You know those cute pictures you see on Facebook where a pregnant women takes pictures of her growing belly every week? I was just thinking the other day that no one seems to continue taking those belly pictures for the weeks after the baby was born. The shrinking belly is just as much as part of the whole experience as the growing belly, right?
In an effort to be cool and different, or maybe uncool and entertaining, here goes a picture gallery you probably won’t find anywhere on Facebook. It pretty much explains why people are still walking by me on the street telling me “Congratulations!!” when I don’t have any children with me.
I can only post these because this week I found out I am back to my pre-pregnancy weight. Yay! The last picture was taken a few days ago. Here goes…(gulp)
(L-R) Day 4, day 9, day 44.
We always come back to this, if for nothing else to make the name of our blog make sense. Let’s look at the weekend and see how our coolness is hanging in there.
FRIDAY
Watched our Netflix Movie of the Week, Up. Seeing a movie within 5 years of its release is worth something for us [+2 cool points]. Being fairly new to Netflix, we’re still catching up on popular culture. Cool Mum liked Julie and Julia, so for our next movie, I ordered what I hope will be a light-hearted family comedy in the same vein, focusing on the art of American baking, American Pie. Do you think we’ll like it?
It’s starting to sink in a little bit. Cool Baby the Second is on his way. Cool Mum, Cool Baby, and I share a small bedroom with approx five square feet of walking space (sadly, this is no exaggeration). We have dear roommates who are willing to forge ahead with a toddler and a newborn. Much like LOST and its closing chapters (did you catch how I used LOST to cryptically announce Cool Mum’s pregnancy?), we are hurtling toward the end of an era, and we have no idea what it’s going to look like.
This weekend, my friend told me that we have “a high tolerance for pain,” referring to how much we were willing to put up with to live here. The Cool Studio, the Cool One-Bedroom on the fifth floor of a walk-up building, the super-compressed sleeping situation we’re in now.
Why do we do this to ourselves? It would be SO easy to move to a different neighborhood, probably outside of Manhattan, and have copious amounts of personal space. That’s the American Dream, isn’t it? The drive to gather possessions and space that are all your own. And it sounds really good sometimes, like when I’m walking in the rain to get groceries or when I hear CB stirring at 4:30am and I’m praying to God that he falls back asleep (he rarely does).
When I think about it a little, I guess we’re doing it all for story. I love good stories; my complaints with movies that I don’t like are mostly with the stories, like how pedantic or predictable they are. As I typed that, I realized that is a heavy component of this whole NYC thing for me: I don’t want my life to be like the movies that I’ve complained about. I want humor and (limited) surprises and action (minus the explosions) and personal interactions that press up against your heart, all wrapped in a tale that thrills and moves and satisfies.
This might be a little related to Donald Miller’s book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years where he relates his life to a movie. I’m not sure; I haven’t read it. I’m just pointing out that I’m not just passing along any insights that he may have come up with while looking at his life through a cinematic lens.
We’re not sure what brings you here (though we’ll be asking shortly), but we thank you for sticking with us as we sort out our blog and Twitter and lives.
Cool Mum was diagnosed with gestational diabetes last week, which is a major drag. She’s a healthy eater, but from what we’ve been seeing, the cause of GeBetes (as the cool kids call it) is basically unknown. The list of what she can’t eat includes seemingly innocuous foods like peas, carrots, and avocados (a fave of CM’s). So, she’s been researching various diets for a good guide of what she should and shouldn’t eat.
(completely made-up story for humorous effect ahead)
I’ve tried various diets in the past with horrible results, basically because I wasn’t paying close enough attention when people were telling me about them. I wish I got the names right.
They said Daniel Fast - eat fruits and vegetables, excluding meat
I heard Daniels Feast – adhere to the selective dietary standards of country music legend Charlie Daniels
They said Atkins Diet – restrict the consumption of carbohydrates like refined sugar, milk, white rice, or white flour
I heard Fatkids Diet – promote the consumption of the fundamental ABCs (Almond Joy, Baby Ruth, Choco Taco)
They said Gluten-Free – eliminate gluten-containing cereals like wheat, barley, and rye
I heard Gluten Freak – dominate one’s diet with super-glutenized dishes like barley-rolled whole wheat pancakes, beer-battered fried chaff, and barley and wheat on rye.
(end completely made-up story)
What kind of experiences have you had with themed diets?
Lately, I’ve been feeling so unfunny that it’s laughable. It’s a result of this terrible habit that I have of comparison. Since I’m working on a book about our New York adventure, I started to read up on the publishing industry and see what books line up with what we’re trying to do. During that research, I stumbled across comedic memoirs that garnered glowing reviews that exclaimed
“…in hilarious fashion…”
“…a hysterical ride…”
“…this is what it would be like if God told jokes…”
I was intimidated and disheartened. There’s no way that I can compete that kind of talent. I might get a “You’re funny” once a week and most times it’s actually directed toward a taller, funnier guy standing behind me.
So, after a day of moping, God decided to snap me out of it. I was riding the elevator down with my co-worker, who has a bum knee. The elevator stopped and a girl got on. I mentioned to my co-worker that she should rent a wheelchair for an upcoming trip to Washington, DC. She said that she had a cane. After a beat, I replied, “Does it have an eight-ball on top of it?”
She laughed, and the new girl held in a guffaw and compressed it into a very amused smile. I still got it.
I left the building with a renewed confidence. I don’t have to compare and compete. There are plenty of laughs to go around. As long as I am true to the mind and voice that God gave me, as well as keep dreaming up pimp-related jokes, then I’ll be alright.
