With all the recent fuss about the upcoming election, a fair amount of discussion has focused on that familiar refrain which seeks to focus upon women. Some of the discussion asserts that, like men, they're entitled to a set of cultural guidelines and [dare I say it] rights that are on par with those that have been afforded men since that one guy discovered he could make fire.
Making fire is a fine thing, especially when one's daily tasks include protecting the fairer sex from the persistent cold. Plus fire is a really helpful thing to provide so that the little lady can go about cooking. For the man.
A few days ago I was perusing the mainstream news - I do this online because we refuse to receive television broadcasts here in our home unless we're wearing our tinfoil hats, which have recently gone missing. And I make it a point to peruse mainstream news sources, because I want to know what the media are promoting in our best interests. I also scan through some of the lesser-respected sources when I want to know what's really going on, but because I've a keen interest in what we're supposed to think is important, I read the big name stuff too.
A lot of what's been in the news lately has been, understandibly, political in nature. We've got candidates and representatives of candidates asserting all kinds of different ways in which they're supportive of women and making promises based on their own opinions on what's best for women. I read these references to "women" as though they're something well outside the standard human.
Women are repeatedly mentioned in a tone that seems to imply "men junior children in need of guidance and direction."
Apparently the only thing these powerful men can agree upon is that the women among us are completely reliant on our sage insights to save them from... whatever the modern day equivalent to 'persistent cold' might be. One thing that's particularly bothersome, to me anyway, is that for the most part, these men are competing to see who among them will win the greatest level of legitimacy in the womens advocacy realm as viewed by society. Never mind that society - on a global scale - is under the control and influence of men.
Lest you think I'm sexist, I assure you (as would any man thusly accused) that I am not. Pshwhew! Now that we've got that out of the way, let's continue.
A few days ago I was looking at Yahoo! News. As I scanned across headlines fraught with sensationalist titles, I found a link to an article announcing that Honda, the carmaker, had introduced a model intended specifically for women. The article features a picture of the car, in pink, alongside a very happy young lady carrying flowers and obviously pleased to be wearing a cute skirt - short enough to demonstrate independence and a touch of sass while long enough to be respectable - and a broad smile. They label this car "She's," with a cute little heart in place of the apostrophe. If you don't want a pink one, you can get a brown one, in a lovely hue designed to match your eyeshadow.
Sound absurd? Click it:
http://autos.yahoo.com/blogs/motoramic/honda-fit-she-world-only-car-aimed-exclusively-205422886.html
For a car to be similarly marketed to someone like me, the color scheme would have to be something along the lines of "prestained with grease + four day old salt and pepper stubble and doesn't smell very good." I'd never buy a car like that. Gross.
Later, I was scouring my news feed on FaceBook, which is always a reliable source of unbiased information presented by my completely sensible and well informed friends network and I came across a link to a recent broadcast of the Ellen show. If we had TV in our house, I'm pretty sure I'd watch Ellen. Every day. She's brilliant and hilarious and has a terrific stage presence, and she delivers her message in a way that's memorable and funny without demeaning the topic nor those whose perspective differs from her own.
Ellen was talking about a fabulous new product: a pen, designed specifically for women. And while I'd love to share some of the hilarious points she made in her opening monlogue as well as the commercial she produced to promote this amazing new pen, I really do think that she's better at delivering her message by video than I will ever be by transcription.
If you could do with a laugh, please do have a gander: http://www.upworthy.com/boom-roasted-heres-why-you-dont-ask-a-feminist-to-hawk-your-sexist-product?g=2&ref=nf
Even the URL is funny. Ellen rocks.
This stuff sorta hits close to home for me. D, that awesome woman who fell into my trap and agreed to join me in jumping over the broom some 2+ years ago, works in an industry that's always trying to find new ways to market its wares. They have whole teams of people whose job it is to just find new ways to make people like you and me buy a newer version of the thing we already have even though we're only marginally making use of it anyway. These things are capable of more than we'll ever understand, and even so we can hardly wait for the new one to hit the market so that we can somehow rationalize dumping the old one and replacing it with the new. There's an ironic component to her being employed by such an industry. Very much so.
Not only that, but I was raised by a single Mom who never once bought into any kind of rhetoric that promoted any kind of gender superiority. She was pretty good about getting that understanding into my own little noggin.
Anyway, a couple years several months while ago, D was in a meeting where some of these smart people (men, by the way) were pitching their new idea on how to market laptop computers. Their idea: to create and offer a laptop for women.
