Martinis, Fetal Dopplers, and potty talk

If you find yourself in a bar in the near future that offers a "Sunset" martini, by all means get one. I believe it's just Absolute citron, a splash of grenadine, and a lemoned rim. Have it ice-cold.

A friend of ours sang in a professional musical a couple of weeks ago, and Marci and I went up to see the performance, stay in a good hotel, and meet other friends who were coming to the show. After "Sam" got out of his makeup, we all went to our hotel's lounge, which had a modernist, glow-y and low table-y ambience. The three couples broke down this way: one with new baby, one pregnant (us), and one yet-to-be pregnant (and perhaps not even interested, I don't know). What everyone had in common, though, was home ownership. The martinis (for most of us) arrive, and what does the conversation turn to? Now, bear in mind the low light, the swank music, the post-theatre buzz.
All the ingredients to talk about, what? Our toilets!

It seemed most of us, for a variety of reasons, were doing battle with our commodes. Our friends in a rehabbed condo were having a non-flushing issue due to incompatibility between the new wasteline and the city's old one. We, thankfully, had solved our hundred-year-old house lame-flush issue by installing two of these, which I can't recommend enough (yes, it looks standard, but don't let that fool you. It's a "Class Five," baby, so there's a lot of power under the hood). You might imagine the remaining couple who were both sans kid and sans toilet issue might have been bored out of their minds. Not so! They had their own new condo doors-not-closing issues to contribute!

Soon after, some of us crashed the cast party (which happened to be in a ballroom in the same hotel) and scored beef brisket, more drinks, and little foo froo desserts. The night was a blast, though I still can't help thinking that the evening's earlier conversation marked some rite of passage I'd like to repress . . .

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It looks like my last kid-less Father's Day just passed!

Marci and I had gotten used to frequent ultrasounds, and since 20 weeks is a bit early to feel The Peanut moving constantly, we were missing little progress updates.

So, a couple days ago I received my new BellyBeats fetal doppler as part of Marci's birthday present, so we've been having fun with that. The gizmo came with a CD (to help you discern what you're listening for--though it's easy enough to distinguish), ultrasound gel, and some free "Preggie Pops" for morning sickness (which Marci's been lucky never to have). Dr. W. uses essentially this same device for our appointments with him, so it's been incredible to hear the "live" heartbeat whenever we like. The doppler makes The Peanut's heart sound like a cross between a washing machine and a spaceship, but, there it is, chugging away.

Golden handcuffs

Quick update: Marci's bloodwork came back fine. Whatever feverish mystery illness she had 3 weeks ago wasn't one that spells trouble for The Peanut. Now, to find that giant plastic bubble. . .

I just received tenure officially at Medium-Sized University near Major Urban Center last Friday. One veteran faculty shook my hand and said, "So, I guess we won't be seeing much of you around here anymore," (referring to the way some faculty disappear from "extra" work on committees and other service once their job is secure). Some think of tenure as good and bad. The good part is knowing where you might be working for the rest of your career; this is also the bad part.

Believe me, with all sorts of other things in flux these days, I read the promotion as an unmitigated good. Another recent development on the work front is the possibility of going to China over the next academic year. It's still in the early stages, but there might be some Chinese students who want to finish their degrees abroad where I work. So, a small group of us might visit their university to discuss what we have to offer. A chance to visit the Great Wall would be, well, great. They were working on that thing from the 3rd Century BC to the 17th Century. So many people died building it that it's sometimes called "the world's longest graveyard." On first thought, this seems kind of depressing, but, actually, all those people would be dead by now anyway.

I'll close with some random information.

In music news, let me recommend Imogen Heap. I keep listening to the song "Hide and Seek." The duo Gnarls Barkley channels Al Green on their release of "Crazy" which is also on high rotation on the iPod.

Marci and I see Dr. W. this Friday. I'm looking forward to hearing that little fast heartbeat again. I bought a stethascope this week, but all I could hear was Marci's stomach growling.

A new target

In the years after college, when most people move into the World of Work, they may temporarily find themselves out of the comfort zone of a well-defined target market.

I can report that an unexplored consumer frontier awaits those who plan to reproduce. The frequency and sheer volume of baby-related advertising is surprising, and I'm tempted to think that there's been an increase since we got pregnant, but I know this isn't the case. The truth is, we all filter information with whatever happens to be on our minds at the time. So, when I got a tattoo a long time ago, it seemed like everyone had a tattoo. If you start thinking "yellow car," they will start appearing every time you leave the house.

Anyway, the point is that there is a lot of baby gear our there, and now it's all on my radar. This is fine with me, since I'm a big fan of equipment of various types. Quality kitchen equipment historically headed the list for me, so I'm always on the market for good knives, coffee makers, and cookware. Technology was a close second, so after my second crappy Dell, I'm going with this. I'm glad I don't have to pay for it.

I'm approaching baby gear the same way. Well, most of the baby gear. Marci and I have decided to go functional/minimal on items that The Peanut will only use a short time, and blow more serious treasure on things Peanut will need for the long haul, like a stroller. Speaking of which, I see parents pushing their kids around in a lot of wussy-looking strollers. Jiggly wheels, flimsy fabric, and chintzy frames characterize too many of these vehicles. Why have a kid at all if you can't hook it up with a decent ride? A stroller should have the ability to crush other strollers if it needs to, so I'm thinking this offering from Bebelove should meet that requirement. For other needs, Combi's products show that baby stuff can also exhibit good design sense, and many of their items are gender neutral, which is a plus. We like the DX Activity Rocker, and the Play Yard Sport, neither of which exhibit garish colors (just a calm, grayish hue) or acres of creepy, frilly fabric. The real challenge will be finding a bassinet that doesn't look like something out of Rosemary's Baby. Look at some of these monstrosities, which look more like baby caskets to me. IKEA sells a decent crib, tastefully streamlined.

A week ago, someone I work with overheard my discussing baby gear, and sent the following email:

I am inspired now!! Expect some cool garage sale findings from me this summer . . .I loooove shopping!!!

Nevermind that "cool" and "garage sale" are mutually exclusive terms, but now I feel obligated to notify the well-intentioned but misguided that "all gifts for impending baby must be new, factory sealed, include receipt, and are, of course, subject to approval."

Now, how to do this and sound grateful and polite. . .