Casey…

You are…  a little ham.

In this video, you and I, we just, I dunno.  You’re my foil, something I’m sure you’ll be for the rest of your life.

The craziest part is that, well, I’m not the one who stops the video rolling.  You are.  And, your mom watched the video, and while she was, you actually managed to do all of the tricks I was asking you to do, when I asked you to during the video.   That’s not fair - in fact that’s actually kind of devilish and cheeky.

I assume this’ll be a trend in our future dealings…

-oz

Categories: toddlerhood, videos, what it is to be a parent
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Casey,

I think at this point, it’s safe to declare that the word, ‘the’ is not your first word, irrespective of your constant use of it.

Instead, I think it’s ‘mama’. You say it to get Lesli’s attention. You say it to call out to her when she’s no longer in the room. You’ve pointed while saying it, directly at her.

So I guess, first word slightly before 10 months. Not too surprised at your vocabulary, all things considered. Your mom is your world. And you are hers.
-Oz

Categories: Development, pictures, what it is to be a parent
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Casey,

It’s been a while and I have a ton of things to bring up but nearly no time to do it. I sometimes feel like that song, I think it’s by Harry Chapin - ‘Cats in the Cradle’. Lots of work and little time for my cub, my little baby bear. But the time I do have, I have so many projects to finish it’s ridiculous. Meantime I’m too exhausted to really play.

You are teething. A lot. Your bottom teeth are coming in and you hate it. Very much.

You eat solid foods a lot - at least as solid as one can refer to the jarred mush we feed you. You appreciate the more complex foods - the Mango Chicken Resoto over the mashed carrots. I’m not sure who you got that from.

Also, your hair would be past your chin if only it were straight. Of course with your mother and I as your parents, you were all kinds of screwed, and your hair seems to be getting even more impossibly curly.

Sucks for you.

Here are a few pics.
-Oz

Categories: pictures, what it is to be a parent
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Casey, it would appear that having a kid means that you have very little time to blog about having a kid.

This makes me happy, then, that I got my blog plug-in on my phone working, because maybe then I’ll have more opportunities to write about you than I would without it. Much of my available computer time is actually phone time.

You’ve been excruciatingly cute as of late. You can wave hi. You string together long series of noises together (and generally when you are upset at us). You can sit up from a lying down position (though only on the bed). You laugh, you squeal with delight.

Oh an you drool a lot.

Here’s two recent pics. Because we should post more pictures of you. You almost have no choice but to become a scooter girl.

Categories: New Parents That We Are, pictures, what it is to be a parent
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Normally, my schedule getting to work would fall at 9:30am Monday, Wednesday and Friday.  Tuesday and Thursday start at 8:45am.  I will admit, though, the past few weeks I’ve been coming in later on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

There’s a reason, though, of course.  In the mornings, my alarm goes off as usual, and I hit snooze, as usual.  And I sleep for an additional ten minutes.  And the alarm goes off again.  And unlike normal, I hit snooze again.  It’s this point that I roll over and put my hand on Lesli’s stomach because Casey wakes up at around the same time as I do.

This has become a ritual.  I spend at least ten minutes holding Lesli’s stomach as Casey kicks about, warm and snug in her womb, all to remind me that she’s on her way (as if I needed any other reminder other than Lesli’s ever-growing stomach).

I like to pretend to myself that Casey knows I need to get ready to go to work, and she is just protesting my departure from the comfort of the bed.

There’s a shower in the works, but I don’t know much about it.  We’re registered, apparently, on Babies ‘R Us, or whatever.  I’m not 100% sure how the process works or whatever, but in theory I can post a link to something, one would believe.  I’ll make sure to ask.

Check back later for info on that.

Categories: the middle stuff, what it is to be a parent
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I think, over the last few weeks, we’ve gone from the state of wondering, “is Casey moving?” to knowing full well that ”Casey’s been kicking again…”

This is the sort of transition that takes effect in startling speed…  it seems like but a few short days ago (probably somewhere between 14 and 21 to be fair), Lesli mentioned that she felt something going on ‘down South’…  described as onomatopoetically as possible with the word, “bloop!” and a hand gesture that resembled flicking an index finger away from her thumb.  It was an odd sensation to her since, according to her, it was a sensation that didn’t originate in an area where such sensations were normally felt.  This is a polite way of saying that Casey’s original kicks were akin to feeling gas in one’s uterus.

Thus began our experience of feeling Casey actually interact with us.  I spent the good part of a half hour one night with my ear pressed against Lesli’s stomach, listening to the various noises that came out, hoping (quite quixotically) to hear Casey shifting about.  Once or twice, I swear I heard her kick and Lesli confirmed that the times that I “heard” something (for all I know I simply felt it) corresponded with times that she felt the odd sensation of someone inside of her doing…  something.  What, we’re not quite sure.  Gymnastics, ceramics, any sort of *ics.

This morning it’s been as strong as I’ve ever felt it - if I didn’t know better, I’d be convinced Casey wanted out.  Of course, she’s only 4.5 months old, and that’d be a disastrous thing to have happen, but as far as kicks go this one definitely had gusto.

A few (one or two) weeks before the car accident had come about, my mother had it in her to take Lesli and I shopping with my six year old niece Lily (who was absolutely convinced she knew what it was that we should be getting for Casey). 

