Make it work

M and I attended our "infant care class" Wednesday night. It was pretty much a bust. They spent the first thirty minutes (re)assuring us that our baby won't always be so funny lookin (body covered in cheese, giant balls--well, not Mr. B--, smashed head, yada yada yada) and then another forty five on hospital security. I know these are scary times, but c'mon--Baby LoJack? Oh, and then they talked for like another half-an-hour about snacks for Dad. Cause Dad might get queasy being that he is a "man" and all. There was a lot of "Dad" talk (by this I mean using the word Dad instead of other parent, coach, etc) which doesn't really offend me. I can't speak for the single moms, the one gay Dad and the requisite pregnant teen (who spent the entire time texting).

Finally at 9p (and with a half-an-hour-left) they got down to the important stuff--bath, swaddling and diaper change. I have a feeling I am going to need a sedative to give the first bath. Not too mention, that we couldn't see any of the demos and that "practice" time came at 9:30 when the class was supposed to be done. Needless to say, M and I didn't stay to practice. It was Wednesday night. We had to get home for Project Runway. They'll teach us how to change a diaper in the hospital or will call our friend Claire (which by the way, is now my answer for everything).

Speaking of Project Runway, I just read this on TMZ: http://www.tmz.com/category/lets-get-this-party-started/I I feel a bit of six degrees as my excellent friend Jamie (M says I can't put last names on the blog. Sorry Merlino) went to diving camp with Dale.

"No, what’s it called?!"

Upon learning that M and I were having a baby, Asher, who happens to be my favorite three year old on the planet, demanded to know from his mother, the lovely Claire, what we were naming our daughter. (Yes, it is a girl. Well, at least according to the amnio. That can’t be wrong, can it?)

“You know. Freddy, Teddy, what’s it called?” Asher emphatically inquired after clearing up any confusion that he in fact understood that a baby was on the way. His mother patiently explained to him that we were having a girl and we would choose her name and announce it to friends and family upon her arrival. Well, this didn’t sit well with Asher and in a moment of great clarity and wisdom announced that her name will be “Mr. Baby.” M and I immediately decided that this was probably the greatest thing ever said by a child and have thus christened our daughter, at least in utero, Mr. Baby.

Side note: Not only is Mr. Baby the perfect moniker, it brings with it the added bonus of deflecting the whole “name question.” Once you tell the Mr. Baby story people forget to ask what name you have “really” picked out for the kid. M and I choose our daughter’s real name months ago. (Occasionally we look at each other and ask if we are totally sure, but it has been a fait accompli since the day we learned she was a girl). It is not that we care what people’s reactions are going to be to the name—you like it or you don’t—we have just found the occasional negative response to be awkward and weird. So, we have decided to now keep the name on the dl.

And so, we are now getting ready for this little person, Mr. Baby, or Mr. B, as I have taken to calling her, and I guess I have decided to chronicle it all right here. Enjoy!