midgets and babies and sweet fluffy kittens

Yes, I am actually writing something. Well, at least I think I am. I am multi-tasking, so God only knows what will get done. Anyway, this needs to be quick, because time is money, whatever the hell that means.
So anyway, just letting all you closet readers know that the birth of lil' JT occurred on June 2 at 12:05 am. Yes, I now have four, count them, FOUR children. No, we are not Catholic or Mormon. Yes, we understand how to use birth control. No, we weren't trying until we had a boy. We like kids, ok? So, please stop acting like we fucking popped out the motherfucking Dionne quintuplets or something, ok? And yes, if I was a few years younger and had a little bit more money, I'd gladly have number 5. So shove that up your ass and cogitate.
Ok, sorry for the vitriol there, but I am mighty sick of people acting like we are some sort of freaks like Jon and Kate plus 8. Oh, if only we could be like those mealy-mouthed, miserable SOBS Jon and Kate. Have I ever expressed my disdain for them and others of the TLC ilk? No? Well, it all started with that midget show we were so addicted to... what the hell... the Roloffs.... Little People, Big World. Ok, when it began, it was brilliant. If you've never watched it, it's a reality show about midgets - a married midget couple, their three normal sized kids, and their one midget boy. And yes, maybe they aren't called midgets anymore. I don't know - I don't know what is offensive about midget, but I am sure it is, and they are probably little people or dwarfs or zvergs or differently sized, or butterballs or some such new phrase, but forgive me if I call them midgets because seriously, I don't know what is wrong with that word. Anyway, when the midget show began, they were normal. Like, they struggled to make ends meet like normal people, and mama midget was working in a preschool and daddy was working two jobs and their house needed a billion dollars of work and yada yada. Well, fast forward two seasons, and mama and papa Little don't seem to be struggling, and I don't think mama works and they get a 50 grand kitchen and a pool and high-tech tools to shoot pumpkins across the field and they are FOREVER taking the midget twin to midget sports competetions, like over and over, and going to Hawaii and here and there and while I think good for you and run with it, for the viewer, it doesn't interest me because it's no longer "Real". And I mean, it's like TLC is sitting there going "hey, lets send them to Hawaii!" "let's give them a pool!" and whatever for their ratings. So, I've given up on it.
Same thing with Jon and Kate. I don't begrudge them either, because I mean, whelping six at a time is crazy, and I am glad they are getting the $$$ from TLC because that's lots of kids. But again, they don't struggle now or live a daily life like at the beginning. Instead, they are always on vacation or doing cutesy things, and it's just more TLC manipulation. Reality tv ain't real on the TLC tip baby, so dummy up. Don't take the brown acid, as they said at Woodstock.
So, back to me - I don't begrudge these people anything. Hell, I am probably just jealous. You wanna pay my mortgage and give me a pool? Sure, I'll do whatever you want on your TLC show. I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money.
But anyway, seriously, anyone wanna give us a reality show, I'm in.
But anyway, we had 4 kids because we love kids. And this one is great. However, you know how we were so ultra ready for this one for the past month? Well, he came on a weekend when we weren't ready. We spend a small fortune on plants and flowers this year, and spent the weekend planting all of them. Seriously, it was 8 hours of yard work on Sunday, and the house looked like we'd been robbed. But Rachel was all "Monday I can take care of it!" and so we did the plants. On Sunday night at about 7:30, I was just transplanting some perenials as per her instructions when we realized it was late and a school night so after chatting in the yard with my neighbor and my sister, we threw the kids in the van, and took them to the Arby's drive thru, and then I got the Mrs. a sub from Subway, and then I ran to Quiznos. We got home at 8, threw shit off the table and ate, planning for Show and tell for the kids, and whatever. The Mrs. thought she was having Braxton Hicks on the way home from Subway, and said "I'm just gonna shower now just in case tonight is the night" (ha ha, we always said that). So she is gonna stand up but apparently her water broke, and she blurts out "my water just broke!" and I lose it and jump up and run for towels and yell "girls, we're having the baby tonight" and then pandemonium breaks out because child #1 runs excited then runs back to us crying that she doesn't want us to go and #2 bursts out crying because she is just so tired (she bawled in the van on the way to Arby's because I told her she couldn't have a BRAN MUFFIN that was in the car). So I finally get the mrs. into the bathroom, where she cleans herself up (she's never had water break, so we were freaked right out, and since her labors are usually 1 or 2 hours, the doctor said if her water broke to get our fat asses to the hospital post-haste), and all I can think of is that I can't hold a baby with my dirt caked hands and dirty nails and I didn't have time to shower, so I do what any calm, rational father to be does and brush my teeth for 15 seconds, try and find her bag that she packed a long time ago, grab the camera and phone (but sadly not the charger) and wait for the inlaws. The inlaws were at a concert, but luckily they forgot to turn their phone off and luckily it was intermission. However, since they knew how fast this shit always is with us, they leave my father-in-law's 90 year old mother at the concert (my sister in law, who was performing, was given instructions to take great grandma home).