In a room full of men, the sole woman - D - was the only one to offer a response.
What? Women? You're going to offer this to women?
Um, er...
This is absurd! What women? Professional women with college degrees? College student women? CEO CFO women? Women with children and part time jobs? Young women? Women in the military? Is it just for housewives? Is it going to be pink or have flowers on it, or what? What features can a laptop offer women that aren't already available in existing products and can't also be integrated into upcoming products?
Dell offered a laptop for women years ago. If you don't remember it, that's because it was an enormous failure and was pulled from the market after something like two hours.
Her point, which I really can't effectively convey, was that - perhaps like a ballpoint pen, or even an automobile - a laptop is a pretty adaptable thing and isn't bound by the gender of its user. It can already do a zillion things most of us will never bother to learn, and whether it's slate grey or gloss white doesn't necessarily speak to the aesthetic taste (or lack of same) of its human counterpart.
It's like growing an oak tree. For women.
I don't think that pens or cars or laptops really care what gender any of us got stuck with. I don't know why it still matters to us. What I do know is that in our own household, a standard issue consumer level laptop lasts me [the man] about four years and I replace it because I want the new thing; and that D [the woman] manages to fill her hard drive and overload her state-of-the-art super fancy extra cool laptops in a matter of months. So if we were shopping for a laptop for women, we'd need one with four gazillion terrabytes and sixty bazillion RAM things that can totally handle having four hundred programs running at the same time plus skype and that live meeting thing. Mine just needs word processing and web browsing. And a calculator.
The irony, I guess, is that these products were intended to promote the empowerment of women on some level. Someone thought that each of these things would foster strength for the fairer sex. The part that bugs me is that these industries, and society as a whole, continues to present insulting and demeaning products (and rhetoric) while asserting that this very presentation is exactly the opposite. It's like that really rotten insult: "Oh - you're a feminist? Isn't that cute?" But now that sentiment has gone mainstream in a way that it never was before, and it's become distorted to the point that the perpetrators don't even recognize that what they're doing is insulting.
I guess, given that we use the same pens in our house and that because she's only too eager to drive around in the nearly sixty year old cars we keep handy and that she uses a laptop more thoroughly than anyone else I've ever heard of, that we're not likely among the target market for these smart men who are inventing things like pens for the honeys or cars for the cuties.
And we're pretty happy to not fit the demographic.
Cameron
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Friday, October 12, 2012
Already?
So D went in for another appointment yesterday. This was one of the 'typical' appointments, so I didn't go. Of course, when she got there, the typical part went out the window and it because a more bambino-centric visit. They did the ultrasound thing again, then did some other things, then gave D some instructions for she and I.
We're supposed to decide, apparently quite soon, whether we want to have our bambino circumcised.
We wondered how they were planning on going about such a procedure five months before he joins the rest of us out here in the cold harsh world. Then we started wondering if this decision is so loaded or emotional or complicated that people typically take five months to figure it out. It didn't seem complicated to either of us. Maybe everyone else knows something we don't. Or maybe we know something everyone else doesn't.
So I did what any smart fellow would do: I googled it, and then clicked on the first link that caught my eye. It was Men's Health article titled "Circumcision: Pros and Cons." This seemed like the kind of article that might have some key information that could influence our decision. As it turned out, though, this article didn't talk about health or cleanliness or how much it might hurt or the likelihood of infection but instead discussed how an unsnipped member compares to a snipped one when rolling in the hay with one's sexual partner. The bottom line, according to the experts at Men's Health, is that both circumcised and uncircumcised men are able to have satisfying sex lives; and that the pleasure of their partners doesn't hinge on this detail but is instead dictated by other factors.
This is not helpful information for the current scenario. We weren't thinking about the bambino's sex life quite yet. Of course now that I've read the article, I am thinking about it. Which is absurd. We're still not out of the woods with the whole preggo thing and I'm already rehearsing the "here's a box of condoms" conversation. Shouldn't I be thinking about teaching him the alphabet instead?
D is Italian, and over there in Italy the practice is a lot less common than it is over here. And over here, it's a lot less common than it used to be (like when I was a kid). So we're basing our choice, in part, on our own experience (which is essentially zero) and that of the people we know (which isn't much more than zero).
We don't have a cultural nor faith based attachment that tells us whether it's the right idea or the wrong one. Some people do, and we certainly support them in their beliefs. But we don't.
