Crib Talk

Nick assembled the crib last night. Technically, I COULD say that WE assembled the crib last night, but he did the majority of thinking and attaching. I just stood there and held things up, lowered when he needed things lowered, and so on and so forth. Sometimes, I think that that job sucks even more than reading the instructions and doing the physical labor.

But, given that I can barely bend over to pick up a sock, I left the labor to the father-to-be.

Along with the bouncer, swing, play palace, and bringing in the bassinette, stroller, and car seat, Nick has been a MACHINE with getting things ready for Isaiah. As for me, I continue to poke my index finger into his shoulder blade at night and whisper, “Don’t forget that we still need to ____, and ______, and buy ______, and pick-up ______, and figure out _____. Oh, and we still haven’t decided how we’re going to handle ______ or who’s going to ______ …

Nick’s response is always the same: a very sleepy arm throws itself around my very large belly and he mutters, “Ok, babe, we’ll take care of it this weekend.”

And then he talks to his son, “Isaiah, take care of your mom. She’s freaking out.”

Conversation This Morning

Nick: Can you believe that TOMORROW we’ll know if we’re having a boy or girl?

Me: Truly, it’s unreal.

Nick: (staring at the ceiling in thought) Oh! I thought of something else that we might want to buy.

Me: In addition to the gazillion things – like a crib, stroller, rocker, bottles, diapers…

Nick: (turns to me with big, convincing eyes) No, I’m serious. I think we should probably buy one of those baby holder things.

Me: The one where the kid is strapped on to the parent, like in the front?

Nick: Yeah! Do you think we should get one of those?

Me: (quietly thinking) I don’t know. Do you want the front one or the back one?

Nick: (surprised) There’s more than one?

Me: Yes…I’ve seen the front one, where the kid is just dangling there and there’s the one on the back, kinda like a backpack. I’ve seen more men with the backpack version. It kinda looks like hiking gear, except for equipment, there’s a baby back there. I think men use it when running errands, like to the post office or something so their hands are free.

Nick: (perpetually skeptical) I don’t know about that back one. Do you think it’s safe?

Me: Probably about as safe as having your baby dangling in front of you without actually holding on it.

Nick: I just like the idea of always SEEING the baby. Like, what if I’m carrying the baby on my back and all of a sudden I think, ‘mhm, it’s kinda light back there,’ and then I check and the baby is gone? Or I reach behind me for something and then find someone trying to take the baby off my back?!

Me: (decidedly)The front carrier it is.

The Year is 2100

Last night I came home from work at roughly 9:30pm. Driving in a rental, I pulled up and saw Nick sprawled on the couch, watching our old but new to us TV (huge applause to Nick’s cousin, Abby Cordonnier and fiancee for selling us a monstrously large and much improved telly) with an intent look on his face. I was chatting on the phone with Kelly, Nick’s sister, about the joys and woes of the growing Pinto Bean in my belly.

As I babble, I observe Nick is flipping the channel between some NBC news special on the White House and an ABC special program about what the earth will look like in the year 2100. After I got off the phone, Nick scooted closer to me and says, “It’s good your home. I was about to kill myself after watching this,” he referenced the Earth 2100 show.

I sat down to watch.

In the next 20 minutes, I watched the most depressing and strange story which told a part cartoon, part computerized tale that predicted what the world will become should we continue in our fossil fuel consuming ways. The southern states of the USA were desert, the coasts were in perpetual threat of flooding, and everyone was hoodlums with shopping carts on the side of the road, hitch hiking their way to Canada. I felt like I wanted to just bury my head in a sand dune and hope for a quick death. That or drink myself into an oblivion.

“Ugh,” I grunted at Nick, “it IS a good thing I came home when I did. You might have put a bullet to your noggin if you were alone watching the world go to shit.”

We tried to focus on something else to cheer ourselves up from the morbidity of 2100 and impending doom of human life.

Nick asked, “Did you see our new car?”

Yesterday, we had our insurance agent shop and find us a car. When they find one that fits your general description, s/he will arrange a test drive and get the car to us for inspection. If we like it, we buy it on the spot. It’s a nice FREE service from Nationwide. (Nick asked the agent 3 times to make sure it was FREE.)

Our used but new to us (do you see a theme emerging yet?) car is 2006 Honda Accord, blue, with a non-descript gray interior. According to Nick, back in his seminary days, one of the older priests drove an Accord and Nick told himself, “If ever someday I have a lot of money, I’m going to buy an Accord.”

I don’t know anyone whose car fantasies began in the parking lot of a Cincinnati seminary.

As Nick retold me his vow to buy an Accord someday, I jested, “Well, we are just rolling in the millions these days, so let’s pull the trigger. It’s now or never.”

The test drive was scheduled at 2pm yesterday and I was not able to get off work. Nick was hesitant to be the only one driving/inspecting the car, but I told him, “Look, this will be the second biggest purchase you have to make without me. Remember, we bought our house without my ever seeing it. Now it’ll also be our car.”

The Accord runs beautifully.

We returned our rental last night and then drove around Cleveland, frequently getting lost because we are the two most geographically challenged people in the midwest.

“I like it,” I told Nick. “Good job.”

Nick muses, “This thing is going to last forever. I mean, it’s an ACCORD. It’s supposed to run forever. For real, the world is going to collapse on itself in 2100, but this car is still going to be running.”

A Dip into the Valley of Darkness

Sometimes the sports world makes the rest of the world too depressing to deal with.

Last night, the famous four (Me, Nick, Christina, and Brian) gathered around their monstrously clear flat screen to watch the flat screen effect of the Magic against the CAVS.

Sometimes it just hurts and the pain of defeat zaps all ability to write with enthusiasm.

In other depressing news, we just got word that Nick and I need to go shopping for a new car. For some people, this can be an exciting adventure. For Nick and I, buying something large – and all the details and discussion that goes into that decision – is about as enticing as eating a bowl of raisin bran. Not exciting whatsoever.

Why, you ask, does the prospect of buying a car antagonize us so much? Well, for Nick is means shopping. (It’s the same reaction if you ask him to cook, or go look at swatches at Home Depot.) For me, it means I have to make a decision based on practicality. I hate that.

So, it puts us in somewhat bitter moods, but we try to look on the bright side of things. But with the Cavs performance lately, Cleveland is one big gray cloud called Annoying. And it’s hanging right over our house.