Posts Tagged ‘pregnant’

You are what you eat

19 November 2006

Dear J-

If you are what you eat (or what your mom ate), I expect to see a Double-Double with fries in six months or so. Maybe some dim sum stuck on top of that, with a side of cheese and bread and smelling of garlic.

Mike

Little Professor

19 November 2006

Dear J-

Sometimes I wonder about how much I really could have known way back yesteryear, when I spouted off regularly on such various topics as WWI-era Dreadnoughts, Star Trek (embarassing myself last night, having recited some details of Amok Time to a half-asleep theVet — I got the priestess’s name right, but not the betrothed), and hockey (hey, Spokane is close enough to Canada to count, and the Chiefs did win the Memorial Cup around the time I graduated). TheVet often tells me that I slip into an unconscious lecture mode; I think it’s a habit that I picked up from my dad and also from debate (thankfully, the only other lasting debate aftereffect has been a predilection for Phoenix Wright games). It makes me wonder (with a fair amount of dread) what kind of horrible influence I’m going to pump down to the next generation, and if they’re doomed to the same corduroy-wearing factoid-spewing fate.

No secret, theVet is pregnant. We are with child, in gentler terms. But that was the easy part — six months from now, how do I suppress the urge to cram the sum total of human knowledge into an unsuspecting infant, how I do know I’m doing right by the child, how do I blend the same measure of steely discipline and self-esteem needed for this world? Here’s a shiny new life, now just make sure you don’t mess it up for them. Agh, the responsibility.

I know I’ll be able to associate answers with questions, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that I have the answers. We’ll muddle through together, unborn fetus, theVet, and I; we’ll learn together and as much as I know I’m going to be able to teach you, I already can’t wait to learn more from you. So hurry up already and stop making your mom nauseous and tired (and some sort of amazing ravenous eating machine) so we can meetcha. I want you to know as much happiness in your life as I’ve known in mine; I want to watch you laugh, watching me with bright curious eyes; I want to lead you to the same castles and pyramids and knights and emperors to see the new blooming bright every day. I already know you’ll be wonderful.

J-, I want you to meet baby nemo, and don’t tell me you’re too busy or don’t know the way. Anyone who can sit through Scent of Green Papaya (will he pee into the pot or not?) can spare a few moments to meet someone completely new.

Mike

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Well, does it? Huh?

11 November 2006

Dear J-

Semi-retouched conversation from this morning:

theVet: Do I look pregnant? I mean, does this top make me look pregnant?

Mike: No, you just look like you’re trying to be pregnant.

theVet: ???

Mike: You know, like those people who think they’re pregnant — psychosomatic — and start to display signs without actually being pregnant. I think it’s the empire waist.

V: Idiot.

I’m glad she’s pregnant, honest. I just wish that the crazy didn’t come along with it (crazy on both sides, to be honest).

First Post

28 October 2006

Dear J-

I guess I should explain, maybe, who ‘J-‘ is — or maybe not, for now. It’s not about being freakishly secretive; anyone who’s read my old pages off the mit website should know that I enjoy baring my soul on a detailed level beyond that required by normal folks. Nope. ‘Dear J-‘ from one of my favorite childhood books, Dear Mr. Henshaw, and J- primarily because I’ve known so many folks in my life with J- names. So J- is, ostensibly, a generic everyone; to be honest, there’s a few folks I have directly in mind, but I’ll leave it at that for now for fear of future embarrassment.

It’s been nearly over eight years since I published anything substantive in my life. I’d send you over to my old site if I thought there was anything worth mentioning over there, but those are old stories, which maybe would be worth grabbing over to this side in the future, just so that other folks can laugh and point.   It’s almost as if time stood still for me, and I kept being able to be a kid until this year.  Many things happened — my grampa died of lung cancer, I started a new job, my parents moved out of the house I grew up in (and thought they’d stay in forever — it’s hard to put my mind around living in the same state again; I may just have to go back East), and my wife is pregnant for the first time.

Maybe I should have seen it coming once grampa (three wives — twice widowed, “your manhood fell off in the garden”) was gone.  This was going to be a different sort of year.  What sort of games did I get to play with a retired security guard from Tsingtao?  I’m still envious of my Chinese cousins for having known him better than me; I was too young to appreciate him, and too foreign to understand.  He was slow getting out of the car, so I’d sometimes help him along with a well-placed foot.  Kids at school would call him fat, so I begged my parents not to have him walk me to school any more.  His English was limited to ‘Hello’ and ‘Thank you,’ so I refused to learn more Chinese than ‘Happy New Year.’  J-, if I had a time machine, I think I wouldn’t waste any time getting back to being six and whack the sass out of me.  There were still so many things I wanted to ask him.  Here’s a man who has lived the history you learned in school; there he goes, living in a treaty port, adjusting to life under Mao, now ending up alone in an apartment just five hundred miles away — can’t you call him, can’t you see him, can’t you hold him?  Ah, one last time, please.

If you’ve still got a million things left to do, get one done today.  Why not?   Someone will appreciate it.