Boxing days

We're ON THE MOVE! We're MOVING WITH CONFIDENCE!



Jennifer and I have been doing so much packing that I'm sure we'll soon be dreaming of cardboard. Friday's the big day - the day we say "Do widzenia" to Greenpoint and "Hello" to Brooklyn's Park Slope (or, as my family says, "Pahk Slope"). We found a beautiful apartment there last month. We can't get into it just yet; the landlady says they are still working on "improvements" to the place - which means they're making the drawers harder to open, making the rooms smaller than we remember them, and adding about 10 extra stairs to the stairwell. In the meantime, we're just packing our stuff here and getting buried in boxes. The picture above is actually a picture of us.

You might have to wait a little while for my next blog entry. The phone company will have to activate our DSL at the new place, and you know how that can go. Once I'm up and running, hopefully by early next week, I'll tell you all about our new neighborhood. All I know about Park Slope right now is that it's very safe - only two shootings on our street last week! - and it's best known for its prominence in the gangsta rap recording, "Park Slope! Park Slope! I'm gonna kick your a**." We thought it would be the perfect place to raise a child.

For those of you who are curious, there is a write-up on Park Slope on Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Park_Slope. Of course, you can't believe everything on Wikipedia, so you might just want to wait 'til my next posting for the real scoop.

On the juice

About a month ago, our friend Stephanie called and told us to beware of an ugly part of pregnancy we knew nothing about: the mysterious drink. It's nasty stuff, she said, and everyone has to take it. So for a month we hoped and prayed that Jennifer would be spared. Today we learned that, alas, she would not.

At the checkup this afternoon, Jennifer's doctor gave her a little bottle of something cleverly named "Glucose Drink," used for the routine screening of gestational diabetes. Jennifer will have to drink it before her next appointment, and if she fails the test... well, Stephanie said something equivalent to "may God have mercy on her soul." Basically, she'll have to take another drink - one that's supposedly a lot worse. Jennifer's doctor claims it won't be bad, though doctors do have a habit of saying "this won't hurt a bit" before they strike your arm five times with a needle as they search for your vein. I'll let you know how it goes.

Meanwhile, the little one's heartbeat sounds stronger than ever, and the doctor says he's doing just fine. The doc also told Jennifer that, at this point in the pregnancy, she should start cutting down on the sweets. Of course, this news comes a day after Valentine's Day. So, unfortunately, Jennifer will have to give all of her candy to me. I hate taking it, but I'm willing to do all I can for the health of the little one.

Have gun, will register

On Friday, I got to play with a gun. Jennifer and I went to one of those scary mega-baby stores to register for stuff, and I was able to use the scanner. At first, we thought it would be a fun time, especially after seeing all the little kids' clothing at the doorway. It wasn't long, though, before we realized we were in over our heads.

Up and down the aisles we went, scanner gun in hand, without a clue as to what we needed for the little one. We had so many questions. What do those numbers on the diaper boxes mean? Why are there so many different types of blankets? What are the multi-uses of multi-use pads? As we struggled through the store for nearly three hours, the intercom played a greatest-hits of mind-numbing pop songs. The whole experience started to feel like a trip to the dentist's, except you're not stuck in a chair, and the drill goes directly into your brain.

And that's how we ended up registering for something called "Baby Butt Smooth Ointment." It's made by a company called Boudreaux, which proudly boasts to also be the maker of "Baby Butt Paste." We're not exactly sure what it's for, but at least we know where it goes.

Those people at Boudreaux, they apparently don't like to sugar-coat the type of product they have. They thumbed their noses at the Snoozy's, Boppy's, and Huggies of the world. They don't need a cute name like "Goodbye Itchies" or "Bottom Sunshine." Nope, BUTT PASTE works just fine, thank you very much. In my daze, I was actually impressed with the direct nature of Boudreaux's products, and almost registered for the whole product line.

Instead, though, we decided to not go with the Butt Paste, and register for only the Baby Butt Smooth Ointment. We figure we'll give it a try, and if we like it a lot, maybe we'll ask for a Butt Paste gift basket for Christmas.

Super Bust

I'm so glad the little one can't see through the womb. He was spared from watching Sunday's ugly display of football by the New England Patriots. Yes, he may have still heard the screams when the Giants scored the go-ahead touchdown with :35 left in the game, but fortunately sounds to him are garbled, so he probably couldn't understand the stream of profanities.

Two days later, it was Mardi Gras - not exactly a fun one for me. Sure, I still wore my beads and ate an unnecessary amount of food, but I couldn't capture that Mardi Gras spirit I had experienced in years past. Maybe because the weather was cloudy outside. Or maybe because I don't know how to make jambalaya. But I think it was because every channel on TV (except Lifetime) was covering the parade honoring the new Super Bowl Champions, the New York bleepin' Giants.

I guess you could say I'm a little disappointed at how the game turned out. But don't feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for the little one. Once he enters the world, he's going to have to face two mind-blowing truths: the Patriots choked, and the Red Sox are defending World Champions. This is not the way things are supposed to go... the Pats under Tom Brady always won the Super Bowl, and the pre-2004 Red Sox always collapsed. Now, it's as if the universe has turned itself inside-out, and I'm afraid the little one is going to have a warped sense of reality. I just hope he can handle it.

In the meantime, I'm giving up the Patriots for Lent. Go Sox!

Fruit (& veggies) of the womb

This week our little one reached 21 weeks, and he's a carrot. Here's a picture of the proud Mother and Child:



This image may seem a little bizarre to those of you who live outside the wild and crazy world of baby expectation. For those of us on the inside, it's perfectly normal.

You see, Jennifer belongs to one of those pregnancy cults that sends her an email each week describing the size of our little one. It does so by comparing the developing baby to a particular fruit or vegetable. Over time, our little one has been a lime, an avocado, a bell pepper, an heirloom tomato, and this week he's a carrot. Jennifer has heard that he will eventually be compared to the size of an eggplant. We can't wait!


(Above: Baby Beaudry - past, future, and day of birth)

In other news, Jennifer has noticed that the little one often kicks when I shout "Go Patriots!" And if you listen closely as I have, you can hear him "boo!" whenever anyone talks about the Giants. It's a very positive sign. I sure hope he enjoys the Super Bowl.