A Word from the Cat

Huck's Log 12/25/10

I do not like this new thing.


I liked how it used to be.

I would sometimes have to meow for food in the morning, and sometimes they were slow to respond, but in general I was completely doted upon. They would hold me, and pet me, and meow and purr right back at me. When I'd meow at the door they'd let me in or out, depending on which side of the door I was on. Outside, I could go explore, chase moths, kill mice, stalk the neighbor lady who is scared of me... Inside, I could climb up on Mom's huge round belly and fall half-asleep there, purring in her ear.

Some of that stuff still happens, I guess. But ever since this new little thing arrived, it doesn't feel the same.


I've taken to napping in the bottom of the closet.

The new thing sleeps in their bed, where I used to.

Mom doesn't have a belly for me to lie on anymore, and what lap she does have is usually occupied by the new thing.


They try to call me over, and pet and cuddle me, but I am showing them that they can't have their cake and eat it too. When they click and call me over, I usually just look at them disdainfully and continue walking. Only once in awhile do I go over, and then I only allow just the shortest of caresses.

This morning, I jumped up on the bed on one side of Mom as she was typing on the computer. The new thing was on her other side. It was sleeping, I guess. From what I can tell, it only has two states of being: asleep and noisy. It's almost as big as I am, but doesn't move in any logical way. It makes sounds I don't understand. And it only has fur on the top of its head. It has no teeth or claws. It would make a poor hunter, but I'm still not going to go near it. It must be very strong in some secret way, to have this strange power over my parents.


I'm going to go eat the roof off the gingerbread house.

Being a dad is just like being a kid...

Being a dad is just like being a kid. No, for real! I mean, look. So, for one, as a dad, you get to talk a LOT about poop! (Just like being a kid.) Being a dad, you're allowed to ask lots of questions again and everyone will either answer them, or at least give you patient, patronizing answers. Being a dad, everything looks new again (suddenly a house is no longer a house, it is a maze of sharp corners; fabrics are no longer just fabrics, but they are tools for a) wrapping, b) wiping, or c) padding; the sun is no longer just the sun, but it is a benevolent downpour of nourishing vitamins and warmth; the tiny, old, senile lady across the street is no longer just the tiny, old, senile lady across the street, but a short, smoochy-faced, grandmother sort of figure who pads around the neighbordhood in adorable red slippers; boobs are no longer just boobs...well, alright, they're still boobs, but boy do they get BIG and find themselves hanging out in public a whole lot more). Being a dad, it's like you're everyone's center of the universe again (time to ask for gifts!). Being a dad, it's common to find yourself sneaking clandestine, forbidden snacks or bites from other people's plates. Being a dad, it is encouraged to speak in a combination of gibberish, babble, and silly voices. Being a dad, it is 150% permissible to give ridiculous names to mundane, ordinary, and drab objects and events (like poopy poopsters, sucky, smushy face, etc.). Being a dad, all problems can be answered with one simple word: food. Being a dad, you find yourself sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night and into bed in the middle of the day. Being a dad, sometimes you get poop or pee ALL over you, your clothes, the changing table, other people's clothes, the floor...and a little tiny wet wipe becomes your best friend. Being a dad, nothing else in the whole entire world matters except the immediate sphere of the world around you. Being a dad, you cry a lot AND smile a lot. Being a dad, well...being a dad is pretty cool.

Aeli Abra Craven-Pasternak!

Dear world,

Carrie and I would like to introduce you to Aeli (pronounced A-lee) Abra (pronounced like the Spanish word for open) Craven-Pasternak.



Our little male munchkin was finally born at 1:32 this morning (December 18) after a really grueling day and a half of labor. He's 7 pounds, 2 ounces and currently 3 meals and 2 poops into life.

Aeli and Mom are both happy and healthy (and hungry and sleepy) and we're comfortably holed up here in our cozy home with the amazing help of Grandma Kelly and Grandpa Mike (Carrie's parents, who have been doing a phenomenal job taking care of all of us).

His first few photos are attached. Last night was pretty special. It went a little bit like this:

Thu 9:30 PM: Momma Bear, Grandma, Grandpa, & I went for an evening time walk when Momma Bear felt her first few contractions that felt different.

Fri 1:30 AM: Momma Bear identifies a pattern and we call the Midwife to tell her that early labor has begun.

Fri AM and early PM: Momma Bear, Poppa Bear, Grandma, and Grandpa try to ride out the first 14 hours of contractions quietly and calmly. Grandpa and Poppa Bear set up the tub.

Fri 3:30 PM: Midwives arrive, contractions are picking up.

Fri 5:30 PM - Sat 12:30 AM: Transition stage of labor. INTENSE. In the text books this is cited as "the most intense but the shortest part of labor for most women. Usually lasts from 30 - 90 minutes." Poor Momma Bear rode out the crazy intense contractions throughout the house, forever earning the distinguished title "Best Ever Improvisational Coping Strategies" in the category of laboring mothers.

Sat 12:30 AM: The pushing starts. Aeli takes a full hour to push out, but finally...

