"Dear God Please Help Me" - morrissey

It looks like Paisley's prayers have been answered as today marks the one week anniversary since she came home from the hospital. That means that we have somehow managed to keep her alive outside of the watchful eyes of the nursing staff. Forgive us for patting ourselves on the back for a moment.

Since we haven't been able to keep up on the blog for the last 2 weeks or so, we thought we'd hit some of the highlights. We ended up going to the hospital at about 2 am on the morning of the 11th. They got us settled into a delivery room and by about 4 am, we were finally able to try and get some sleep. They had hooked Brandi up to a pitocin drip to try and initiate contractions but we really weren't able to make much progress until they decided to break her water at about 9am. It was at about this time that Brandi was able to answer a long nagging question: How do labor contractions differ from Braxton Hicks contractions? It wasn't long after that where we were introduced to the modern miracle of epidurals. For the next several hours everything seemed to progress smoothly and before we knew it, they were telling us that Brandi was dilated to the magic number of ten. It seemed that the only issue was that Paisley was face up and so in attempting to turn her face down, they kept Brandi rotating from laying on her left and right side. Which was pretty tricky since the anesthesiologist gave her so much extra juice to compensate for her extra height (5'10" isn't really that tall, but Brandi wasn't objecting) that she was a virtual paraplegic. Not so good for lower limb management, pretty great for labor. The rest was just like the movies. A little "push, push, push" followed by the supportive "You're doing great, Breathe!" There was a little concern when they had Brandi start pushing before the doctor showed up and Paisley's heart rate would drop to half its normal rate but would recover fairly quickly after the contraction. The doctor finally showed up and thought it was an issue of the cord being around Paisley's neck but didn't seem too concerned and so we pushed on.
















As previously reported Paisley made her world debut at 2:49pm weighing in at 7 lbs 1 oz and stretching out to 19 inches. In a follow up visit, they've shrunk that to 18 1/4 inches which was surprising but she's got arms, hands, and feet that give us faith that she will soon enough grow into her full potential. For those who don't know, Tim is 6'6" tall. But for now, she's so cute and little that even her smallest outfits drown her. We stopped into Baby Gap the other day to pick her up a few preemie onesies. As also suspected, she came out with a full head of hair.

Mom and baby were released from the hospital last Friday morning and we've been hanging out at the house reading, making progress and a few mistakes but really enjoying the time that we've had to get to know each other. We've had some family visit from both sides which was nice and helpful while Tim has been able to take time off work to help a little as well.

Paisley has been such a good baby. She sleeps quite a bit and very seldomly cries. The feeding sessions have been the cause of a little frustration but not nearly as bad as the ones in the hospital with the nursery staff and their very hands-on, over-the-shoulder approach. Even though she's been working us over with her diaper situation, we're just so in love with this bundle and are excited for all the time that we'll be able to spend together while she grows up.

But It's A Dry Heat

This is a cell phone picture of the rear view mirror on Tim's car this afternoon. It's hot throughout the West. Here in Vegas, it's nothing short of hooves, horns, and pitchforks. Granted, the thermometer tends to be more affected by the pavement and notches up a few degrees when traffic slows, but the official high was still 116. The National Weather Advisory has issued something called an Excessive Heat Warning.

Running around the office today, Tim was asked several times, "Do anything fun for the 4th?" Typical polite office conversation where no one really expects a real answer, but still, let's use a little judgement. Brandi is a week away from giving birth and it's an absolute sweatfest, when you're not pregnant. But when you've got a full sized Easy Bake Oven strapped to your chest, it becomes a major health concern. There aren't exactly a lot of options for us on such a traditionally outside holiday. We couldn't even come up with the patriotism to spark up the barbecue for a couple all American burgers and ended up ordering a pizza. Something "fun" for us these days consists of a single word: surviving. Each day we don't end up in the E.R. with heat stroke IS a holiday. Happy Birthday America!

