Going out and shopping for a baby girl immediately after finding out that you are having a baby girl is inadvisable. I could have used a little bit of time to process what had just happened and how different everything was going to be (I'm talking for me personally here). All of a sudden, gone are my days of rock star-esque partying. (You can laugh at that comment, it was a joke.) Here come my days spent shopping for things like this:
That is a real jolt to the system. It's weirder when you juxtapose the sight of me standing there holding these little things, blank look on my face, trying to digest what the next twenty years are going to be like, against that of Ariane happily sorting through racks upon racks of oh-so-tiny and ♥CUTE♥* things.
I put myself still about a day away from getting used to this idea, but nowhere near getting over the nervousness that I feel when trying to mentally play out every possible scenario from now until 2034. What's nice is that I find it reasonable to assume that a daughter is far less likely to break as many laws as I have broken or do as many stupid things as I have done. I'll count that one as a major plus, and one that is helping take a little bit of the edge off of these thought experiments. But if you see me in mid to late June, don't sneak up on me. I'll be likely to jump through the roof.
It's a shame, though. I guess all rock stars have to grow up, chill out, and lose their edge.**
While some people are debating the ins and outs of an economic stimulus plan, we here have been debating something much more important: Which collegiate sports football team will our baby be indoctrinated into emotionally attaching itself? This is the only sport over which there is a debate, and the one that elicits the strongest emotional response in me. There are 119 I-A teams, and I can find some way to justify an irrational hatred for everybody but the doormats. I love the doormats, especially New Mexico State (mainly because they have a guy who does radio broadcasts in Navajo, which kicks so much ass it's unbelievable), but being passionate about a doormat is a curse.
But of course it's going to come down to Mizzou or Texas. Sorry Dr. Krugman, you can offer PE Obama all the advice you want, but your fancy-schmantzy book-learnin' and Nobel Prize for Economics is no good around these parts. As they say, "You can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, but you can't really pick your favorite sports team because your dad is insane enough about one team that even when your poopy diaper leaked on him he sat there for four extra minutes because WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE PLAY IS UNDER REVIEW? THAT WAS CLEARLY A CATCH, YOU IDIOT!"
Sports loyalties are things you are indoctrinated into. It's like religion. Someone usually chooses it for you, and you just kind of go with it. That is, unless you are one of the few who converts, but that just makes for uncomfortable holidays. Conversions need to be done with care, though. You don't want to be like the guy we met on our "religions of the world" field trip in middle school, the pasty redhead named Ibrahim O'Donnell, who led us around the mosque. And you don't want to be the kid who grows up a Michigan fan only to attend Ohio State. It's best to let sleeping dogs lie. Really, don't we actually all know that Tim Tebow is God?
Natch, Ariane wants kid to be a Texas fan. This is the logical choice. We're here. We both attend Texas. Texas is a Program with a capital "P." It would not be cruel to cultivate UT fandom in Kid. And, at least to my perspective, you can be a UT fan in Austin and still not be like one of those moronic yahoos who are convinced Texas is the only place on Earth.
But... but... MIZ! ZOU! No, we're not in Columbia. Yes, only one of us attended it. Yes, they are likely to hit the skids and go back to suckdom while Nebraska goes back to owning the North [teeth clenching, vein in forehead popping]. But... but... MIZ! ZOU! Besides, I would love to see Kid become a scientist, and pulling for Ol' Mizzou provides a natural route, a "Gateway" if you will, to a degree in chemistry. And in Missouri, it appears you can do correspondence online and get that degree at home.
I wasn't planning on this debate being settled for some time, but the die has now been cast by none other than my mom. The deciding vote came in the form of a bib.
Oh well. Kid will be a Longhorn. No sense in denying it. But I will not budge on teaching my child proper capitalization, bib be damned.
For those of you keeping track, it appears that Kinderbloggen has become an overnight success with the first post receiving 1 (one) comment despite not receiving any hype at all. I'll take all the credit in the world for that one, as it was no doubt my Joyceian prose that drew in Someone who is definitely not named Alice like a magnet. So to Not Alice, our first commenter, you win one million internets.
Ariane asked that I post more pictures of the stuff we received over Thanksgiving. Really there's only two more pictures, though. There are about five that look just like this one.
And we have the Cardinals thing (I cannot bring myself to call it a "onesie," which looks absurd when it's typed out).
This leads me to a point that we must all be in agreement on: small ≠ cute. To look at something, something that is virtually an exact scaled replica of an article of adult clothing, and squeal about its cuteness simply does not compute. Baby clothes are the Matchbox cars of apparel. I obviously lack the Mommy gene. Let me prove my theory:
Gah! Even momma tarsier thinks that thing is hideous. Thus, my theory is now law. That's science. Trust me, I'm a scientist, says it right on my diploma.
On a completely different note, I am already trying to mentally prepare myself for the brain-melting that will come with having a child. Regarding this, one person told me simply, "Dora the Explorer - 'I'm the Map'... aaaaaaand go."
Perchance this lad could lead me to the person who is, in fact, the map?
Can my mind handle such horrible things? I don't know. Beyond that, we're going to have to compound that with bilingualism. So there's going to be the Cake Song:
Which is going to get stuck in my head and I will sing all day at work, until I get home and get Tortensong stuck in my head:
My take? I think this is probably all part of some vast conspiracy, above and beyond the military-industrial complex. I think children's book authors, children's tv show producers, and the awful people who make "Kidz Bop" take kick-backs from marketers who sell pre-teen crap merchandise like Hannah Montana CDs or whatever is cool to 12-year olds LIKE OMG RIGHT THIS INSTANT in return for melting parents' brains while the child is still an infant. The belief is, naturally, that parents with melted brains will be much more likely to fork over $20 so your 13 year old daughter can go see "Twilight." Maybe the Mommy gene prevents this brain decay, but there is no way I will be immune. Ariane is already preemptively accusing me of being Good Cop in some hypothetical Good Cop/Bad Cop parenting universe. She'll probably be right, considering what Dora and friends will do to me. Enjoy the next couple of years, because those will be the last time you can communicate with me on an adult level without me drooling all over myself singing "I'm the Map!"
Right, so I figure this is going to be the easiest way to keep everyone informed as to what's going on from down here, especially regarding Futurekid. I figure we can post pics and videos, and link other stuff. I have no idea how involved Ariane will be in this, but it's Blogger, so there's virtually no learning curve. (You don't even need to know simple html tags like everyone's favorite* tag, or typing uʍop ǝpısdn. WOO!)
If she does get involved (hopefully), then this is gonna be a bilingual blog. Plus, that'd be good so I could go ahead and upload stupid stuff that Ariane will claim she doesn't find funny [Ed. note: Yes she does] along with stuff you actually want to see.
For example, Ariane holding some baby clothes (click for really big images):
Juxtaposed with something a million times funnier:
So that's that. Bookmark it. Comments are enabled for anonymous commenting, but srsly since only family will read this, might as well give yourself a profile so we know who is commenting or, you know, call us.
