From the bleachers:

Hello Again.

I realize that it has been a rather long time since I last posted to this sight. So you may have been thinking to yourself:

"I wonder why Rob has not posted in a while? I rather miss his inane and observational humor that will no doubt lead to a successful career as an author."

OR

"He must be so terribly busy with his preparations for the arrival of his firstborn child that he just hasn't had the time to post."

OR

"What a self-involved twit! He has probably completely forgotten that he is having a child at all."

OR

"Pepperjack cheese can make virtually any meal just THAT much better. It's like the bacon of cheeses."

While all these thoughts would be valid, and the first and fourth possibly accurate, it is really most adequately defined as:

As the father-to-be, there hasn't been that much to write about. Really.

When we started this adventure (or pre-adventure), I assumed there would be mood swings, nausea, swollen feet, hot flashes and weight gain. In addition, Christy's body would be changing slightly as well. But really, we've been blessed with a completely boring pregnancy to date. (Which is the kind of pregnancy I highly recommend and am grateful for, but hardly great fodder for a blog, or good for story telling.)

As a result, I am forced to write about pillows. That's right: pillows. Why? Because PILLOWS ARE TAKING OVER OUR BED!!!!! For you men out there who have yet to experience a pregnant wife, I have found that it takes no less than 36 pillows to wage a pregnant wife's war on a changing body shape in the quest for a good night's sleep.

You may ask yourself, "Rob, with a wife with an ever expanding uterus, and 36+ pillows, one body sized, and one African Bull Elephant sized, how is there room in the bed for you?"

Answer: There isn't. Much like the British Expeditionary Force at Dunkirk, I have been confined to a small piece of coastland, back to the ocean, facing a Panzer Brigade of pillows threatening me with annihilation. The weak Maginot line of sheets I had established failed long ago, and now my only hope may be a sealift to the Island of Couch. (Or perhaps the Land of Guest Bed In The Basement.) (Of course, I DO feel awful that Christy is becoming more and more uncomfortable at night. At least I will write that in a desperate refutation of thought number three above.)

The Pillows Advance

Otherwise, to continue with WWII analogies, I remain like the United States in the early, early 1940's. Sure, under the Lend Lease agreements, I may help with the purchase of baby equipment and supplies to convince myself I am doing something, but I operate mostly under the denial that the battles will truly affect me. In the back of my mind, however, I fearfully recognize that the day of my full involvement is looming...

November 9, 2010