Daddy evolution

*Author Unknown*

Feeling the Baby Move

  • First Child: I placed my hand on my wive’s tummy every chance I could for two months waiting for that first time when I could feel the baby move. Hours upon hours I waited until that magic moment when, I felt this little movement. We called all of our relatives to tell them about the blessed experience
  • Second Child: When it first happened, my wife called me at the office. I quickly ran home and felt the baby move. We included the experience in all of our letter to our family
  • Third Child: She told me the baby moved. I told her I would check it our during the next commercial break. I missed out because her mother called on the telephone so I went on watching Monday night football. By the end of the third quarter, I finally felt the baby move.
  • Fourth Child: We were in bed and I was trying to sleep. I turned to her and said “Cant you make your tummy stay still? I’m trying to sleep.” When it became clear that the baby would be jumping around for a while, we called the pizza man for a delivery.

The Trip to the Hospital

  • First Child: Every time we felt the slightest B&H contraction, we rushed to the hospital. I would carry my wife to the car and lay her down in the back seat surrounded by pillows.
  • Second Child: We timed the contractions. By the time she had three in thirty minutes, we rushed to the hospital. She sat in the front seat, with it leaned back and a pillow behind her head and another at her feet.
  • Third Child: I came home from the office as soon as she started having regular contractions. When they were five minutes apart and hard, we went to the hospital. I gave her a pillow to hold along the way.
  • Fourth Child: When she called me at the office and told me that she was having contractions hard and five minutes apart, I told her to drive to the hospital. I would meet her there as soon as I finished the set of correspondence I was working on. I reminded her not to forget the pillows.

The First Step

  • First Child: My wife grabbed the camera. I grabbed the Video Camera. My wife took four rolls of film. We immediately ran out to the one-hour developing place and had all four rolls developed with double prints. We had the best picture blown up to 24″ X 36″ and framed. We hung it up in the entry hall. I had a professional studio turn the four hours of video I taped into a one-hour documentary complete with voice-over by a local anchor-man.
  • Second Child: We took one roll of film and five minutes worth of video. The next day we took the film and had it developed by a twenty-four hour developing center. I took the best picture and put it into my wallet.
  • Third Child: We couldn’t find the video-camera and we only had five shots left on the roll of film. We took all five shots but I don’t remember if we ever got the roll developed.
  • Fourth Child: I quickly got up and grabbed the camera. I placed it up high so the child wouldn’t grab it.

The First Time the Child Fell and Got a Cut

  • First Child: My wife and I frantically ran over to the child. We swept him up and rushed him to the emergency room. No stitches were needed but we spent the night with him in his room just in case the bleeding started again.
  • Second Child: We walked over to her, picked her up and quickly bandaged her up. We spent the next two hours rocking her in the living room to comfort the pain.
  • Third Child: I told my wife that if he was still crying in a couple of minutes, we should go over and make sure he isn’t hurt too badly. When he didn’t stop crying, we bandaged up the cut and laid him in his bed for a while but we went on about our business.
  • Fourth Child: Put a bandage on the cut and told him it’d get better after he stopped crying.

Add comment July 7, 2008

A Love Story

I wrote this story 2 years ago. Hey, at least it’s not an essay!

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Sometimes in my lonely moments, I wonder what life would be without Lazar. Perhaps it would be a little less complicated and a little more ordinary. By now I might actually know what it feels like to be a mother or to possess those quaint material objects that so many people dream about. After contemplating these ideals for a while, I find that I come back to the same answer after all; it is he and he alone who shares my pitiful adventure.

We first met in the fall of 1957. I was a young girl then- only seventeen but had seen and lived through it all before; the violence, the abuse, the suffering. And this day, I had taken just about all I could handle with my boyfriend. Without a thought in my mind, slipped away quickly and quietly.

I will never forget the moment that I first laid eyes on him.

The waterway in Saint Petersburg was the perfect place for watching the old people holding hands and conjuring up that romantic notion in my head. One day I wished to be like that, my lover and me strolling about the park, fingers entwined whispering sweet sentiments. It was a bittersweet idea- one that I knew could never come to pass the way I was living it.

I had just about given up on life…

One look into the black water was enough to make me jump. I did not recognize my face, my brown eyes were red and puffy from crying and my lips were cracked. I was a wreck. “Oh Helena- what are you going to do- if you sacrifice yourself you will never again see the wondrous beauty of nature. But then again, if you live you must go back to that monster.”