About exactly twenty years ago I lived in an Intentional Community, which was really just a dysfunctional attempt at what we'd have called a Commune twenty years prior - for me, this amounted to affordable housing while I was in school and for others it offered an arena for assigning men blame for everything nasty that had ever happened to anyone.
One of the fellows who lived there was going through some pretty heavy duty soul searching and had, at 26 years old, suddenly learned that the whole circumcision process is a terrible, painful method of abuse and he instantly became completely distraught that the parents he thought had loved him as a child would perpetrate such an awful act of violence against him at an age when he was helpless and vulnerable and completely reliant on them for everything. At the dinner table, he would suddenly burst into tears and disrupt whatever conversation had been going on, or we'd hear him wailing while he was in the shower. Jeez, dude.
I'm thinking that guy was out of his gourd. I don't think this is an abusive act. And I certainly don't think there's any sense in becoming upset and miserable over something that you can't remember anyway, especially when it was something that was very likely well advised and well intended, performed at a time when conventional wisdom asserted that it was a Smart Thing to do in favor of a male's lifelong overall health. Anyway, his mythical torturous experience has no bearing on our decision either. It's just that when the question came up, that's one of two things that popped into my mind.
The other thing that popped into my mind, which does have some bearing, is the experience of one of my childhood friends. Neither he nor his brother received "the procedure" when they were young. My friend (we'll call him J) got himself a hernia when he was about 20 years old. When he went to the doc to have the hernia fixed, he asked if they'd go ahead and circumcise him while they were poking around down there with their knives and scalpels. They did.
J woke up without any awareness of sensation related to the hernia operation because he was overwhelmed by the discomfort related to the foreskin bit. Said he'd never have done it if he'd known what the recovery would be like. I'm thinking, if that's true for him, it's probably an uncomfortable experience for everyone else, and even if they don't remember it later, if it isn't medically necessary nor culturally dictated, mabye we don't want to sign the bambino up for this unpleasantness. If he wants it later, it'll still be available to him. Then again, we haven't heard all of the compelling reasons to choose one thing over another so we'll probably keep asking around and checking out websites.
And when we do decide, I won't likely be making our decision known here.
Thanks --
Cameron
We're supposed to decide, apparently quite soon, whether we want to have our bambino circumcised.
We wondered how they were planning on going about such a procedure five months before he joins the rest of us out here in the cold harsh world. Then we started wondering if this decision is so loaded or emotional or complicated that people typically take five months to figure it out. It didn't seem complicated to either of us. Maybe everyone else knows something we don't. Or maybe we know something everyone else doesn't.
So I did what any smart fellow would do: I googled it, and then clicked on the first link that caught my eye. It was Men's Health article titled "Circumcision: Pros and Cons." This seemed like the kind of article that might have some key information that could influence our decision. As it turned out, though, this article didn't talk about health or cleanliness or how much it might hurt or the likelihood of infection but instead discussed how an unsnipped member compares to a snipped one when rolling in the hay with one's sexual partner. The bottom line, according to the experts at Men's Health, is that both circumcised and uncircumcised men are able to have satisfying sex lives; and that the pleasure of their partners doesn't hinge on this detail but is instead dictated by other factors.
This is not helpful information for the current scenario. We weren't thinking about the bambino's sex life quite yet. Of course now that I've read the article, I am thinking about it. Which is absurd. We're still not out of the woods with the whole preggo thing and I'm already rehearsing the "here's a box of condoms" conversation. Shouldn't I be thinking about teaching him the alphabet instead?
D is Italian, and over there in Italy the practice is a lot less common than it is over here. And over here, it's a lot less common than it used to be (like when I was a kid). So we're basing our choice, in part, on our own experience (which is essentially zero) and that of the people we know (which isn't much more than zero).
We don't have a cultural nor faith based attachment that tells us whether it's the right idea or the wrong one. Some people do, and we certainly support them in their beliefs. But we don't.
About exactly twenty years ago I lived in an Intentional Community, which was really just a dysfunctional attempt at what we'd have called a Commune twenty years prior - for me, this amounted to affordable housing while I was in school and for others it offered an arena for assigning men blame for everything nasty that had ever happened to anyone.
