The day(s) that everything changed forever, part 2

Started on July 14, 2021

I figured I should start this post on the day before, because mythical wife’s hospital check-in time is at like 7:15 am, and even if we have to wait three hours again like we did last time, it stands to believe that the day that everything changed forever, part 2, will have culminated before lunchtime, and I won’t really have that much to have glossed over for an emotional post.

So unlike the first time, we are not going to be taken by surprise by a premature birth, quite the opposite, we’ve been ticking down the days with bated breath to a predetermined birthday that we’ve been watching coming for several weeks now.  Despite all the preparation and bracing, it’s still mind-blowing to wrap my brain around the thought that in less than twelve hours, mythical wife and I will be welcoming a new human being into the world.

I guess it doesn’t matter if you’re given a few hours to prepare for it, or 38 entire weeks, after experiencing both ends of the spectrum, I’m led to believe that it doesn’t matter at all, the feeling of overwhelming there is at the thought of bringing a new person into existence.

As detailed in my prior post, most of the day was spent mentally waxing poetic about how every single thing I did with my first daughter throughout the day was the last time I’d be doing it as a father of one, and the varying feelings of guilt at the thought that my attention will have to be divided between two instead of just her.  The other part of the day was spent preparing myself to be taking two weeks off of work, so that I can transition my new child into the world, and for mythical wife and I to try and figure out how to adapt to a life of two children and probably go through a wide gamut of emotions in the process.

I’m quite paranoid that the send later function in Outlook is going to bone me, and I’m going to look like an asshole caught red-handed sending scheduled emails for my spontaneous trip to the hospital, so that I can chalk it up as personal/sick days instead of burning up days out of my more-finite vacation bucket.  But they’ve already been queued and I have to have faith that they’ll send on time and nobody will be the wiser.

As it is a Wednesday, it means that mythical wife and I pick up Chick Fil-A and watch Handmaid’s Tale, but since the season is over, we’ve been watching Loki, and we both feel very fortunate that tonight was the season finale, since the reality is that who knows when we’ll actually get to watch television on a schedule anymore in the future now that we’re soon to have two children.

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2 Under 2: the Last Times (#051)

I’m sure this won’t be a shock to any of my zero readers, but as excited I am for the impending arrival of my second child, I’m also extremely emotional and often suppressing feelings of guilt towards my first, bringing in a second so soon, and while she’s still in a stage of her life where the world is her oyster and should really have the undivided attention that many children at her age really should be getting.

Everything I’m doing, I’m realizing is counting down to the last times in which I’ll be doing all sorts of mundane things – as a father of one.  The last time bathing my daughter, putting her down to bed.  The last day in which I’ll be logging her feed times and nap minutes.  Picking up her toys and resetting all of her play area books and blocks.  Washing and then preparing the next day’s bottles that are hers and hers alone.  The next time I go to bed, and awaken the next morning, I won’t even be there to wake her up, since mythical wife will be required to be at the hospital very early. 

I can’t guarantee I won’t be fighting a tidal wave of emotion before bedtime next.  Because once I’m a father of two, who knows how long or if things like these will ever get back to a similar point, or what’s really going to happen in the future.

Although I am supremely confident in mine, and mythical wife’s capacity to love our children, and that everything will be just fine in the end, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still harboring all these feelings in the days leading up to the big arrival.

A little over a year ago, #1 showed up at 34.5 weeks, definitely, unexpectedly early, and most certainly classifying as a premature arrival.  This caught me, mythical wife, and all concerned parties completely off-guard, and if not for our own preparations, would have been in a really tricky situation after it had happened.  Even still though, it did lead to some scrambling, and as much as we look at the 15 days of her in the NICU with some angst despite knowing it was the best place for her to strengthen and start her life, it did afford me some time to truly get the house ready, seeing as how she didn’t actually get to come home for over two weeks.

