With just four days left until the arrival of Baby #3, a.k.a. Tres, I’ve thrown out my ridiculously long to-do list. It’s too much. These things aren’t going to happen. Instead, I’ve gone into CYA mode. At this point in the game, I just need to stay alive for four more days so I can meet this new baby. So here’s my list of what not to do between now and my wife’s imminent baby birthing:
1. Annoy my wife with inappropriate baby name suggestions. Apparently, she’s universally vetoed any variation of Jeff or Jefe Jr., and she’s not entertaining combos like [first name] Jazzy and [middle name] Jeff. This eliminates 87% of my name suggestions.
2. Name the baby a ridiculous, made-up word. If I can’t create a little walking eponym, then I just want to make sure this child doesn’t get one of these weird, made-up names that sounds like a soap opera vomited on an episode of Jersey Shore. You know what I’m talking about. You start with a questionable name choice, which may just be a random noun and not an actual name at all, and then intentionally misspell it or alter the pronunciation slightly. Maybe throw in a completely meaningless apostrophe. No. Absolutely not. Not that my wife is lobbying for one of these names, mind you, but things can get crazy when the name ideas are flying fast and furious in the waning hours before a child’s birth. I’m taking it upon myself to be vigilant against all horrible ideas that we might come up with. After all, as the maternity nurse said to us after we shared a few of our name ideas first child, “You know, he has to live with that name for the rest of his life.”
3. Pay too much attention to my wife’s belly. This is going to be a hard one. My wife is one of those thin, beautiful women who drive other women crazy by gaining pregnancy weight only in their bellies, and then instantly losing it all after childbirth. This is partially why “Belly Watch 2012” is so fascinating. Here’s this thin woman walking around with this enormous beach ball protruding from her midsection. Just when you think that thing can’t get any bigger, it does. And then it gets bigger again. And then you see tiny little foot go streaking across her belly like an alien trying to kick its way out of her abdomen. And then the whole thing bounces and shifts from one side to another like the baby is doing Pilates in there, which he/she might be if he/she is anything like our other kids. Most nights, watching her belly is more entertaining than TV. But I … must … restrain … myself. Apparently, women don’t like it when you stare at their midsection for long periods of time, even when they’re pregnant.
4. Write too many blog posts that mention my wife’s belly. See above. It’s not wise to poke a bear with a stick. But I’d do that 1,000 times before angering a 39-week pregnant woman. So I best tone it down.
And with that, I’ll sign off for the day.