One of the fellows who lived there was going through some pretty heavy duty soul searching and had, at 26 years old, suddenly learned that the whole circumcision process is a terrible, painful method of abuse and he instantly became completely distraught that the parents he thought had loved him as a child would perpetrate such an awful act of violence against him at an age when he was helpless and vulnerable and completely reliant on them for everything. At the dinner table, he would suddenly burst into tears and disrupt whatever conversation had been going on, or we'd hear him wailing while he was in the shower. Jeez, dude.
I'm thinking that guy was out of his gourd. I don't think this is an abusive act. And I certainly don't think there's any sense in becoming upset and miserable over something that you can't remember anyway, especially when it was something that was very likely well advised and well intended, performed at a time when conventional wisdom asserted that it was a Smart Thing to do in favor of a male's lifelong overall health. Anyway, his mythical torturous experience has no bearing on our decision either. It's just that when the question came up, that's one of two things that popped into my mind.
The other thing that popped into my mind, which does have some bearing, is the experience of one of my childhood friends. Neither he nor his brother received "the procedure" when they were young. My friend (we'll call him J) got himself a hernia when he was about 20 years old. When he went to the doc to have the hernia fixed, he asked if they'd go ahead and circumcise him while they were poking around down there with their knives and scalpels. They did.
J woke up without any awareness of sensation related to the hernia operation because he was overwhelmed by the discomfort related to the foreskin bit. Said he'd never have done it if he'd known what the recovery would be like. I'm thinking, if that's true for him, it's probably an uncomfortable experience for everyone else, and even if they don't remember it later, if it isn't medically necessary nor culturally dictated, mabye we don't want to sign the bambino up for this unpleasantness. If he wants it later, it'll still be available to him. Then again, we haven't heard all of the compelling reasons to choose one thing over another so we'll probably keep asking around and checking out websites.
And when we do decide, I won't likely be making our decision known here.
Thanks --
Cameron
Thursday, October 11, 2012
It's The End Of The World As We Know It.
... well, almost.
This whole blog thing started off when D and I were sort of stuck in Italy (sounds rough, doesn't it?) tending to her mom's ungood health (this is how being stuck in Italy becomes not cool). Then I got really busy assembling an old car for D and though I thought that would make good fodder for the blog, I was too busy working on the thing to blog about the thing. More recent entries include me whining about my lousy back demons, which have now moved on to some other poor sod. My health is good, my life is good. Good.
I'm still working on a book (okay, two books... but only one of them is getting all the focus right now). 49,000 words and counting. Gulp.
D spent most of this past summer traveling for work, and when she swung through Italy, she grabbed her Mom and brought her over here to stay with us for 3 months. Unlike many gents, I'm not concerned about sharing a house and kitchen and bathroom with a Mom In Law. We can barely talk to one another, and each of us thinks the other is beyond great. We talk a little, then she cooks something that only an Italian could manage. And I gain weight, which is the only part that doesn't pretty much rock.
You'll recall from prior entries that D and I had ventured to one of our favorite places on Earth: Mexico. We'd each been there a few times but never together, and when she says "we should go on a vacation" I tend to go with it. For one, there's no arguing with my bride, and for another, disagreeing with the genius notion of taking a trip would to Mexico be foolish. While we were there, we ate terrific food and had lots of fun.
After we returned, and just about the time my back fuss was beginning, D mentioned something about monthly cycles not following the calendar and then said something about going to the drugstore. Just as there's no reason to disagree with a trip to Mexico, there's no reason to disagree with a trip to Rite-Aid. An hour later, she showed me this thing that looks like a toothbrush without the brush part and said "it's positive."
"Positive?!" We got a little teary.
Just to be sure, she went and got the other little toothbrush thing and peed on that one, too, and it gave the same indicator.
Given that we're a cautious lot, we then went to the doctor's office where they did a blood test and confirmed it. D was pregnant. We were terrified and delighted and worried and happy.
Then my back went out and I was a whiny fussy thing and she had to deal with all of that while enduring her "condition."
Then we had some more tests related to this pregnancy thing and all the results were excellent.
After all of this, D went on her international trip, where she avoided alcohol, coffee, cured meats (not easy in Italy), soft cheeses (also not easy in Italy), sushi (this one's pretty easy) and a bunch of other things that she'd have loved to eat and drink.
After she came home, we went in for more tests and those gave us more excellent results. It was time to go public.
