All is well at the beginning of week 38. I'm now sleeping on the futon as Natalie's pillows have multiplied like Tribbles and there's no room on the bed. Besides, the little alien lifeform in her moves around so violently that it shakes our bed all night. It's like plunking a quarter into the bed of a cheap motel, if that still exists anymore. God, I'm getting old. Still things are well and I've left the bed mainly to let Natalie sleep a little better. It'll be nice when this pregnancy is over.
I've been censored. At least partially.
It seems my wife believes that my somewhat sarcastic sense of humor will not be, shall we say, "appreciated" by some of her friends and family. In the interests of marital harmony, I will continue to be myself. And I will not let her family know about this blog. Nor will I let them know that I'm now afraid to go to the bathroom as Natalie has placed the latest issue of Marie Claire atop the toilet. This may not frighten many of you, but this issue has Ashley Olsen (of Full House fame) on the cover. Her big cow eyes stare at me while I pee. This bothers me beyond belief. So I fluid restrict myself now.
Switching gears, I forgot to comment on the hurricanes and hurricane season. Bear with me (not "bare" with me, which would be scandalous as I am married ... a common mistake in writing, I'm told) here ... it has some relevance to the whole fatherhood thing. Kind of. We in Texas were somewhat concerned when Hurricane Dean was battering seemingly unconcerned people in The Caribbean, afraid that it would come our way and ruin our barbecues. Gotta love those people in the islands. They aren't evacuating, worrying or complaining. "If the hurricane comes, it comes ... I ain't afraid." Of course, they're whining like little boys who have had Sponge Bob taken away from them if it hits, complaining about silly little things like, "I don't have enough water" or ... "My child has been swept to sea and I cannot find my mother", but that's another topic.
Before Hurricane Dean - a strong storm with a strong sounding name - there was a Pacific hurricane called, uh ... Flossie. Hurricane Friggin' Flossie.
Right. What kind of name for a hurricane is Flossie? To make things worse, the folks in the Hurricane Center have named over 10 storms named Flossie/Flossy in the past, with the one in 1956 killing 16 people. (Thank God for Wikipedia.) Why is this obscure, ugly name which reminds most people of tooth decay so prevalent in the annals of hurricanedome? Who was the bright guy in the National Hurricane Center who decided someone would have the indignity of a family member being snuffed by Flossie?!
Which ties this to the fatherhood thing. One of the man's sacred tasks during pregnancy is going through a book of 45,000+ names - most of which are ridiculous - with your wife to find an appropriate name for a child. Flossie (which means "Flourishing, Blooming, Prosperous") is in there. And Natalie and I looked at it as well as a slew of other horrid names to find the right name for our impending son/daughter. I'm not sure how much time was devoted to this task, but since we don't want our child being beat up on the playground for his/her formative years, we are taking this seriously. Rule #1: No names in which your child is forced into a career as an exotic dancer. Thus "Trixie", "Bunny" and "Sky" are out. No "Bambi", "Dick Cheney" or "Destiny" either, unfortunately.
We haven't arrived at a single name yet, but we have compiled a short list from which to choose. And you can bet "Flossie" isn't anywhere on the list.
