Lactose...and Lamebrain...Intolerant

Inordinate time has passed since my last entry. I offer my profuse apologies for failing to provide the dose of humorous reality that each of you has come to expect with regularity. In a world filled with such fantasies as reality television and the idea that the Aggies might win eight games, I’m proud to be able to keep you grounded with truth about life. Henceforth, I will make every effort to resume my regular additions to this page.

When last we spoke on July 11 (see previous entry), life was filled with thoughts of babies and the necessary gadgets that would accompany them. The gadgets have arrived with all the brazenness of the nosy neighbor, piling themselves about the house in every nook and cranny. Still, there is no accompanying baby although from the looks of my beautiful bride, that rendering is not far behind. Many changes have taken place in the last few weeks as shelves have been built, furniture assembled, rubber snakes removed from their porch perch (see June 5) and various other frantic preparations undertaken.

However, throughout this feverish activity these last few weeks, I have experienced a profound sense of dread and trepidation. Contrary to popular belief, my uneasiness is not for my child soon to enter this uncertain world, not for my rapidly waning cash flow, not for the sleepless nights, not even for that first diaper blow out. The profound sense of dread was for the impending three hour seminar we registered for on…breastfeeding. My darkest fears were realized from 6PM – 9PM last night.

As if it was not uncomfortable enough to pile into a co-ed room with total strangers to talk about feeding techniques and if not unsettling enough to see terrifying images of strange women attempting those feeding techniques, then it certainly pushed me to the precipice of my sanity to share those three hours with one person who felt the need to make inane inquiries about every facet of the process. A man whom we shall call Freddy and his wife whose name I do not know (that should tell you something right there) found it necessary to explore every asinine angle, much to my intense dismay and irritation. Questions far beyond the realm of normalcy were posed, such as: could extra milk be sold for profit; could milk be consumed at any age (J??), given its medicinal qualities; etc. There was even an attempt by Freddy to solve his apparent nighttime back problems by correlating the positioning of a feeding baby to his own sleep time positioning. I leave you to conjure your own images of that preposterous idea. Needless to say, the three hours which I had held out slim hope would pass quickly inched by with all the comfort and speed of a passing kidney stone. There is never any doubt of this one fact proven time and again: if there is something I am anticipating with dread, there will be someone or something present to slow the process and enhance the anguish. Freddy was my albatross. By the time the three hours neared completion, I wholeheartedly believed it would have been a more pleasant experience to drive screws into my leg with a hand held screw driver than it would have been to have sat through this painful process.

The truth of the matter, however, is that, slowly and painfully yet surely, I am learning that children mean making sacrifices by everyone on every level. I also know that the joy of the arrival will far overshadow the insanity that has accompanied this process. I only hope Freddy’s due date is different then mine. If I have to see him in the hospital, I’ll need an epidural from the neck up to get through this birth. I’ll keep you posted…