We invited my parents - Mom, Dad and Stepmom - to the house on the pretense that we'd be hosting a birthday dinner. D's Mom was already here, and this was our best idea on how to announce the news to all the Nonni [Granparents] at the same time. Can't do anything that could be misconstrued as preferential, you know. It's unusual that we'd invite my parents to the same evening here at the house and we wondered if they'd get suspicious but they didn't. I'm really fortunate in that they all get along just fine and we really don't have any of that drama that plagues other families.
(We do have some family drama but fortunately it's well outside my immediate family. No reason to go into that here, however.)
Everyone showed up and we sat them down in the family room. No one noticed the video camera that would record their reactions to the news even though it was right next to the doorway they all had to walk through to find their places on the couch. We all had snacks and wine (except D) and nobody seemed to notice that, for the first time, our snacks didn't include any cured meats nor soft cheeses.
Finally, an appropriate moment arrived. We gave each guest an envelope and told them some story about how, in other cultures, the birthday party ritual included the hosts giving gifts to the guests. All the Americans asked "is that an Italian tradition?" to which we had to honestly reply "No." Truth is, we don't know whose tradition it might be and we were really making it all up as we went along.
Everyone tore into their envelopes at the same time. My Dad's envelope must not have been closed all that well, because while everyone else was still trying to get theirs open without destroying it, his had already unfolded itself and he found himself looking at an ultrasound picture.
"Oh. My. God. Are we. Serious?" He kind of froze.
Then Stepmom got hers open and said something like "Oh my God!"
Then Mom in Law got hers open, and her reaction was something in Italian along the lines of "Ah ha! I knew it!" She didn't know it but she acted like she had. For the last several weeks, she'd been telling D to lose some weight, and every time D had something to eat, G (her Mom) would say something about eating and gaining weight and going on a diet.
And there's my Mom. She saw the picture and leaned forward with her head in her hands. And she stayed that way for several moments. Hers was the most emotional reaction of the bunch and it took a minute or so for her to recover enough to stand up and trade hugs with everyone. I was, honestly, a little concerned because she wasn't breathing normally and I didn't want her to pass out.
As soon as we'd all calmed down enough that we weren't clamoring at the same time and we could again engage in a more normal conversation, the question of gender came up. We didn't yet know, but we had one more envelope that contained the answer. D opened this one, and inside was another ultrasound picture, with a post-it note stuck to it. On the note were the words "it's a boy!" with a hand drawn arrow pointing at... irrefutable evidence that it is, in fact, a boy.
We wanted family to learn the news all at the same time, and they did. And we wanted everyone to learn the gender at the same time that we learned it ourselves, and they did.
Then it was time for dinner, but none of us had much appetite. And that's probably a good thing given that the bbq ran out of propane before everything on it was fully cooked. But we made do, we ate well, and we all agreed that this was the best birthday party any of had attended for quite some time.
D can finally wear maternity clothes (and she kind of has to, actually). Yesterday she packed up all the things that are now too small and we stowed them in the shelves above the closet. And shortly after we tucked into bed, for the first time, she felt him move.
Our son. Wiggling around.
March 19 of next year should be quite a day. Of course it might just be another day and there's a good chance some other day shortly before or after will carry greater significance. I guess we'll find out when we find out.
All best,
Cameron
This whole blog thing started off when D and I were sort of stuck in Italy (sounds rough, doesn't it?) tending to her mom's ungood health (this is how being stuck in Italy becomes not cool). Then I got really busy assembling an old car for D and though I thought that would make good fodder for the blog, I was too busy working on the thing to blog about the thing. More recent entries include me whining about my lousy back demons, which have now moved on to some other poor sod. My health is good, my life is good. Good.
I'm still working on a book (okay, two books... but only one of them is getting all the focus right now). 49,000 words and counting. Gulp.
D spent most of this past summer traveling for work, and when she swung through Italy, she grabbed her Mom and brought her over here to stay with us for 3 months. Unlike many gents, I'm not concerned about sharing a house and kitchen and bathroom with a Mom In Law. We can barely talk to one another, and each of us thinks the other is beyond great. We talk a little, then she cooks something that only an Italian could manage. And I gain weight, which is the only part that doesn't pretty much rock.
You'll recall from prior entries that D and I had ventured to one of our favorite places on Earth: Mexico. We'd each been there a few times but never together, and when she says "we should go on a vacation" I tend to go with it. For one, there's no arguing with my bride, and for another, disagreeing with the genius notion of taking a trip would to Mexico be foolish. While we were there, we ate terrific food and had lots of fun.