The Final Countdown

Amongst our differences, the two of us have always had one very strong trait in common. A short attention span with a touch of procrastination. A fabulous combination for completing major projects. Fortunately, we both have much respect for hard deadlines. Take our moving into the new house for example. We closed in mid-March and finished unloading the last box at the end of that same month. It's now June. We've had some neighborhood visitors and therefore had made most of our progress downstairs. The upstairs on the other hand, was still a bit of an obstacle course. Of course one of those rooms was the nursery that we've been working on. But it was mostly just an excuse. Enter Tim's parents. A short notice visit was just the kick in the pants that we needed. It was amazing just how "settled" we could become in a few days. We take no responsibility for the den.

We're hoping that this will be a precursor to the upcoming birth. We've been trying to distract ourselves with painting the nursery, buying many cute outfits and pieces of furniture. Anything to postponing the reality of child birth. We were getting really excited about taking an instructional parenting class offered by the hospital that would teach us all of the important care taking details. How to swaddle, change diapers, and the art of burping. We finally made the reservation call a few weeks before the scheduled class only to discover that these sorts of things tend to fill up. No room in the inn. We've got nothing. Tim doesn't even know the difference between a normal blanket and a receiving blanket (but let's be honest, neither does Brandi). Sure we're reading books and conducting serious online research, but just like the pain of labor, it's hard to think that any written description can adequately prepare for the first (or one thousandth) messy diaper.

Luckily for us, child birth comes with a pretty hard deadline (more or less - we do realize that it could happen a little sooner, but Brandi insists it won't be later). For us it's exactly four weeks from now. 28 days. Is that the Sandra Bullock movie or the one about the zombies? The closer we get to July 19, the easier it is to focus on. Sort of. We really don't know what we're doing. The problem of procrastination. A trait that's complimented by our open mindedness. So all you parents out there, feel free to throw your best advice at us. Wanna ride bikes?

Tim Tries to Make Brandi Feel Like He Won't Murder Her

According to Nancy Grace, murder is the number one cause of death among pregnant women. This is a staggering statistic, especially if it's true. She didn't really take the next step, but the inference is that it's a result of domestic violence. Don't worry sweet ones, the only domestic violence in our home is limited to tiny feet into Brandi's ribs and the occasional cat claw. This post is pure Tim. I'm letting Brandi sit this one out. Given that this weekend was Father's day, I want to try and express some building thoughts concerning fatherhood. A topic that I don't know much about but hopefully I'm learning.

A few weeks ago I was introduced at work as, The Office Comedian. Under other circumstances, I'm sure that this would be rather flattering but that day it only caused me worry. Is this really how I come across? Not that there's anything wrong with being loose and jovial to break up the monotony. But when introduced, I want to hear the title Environmental Biologist. I didn't spend six years in school to be a comedian. I'm a biologist and take my job extremely seriously, so excuse me for thinking that I'm pretty good at what I do. I feel the same way about fatherhood. I tend to joke about my incapability all the time, but the truth is, I'm completely dedicated to and excited for the arrival of this perfect little person.

Last week at the dinner table, Brandi found herself having to listen to me discuss those at the office that I felt that I could beat up. (Funny enough, this sizing up had nothing to do with the aforementioned experience. As a legal disclaimer, this discussion occurred before the obligatory Workplace Violence training and there isn't anyone at work that I could beat up.) Brandi diagnosed the aggressive behavior as pregnancy related hormones, specifically high testosterone levels. She is far and beyond smarter than I am, especially when it comes to the workings of the body, but on this occasion, I disagreed. In fact, I think that I'm guilty of the opposite. Not aggression, but protection. If women go through "nesting," I think it's totally acceptable for a guy to go through "defending the nest."

For the first time in my life, I've become territorial. Growing up with all sisters, I've had my fair share of being protective. Despite the instinct, my sisters have been independent, so there wasn't a lot of opportunity for me. Being a husband and a soon-to-be father, just like Brandi, I've felt something growing inside of me. Unlike Brandi, mine won't show up on an ultrasound. I know it's there, so the challenge has been trying to come up with a way to adequately describe what it feels like. I think I'm finally getting my fingers around it.