That’s hardly the case, this time.  #1 showed up unexpectedly early, but #2 couldn’t possibly have been more content to stay in the oven, leading mythical wife down a path of new pregnancy experiences like debilitating insomnia and the general discomfort for having a small watermelon inside of her.  She’s not on track to be full-term, she is very much full-term at the very instant I’m writing this line right now.

We passed the milestone of #1’s early arrival, and have been doing nothing but getting ready for #2.  Mythical wife has gotten her hair done in advance.  Which made me realize that I could go and get my haircut in advance, something I couldn’t really do last year because of the surprise arrival plus the start of the pandemic.  The second nursery is almost entirely complete.  My job has been kept abreast and is fully prepared for me to be out for a few weeks as I’m going to finally cash in some of my vacation time that I’ve been sitting on for this specific reason.

All things that were not the case the first time around.  And for all those reasons that frankly nobody could have any control over, I’m still feeling guilt, irrational as it might be, I can’t always help it.  #2 is almost certain to be bigger and stronger upon her arrival, having almost an entire month to keep cooking.  The NICU, god forbid, should be avoided this time around as a result, and she will probably get lots of things that my first couldn’t get, like getting to sleep with us in the hospital room, taking to the breast, and coming home pretty immediately; all things that #1 did not experience, even if she won’t know it, we do.

Eight, full months of knowing this day was coming, and all the preparations and readiness, and I’m still feeling increasing anxiety and unpreparedness as we get closer and closer.  Like I said, I have all the confidence in the world that everything’s going to be fine, but the whole point of all these dad brogs is to chronicle the shit that goes on through my head, as a father of one, and soon to be a father of two.

Black Widow: Just because it could be made, doesn’t mean it should be made

Let’s just get this out of the way: Black Widow is probably the worst film in the entire MCU.  Down there with the various Hulk films, but at least still better than other non-MCU turds like Ghost Rider and all attempts at The Fantastic Four.  But that’s not saying that much. 

The point is, Black Widow was not that great of a film, and probably should not have been made.  Its existence serves no benefit to the equity that the Marvel Cinematic Universe has built, and has in fact added unnecessary weight to the cash-printing spaceship the MCU franchise has been throughout the last decade, having produced and actually released such a turd.

Needless to say, before I proceed with this post, in the event that any of my zero readers have not been privy to the happenings of the MCU, I will put the rest of this behind the cut, because that’s just the kind of guy I am, act as if the whole world is reading, even if I know that nobody is.

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Presented without context

I am not above watching pirated content.  We’re still in a pandemic, no matter how many white people are running around without masks these days, so I am not about to start going to theaters willy-nilly to watch movies, even if it is another Fast & Furious installment.  Not to mention that I got a toddler with a second baby on the way within literal days at this point, so I don’t have the time or the disposable income to make some special occasion to go watch movies, so yes I am not above watching pirated content.

Anyway, this screen grab from F9 basically says everything that there is to say about where we are with the FF franchise.  The Chinese subtitles on it just adds to how hilarious everything is frankly, and justify why I’m glad that I didn’t actually spend any money to watch this.

As much as I love the series, both legitimately and ironically, F9 was pretty bad.  In both actually bad, as well as so bad, some parts were kind of okay, but I’m glad that I didn’t spend any money to see it, otherwise, that would’ve undoubtedly tipped the scales to being just plain bad.

It is and it isn’t, hard to believe that the series started out with a loosely organized crime racket, of hijacking semi-trucks for DVD players to re-sell on the black market, to where now we’ve got black guys in space in a homemade rocket ship made out of a Pontiac Fiero, but in spite of the stark difference, the giant NOS can is still intact.

I knew the second I saw this scene, that I had to screen cap it.  It’s almost like, social media banner worthy, if not for the fact that my current ones with my daughter(s) are neigh unmovable.

As bad as this film was, there were plenty of parts where I was basically doubled over in laughter at the absurdity of things.  And I feel like I might have missed something in the post-credits or something, because of all the family memes that have arose from this, I haven’t really been able to piece together the origins of it.

