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I’ve been coming up with a few nicknames for Stevie, based on one of his favorite activities; spitting up. I’ve grouped the nicknames into three categories: Drool; Spit; Puke/Barf.

 Needless to say this activity has absolutely thrilled my wife. So, without further adieu, here is what I have thus far. Suggestions are welcome:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Jani is due to have our first child, the fore mentioned Ginker, on the 28th of December… less than a week from today. As friends and family try to guess… and gamble on the actual date, it has been my hope that our child would be born today. It feels like it would be one of those “hakuna matada” circle of life things. As I write this there are only eight hours left of December 22nd, so it seems highly unlikely that today will be the day. Twenty-two is one of my roulette numbers as well, so I was really pulling for today. Well, the Ginker will come when the Ginker is good and ready. All I really want is for a healthy baby and mommy, so I’ll be patient.

As a way of remembering my father today I’m going to re-post something I wrote while traveling on my way to dad’s funeral. Please read on and enjoy.

(Original Post: 12/22/08) – On December 22, 2005 my father passed away. Three years have rushed by me and a lot has changed in my life since my father’s passing. Although I don’t have many regrets in my life, I do wish my dad would have been around long enough to meet my wife and maybe some day his grandchildren. I think about my father often, especially this time of year. On the way to my dad’s funeral I wrote the following, and posted it to my Myspace Blog. As I read what I wrote nearly three years ago, I find that my feelings have changed very little. Enjoy the read and have a happy holiday season.

It’s 6:00 AM, local time, NYC. I’m sitting at the Jet Blue terminal, waiting for my connecting flight to Burlington, VT. Just three more hours to kill. There seems to be an awful lot of wide-awake people for 6:00 AM. But, who knows what time it is to these people.

It’s interesting watching people while I tune them out, quite literally, thanks to my MP3 player. Right now it’s Lou Reed…. The interconnectedness of all things becomes evident through the magic of shuffle play. I mean, Lou Reed and New York are pretty much synonymous…. those of you who have seen the movie “Repo Man” will know what I mean when I say, “plate of shrimp.” For those who haven’t seen the movie… what the hell? Rent it today, it’s fucking great. Oh, and by the way, the song now…. any guesses? Van Morrison, “Glad Tidings (from New York).” Yeah…. it’s that kind of world, isn’t it? I wonder what other delicious, cosmic treats the universe has in store for me. I’m looking forward to the new day.

So, I’m off to Burlington, VT, with an ultimate destination of Jay, NY. The main point of this latest journey East is for my father’s funeral. My dad passed away a couple days before this past Christmas. One of the harsh realities of the North Eastern, US is that the ground is frozen…. ’til, let’s say April 15thish. So, for the past four months my dad has been…. well, no need to go there. Anyway, we’re going to bury my father this Saturday, then have a big Easter dinner, Sunday. Kinda funny when you think about it… maybe funny isn’t the right word… ironic? Yeah, let’s go with that.

So, about my dad. We didn’t talk much these past few years. There was no reason for it. That’s just the way it was. To the outside observer we may have seemed estranged….but, that wasn’t the case. When I saw dad this past summer I saw in his eyes how he felt about me. He was happy to see me…. probably the happiest he’d been in quite some time. He was proud of me… proud of all his kids… even if he never told us in so many words. Sometimes I’d hear stories about myself from people I hadn’t talked to. It was obvious that my father had been singing my praises. It was the way he did things.

My father had a 9th grade education, but he was a sage when it came to all things of a practical nature. He could turn a pile of garbage into money to feed his family, and often did just that. He was a survivor, and he taught us kids those skills. Dad valued friends above all else. He was a big, gruff, loud man, but beneath the surface was a pure, kind, and generous heart. Everyone liked my dad. He’d make men laugh, and women giggle and blush…. and children…. he just made them happy.

Dad had a wonderful way of cutting through the bullshit. He didn’t play games, and told things how he saw them. He was fearless. He was comfortable with anyone. He could walk into a room full of construction workers, and leave them all feeling better for knowing him…. he could do the same in a room full of college professors.

I’ve missed my dad for probably the past ten or fifteen years… The time it’s been, since I moved to San Francisco, and would see him maybe once every year or two. His passing hasn’t really changed much for me. I still miss him, the same as I have these past ten or fifteen years. Oddly enough, though, dad’s passing has forced me to think about him more of late. I recall the good times we spent together, and I think about the little things I catch myself doing. I’ll spit out a phrase, or tell a joke, as if it were my own original thought. Then, I’ll realize it’s my father speaking.

I hope as I grow older I can continue to honor my father by carrying on the legacy of the good qualities he gave me. I’ll do my best.

Thanks for tuning in. Peace out from NYC!