“Surely you know that one day he will kill you.” A low voice from behind me purred. I turned around quickly, startled, yet unafraid of anything or anyone at this point. The only thought that came into my mind was that should I be threatened with death, I would like to be treated mercifully, keeping both my dignity and pride intact.

Before me was the most striking man that my soul had ever grasped. He was tall and broad shouldered with black hair and green eyes that twinkled when they touched my skin. My stomach became jittery as my gaze met with his and I looked away, too afraid to speak to such an attractive gentleman. “And how would you know that?”

He pulled back my golden-blond hair to reveal the bruises that were on my neck. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.” He let my locks drop and I quickly used the strands to cover my neck.

A sudden bout of extreme anger came over me at that point, and, wishing to get back to the task at hand and I turned my back on him. I stared back into the water and found that I could not get the gentleman’s face out of my mind. It was mesmerizing- hauntingly so- and I found myself thirsty for more of his chiseled face. I spun around and spotted him sitting at a bench not far from where I stood.

I walked in his direction, not knowing what to say but feeling every ounce of his soul pulling me toward him. He stood up, held out his hand, and just like that we walked about the park hands intertwined like the elderly pairs I had seen earlier in the day.

He loosened his scarf and wrapped it around my neck and I admired the soft material, stroking it gently. “So now you know my name, what is yours?”

“Lazar.” He smiled so brightly at me that I became even more enraptured with him. “I feel like we are old friends.” He swung my hand playfully, sweetly and for the first time in years I laughed. “I take it that you feel the same way.”

It was a strange idea but one that was not so farfetched. I felt as if I’d known him my entire life. We stopped under a large tree and he pulled me into him. I felt breathless and my heart was racing so quickly that I thought it would leap out of my chest. He lowered his lips a few inches from mine and though I wanted to taste his sweet tongue and feel the softness of his mouth, yet I turned my head away. “I am taken.” It was a painful moment for me as I imagined my mate, drunk and wild, his fists in the air, ready to take a swing at me for coming back to him long after dusk.

He brushed my long hair back again, perhaps to remind me of my mistreatment. “Shall I walk you home then?”

I nodded my head and felt my heart in my throat. My mind told me over and over again that it was just not possible for me to fall in love with a man that I had just met, but my heart knew differently. It was all the emotion that I felt for him. We strolled together, our fingers laced and for the first time in my life, I was with someone I felt destined to be with.

I never wanted to let him go.

We had reached the door, and I was not willing to say goodbye. “Will I ever see you again?” My hand went to his face and he clasped my fingers, kissing each one tenderly.

“Meet me in the park tomorrow when the sky turns pink and the moon begins to rise.” He slowly stepped back leaving me to wish that I had the strength to leave the good for nothing man that I resided with.

The inside of our flat was as clean and tidy as I had left it, and I whimpered thinking back to a year ago when he greeted me at the door with a wine bottle. He probably would have ended it for me right there if he could only get the glass to break. But being that he was so old and drunk, it was next to impossible.

My eyes flitted about the room quickly now, and I wondered when he would surprise me until at last I turned the corner into the bedroom. He was sprawled out, half naked, his mouth wide open on the bed. “Sleeping.” My hand flew to my mouth and I hoped that he couldn’t hear me. The rest of the night was spent on the couch.

After a long fantastic journey in my slumber featuring Lazar as my star, I awoke surprised to see that I had slept the entire day away. The sky was just beginning to turn colors and I looked about the house for any signs of the terrible man.

Once again, I went to look for him and found that he was in the same position as the night before. My heart jumped. ‘What if he is dead?’ I gave into my better judgment to leave him be and crept over to him as quietly as I could. The closer I got, the more fearful I became but my curious mind needed to be satisfied. I had to check that he was still breathing.

There I was, close enough to see the pores on his face and he didn’t seem to be breathing. I placed my hand over his nose. Nothing. I very gently placed my hands on the bed and lowered my head to his chest to listen for a heartbeat. Not a single sound. It was then that I realized the truth. He was dead.

Without thinking, I ran out of the house, through the streets and into the park. Lazar was already waiting for me with his arms open. I leapt into his arms and bawled. “He- he’s dead.” The tall stranger stroked my hair and moved my hair away from my neck.

“Tell me about your dreams.” His face was stroking mine, and I could feel his soft breathing on my collar. My head tilted sideways and I closed my eyes.

