It ain't all pizzas and cream

The Slow Starter

Approaching fatherhood so late in life brings up some interesting issues.  As the poet Charles Bukowski once said of himself, "I've always been a slow starter," and that's true of me as well.  Couldn't lose my virginity until college.  Never really able to hold a 9-to-5 job.   Driver's license at 40.   And now fatherhood as I close in on 44.  The only thing I embraced wholeheartedly was alcoholism.  There, I excelled (and accelerated).

As for being a first-time dad--at a time when most men my age have teenage children and are exercising their mid-life crises by screwing their dental hygienists--there are a few things for which I'm prepared...like strolling thru the neighborhood with my new baby daughter only yo be told, "What a lovely granddaughter!" by some passer-by.  Or when Tori is older, one of her friends asking, "Who's that old man?"  That's ok.  I can take it.

But there are other concerns.  My dad had his first heart attack at 39, and the fatal one at 46.  I was 17 when he died.  I'll need to keep a significantly better timetable if I'm gonna watch Tori graduate from high school (I'll be nearly 62) or college (I'll be 66).

There are some advantages to this "old dad" thing tho.  Unlike dads under 25, I can safely say that I got all my ya-ya's out when I had the chance.  I drank like a sailor, smoked like a diesel, recorded with two bands, published poetry in 100 magazines, hiked mountains, canoed rivers, and rode horseback (those last three I hope to continue).   So no regrets.  And now there's a life I can share with my daughter, provided I don't become too enfeebled to lift her onto a pony by her 5th birthday.

______________________________________________________________

Slang of the day: skin tickler: drummer (1930s)

Douchebag Nation, Part 4

If schools suspend kids for infractions like this, how long before the classrooms are empty?  The way things are going, I'm gonna be spending a lot of time in parent-teacher conferences a few years from now.

The big Tori countdown

If everything goes well, here are the next few steps in li'l Tori's journey into the world...

Friday, May 26th
Non-stress test and perhaps one more ultrasound.

Friday, June 2
Amnio.  Hopefully it will show that Tori's lungs are mature.

Sunday, June 4
Check into the hospital.

Monday, June 5
Induce labor....and (hopefully) delivery.

Will keep ya posted.

And the baby is a...

Went with Cecily for a routine 34-week non-stress test today...and like last time the monitors weren't picking up the heartbeat...so it was down the hall for yet another ultrasound.  As always, we asked the tech if she could determine the sex, tho after a half dozen of these, we are quite well aware of how secretive this baby can be.

But today was different...the tech proclaimed, "It's a girl!"  (Actually what she said was, "I see labia," but that sounds like a parlor game at the Heffner mansion, so I translated.)  We were, needless to say, a little surprised. Not that it was a girl, but that she decided to drop her coy act and let us in on the secret. 

Our daughter-to-be is doing well, good movement, strong heartbeat. 
She even showed us her little face on 3D ultrasound...   

Look at those cheeks! 

We're hoping to do an amnio next Friday to determine whether the baby's lungs are ready to breathe air...the tech saw the chest moving today, as the baby tested out her little lung muscles, which is a great sign. If luck is with us, we'll be welcoming our daughter into this big messy world in just 2 weeks!

I also want to thank all of you who sent gifts to us directly or contributed via Sarah to Cecily's shower.  Your generosity is a truly moving testament to all that is good in humankind.  A deep and heartfelt thanks to you all.   

Douchebag Nation, Part 3

Are the Spice Girls obscene?  Well, if the Principal of Five Forks Middle School in Lawrenceville GA has her way, five 8th Grade girls will miss their end-of-year dance and party for performing "Wannabe" by the British girl group at their talent show.  Apparently, the use of the word "lover" in the bubblegum hit is what stirred up all the trouble, a fact that stunned and amazed parents and audience members, who gave the tween quintet a standing ovation.  The girls earned a suspension for their efforts. 

Lighten up, Principal Hensien.

Douchebag Nation, Part 2

What kind of utility company would shut off a Social Security recipient's power for an outstanding balance of one cent? 

Your answer here.

The energy company's website can be accessed here.

Douchebag Nation, Part 1

This is what happens when rules become more important than people.

...

The Mayor's response can be found here.  Go to City Press Releases on the left.  Release dated May 16th.

Congratulations...it's a boil!

Well, it wouldn't be my life if it weren't filled with needless drama, and mountains grown (quite literally) out of molehills.  My constant companion, the cyst, had been giving me hell the last few days, with antibiotics proving ineffective and a good night's sleep more elusive.  After waking for the second night with cold sweats from the pain, I decided to raise the white flag and go to the emergency room.  Cecily was very understanding, especially considering that she's 33 weeks pregnant.  She helped me get ready and drove me to our local hospital. 

I felt like a shitheel...afterall, my problems take a distant back seat to Cecily and the baby, and we had both an ultraound and a non-stress test scheduled for later today.  But the pain and infection in my arm were real and screaming to be addressed.  (Times like this, I am truly pleased to be an atheist, otherwise I might think that God were cruel. But as I discovered awhile back, without the Puppeteer I am not a puppet.  In other words, it's not what happens to us, it's how we deal with it.  But I'll save the rest of my godless views for another post.)

Let me instead offer high praise to our local ER.  The staff was efficient and friendly...I was seen by a nurse almost immediately upon arrival and quickly processed thru insurance.  I didn't have to wait long before being examined, and my doc was an clinically skilled and lighthearted cornball who at once made me feel relaxed.  I am a big believer in bedside manner, and the more embarrassing the ailment, the more it helps to have a doc who's kind, funny, and non-judgmental. 

