Hello World

Our son, Chase Nathaniel.

The Big Show - Live!

3:03pm - Arrived at the hospital. Surveyed the outside surroundings and did our best Splinter Cell impersonation - not easy to do when one of us has the turning radius of a Cadillac - and made it to the Labor and Delivery suites without being sighted by a coworker.

4:07pm - After checking her reflexes and nearly being kicked through the wall - they were checking her elbow - the recommendation has been made to administer something for nerves. I just hope they bring something for her, too.

5:30pm - Whoa, Nelly! We've got contractions! Nice big ones, too. Man, might be done with this in time to watch the Braves... whaddaya mean those aren't even big ones?

6:20pm - She's approaching sleep now. Pills are good. Light is not. I'm contemplating using a diaper to secure the drapes together. In all that crap we packed there's not a single roll of duck tape? How am I gonna get a diaper on the kid?

7:15pm - Hmmm... food just got delivered. Guess this will be a good time to see what stage of labor she's in.

7:16pm - Not sure what stage of labor she's in. But the food is out of the room. So am I. And no, for those of you scoring at home (or even if you're alone), this does not count toward the Sunday School pool of if I'll be thrown out of the room. The food was told to go; being inanimate, I had to take it.

8:10pm - Contractions are 1 min. apart and pretty intense. Right now it's taking me, a nurse, one hard pillow, and three soft pillows to get her to comfortable. This'll last for about two or three contractions, then we've got to flip her like a burger.

8:30pm - Dr. Huxtable is in to see us now, and that's got my Spidey senses all tingly. I've always heard (and read) that the Doc doesn't make an appearance until it's time to catch the baby - unless there's an issue. Maybe he was just around anyway. Contractions haven't changed.

9:15pm - I'm starting to understand why this is called "labor." What I've seen here in the last hour or so is surreal. TV? Hollywood? Lies - all lies.

10:30pm - Doc is back: she's at 4 cm. I am, too.

10:45pm - Contractions are starting to decrease in intensity?! I thought they were only supposed to get worse and worse, kinda like racing your larger brother down a hill and him falling in to you, causing a human-snowball of pain and agony, each bounce faster and more intense.

11:10pm - How in the name of all that is good, righteous, and holy are we supposed to sleep when the cast of Stomp has decided to start beating on every dagblasted thing they can find out there?! Honestly, it sounds like they released kids, all of them, into the galleys to let them pick a pot and spoon and sent them up here to beat on them like it's a freaking parade.

11:25pm - Looks like we're in for a long night. We'll be starting the pitocin (if needed) at 2am or so. As such, this may be the last update for a while.

3:10am - Now we're down to it. Epidural is in. Water is broken. She slept for about two to two and a half hours. I have a half a tank of gas, a full pack of crackers, it's dark, and I'm not wearing sunglasses. Hit it.

6:30am - Dilated 10cm.

7:45am - "Push him out, shove him out, waaaaaaay out!"

8:00am - I'm not sure what she just said. It sounded almost Klingon.

8:17am - He's here. 7.4 oz, 19.5 in. long. Chase Nathaniel. Pics to come.

It's time

Stay tuned for the live-blogging event of the year...

Are you ready?

What is it that compels people to say stupid things to expectant families? Are they just allergic to silence? Worried that if they don't ask something related to pregnancy they'll seem uncaring or lacking in intelligence? Honestly, walking up to us and exclaiming "Wow, she's ready to pop!" is roughly akin to saying "Wow, she's fatter than Garfield at the Macy's Thanksgiving parade!"

Even before it looked as if she swallowed a torpedo, the idiocy began. "Save up your sleep - you're gonna need it!" I'll get right on that - exactly how do I store sleep? Do I can it? Bottle it? Hermetically seal it in mayonnaise jars on Funk and Wagnalls porch? Put it in the rubber soles of my size 10's and spend it kicking your butt up and down street?

And then there's the one that ten percent of the time is completely harmless and well intended, and 90 percent spoken by a real schmuck - "are you ready?" Should I hazard an answer and say "yes," I'm immediately met with "No you're not. You'll never be ready." And if, heaven forbid, I should say "No," then I'm lit up like Ted Kennedy at the Blue Oyster - "You'd better get ready! What are you waiting on? She's about ready to pop!"

So here is our answer, for all of the posterior's posterity. The nursery is done. We have clothes, diapers, bottles, books, heffalumps, and woozles. We have a car seat, pack-n-play, glider w/ ottoman, and enough receiving blankets to swaddle quindecaplets - two sets. We've got family and friends ready to help should a tragedy beyond our imaginations should occur. We are mentally prepared to forgo sleep, food, recreation, TV, movies, videogames, and a host of other needed and unneeded things to keep our child healthy, happy, and protected. If that doesn't fit your smarmy or otherwise defined use of the question "are you ready" then take your opinion to the southern end of a northbound mule and pucker it up.

3 references:
2nd paragraph = 50 points
3rd paragraph = 50 points
Last paragraph = 25 points
Hint: not all of them are movies

Of Men and Swine

This is going to come as quite a shock to many of you, so brace yourself.

I've never been hunting. I mean real hunting, rifle and all. I've sat in the woods in my younger years with my uncle, but I've never been active in a real hunt. Mostly because I don't care for deer meat; I don't turn my nose up to it, but I won't be knocking down old ladies to be first in line for the venison at the big game luncheon at Bubba Baptist Church. Wild hog, on the other hand... well, that's just good eats.

So a while back, I set out in to the brush of south Georgia, visions of ribs, butt, and loins dancing in my head in a cloud of hickory smoke. The first thing - at least in my mind - that entered my head when planning for the hunt - I'm gonna need guns! Lots of guns!

That thought was evident as I stepped out of the truck of our tour guide and began loading and strapping on iron like a man ready to defend the Alamo with thoughts of making it out alive. Slung on my shoulder, my dad's trusty .44 Mag lever-gun; on my left hip, a .44 Mag 7 1/4 inch single-action revolver, my backup gun; and on my right hip, my trusty Walther 9mm. On my person was more than 50 rounds of big boy .44 Magnum ammo and 30 rounds of 9mm hollowpoints. No doubt in my mind now - I looked like a living incarnation of the apocryphal Mall Ninja.

Into the wild we went, hunting grunters. Little did I know, it would be I who would be doing the majority of the grunting, due to the obscene dearth of briars in the brush. I'm talking about stuff so thick that visibility of ground was not even possible at some areas from a standing level. And then...

Movement. On a line parallel to us, but moving in the opposite direction, maybe 15 feet away. And I couldn't see anything but the top of the brush swaying back and forth, taunting me. I trained my rifle on what looked to me to be the most "open" area and waited for the first sign of brownish colored hair to cross my sights. The tops of the brush swayed right up to where I was pointing... and I never saw a thing. Nada.

So Miss Piggy got a reprieve that day. But I'm hooked - and will most definitely be back.