As a biologist, I've had the opportunity to work with and fight for many threatened and endangered species. I absolutely love what I do and take pride in working towards the greater good. It seems to me that people equate the title "biologist" with the visual of hippies running through the forests, tree-hugging, and saving all the fluffy little creatures. This idea usually gets expressed with questions wondering if I eat meat or ever go fishing. Let me assure you that the job isn't all flowers and sausages. The hard reality is that in order to do our jobs - the passionate fight towards the survival of a thing - in most cases, comes at the expense of some other thing. This is the day in which we live. A struggle to reclaim resources and habitats against invasive, exotic species. As a result, my fights have come at the cost of literally hundreds of thousands of other lives. Without hesitation, without regret.

Lately, that hesitation and regret have begun to change. We've been conducting a bioassessment study at work lately to try and quantify the bioaccumulation of contaminants into the environment. In order to accomplish this, we've been collecting stands of vegetation and...bird eggs. We've been targeting two species: killdeer and American coot. Not the prettiest birds in the world, but this activity has created a pretty obvious conflict of interest for me. One that I've felt in my guts. For weeks, I've been hunting down nests only to then force a mother off her clutch in order to steal one of her babies. Coot and killdeer tend to express quite different behaviors during this process. Upon approach, killdeer will come off the eggs and exhibit what's known as "broken wing" where the mother flails about while holding one wing at some unsightly angle trying to sell you (the predator) on the injury, to lure you away from her offspring. As you squat at the nest and the mother realizes that her theatrics fell short, she'll just stand there and stare at you from 20 feet, for the most part, without making a noise. But once in awhile, without breaking eye contact, she gives this high bleat - which if you want it too, sounds very much like "Please?" Coot have a different strategy. They'll stay committed to the nest until you practically have to push them off. Once off, they'll retreat and then rush towards you slapping their wings on the water and making a curdling squawk that peaks at desperation and then tumbles towards resignation. Either way, the result is the same as they are no match for my stoic determination as they can only watch me walk off with a precious little part of them. Now I know what you're thinking, and trust me, I'm usually the first to call someone out on anthropomorphism. But even though I watched from a distance as each mother settled down and returned to the remaining eggs in her nest, I can't help but feel that she felt the loss. Defending ones' offspring is innately biological. I made the mistake of watching her, watch me and I'm convinced more than ever that parenthood, in some form, crosses all boundaries. There's no more science, no more job, no more species. There's only violation and sorrow.

Finally, if there is a point, the point is this: as I type this, I can't say that I'm totally ready to be a father but I can say that I've never felt more ready to defend the women in my life at all cost. Being a pacifist, IE skinny, I've had my fair share of being pushed around, but in the last few years, I've never been more willing to come to someone's defense than that of Brandi's, and now Paisley's. So when I find myself sizing up my coworkers - or anyone else whose life my day crosses, it's not about egomania, it's about protection. The truth comes in the uncertainty of a messed up world and knowing that in the end, I can only do so much. When I let my mind go, I see myself trying to protect the two things that matter most and I'm only a bird. Tragedy takes nothing more than a single determined someone or something to walk into your pond and threaten what you have and challenge what you are. Eventually, this beautiful little girl who I will soon enough get to hold in my arms will grow up and walk out of my front door all by herself. I just hope that when that day comes that I will have been able to give her everything she needs and that I'll have offered her real protection, not just a bunch of noise and a faked injury. That day really scares the hell out of me.

Pink-ish Envy

At first glance, it may appear that being on the male end of things during pregnancy is the best place to be. You don't have to watch your stomach grow over a period of nine months (although Tim insists that his is expanding too), the jungle juice mix of hormones, and all the other undeniably horrible components that lead up to the ultimate undeniably horrible event and all that mess. We mean that beautiful event.