After we returned, and just about the time my back fuss was beginning, D mentioned something about monthly cycles not following the calendar and then said something about going to the drugstore. Just as there's no reason to disagree with a trip to Mexico, there's no reason to disagree with a trip to Rite-Aid. An hour later, she showed me this thing that looks like a toothbrush without the brush part and said "it's positive."
"Positive?!" We got a little teary.
Just to be sure, she went and got the other little toothbrush thing and peed on that one, too, and it gave the same indicator.
Given that we're a cautious lot, we then went to the doctor's office where they did a blood test and confirmed it. D was pregnant. We were terrified and delighted and worried and happy.
Then my back went out and I was a whiny fussy thing and she had to deal with all of that while enduring her "condition."
Then we had some more tests related to this pregnancy thing and all the results were excellent.
After all of this, D went on her international trip, where she avoided alcohol, coffee, cured meats (not easy in Italy), soft cheeses (also not easy in Italy), sushi (this one's pretty easy) and a bunch of other things that she'd have loved to eat and drink.
After she came home, we went in for more tests and those gave us more excellent results. It was time to go public.
We invited my parents - Mom, Dad and Stepmom - to the house on the pretense that we'd be hosting a birthday dinner. D's Mom was already here, and this was our best idea on how to announce the news to all the Nonni [Granparents] at the same time. Can't do anything that could be misconstrued as preferential, you know. It's unusual that we'd invite my parents to the same evening here at the house and we wondered if they'd get suspicious but they didn't. I'm really fortunate in that they all get along just fine and we really don't have any of that drama that plagues other families.
(We do have some family drama but fortunately it's well outside my immediate family. No reason to go into that here, however.)
Everyone showed up and we sat them down in the family room. No one noticed the video camera that would record their reactions to the news even though it was right next to the doorway they all had to walk through to find their places on the couch. We all had snacks and wine (except D) and nobody seemed to notice that, for the first time, our snacks didn't include any cured meats nor soft cheeses.
Finally, an appropriate moment arrived. We gave each guest an envelope and told them some story about how, in other cultures, the birthday party ritual included the hosts giving gifts to the guests. All the Americans asked "is that an Italian tradition?" to which we had to honestly reply "No." Truth is, we don't know whose tradition it might be and we were really making it all up as we went along.
Everyone tore into their envelopes at the same time. My Dad's envelope must not have been closed all that well, because while everyone else was still trying to get theirs open without destroying it, his had already unfolded itself and he found himself looking at an ultrasound picture.
"Oh. My. God. Are we. Serious?" He kind of froze.
Then Stepmom got hers open and said something like "Oh my God!"
Then Mom in Law got hers open, and her reaction was something in Italian along the lines of "Ah ha! I knew it!" She didn't know it but she acted like she had. For the last several weeks, she'd been telling D to lose some weight, and every time D had something to eat, G (her Mom) would say something about eating and gaining weight and going on a diet.
And there's my Mom. She saw the picture and leaned forward with her head in her hands. And she stayed that way for several moments. Hers was the most emotional reaction of the bunch and it took a minute or so for her to recover enough to stand up and trade hugs with everyone. I was, honestly, a little concerned because she wasn't breathing normally and I didn't want her to pass out.
As soon as we'd all calmed down enough that we weren't clamoring at the same time and we could again engage in a more normal conversation, the question of gender came up. We didn't yet know, but we had one more envelope that contained the answer. D opened this one, and inside was another ultrasound picture, with a post-it note stuck to it. On the note were the words "it's a boy!" with a hand drawn arrow pointing at... irrefutable evidence that it is, in fact, a boy.
We wanted family to learn the news all at the same time, and they did. And we wanted everyone to learn the gender at the same time that we learned it ourselves, and they did.
Then it was time for dinner, but none of us had much appetite. And that's probably a good thing given that the bbq ran out of propane before everything on it was fully cooked. But we made do, we ate well, and we all agreed that this was the best birthday party any of had attended for quite some time.
D can finally wear maternity clothes (and she kind of has to, actually). Yesterday she packed up all the things that are now too small and we stowed them in the shelves above the closet. And shortly after we tucked into bed, for the first time, she felt him move.
Our son. Wiggling around.
March 19 of next year should be quite a day. Of course it might just be another day and there's a good chance some other day shortly before or after will carry greater significance. I guess we'll find out when we find out.
All best,
Cameron
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