Throughout the pregnancy it’s been in the back of our minds that something could go wrong at any time. And, although it’s still a very real possibility, I’m resting a little easier these days. This coming Monday we will be at 37 weeks, which means the Ginker is fully developed and is now just packing on some weight. If he came early now odds are that he would do fine.

Something happened to me about a week and an half ago that left me with a huge sense of relief. I was helping out at the restaurant (El Charro) and a family of regular customers came in. I had met the patriarch of the family about four years ago when he was a customer of my day job (Red Cloud Wireless). It then turned out that he and his family lived less than a mile from the restaurant and were semi-regular customers there as well. I started seeing him and his family at the restaurant fairly often. He and his wife had two daughters; one a toddler, about three at the time and the other a very tiny preemie baby. Fast forward to just before this past Thanksgiving. The family came in and as they were waiting for their table engaged me in small talk. They asked how Jani was doing and if I was excited and how far along we were, etc, etc… At one point the wife referenced the youngest daughter, a perfectly healthy little girl who is just starting to speak, and told me that she was born at just thirty weeks. A light went off in my mind. This perfect little girl was born after just thirty weeks gestation. We were a full month beyond that. For the first time since Jani peed on that stick and told me I was going to be a father I had a feeling of complete relief.

So, now we step up the preparation for our Ginker’s arrival. We’ve been shopping for cribs and getting the room ready. We’ve completed the childbirth and newborn care classes and have breast feeding tomorrow and postpartum on Monday. We’ve packed a bag for Jani and toured the hospital. I’ve even installed a car seat in the Charger and have even practiced strapping in a little one…

Notice the strong family resemblance.

Well, that’s it for now. Tune in again soon. I’m working on a recap of our experience fish sitting over Thanksgiving week. It was a week of drama, tragedy and redemption.

Cheers!

Papi

Let me know what you think.

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Last night Jani and I had dinner at her cousin’s house to celebrate the fourth birthday of our Godson, Colin. He was happy to see us when we first arrived and was rambling on in all directions, as a four-year-old tends to do. At one point he said, “uncle Jani, do you know how to wrestle?” To which Jani replied, “yes.” He then looked at me and said, “uncle Patc (pronounced Patsee), do you and uncle Jani wrestle good?” To which I replied, as I rubbed my wife’s baby-full belly, “we sure do c-man, we sure do.” We all laughed and laughed. Guess you had to be there.

Cheers!

Papi

I’m not keeping a physical list of my rational and irrational fears. It’s mostly all in my head, as it were. If I was keeping a list, however, I’d have a new one to throw on the pile. Today, Jani sent me a link to an article. The headline said: “New Mom Leaves N.D. Hospital with Wrong Baby.” Awesome! So, now I don’t just have to worry about the health and well being of my own child, I have to do the same for all the children being born in the same hospital at the same time. You know, in case we get the wrong one. Sure, there’s a remote chance we could get one who’s parents were both professional athletes, but that’s highly unlikely. No, I want my Ginker to be MY Ginker. That’s not hoping for too much, is it?

I had a thought, which I mentioned to Jani. Someone should make a product that lets you mark your baby as soon as soon as it comes out. Nothing crass, like a bar code, or some hot wax seal, or one of those ear tags they use on cows. I’m thinking maybe a vegetable dye, family crest sort of thing, right there on the forehead. Of course we probably won’t have to worry, as our baby will no doubt have the traditional family birthmark, 999. Jani didn’t find that funny either.

Cheers!

Papi

So, the story is over, right? Wrong. This past Monday Jani and I went to the mid-pregnancy class at Kaiser. We were about an hour into the class when we were broken into groups; men on one side of the room, women on the other. While in the groups we were asked to share our experiences with one another. There were a few specific things the facilitator wanted us to cover, which we did. Then we all just started chatting. I brought up our most recent experience with the fore mentioned Ms. Wolfish. At this point I hadn’t mentioned any names. One of the other fathers-to-be, a very nice Asian (yes, it’s important to the story) gentleman asked me the name of the offending nurse practitioner. I told him it was Ms. Wolfish. He nodded knowingly and said, “yeah, we had her too, but we changed.” My curiosity was immediately piqued. “How was that process,” I asked. He told me it was really easy. I then asked why they changed. He said, “my wife hated her. She said something racist to us… well, sort of racist.” I said, “really? If you don’t mind my asking, what did she say?” He said, “she told my wife not to eat any meat that wasn’t well done. Then she said, “well people like you don’t do that.”" I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. I told him, “that’s not “sort of racist” that’s very racist.”

Well, that’s the story thus far. We’ll be looking for a new nurse practitioner. Nothing personal Ms. Wolfish. It’s not you, it’s me.

Thanks for tuning in,

Papi

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