There is no argument that women pay a price that men will never come close to being able to reimburse. But sometimes, somewhere in all that drama, when the birthing seems far away, a little jealousy creeps into the male mentality. For Tim, these moments seem to be directly connected to the sound of the cash register and the bagging up of some new outfit. Remember the post about the benefits of being impregnated by a metrosexual? This definitely counts as one of the disadvantages. Of course, a disadvantage that could easily be solved by more money in the wallet, so hopefully Tim can kick his penny slot addiction soon. Kidding. The blame falls directly on the shoulders of responsibility and budgeting. Luckily, the jealousy doesn't last long for two reasons: the new baby outfits are unbelievably cute, and the realization that even with the huge advances made in maternity wear in the last 7 1/2 years, it's still maternity wear.

Everyone knows that parenthood offers countless opportunities for sacrifice, what is less obvious is that sacrifice occurs long before sleepless nights and diaper changes. Brandi is either getting more sensitive to the growing jealousy or Tim is throwing more tantrums; either way, on Saturday EVERYONE got new pjs!

A Win-Win Situation

After the last post, we'd hate to leave the impression that our Sasquatch experience as a whole was 100% miserable. It was like low 70's at worst. It really turned out to be another fun road trip with friends and good music. So, even though the last post dripped with surrender, we thought we'd share a little photo log (with a touch of commentary) of the experience.

Saturday's highlights (for us, anyway) included Bjork, Arcade Fire, Electrelane, Ghostland Observatory, Grizzly Bear, and the Beastie Boys. The Long Winters probably would have been a highlight as well, though sadly we're pretty sure we spent that hour waiting in line for a couple of footlongs; which were worth EVERY minute.
Earlier that day, while enjoying Electrelane's show, Brandi spotted Napoleon Dynamite; or at least that's who we thought he was emulating 2 years ago when we saw him running past us at Coachella. As it turns out, it was Richard Parry of Arcade Fire. So we decided we'd pull out the camera (hopefully, without him noticing).

Not to be outdone, we were joined by another member of the Arcade Fire later on the same stage during Grizzly Bear. Win Butler! How cool are we? Two members of one of the biggest it bands in the world on two different occasions, gravitating right to us to enjoy two of the bands that we all think are pretty cool. These pictures are only slightly staged by maybe a few feet. (If you question just how close we were, Win wears a 36x36 dungaree.) With the exception of one annoying tall dude with a pony tail, no one even bothered them. Here's a shot of Brandi trying to kiss a rock star and Tim trying to find the aforementioned rock star in order to protect his honor.
The rest of the weekend was a bit of a blur, which is a surprise since we weren't even dropping "e" like Nate and Tonia. But who needs drugs when you're learning how to suck Diet Pepsi through a candy straw? (Is it just us, or is Nate pulling off a great Chris Isaak here?)

The Day The Music Died

The title really should be "days" since it has been a work in process. The omen began with the death of our iPods. Brandi's gave up on her several months ago and we made the blank screen discovery of Tim's just before embarking on a full 36 hour drive to Sasquatch and back. I have no doubt that we'll replace them some day, i.e., the day Paisley's full ride scholarship arrives in the mail. We reverted to cds and now know what the pioneers had to deal with on their little road trip.

The second painful realization was a process in and of itself. This was our first experience with the Sasquatch Music Festival but for the most part, it's all pretty much the same big party. The obvious difference was that the goal of Coachella is avoiding heat stroke, at Sasquatch, the threat was hypothermia. The setting overlooking the Columbia River was quite inspiring but it's hard to stay inspired through the nicotine (if you're lucky) haze and crowded collection of circus freak rejects. We had supposed that Coachella had outgrown us this year, but the harsh reality is that we've probably outgrown Coachella, and Sasquatch, and Lollapalooza, and Glastonbury. And in defense of poor Paisley, not all of it is her fault. Sure Brandi was a bit hampered by the tummy but Tim wasn't exactly skipping circles - except for when the line to the "Honey Bucket" (port-a-potty) wasn't moving fast enough. Sasquatch probably had half the attendees as Coachella but maybe 1/3 of the space, so it was always crowded. Brandi coined the term "festival intolerance."

