It's a baby... Canadian!

C-Rock and I are expecting our first born, due at the end of December. Like many topics, C-Rock's approach to parenthood is full of strong opinions on the basis of very little information. I thought I'd dedicate this post to some of the precious gems that have come out in the last 5 months...

He declared one evening that we would not be co-sleeping with our child (I'm not sure where he even learned this term as it was a topic which I  had not yet pondered myself). Then he wavered and decided, if it's a girl, we can consider it, but if it's a boy, NO WAY.

C-Rock has made it his personal mission to see that our child is walking by 9 months and potty-trained by 1 year. For one thing, let's not get ahead of ourselves before we even count the number of limbs and digits. For another, who says its a GOOD thing to be chasing around the little one earlier than necessary?!

He likes to repeatedly state that 'we will not be naming our UNBORN child' whenever anyone happens to ask. I don't think that he realizes that the majority of people do name their kids before they are born. He says it as though it's like naming an imaginary person. Umm, this "imaginary person" is headbutting the crap out of my bladder, I can guarantee he is very real.

Lastly, I'll share my favorite. It was at our first doctor visit where we were inundated with information for 90 minutes straight. I had my list of questions, but C-Rock remained silent until the very end of our appointment. Then he surprises me by asking our doctor about the certainty of due dates. I'm excited that he seems interested and is asking a legitimate question! She explains that full-term spans from 3 weeks before until 2 weeks after the estimated due date. He gets a look of great concern and asks if induction is a possibility if I go much past my due date. (I'm thrilled he's concerned about my discomfort at this potential 40+ weeks of pregnancy!) Then he goes on to explain that he'd really like to make sure the baby is born before the new year, you know, so he can be sure to get the tax credit. Despite my best effort to act as though he was clearly joking, we got a serious side-eye from the doc. Doh!

O'Doyle Rules

C-rock and I live in an urban area. Like any big city, it has crime, and the rates have risen in the past few years since the economic downturn. I suppose it was only a matter of time before crime would hit the O'Doyle household, it just didn't expect the O'Doyle household to hit back!

It had been an unremarkable Tuesday evening. C-Rock was feeling the burn with Tony while doing a P90X video, I had fallen asleep in the next room in my robe. So, this pudgy guy in his mid-forties must've been out of his mind when he scrambled up to our second floor balclony given that he could clearly see the 6'4" athletic homeowner pumping iron mere feet away through the large, sliding-glass door. And the prize this scumbag risked life and limb for? My 5+ year old Target women's bicycle. It was dark outside, so by the time C-Rock caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye, the guy had already cut my bike lock. He had the goods lifted above his head so he could get the bike over the railing before lowering it to the ground. He never got that far because this is the point where C-Rock has come closer for a better look, figured out what was going on, and slammed his massive hands against the glass as he bellowed, "What the F*CK?!". The thief panicked, flung the bicycle over the railing, and half climbed/ half tripped over the railing falling two levels to the ground. During this scramble, C-Rock has unlocked and flung open the sliding glass door and he's now standing on the back porch screaming at the pudgy man that he's going to call the cops.

In the meantime, the ruckus has jarred me awake and in my half-asleep haze, I'm desperately looking around the bedroom for anything I can use as a weapon (at this point I think an intruder has busted through the door and C-Rock is fighting him off solo). Once I realize what is actually going on, I stick my head out the back door and see the guy pick himself up, dust himself off, pick up my bike, and start to walk it around to the front of the house towards the parking lot. This is when I snap. I spin for the front door and bolt down the front stairwell to the parking lot - robe, bun on top of my head, and all. Once I get to the parking lot, I see the man just starting to mount the escape vehicle. I screech out, "HEY! That's MY bicycle!!" as I run full force at the guy. I supposed all five feet of me must've been pretty intimidating because he jumped off, flung the bike to the ground, and took off running in the direction of the front gate!

I felt pretty proud of myself as I strutted over to my beloved bike (which I hadn't ridden in at least the last 12 months) until I realized the real reason the scum bag took off. C-Rock had followed me out, maybe 20 seconds behind me and is now in hot pursuit of the criminal! I hear him as he's streaking across the parking lot hot on the guy's heels huffing, "YOU mother f*ck*r, I got you now!!" The man makes the mistake of going for the pedestrian gate, which requires a code, so now C-Rock has him cornered in a prison of metal gates. The man cowers to the ground and puts his hands up to guard his face. Had they both still been sprinting when C-Rock caught up to him, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from tackling the guy to the ground. But seeing him in a sniveling ball caused C-Rock to pause for a second and comprehend what the guy was really worth. Then, C-Rock's thoughts flashed for a moment to his pending law school application and that cooled him right off. He held out his hand and demanded the guy's wire cutters. He then stepped back, pointed at the ground beneath the car exit gate, and ordered, "Now crawl out on your belly like a little DOG!" (I mean, he wasn't going to punch in the code and wish them fella a pleasant evening!)

C-Rock strode back over to where I was waiting, handed me the wire cutters, and took the bike from me so he could carry it up the stairs. We turned to each other without ceremony, high-fived, and chanted out family motto, "O'Doyle Rules!" before returning upstairs to finish our unremarkable Tuesday evening.

Out (rageous) fits

While I'm no fashionista myself, C-Rock's outfit choices often leave me cringing. While he admittedly puts no thought into getting dressed, he strangely becomes cantankerous at any gentle suggestion. You know, such outrageous nudges such as, "Honey, it's Easter. Could you wear something other than a t-shirt?" or "Babe, could you not wear those dirty sneakers to my friend's wedding?" or "When you wear those god-awful orange shorts with a lime green t-shirt you look like a friggin pack of starbursts!!" His favorite t-shirt vendor? Why any truck stop of course! You should see his eyes light up if we ever stumble across a 2 for $10 sale at the truck stop. If you've ridden in a car with C-Rock for longer than 20 minutes, I'm sure you are familiar with his proclivity for stopping at gas stations. He usually can't pass up the opportunity for an energy drink and perhaps a hot dog too. But, if you think he's not also scoping the place out for some sweet t-shirts, you're mistaken. I'm sometimes questioned by friends as to how I 'let him leave the house looking like that'. Ladies and gentleman, if you ever find yourself wondering this, rest assured that a battle ensued and that I stand defeated.

Here is a montage of some of his favorites/classics. In the top left corner you'll see the fine double-breasted, brass-button jacket fitted for a man at least 40 pounds heavier that he wears to weddings. Next you'll find a couple instances of his very popular 'stripes with plaid' look. He won't let you buy him any ties, he "already has one!" And lastly, this fashion montage would not be complete without homage to his beloved sweatpants.