So we head to the hospital, and our house looked like it had been ransacked - shit EVERYWHERE, beds not made, not to mention amniotic fluid here and there. Well, I try calling the doctor and end up calling his son saying "it's your old babysitter, and we're having a baby!" so he tracks his dad down. Well, we march into the hospital thinking that she will be ready to push, contractions were 3 minutes apart, and the nurse checks her and she's only 2 cm. We were all WTF? We've never had it that slow. This is 9 p.m. She is checked at 10 pm and is only 3 cm., and the baby is not engaged, still sort of floating around. Close to 11, the doctor calls and asks if she wants an epidural, because if you want one, you need to ask before 11, or else you are SOL, apparently. She says no, and then regrets it and is having little panic attacks. At one point, my poor wife is on the toilet trying to pee and I am sitting on the tub holding her hand and she looks at me and says "4 is enough, I can't do this again, I'm done" and I swear, if I had a knife, I would have chopped my pecker off right then and there and sent it off to John Wayne Bobbit for a spare.
So anyway, the nurse checks her at 11:15, and she's 4 cm, and I think sweet merciful Jesus, this will be one of those all night things you hear about, and why didn't she take the epidural and whatever. Then, after laying silently for 30 minutes, she suddenly says at 11:45 "I feel like I could push." The nurse is walking by luckily and says "did I hear the magic words?" and checks her, and sure enough, she's ready to go. Long story short, we did a little pushing, and baby was born at 12:05 (after all of us wondering what day he'd hit). He came out with his hand next to his head, which mean Rachel had to get stitches. Also, his cord was freakishly long - I called it a clown hankie because it just kept coming out. It was frigging huge and coiled like a phone cord. Then the doctor says "Look at that - you only see this every few years" and it was TWO knots in the cord. He said we were VERY lucky nothing happened to baby. I did some googling, and yeah, we were frigging lucky. Thank you, Jesus.
Anyway, we named him - well, I hate giving anyone real names on here anymore, so let's make you do some research - his first name starts with a vowel and rhymes with the name of Brooke Shields' first daughter, and his middle name is my real first name, and his other name is the name of my favorite male singer songwriter who I am seeing on July 11th, 4th row, in Saskatoon.
He was 8 4.5 oz. A full head of black hair. he sleeps wonderfully, doesn't cry really, and is the sweetest little thing you've ever seen, and it brings me to tears to even describe him, so I'll leave it at that.
He was out the next day, after his little snip (nurses can be such bitches - if we want to snip off our baby's foreskin, it's none of your fucking business, so go back to your cigarettes and bitching, sister - I think cigarettes are LUNG mutilation, but you don't see me whining that you are killing yourself, so suck my fat hairy ass), and that night we had the girls' dance dress rehearsal and then the recital the next night, so in his first 2 and 3 days, he was out and about like a son of a gun.
But anyway, I could go on and on about it, but will stop there - welcome to the world my beautiful son - we are going to have such a lifetime of wonder and fun together. Every time I hear Lennon's "Beautiful Boy", it is like it was written just for you (and trust me, I've listened to it and sang it to myself many times these past 10 days).
Have a great weekend everyone.
xo