Going into the event, we tried to convince ourselves that we could be one of those "cool" couples that haul their children around for two days forcing them to this insanity. But it would be unforgivable to rob these little ones of their innocence before they can even utter the words "how" and "why." Sure it was the perfect photo opt for Gwyneth and Apple with the little pink ear covers, but being married to Chris Martin means that you don't have to try and explain why the guy next to you is using your name's sake fruit to smoke their drugs.


Yes, we're getting old and have added blankets, snacks, and ear plugs to the festival bag. But even though music will still play a big part in our lives (even if they're cds), it looks like we've both accepted the idea of trading in the festival bag for a diaper bag. A rite of passage that reveals our budding maturity in our ability to accept and adjust. The music isn't dead, these days, it's just in bed by 8 p.m. Does anyone know if The Lawrence Welk Show is still on?

Survival of The Thickest

Brandi went in and got her a summer hair cut today. Throughout the process, the stylist just couldn't stop repeating just how much hair Brandi had. This wasn't news. Just a reminder. Brandi has been blessed with a luscious, thick head of hair. As was Tim. When considering the whole Darwinian aspect of pregnancy it's easy to focus on the positives like height and ear lobe attachments. But tonight, just before dinner it occurred to us that hair could become a major issue. Tim actually has a ridge down his forearms that could give the Appalachians a run for their money. Surely we are mammals through and through. It really makes Tim's obsession with monkeys almost not too crazy. The only thing that makes things worse is that we live in Las Vegas, and it's getting hot. We've been molting.

Don't believe us? You're more than welcome to come vacuum. Anyway, the point is that it's finally occurred to us that we could very well be the facilitators of introducing the world to a very tall, hairy, and mysterious (you'd have to know our personalities) being. We both have a very clear picture of what such a creature might look like, but that could be a result of where we'll be next weekend. This could very well just be hyperbole, but just in case, we've been training with a prototype:

Barefoot and Pregnant

Here are a couple of disadvantages of pregnancy:

Your tummy grows significantly and as it does, your feet begin to shrink. Or at least, disappear. By the third trimester, they're gone. About the only time they come out of hiding are walking up stairs and driving. The biggest problem concerning this development is that they also take a vacation from consciousness and as a result, can take a turn for the worse. Another issue is that even when the occasional glance reminds us of our duties, trying to negotiate around the mid girth with something as unforgiving as nail polish, is as effective as something else that isn't very effective. To make matters worse, all of the muscles in the lower body speak Chinese or something because they no longer obey simple commands like "stretch."

Here are a couple of advantages of being impregnated by a metrosexual:

It's just nice to know that there is someone out there watching out for you. For Mother's Day (this year's was just dress rehearsal), Tim was kind enough to treat Brandi to a full pedicure. At a world famous spa in the Bellagio you wonder? No, anyone can just pick up a tab. (Actually Tim wouldn't be able to pick up that tab.) Tim scrubbed until his arms hurt. Luckily he had had plenty of practice earlier that day with an old dresser and some sand paper. The gift was wrapped in a couple coats of "I'm Not Really a Waitress" red and a back massage.

Happy Mother's Day for all those out there that are and are soon to be.

"Tim slid one past the goalie" -Mike G.

All good stories start with "In the beginning," so being fans of plagiarism, this is where we begin. Not necessarily "THE" beginning, because that would just be a giant advertisement of which birth control NOT to use. This beginning is a re-creation of the day our lives changed forever, for the second time in two months.

The two of us had been in Salt Lake the weekend of November 11th and were heading back on Sunday the 12th when we ended up stalled in the Lehi area waiting to meet up with our wedding photographer to pick up our long awaited pictures from the big day. Trying to kill some time, no pun intended, at the local Cabela's - a place Brandi had NEVER experienced (Tim had discovered one in North Dakota of all places), and quite frankly never wants to visit again. The centerpieced mountain of dead animals contained enough glassy eyed animal stares to officially creep us out for the rest of our lives. Like Halloween haunted houses, we gleefully horrified ourselves for about 45 minutes, only to leave and experience a different but similar experience along the side streets of Utah county. We fully acknowledge our bias.

