh, molecular biology.

When my semester grades were posted, my proudest achievement was a whopping C- in Human Reproduction. By any other definition, this mark would be the infection in my otherwise spotless transcript. But I could care less. I passed, although I'm pretty sure I only passed because of a data entry error. Still, I managed to graduate college with honors. Now that's America for you.

Perhaps if I would have paid better attention in class, I would have not missed a few key details, the main one being this: Assuming you will have fertility problems and difficulty conceiving for at least two years is not the most intelligent planning strategy when you are 28 and otherwise quite healthy. And Mexican.

In retrospect, it wasn't my skewed memory of Human Reproduction that failed me. It was my inability to recollect Lifetime classics like "Fifteen and Pregnant" and "Too Young to be a Dad". It only takes one time, Mabelle. Duh. Stupid. So on our first shot at "trying", John done got me knocked up.

So here we are now. I've got my prenatal vitamins, my maternity jeans (more on that later), and a few pictures of my blob-like kid. I'm doing this blog because I'm trying to keep a scrapbook for my kid but I'm faster at typing than at writing with a pen (how pathetic is that/what kind of a world are we living in/oh whoa is me). The reality is this, like everything else that I seem to write, will be chock full of profanity and inappropriate content so my kid will have to turn 18 before I let him/her read such filth.

Jesus, they'll let anyone be a parent...