As if a natural force willed me to do so, I slid my hands down to his waist and pulled him closer to me. I liked being like this, felt comfortable in his arms and let go of all the negative feelings. My mind relaxed and it all started coming back to me. I explained to him all the images that I remembered, a bridge, a castle and him. He was crying, begging me to be with him before I surrendered myself to an angry mob. “What do you suppose it all means?”

His lips were on my neck now, his hot kisses warming my cool skin. “They are not dreams but memories of the past.” He stroked his cheek against mine and I fought the urge to pull away. It was not what my body wanted, not what my soul wanted. It was what my logical mind begged for. I needed an explanation.

How can that be? I have never lived a life of leisure, or a life of love. I have never before seen a castle, never dealt with swarms of angry people.”

His breath became quicker now and he continued to nibble at my flesh. It sent chills of enjoyment throughout my body and I was beside myself with rapture. I tilted my face upward and his lips softly caressed mine. My hands relaxed in his hair and I tugged at his locks softly and nibbled on his lips. He moaned and slipped his tongue into my mouth and at that moment, at that very moment it all came flooding back to me.

In a previous life I was a countess and Lazar had been my lover. I had struggled with something- something I couldn’t quite put my finger on but he had refused to let me go and I didn’t know why- didn’t know why… and then it occurred to me. “I know what you are.” I pressed my finger across his lips. “I know who you are and I am prepared.”

He smiled and the strangest feeling washed over me. I knew then that he loved me just as I loved him. “Are you sure that this is what you want?”

“It’s what I have been waiting for all my life- all these years that we have been apart; all this time…”

He took me into his arms and opened my eyes to the world in which we now live.

Lazar saved me that lonely autumn night and I am forever grateful to him. But sometimes, even as we share our marriage bed, I find my logical mind wandering back into the past. He of course confessed to the slaying of the man who I had been so eager to escape and in a way I feel terrible and almost cheated that I had not been able to make this decision by myself. But like always, when I do stumble, he is there to catch me. He reminds me that our love will span all eternity. That to me is the most beautiful gift of all.

My soul, heart and body are replenished because of him.

By: M. Lee
2006

Add comment July 6, 2008

It’s not gas

My baby smiles at me! She just made 1 month but she’s been throwing me the Mona Lisa for a week and a half now. I know baby books and even old people would say, “oh it’s just gas.” But seriously. Do you grin like a maniac when you have gas blowing out of either end?

Okay, let me rephrase that. When babies are gassy, they usually look uncomfortable. I don’t know of anyone who beams as brightly as the sun when they are expressing wind on a sore stomach.

But if you do, I gotta tell you that that’s pretty freakin’ weird.

Nope, my baby’s smiling, so there.

1 comment July 4, 2008

Mammaries

So, the tune to Barbra Streisand’s “Memories” gets stuck in my head every time I catch a glimpse of my breastesess in the mirror and, being the kook that I am, I rewrote the song lyrics to match my lovely lady lumps. It’s something I’ve done since I was a kid- just for kicks. (Not write songs for my lumps, but write s- ah, you know what? forget it.)

Anyway, I know this one’s a little personal but I figured, eh, what the hell.

Here’s my version. I call it: Mammaries.

Please feel free to sing along with me…

*ahemahemahrrrm.* Mimimimimi…

Mammaries,
I swear one day, they were nice
I can’t recognize my mammaries
I miss the way they were
In my old pictures,
They were so perky, round and fine
Now they droop just like my mother’s
They’re not the way they were
Could it be, that I breastfed all my kids with them?
Or has age caused their decline?
If I could go back and do it all again
I’d wear bras, guarantee
Mammaries, they’re just hanging there but yet,
Hubby says he really loves them-
Swears he likes my silhouette.
Still, it’s my old boobs
I will remember
Yes I will remember…
The way they were…
The way they were…

Ladies and Gentlemen, Babs has left the building!

1 comment July 3, 2008

Etiquette for dummies?

I came across this title while looking for a good book to teach the kids that little ladies and tiny gentlemen don’t use words like, “shut up” and “stupid dingding face” in normal, everyday conversation.

Since I’m not trying to raise sailors, I hopped on my favorite site to buy books for a remedy and it hit me, right in the face.

“Etiquette For Dummies.”

Now, I don’t know why, but this title jumped out at me.

So I ordered it.

I’ll let you know if it helped…

1 comment July 2, 2008

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