In some ways this is training - my niece, like most children her age, has an innocent and naive understanding of the world and how things work, so here I was surrounded by 3 women (er, 2.5), prancing about the baby section in a Target, trying to steer this six year old from the horrendously hideous outfits she insisted that Casey would require, never mind they were almost always for three year olds as opposed to newborns.  It wasn’t nearly as bad as I just made it sound (er…), but it was certainly an “adventure”.  My mother managed to wrangle Lily enough to direct her towards things we’d actually require, and by the end of the trip we accumulated a good number of random baby items we’d absolutely need with very minimal nonsense. 

Of course we had our fun, too.  As you can see, it was required that we’d buy some hats.  In particular, one stood out from the crowd of cats, dogs, ducks, and other assorted shenanigans:  a Winnie the Pooh hat.  What kind of parents would we be, having a cub, and not buying her a hat with ears? 

I cannot wait until Casey is born so that I may inflict this hat upon her.  If I had ovaries, the mere thought of how adorable she’ll look with the hat on would make them ache.  Thankfully I don’t, and for now I will pretend that the above statement is in no way emasculating. 

Our next trick will be trying to figure out how to implement a baby shower slash housewarming, now that Lesli is fully moved in.

As an aside, you may notice, the blog now has a soundtrack.  Enjoy! 
-oz

Categories: pictures, the middle stuff, what it is to be a parent
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For whatever reason I’ve managed to avoid mentioning this particular incident, but most of you know already:  this past weekend, Lesli and I were involved in a car accident.

We were coming home from karaoke, a bit on the early side (since of course we don’t want to be too tired the next day and we’re both adjusting our sleeping schedules slowly with Lesli’s current nanny work), traveling Westbound on 16th St. towards Potrero, when a man who seemed to be on his cell phone decided it would be fantastic idea to run the stop sign and t-bone Lesli and I at what had to be about 20+mph.  Immediately, we were stuck in a clockwise spin while pushed two lanes over to end up on the opposite side of the road, facing Eastbound, staring at the crumpled front end of this clearly distracted individual’s car. 

He gets out of the car, on his cell phone still, and says (**** you not), “I need to call you back, I just got into an accident.”

Lesli had been driving, and I had been in the passenger seat, where the impact had been.  My door was now sealed shut - I couldn’t open it, and Lesli had bolted out of hers, so I climbed out from over her seat and nearly fell to the ground.  I leaned over and coughed a few times, lungs feeling pains of compression from the seat belt, and looked up to see a significant amount of liquid pouring out from the man on his cell phone’s car.  Immediately I yelled at him, “TURN OFF YOUR IGNITION”, then clumsily stumbled towards Lesli who was talking to a woman in an SUV who had been traveling Eastbound at the time and we miraculously did not run into.  She was taking her contact information and was on the phone with 911.  I checked in with her and we caught our breath as the shrill tones of a fire engine’s siren tore out:  luckily we were literally a block and a half from the SFFD station on 16th. 

Within 5 minutes Lesli and I were in an ambulance, giving statements to San Francisco’s finest, and we were shuttled off to SF General.  Lesli was given priority over many people there due to the pregnancy.

A text message I sent Eric:  “Dude if anything happens to my baby girl because of that negligent f***hole I swear to God…”  (editor’s note:  I didn’t censor myself in the text)

In the emergency room I was sent to wait outside from 11:15PM until 2:08AM before they let Lesli out with a clean bill of health.  At that time it was my turn to get checked out - my back, neck, shoulders, and head were sore from the impact and getting worse.  Lesli informed me that she had received a sonogram (which I yet again missed - I’ve managed to not see a single one thusfar), where Casey Elizabeth (nee - Caramel Cub) had been OK, simply playing in “her womb”, sucking on her thumb and crossing her feet in a mild fidget.  From that moment on, my aches and pains, and the three or so hours I spent disappeared from my mind, and all that was left was a deep feeling of relief.

Lesli and I were terrified that something was going to happen - already having had a complication (sub-chorionic tear), the accident put that much more strain on poor Casey.  For 3 hours all I could think of was my little girl, and how very much I needed to know she was OK.  Left with one’s thoughts, in shock and pain, not a single one was about myself or about the disarray of the SF General trauma center, with the screams and injuries you wouldn’t expect on a Sunday night:  they were about my girls, Lesli and Casey, and needing more than anything to know that everything would be all right.

We got back to my apartment at 3 something in the morning and managed to creak our way into bed.  Laying beside Lesli, my hand on her stomach, I thought to myself:  this is my life.  In a few short months, I will have this new life - small and helpless - in my arms, keeping me up at night and demanding so much from me, and all I want to do right now is give her everything I have and more. 

Lesli is set to move in to the apartment soon, with Eric’s move-out being today.  The place is eerie empty, with four years of history about to be completely overwritten within a few weeks span.  My room will be Casey’s room.  Eric’s room will house Lesli and myself.  I thought to myself a few days ago that I was on the precipice of change, but now realize that I’m well beyond that point - I’m only now beginning to realize I’ve fallen into change months ago. 

To Casey, in the future, when you’re old enough to understand:  hearing that you, my baby girl, were all right and that the danger you had been in had subsided, was the exact moment it hit me that I will always always always do anything in my power to keep you safe and loved, from now until the day I die.  And even then, past me, I hope that it is all I was able to do with my life to make sure you could live yours in the safety and security that I could provide you, and that whatever life I could give you when you were young could carry you through the remainder of your own no matter what is in store for you.

-oz

Categories: the middle stuff, what it is to be a parent
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