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Archive for the ‘Sarah’ Category

EDD +3

Yesterday on our daily lunchtime constitutional, Sarah and I ran into a contingent of strikers from the Writers’ Guild.  They were picketing in Battery Park outside the Museum of the American Indian, neither of which as far as I know employs any members of the Guild, but I’m not an expert on unions or labor law so I’m sure this tactic makes sense somehow.

Anyway, inspired by their efforts, I decided to form my own union and try to obtain better working conditions.  As such, the International Brotherhood of Expectant Fathers, Local 406, (i.e., me) is now officially on strike from being Sweet Pea’s father-to-be.  The way I see it, we’ve been operating without a contract since last Sunday.  We refuse to perform any additional paternal duties until the other side at least comes to the negotiating table and agrees to start uterine contractions.  Binkies down means binkies down!

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EDD +2

Still no baby.  Sarah has an appointment with the obstetrician today, which will hopefully shed a little light on where things are.

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Sarah’s EDD (Nov. 11) has come and gone, and Sweet Pea is still in utero. If anyone knows any non-awful folk methods of inducing labor (yeah, I’m talking about you, castor oil) we’d love to hear them.

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Official count of trick-or-treaters last night:  Zero*.

The bright side:  Enough leftover candy to keep us all on a solid sugar high well past Sweet Pea’s due date.

*For comparison.  Here were the two treat-expecting weirdos that spent last Halloween with the Dwyers:

The happy couple

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Aaron Eckhart.  (Well, Angus sighted.  I was concentrating on keeping my huge 8 1/2 month pregnant self from falling on the slick sidewalk.)

 Calvin Coolidge, the Cat

Matt.  And, yes, the shirt was awesome.  The minutes of the fanclub meeting were missing one crucial event, though.  Matt travels with an entourage just like old Phil Two in the movie.  Want proof?  Here’s the picture:

The Golden Age

Pictured (from left):  Matt, Cardinal I and Cardinal II
Yes, Matt does make the cardinal on the left carry his architecture sketches.  That’s just the way he rolls.

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Angus and I have been spending a ridiculous amount of time in these last few pre-baby weeks trying to get the apartment in tip-top shape for Sweet Pea*.  Baby clothes have been washed! Furniture has been moved! The Darjeeling Limited has been watched! A noticeable lack of deep-fat frying has taken place!  It’s thrilling down here in the Financial District of New York!  

However, we are a bit behind in some very important matters.  In other words, yes, Campagna crew, you are due an e-mail.  And, yes, blog-reading world at-large, you are all missing on your recommended dose of pointers to penguin cookie cutters because of our neglect of Dwyeropolis.  Please accept our sincere and heart-felt apologies.  It’s only temporarily slow here.  Promise.

*Well, that and also asking ourselves “what would Ron Paul do?” a dozen or so times a day.

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You know, Sarah and I make a big show of being antiquarian weirdos totally out of touch with the crazy, messed-up times in which we’re living, but the truth is, when push comes to shove, we’re actually weirdos who are largely in sync with these crazy, messed-up times.* Thus, like seemingly everybody else who’s going to have a baby these days, we went in for one of those 3D/4D ultrasound deals. I was initially skeptical, since getting a 4D ultrasound movie set to lullabyes that sound like they were arranged by Enya seems like the sort of thing you do if you’re planning to name your child Makayla or Chance. After having done it, though, I have to say that either my skepticism was ill-founded or I’m some kind of closeted Makayla-namer. It was a delightful experience. I got my first genuinely extended view of Sweet Pea (our previous *medical* ultrasound had felt a little rushed, and they actually spent most of their time looking to see whether the baby was healthy, rather than trying to get some nice head shots … losers …). She spent most of the time cuddled up against the placenta (which, as a guy who likes to spend his time cuddled up against a pillow, I can appreciate). She was also apparently stuck in some kind of yoga position, with one foot up by her head (I have a less easy time understanding the appeal of that). And she smiled a few times. Probably just gas, but it’s a nice reminder that my lame jokes and I are about to have the world’s easiest audience, at least for a little while. Anyway, without further ado, I give you: some cute ultrasonic in-utero baby photos:

It's a Girl!

It’s a Girl!

I think Sweet Pea may be flashing a gang sign in the last one. Lets just hope she doesn’t insist on dressing all in red.

*Except when it comes to naming. Sweet Pea’s real name is not Ava, Emma, Isabella, or Madison. That’s a clue, trying-to-guess-what-Sweet-Pea’s-real-name-is-people.

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Last Sunday was our one-year anniversary. It’s hard to fathom its already been a year…. On the one hand, I can barely remember life without Sarah; on the other, it feels like we were just hand-sewing our bedroom curtain (one of our zanier honeymoon activities) to keep the guys in the parking lot across the street from being able to see in the window. Maybe I just have a really bad memory and/or sense of time.

Anyway, our anniversary was very nice. First off, I didn’t have to work, which was nice (and, lately, unusual). After Mass, we went to the South Street Seaport (now a mall, rather than a mob-run fish market) where we had delicious Nathans Famous hot dogs for lunch (never let it be said I don’t buy her nice things).

On our way back, we passed a little tchotchke cart where they were selling pencils with little wooden animals instead of erasers. I spied, with my little eye, a penguin pencil, and since it was our “paper” anniversary, and my bride is dangerously obsessed with penguins, I leapt at the chance. (Also, the anniversary gift I’d gotten her hadn’t arrived yet [indeed, it still hasn’t … ]) So, we got the penguin pencil, and since there was a price break at three we got a monkey and an elephant, too. (Ahh, Zoidberg, at last you’re becoming a crafty consumer!)

After that, we went back home and watched that classic paean to marital love, Woyzeck. We were on a bit of a Klaus Kinski kick for a while, but that’s thankfully cleared up. I’d planned that we would have a big steak dinner at Harry’s (our friendly neighborhood steakhouse), but had neglected to make reservations, or even make sure they were open on Sundays. And, indeed, they were not. (Have I mentioned that I’m the world’s greatest husband?) So, after some hemming and hawing, we went to our old standby, Jackson Hole, where we had a colossal hamburger and a ginormous chicken sandwich, respectively. Then, on a whim, we caught Superbad at a nearby theater. (Sarah is almost penguin-level obsessed with Michael Cera; I just wanted to see the movie so I could say stupid things like “It was good, but it needed more Korsmo.”) Then, tired but flush with cash from having not spent $100 on steaks, we took a cab home. And that’s all I’m going to say about the rest of our evening, this being a family-oriented blog.

Well, there you have it: this blog’s first genuine, substantive post. I promise this space will eventually be mostly cute baby photos (and maybe some recipes). In the meantime, I’ll try to avoid inflicting too many solipsistic blow-by-blows of my days on you. Not that hard, mind you, but I’ll try.

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