So I'll spare you the grotesque details of the procedure, other than to say that my armpit was shot full of lidocaine from several angles, opened with a small incision, and squeezed dry as one might squeeze the last smudge of toothpaste from a tube.  All this while the doc and Cecily traded stories from their past clinical experiences (both human and veterinary) above my head.  All in all, the procedure took less time than a tattoo, and I was on my way in under 2 hours (tho still sore and stuffed with cotton batting that when first unraveled resembles a child's shoelace).  So hopefully that's the last ER visit for me...and now we can concentrate on having this baby. 

Cecily will I'm sure update you on the details of her ultrasound and (atempted) non-stress test.  Till then I'll just say: YES, the baby's fine...and NO, we still don't know the gender. _________________________________________________________________________
Slang of the day: overland trout: bacon.

..and the kitchen sink

OK, this post is gonna be all over the effin place, and probably won't be proofed... so 'scuse the typo's.

First things first.  Cecily's blood pressure has been creeping higher and it's starting to give me the willies...even tho, by some standards, it's not that bad.  But I am an abnormally anxious person...the kind who checks his mailbox for explosives.  But the doc told us to call him if she had 3 consecutive diastolic pressures over 100.  Which she did.  Yesterday and today.  So we called and he said "rest," which she did.  But no visit to the PETU (Pregnancy Evaluation & Treatment Unit).   We were there already TWICE last week.   But for anyone with a betting pool, I'd start to laying heavy money on a 36-week delivery. 

A side note: When I was drinking, my standard bp was 150/110...for FIVE YEARS. And I never gave it a second thought.  Afterall, I was expendible, at least to me.   As the poet Charles Bukowski once said (and I'm paraphrasing)... "I'm not trying to destroy the whole human race...just a little piece of it...me." I was pretty good at destroying me...at least a sixpack at a time.

It took another five years (in sobriety) for me to find a reason to save my own ass.  Funny about alkies, we need to be coaxed and cajoled into doing the things that other people struggle and fight for.  Like living.  Someone says, please don't kill yourself, and I still hafta flip a coin. Pretty sick, huh?  It took me those five years sober just to get my head out of the oven.  Anyway, I digress.  Point is, I'm more concerned about Cecily and this baby than I ever was about myself when I was loaded.  This is, I s'pose, what they mean by "growth."

Am having a li'l health scare of my own...some kind of cyst under my arm...I don't really know the clinical details and I'm pretty sure you don't want to read them.  Had a chat with a doc about it, and he said it's likely not cancer.  I woulda been slightly more relieved if he hadn't dropped the "C-Bomb" at all.  Anyway, will probably result in minor surgery...hopefully outpatient.  Had one of these two years ago.  What they call a "local local."  I guess that means local anesthesia and local disposition.  It was rather like getting a tattoo...but by four of tattooists at once.  Hafta say I was pretty pleased with myself..only got queasy once...and that was because of the cautery.  Something about the smell of one's own flesh burning.  I think it's the idea that you KNOW it's your flesh burning that brings on that shocky, sweaty, pukey feeling.  Out of context, you might think the smell was nothing worse than bad Indian food.   But a li'l O2 and I was back to normal, chatting with the surgeon as she pulled  something that looked like a fishing lure outa my back. 

A few off-topic comments...

1. If y'all haven't already done so, read Cecily's post (05/09/06) on the unfolding Duke rape case. As for my two-cents...I went to college with enuff testosterone-fueled beerdrunk preppy douchebags to observe them in action.  Alone they're chickenshits, but together they can muster some powerful evil mojo.  Just honing the skills they'll need as future Enron execs, Secretaries of Defense, etc. I s'pose. 

2. Why don't you ever hear the phrase: "You been to that new Swedish take-out place yet?"  Just curious. 

3. Why in hell are movie DVDs so fucking complicated?  I mean, I just want to drop the disc into the machine and watch the effin movie.  No out-takes, no video games based on the film, no details on "the making of..."  Just the movie.  Too much to ask?  I guess so.

4. Mother's Day.  All you moms have a happy one.  I saw a TV commercial today for a florist, promising callers to the 800 number that they would be promptly connected to a "floral consultant."  What exactly is a floral consultant?  Do we really need to euphemize florists to the level of pet psychics?  Ack.  What will we need next..."sweatsock consultants"?  (Oh I just can't DECIDE...the blue stripes or the red stripes.)  We as a nation seem to have two choices...brutes or sissies.  Why?

OK, you've probably stopped reading by now... so I'll stop writing. 
As the late great Mr. Murrow used to say: Good night...and good luck.
______________________________________________________________

Slang of the day: goose-drownder: a heavy rainstorm.

Think we have it tough now?

Contrary to popular belief, dissent in America did not die on 9-11-2001. At least not for the first time.   If we flip our calendars back to 1918, we note that the Sedition Act of that year made it illegal in America for anyone to say anything disparaging about the Administration, the army, the flag, or the war effort, or, in some more strict interpretations, even to speak the German language.

And it was enforced...big time.  Until 1921 when it was, thankfully, repealed. 

Well, this week, in the "Day Late and a Dollar Short Act of 2006," Montana issued posthumous pardons to those jailed back in 1918 for crimes as mild as calling WW1 a "rich man's war."  Perhaps they just wanted to clear the slate before some hysteria-inspired provision of the Patriot Act lets them fill it again.  I don't know. 

Makes ya wonder tho.