Sat 1:32 AM: Aeli Abra Craven-Pasternak emerges into the world and into his Momma Bear's arms. (This was really special.)

Sat 3:30 AM: Aeli "latches on" for his first meal. Momma Bear and Baby Bear find themselves expeditiously asleep. (Call it roughly at 3:50).

Sat 5:45 AM: Grandma, Grandpa, and the Midwives are still up and about, cleaning the house and checking on Baby and Momma Bear when Aeli wakes up with his first wet diapper! (Welcome to the world of using your urinary tract). With a quick change of the diaper, baby's all ready for bed again.

Sat 8:30 AM: Momma Bear and Poppa Bear wake up quietly for our first quiet moment with a quiet house and a sleepy baby and some beautiful morning light. (This was amazing.)

Sat 11:30 AM: Aeli wakes up, ready for his 2nd meal ever, after which, Poppa Bear is carrying him around when the first ominous poop bubbles squirt out. Baby's first poop! Good job little guy. Bowels functioning...check!

The rest of today has been pretty relaxing in bed. Momma and Aeli have barely left the bed and are happily chest-to-chest right now. Grandma Kelly and Grandpa Mike have been all stars, cleaning, house-repairing, cooking, and parent coaching all day. Poppa bear has no clue what he's done with today. Except for cry. A lot. And smile. (A lot).

Life is good. Scratch good. Life is amazing. And Aeli and his momma are beautiful!

Thanks to everyone for your constant love and family. This boy is blessed!
-- stefin & carrie

39.5

Now every pain, every Braxton-Hicks contraction, every ligament-stretch has me thinking:
Is this it? Is this it?
If you google "39 and a half weeks pregnant" you get links to about a million message boards of women asking versions of the same question. Like a little kid on their way to a big ski trip or something: "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"

I'm trying to finish grading a mountain of essays that I had hoped to have done by Friday, but a combination of exhaustion and regular old life has foiled that plan. I still have a significant set of things to finish up for my long-term sub (who starts Monday), and I will be receiving another stack of essays Friday- thanks to the district-mandated Interval Tests. (I'm going to start scoring them, then pass them onto my sub, who happens to be a friend who starred in the burlesque show with S and me.)

Speaking of that, try that change on for size! Last year at this time, I was performing in a burlesque show. December 12th was our closing night.
Now, I am sitting at home with this evil-looking cat (who, by the way, has taken to napping on the changing table and in the crib.)

What a difference a year makes, eh? I bet next year I'll be saying the same thing!

Baby has the hiccups now. Lower now than a few days ago, and more to the right. It's getting ready! So are we. Trying to stock up on StefinandCarrie alone time, since we know that soon will become sparse. It is hard with both of us working so full time, but it is obviously extremely important. We skipped birthing class tonight in favor of resting in our cozy home... doing some grading and stretching and cuddling it up a bit before I crash early and Stefin forces himself to keep working after I've fallen asleep.

It's basically like Entourage.

Psych! (Sike?)

This is how it looked outside this morning. I'd like to remind you that it's December. We bought two pints of local strawberries. Strawberries! Are growing! In December!
These cabbages were bigger than my belly. I am not exaggerating.
Homemade hot-chocolate. To force it to feel like the holidays.

Baby teased us on Thursday, when a pattern of small contractions and strong kicking-and-stretching continued all day at school. Stefin got wide-eyed and I a bit teary when I told him "I don't know, maybe..." while swooping him from his classroom. Called Emmy, our midwife, with whom we already had an appointment, but by the time we met at 5, contractions had stopped and there wasn't any notable amount of dilation. Like Emmy said, there's no reason we should be trying to get this baby out early; it's not excessively large, and there are no other concerns, so really we should just be relaxing while it continues to cook and layer up with useful body fat that will help keep it warm here on the outside. Still, I can't say I wasn't disappointed.

We have a golden present underneath our little Christmas tree (in a pot, adorned with Home-Depot-installed glitter), and Stefin was exasperated by the waiting. "Really? We have to look at that for 25 days before we can open it?" How about nine months of anticipation? (I guess we didn't officially know for almost 2, but still... seven months is a lot of waiting.)

It's very strange, "humbling," is the word Stefin has been using lately, to be at this point. We know it's going to come, but we don't know exactly when. There's going to be this second that labor is going to start, and then that day is going to be exhausting and intense. And then we are going to be parents. Forever.

The due-date is one week from tomorrow. The average first pregnancy lasts 41.5 weeks though, and both S and I were 2 weeks late. Although I would be delighted by a punctual baby, I'm going to do my best not to put all my cards on the 12th. I also would love if Baby decided to come while my mom was here... but it would be great if it could come right at the beginning of her visit. The more particulars I think about, however, the more sure I am that I'm jinxing it and the only thing that is certain is that it won't be like I expect.

(I've had a couple of uterine pains while writing this post, but since they've started happening so often in the past weeks, and since Thursday's false alarm, I have no confidence in assigning any meaning to them.)

This part is like circling up in the plane that time, round and round and round again, knowing that it will be fun, and it is kind of crazy, but it's too late now: you are going to jump out of it.

((((((((anticipation))))))))))