False Alarm

Here is an image of my wife when we first got to the hospital.  (Note the smile and general air of happiness)

Here she is after thirty-two hours of laying in bed receiving drugs designed to induce contractions in her uterus.  I think between the drugs, uncomfortable bed, and half a dozen sensors pressed up against her abdomen Katherine’s overall mood suffered a noticeable decline.  Also, the doctor coming into the room to tell us to come back in a week or so to try again didn’t help anything.

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Ultrasound 2

OK, so I’m not exactly posting all this stuff in chronological order.  In fact, as I write this, Isabel is celebrating her 30th birthday and I’m a crazy old man in a retirement home yelling at my cats and repeatedly showing the staff members the litter box.  But I digress.

So here is Isabel’s second ultrasound taken in August 2009.  We decided against the three dimensional ultrasound.  Apparently the procedure uses high energy nutrino beams which scientists believe led to the creation of Magnito, high fructose corn syrup, and Sarah Palin. Maybe not, but in the end we decided that we would be able to wait for the three dimensional version that was planning on squirming out in a few months. This high tech image of Katherine’s insides confirmed what we suspected all along: her belly is getting bigger.

One thing that has been surprising is my wife’s mood.  It really hasn’t changed at all– she is as happy as a clam.  I don’t know why we think clams are all that happy to begin with, but, hey, that’s the expression.  Too late to change it now.

So stay tuned for more retroactive baby updates aged in a bath of sarcasm, powdered with a touch of nostalgia, and dressed up in a cute onesie of experience.

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Change I Can Believe In

I’ve decided to report one million people live in my house on my official census form to qualify my residence as a new Congressional district.  This would give me a good shot at finally getting elected to the House of Representatives, provided I can convince the dog not to vote for my wife.  (note to self:  focus on milk bone subsidies during the campaign.)