Anyway, because I don’t want to spend too many words or minutes glossing over a pretty weak edition to the FF franchise, I have to say the loss of Paul Walker is still felt to this very point, and it’s like the crew hasn’t figured out how to keep going effectively without him.  I get why they don’t want to re-cast the role, but in the inevitable 10th edition to the series, it’s going to be hard to try and cover another motion picture without the guy and expect viewers to assume he’s just babysitting and being late for family dinner yet again.

F9 clearly pulled punches and held something back, because they’re clearly still trying to figure out how to move on from Brian O’Connor, as well as keep some shit in the bag for the inevitable FFX, which is kind of great that they can be referred to like Final Fantasy games, because much like those, everything after 6 kind of went downhill anyway.

Doesn’t mean I won’t invest the time to see it when it comes out in the future though.

2 Under 2: Realization (#050)

Just the other day, I was having one of those parenting mornings where my child was very cranky and fussy, and nothing I could seemed to be capable of placating her frustration.  There was lots of crying and tantrums, and as mythical wife and I have coined the phrase, I was getting fried.  By the time noon rolled around, my patience was completely eroded and I couldn’t wait to put her down for her afternoon nap.

Once down, mythical wife I were chatting about the particularly challenging morning, but then she said to me that the number of days left of where it’s going to be just the two of us in the morning is ticking down to zero; once #2 gets here, which is literally any day now, then mornings like this, where it’s just #1 and myself together aren’t going to be happening with any frequency, regardless of if it’s she’s being an angel or a hellion.

That realization, hit me like a baseball bat.  She was right.  It really is a bittersweet realization that once again opens up the door of guilt towards my first child, because once #2 gets here, my attention will be divided at times, and I will no longer be capable of giving her the undivided attention that I feel that any child deserves from their parents.  Suddenly, I’m feeling like an asshole for getting fried at having my patience tested by what was probably more than likely the aggravation that comes with teething for her, which is something I should know a great deal of these days, but I still let it get under my skin and burn me out.

Once #2 arrives, not only will things be much more difficult across the board, but there will be plenty of times in which I will have to divert my attention to the much more critically demanding needs of a newborn baby versus the slightly less demanding in comparison to a toddler baby, and then I’m sure I’ll be pining for the simplicity of having to only care for a single child versus bouncing around between two.

The guilt is real, although I know it’s unnecessary since the love I have for one child does not mean it will be stretched out with the arrival of a second.  Everything will work out in the end, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve probably been taking my time with #1 for granted on some days like this one, and I know that I need to treasure what little solo time I have left with her before life as I know it changes forever, again.

2 Under 2: Inevitability (#049)

In preparation for the arrival of #2, I went ahead and put together the double stroller that we will obviously need.  As nice and fancy as it is, with tech that probably rivals the Mach I Iron Man suit, it’s about as bulky as the Mach I, and at 36 lbs. it’s not a weight that I can’t handle, but it is cumbersome given its dimensions, even when folded.

Needless to say, I’m looking at this folded stroller, and it definitely looks like it will take a solid 20% of the entire cargo area in my car.  By itself it’s obviously no big deal, but looking into the future, where there will be road trips, vacations or any sort of outing that will require the need for the stroller as well as some cargo space before/afterward, and I’m beginning to wonder if my car is big enough for my growing famiry.

Keep in mind, I switched to my current car in 2019 in preparation for the famiry that mythical wife and I were starting, and this was “the big car” that was meant for famiry utility and being a responsible adult.  I went from a compact hatchback to a crossover SUV, and barely two years of car payments into it, and I’m questioning myself on whether or not it was the right choice, because two kids showed up a little faster than anticipated, and suddenly all the space that I thought was adequate might not actually be.

