Write something nice...

At this point, perhaps you won't find it surprising to learn that C-Rock didn't fawn all over me during my pregnancy. For instance, I spent many evenings stink-eyeing him from across the sofa as I reeeached over my belly in order to rub my own feet. Or the countless times he didn't notice me struggling to waddle fast enough to keep up with his mammoth stride. And don't get me started about the time I -at 8.5 months pregnant mind you- stayed up until the wee hours of the morning building our son's crib solo. While I'd rather attribute his seeming indifference to general dude naivety and NOT to a lack of gratitude for the harrowing sacrifice my body and I were making to bring his only son into the world... the overall neglect led me to drop more than a few hints that I was really REALLY hoping for a nice "push present".

"A push present" you ask? Why, it is a lovely gift given to a new mother by her baby daddy to say, 'Hey! Thanks for this magnificent feat which you have accomplished!" Now, we all know I LOVE a good present, but this one was especially important given my hormonally fueled longing to feel appreciated.

And ultimately, he pulled through! Well, except...

He had the foresight to ask for advice on one of his message boards where he got the idea to purchase a designer diaper bag. He did find it on clearance on their website, but he EVEN paid extra for the gift wrapping (a first)! So, when we came home from the hospital, there was a gorgeously wrapped package waiting for me. Once we had settled in a bit, he brought the package over to me and eagerly watched as I opened the attached envelope. I read the card... looked over the card at him... looked back at the card... looked back at him. "What does it say?" he asked me. A few more glances back and forth, then I ask, "Is this a joke? Are you messing with me?!" With a look of concern he says, "No! Why? What does it say?"

Write something nice. Her name is Julia.

I read it aloud to C-Rock and he exclaims, "No way! Let me see that!" I hand it over so he can read it himself. Then he bellows, "Those IDIOTS."

Well C-Rock... there's at least one idiot involved here, but they ain't at Kate Spade.

Chip off the Ol' C-Rock

Chip is judging you...

Our baby boy has arrived! He showed up inconveniently early, makes lots of grumpy old man faces, and hates having his picture taken... so, Chip pretty much takes after his Pops.

 




During our brief hospital stay, C-Rock managed to get himself banned from the cafeteria and was accused of conspiring to kidnap a baby. I wasn't present for the first offense, but it did result in my getting more Starbucks and Chic-Fil-A instead of hospital food - so I'm not complaining. The second incident arose from the combination of several misunderstandings: 1) hospital accomadations are not meant to be comfortable for anyone other than the patient, 2) the nurses really are allowed to burst through the door at any moment 24 hours a day, 3) checking out of a hospital is not like checking out of a hotel, and 4) someone who has recently given birth to your child is not considered a "wimp" because she requires a wheelchair to exit the hospital.

Misunderstandings 1 and 2 led C-Rock to demand we be discharged immediately once we had met the minimum stay requirement of 24 hours. He called the nurses' station to notify them that we were ready to leave. Forty-five minutes later, the nurse arrived with a mountain of paperwork. As she and I began to go through the stack, C-Rock became increasingly agitated. The nurse noticed we had accumulated a lot of stuff in our recovery room, so she suggested C-Rock take a load down and bring the car around to the front entrance. She said by the time he did that and came back up to the room, Chip and I should be ready to roll out. Then he could grab the last of our stuff, she would assist me and the baby in our wheelchair, and we could all head down to the car together. Well, that might have worked except in the time it took C-Rock to return, we had barely finished the paperwork and the nurse had just disappeared after promising to order us a wheelchair. After a half hour of fuming and pacing around the room, C-Rock insisted that the elevator was extremely close to our room and surely I would be fine to carry the baby out while he carried the rest of our stuff.

So, following C-Rock's lead, I began to shuffle down the hallway holding our precious bundle. When we were about to pass the nurses' station, they saw us and flipped out yelling, "WHAT do you think you are doing?!" I explained that my husband was getting very impatient and did not wish to wait for the wheelchair any longer. They then explained that it was a requirement that I be wheeled out - not a luxury that we could 'opt out' of. Further, if we did try to walk out of the hospital with a baby, the 'baby kidnapper' alarms would sound. Parents of the year award - here we come!!