Monday, November 28, 2005

Mama's baby, Daddy's maybe

'Twas a long Thanksgiving day at Cedar Oaks. Cabin fever was epidemic. Michael and his step-brother got a serious scolding from the 'rents for having sucked down a rare and expensive bottle of wine the midnight before without permission. That was the highlight.

My dear spouse managed to duck out of most of the day's social interaction by having picked up a copy of Freakonomics when we stopped to trot Cedra around the Targ├ęt in Redding on the way up. So while I spent Thanksgiving day chasing her around the cabin, trying to keep 90 year old McCoy pottery unshattered, an antique spinning wheel unspun and attempting chitchat with the world's two most pretentious rural cabin-dwellers, he sat by the fire, sipped the sanctioned wine, and read Steven Levitt. I could have killed him.

But turns out it was in my best interest. See, we've been dueling for six months now over the subject of Cedra's future sibling. The long-term plan called for a two-year span between them, but when the time came to take the subject seriously last May he wasn't ready. Fine, I thought; we were going to France in a few months and I didn't want to spend the trip looking down the hole of a Turkish toilet. But when we returned, he still wouldn't discuss it. September, October, November passed and there was no longer a chance of a baby with a summer birthday. Baby #2 won't make the school enrollment cut-off, and I'm looking at an extra year banging my head against the walls at home or an extra year of childcare that we can't afford. Remember all those posts where M. and I weren't talking? This was the issue.

He let me know on the way back to California this weekend that he's finally ready. I gleaned from the series of monologues I listened to on the ten hour drive that there were two major catalysts for this change of heart: the first was the stroller display at a swank Corvallis toy store. I know you're holding your breath, but no, it wasn't a Bugaboo. It was a mere Zooper. Zooper? Hhhm, I'd never really considered it. I was a staid Perego fan myself. But hell, now I'm a Zooper lover.

The second factor was chapter six of Freakonomics, entitled "Would a Roshanda by Any Other Name Smell as Sweet?" The chapter includes lists of names categorized according to several themes, and among them are names that Michael has deemed "" Especially Asher. Asher? I'd never considered that, either, but it has now replaced Michael's previous first choice of "Eliot" for a boy. I'd always liked Eliot. I figure if you're going to spend three months of pregnancy looking down a toilet you can take some satisfaction in the fact that your son Eliot will spend his middle school years with his head in a toilet, as well. I mean, what's fair's fair. But whatever. Maybe it'll be a girl.

What does this mean to you? It means brace yourselves for some babycentric babble while I bide my time between now and that Clearblue Easy. And wish us luck.


At 6:47 PM, Blogger posthipchick said...

perfect. you'll be getting into maternity clothes just as i'm getting out.

good luck.

At 7:00 PM, Blogger L. said...

I remember a few years ago, when we mutually decided to go for #3.... I thought, "At least we can have some fun trying!" As it turned out, we made a one-shot baby on our very first attempt.

So I wish you good luck, but not TOO good -- I hope you get some good sex in there, before you start bowing to the bathroom fixtures.

At 8:49 PM, Blogger kristenL said...

good luck with the sexing.

At 9:29 PM, Blogger Apartment Number One said...

Excellent! Glad the huz caught up with you.

Yes, happy sexing indeed.

At 10:27 AM, Blogger Alisyn said...

I remember the "should we or shouldn't we?" discussions re: the second bambina. Um, good luck with that.

I loved the chapter of Freakonomics on names. That shit is right up my alley. I also love Asher for a boy.

Down with husbands who read while Mama minds the chillins on VACATION. Boo!

At 10:27 AM, Blogger Dutch said...

sex for the purpose of reproduction kind of creeps me out, probably because of that scene in election where matthew broderick is doing his wife doggystyle and she's like, "fill me up, Jim! fill me up!" and then he imagines reese witherspoon saying it in that clipped militaryesque voice of hers and then he imagines his friend's wife sensuously asking him to fill her up. . .

I just pray my wife never asks me to fill her up.

BUT haphazard "no birth control we'll get pregnant when we get pregnant" sex [breeder barebacking?] is pretty fucking hot. . .

you lucky bee-yotch.

At 10:44 AM, Blogger llamaschool said...

Dutch, you would be appalled to know how often that Election scene has popped into my mind. It's like post traumatic stress syndrome, I can see it like the DVD is playing before my very eyes.

Then I cringe, and Michael asks if I'm okay. And I blame a charley horse, or something.

At 9:36 PM, Anonymous bitemycookie said...

d a m n.
you are a bold clan. so what's the new horoscope we're shooting for? we are in the same negotiations over here, except i'm the one that's not so hot for it. can't wait to hear all about it.


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