Here’s the thing though: I have zero qualms with the notion of getting a minivan.  Mythical wife however, absolutely does not want a minivan, no matter how beneficial and logical they are.  To say she has a jihad against minivans would be an understatement; it’s almost as if minivans crashed into the Twin Towers on September 11th in her mind, they’re that horrendous of an idea to her.

It’s debatable how much of it is joking and how much is truth, but I like to throw hypothetical situations at her, like if we went out one night, and I drank too much, and she’d have to drive the minivan home, would she?  Absolutely fucking not; we can Uber home.  What if I needed a ride from the airport, and I have a ton of stuff, would she bring the minivan to pick me up?  No fucking way, we’d instead be those assholes trying to squeeze a ton of things into her compact car, while Atlanta rent-a-cops on power trips blow whistles at us for obstructing traffic.

However though, a minivan would undoubtedly put all spaces woes to rest in two seconds, and probably still give us enough room to haul the big dog with us if we ever wanted to go somewhere dog-friendly.  Not only could our gargantuan stroller fit inside of the cargo of a minivan, but some full-size luggage would probably be fine, and still have space to spare for the inevitability of buying shit or other things.

I don’t give a flying fuck of the optics of being a dad in a minivan.  I’m a fucking parent, and one with a brain that puts value in versatility, utility and functionality.  Plus the general safety and wellbeing of my famiry.  I’m too old to be self-conscious over the car that I drive, and if it’s imperative for me to have “a cool car,” I’ll figure out a way to get a side car so that I can make myself somehow more adequate to those that care.

Regardless, if the need for space and utility continues to grow, in spite of my wife’s jihad against them, I feel like there’s always going to be the possibility that a minivan, may become an inevitability.  Ain’t no skin off my back. 

What if… Tim Tebow, the professional wrestler?

The other day, my bros and I were bullshitting about professional wrestling as is often times the norm, and the thought crossed my mind that AEW is low-key owned by the Jacksonville Jaguars, since owner Tony Khan is the son of the Shahid Khan that owns the Jags. 

Recently, I saw some blurb about how despite having signed with the Jaguars, the attempting-to-return-to-football Tim Tebow is no guarantee to make the team, even though he’s still built like a tank and trying to come back as a tight end and not a quarterback, and then the wheels got turning in my brain to do so fantasy booking in the event that Tebow flames out of football again, but instead of trying to pursue professional baseball, chooses professional wrestling instead.  Especially since there’s already a convenient transition from the Jags to AEW, being under the same family umbrella and all.

After about five minutes of bullshit, I realized that this hypothetical bullshit would be better served as brog material and not a passing conversation in private company, because some of these ideas would be fucking gold in an ironic sense if they were to come to fruition, even though there can hardly be fewer things in the world nerdier than fantasy booking professional wrestling.

Anyway, Tim Tebow is cut from the Jags, not for anything performance-related so much as is it that the Jags are an NFL team and NFL teams are more afraid than Gabriel is in The Walking Dead of anything and don’t want Tebow’s faith to ever be mentioned in the same breath as them.  He’s in the locker room, silently crying, cleaning out his personal effects, and our character arc begins with Tim saving a cross that he hung, for last, staring at it wistfully, thinking to himself why the good lord has failed to give him the strength he needed to make it back to the NFL.

Tony Khan enters the locker room, and gives Tebow some fluff about how he performed great, and how his failure to make the team had nothing to do with his talent.  But seeing as how he wasn’t going to make the team, and to not let such physical gifts go to waste, he offers Tebow an opportunity to join All Elite Wrestling, so he could still potentially have a platform to spread the word.

“Professional wrestling?” thinks Tebow.  The fake sport with fake storylines, so much of which is debaucherous, scandalous, and frequently sacrilegious?  Khan assures Tebow that AEW is different than those whom might have put out such unsavory product, and points no further than AEW’s own TNT Champion, Miro, God’s Favorite Wrestler, as proof of AEW’s respect and commitment to Christianity.  Tebow is intrigued, and agrees to a developmental tier-1 deal.

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