With wedding pictures in hand, we hit I-15 and cruise control. The tangent added to our return to Las Vegas and we were late. In a few ways. Being new to this 6 hour commute, we had lessons in planning to learn since we always seem to get hungry at the Cedar City mark, which given the towns culinary choices, hasn't treated us well. We had already done Taco Bell, the gas station Iceberg, and IHOP. We're not actually sure exactly how we ended up at Applebee's but there's a good chance that it was a double dog dare affair. It's no secret that the place isn't our favorite but we felt confident that we could find SOMETHING on the menu that wouldn't disgust us. We're big Chili's fans and even though the two places are identical, we just don't like Applebee's, maybe it's their commercials. In the end, we probably were only able to tolerate the "food" and the ten gallon hats due to our distraction. We were "late" and had been all weekend. Going on 5 days and it was the undertone of every conversation. We'd been married for a full 60 days. We had just gotten the pictures from the wedding and now we were late! For 45 minutes we talked about subjects like cycles, birth control, and urine chemicals. Tim was officially over his head. As we left dinner, we looked across the parking lot, saw the glowing Walmart sign, looked at each other and knew that we needed to know. Our feelings about Walmart are much stronger than Applebee's and as tragic, disgusting, and utterly hilarious as the idea seemed, it would set the stage for the perfect ending for a not so perfect day. It's important to be consistent. In a matter of minutes we found the EPT isle and, like scared "after school special" teenage crushes, made the purchase. Unlike the special, we had the benefit of self check out. Brandi disappeared into the restroom while Tim browsed the Christmas DVD specials. A little aim and 3 minutes of our time changed our changing lives.

Brandi emerged from the restroom expressionless, which is expression enough, took my arm and said, "Let's go. I'm not going to tell you inside a Walmart." We made it back to the security of the car, and under the soft glow of the dome light cataloged our future. One line=situation normal; two lines=grow up time. The below is the actual cell phone documentation of that moment. The blur could be a fair representation of our truth fog. In our experience, if you stare at it long enough, it becomes an obvious two lines. It's appropriate that something that looks like a Lik-M-Aid stick is still causing so much indigestion. We realize that after reading all of the above confessions, it would be easy to think less of us and even consider us a little white trash. We don't blame you. We've gotten mileage out of making fun of honeymoon baby couples. Now we're the joke. Go ahead and laugh BUT it's important to also know that Brandi swears that as she went to discard the EPT wrapper into the stall trash can, there in the bottom, was another EPT wrapper from earlier that day. It could have been the one piece of comfort we had all day. We're not alone in this.

They're Having a Baby

Hello bloggers. We finally jumped on board. Please bear with us until we get our feet under us. Since our move to Las Vegas and away from all of our friends and family, we thought this would be a good tool in keeping everyone informed of our lives and the upcoming birth of our new baby girl. We expect her to get most of the attention, thus the name of the blog.

Like most things in our lives, we're a little behind schedule and have missed many of the exciting moments of the pregnancy, but really, it was just a lot of sickness and accepting the fact that we are pregnant well within the first year of our marriage. Warning, this could turn out to be a very honest recap and may not always portray this really exciting time in the best light. But really, it's a lot to get used to. And we have a long record of selfish living and we're getting better at swallowing our own life plan.

We have just officially entered into the third and final trimester. Or for those of you who are more familiar with babies than Tim is, we're at 28 weeks. It's a little difficult for us to say goodbye to the second trimester due to the fact that it was so much more pleasant than the first. Supposedly as we get closer to the actual delivery, things will get a little less pleasant, but until then, we're just going to enjoy the stability.

Not to say that there wasn't excitement during the second trimester, but for the most part, those elements were from external sources. I'm sure if you keep up to date on this, all such details will eventually get described.

As we further develop this story, we plan on showing you around our new home, and share all of the cute and wonderful things we find on the world wide internet made for new baby girls. But mostly, as the anxiety of being new parents grows stronger, we appreciate and welcome any comments and/or suggestions you care to make. Thanks for stopping by and welcome aboard!