A Tip of the Hat to Some Wonderful People

A Few More Reasons Moonshot Rocks

I have never been pregnant…nor do I have any likelihood of being so in the future since genetics sort of forbids it. So I can’t really judge any woman’s handling of her pregnancy. Even so, I’d like to go on record as saying that I think my wife is tackling the whole baby-growing thing spectacularly. Her back hurts and her feet are swollen. She is tired all the time but can’t get a good night’s sleep because no position feels good. She has to pee constantly and Pumkin seems to be growing into some sort of boxer...currently working on mastering the Bruce Lee one-inch-punch agasint Moonshot's ribs. She is clumsy and off balance and her fingers are awkward on the piano now. She cringes as her pregnant weight increases and has recently discovered her first stretch marks.

I’m not sure how I’d handle all these things, but Moonshot just keeps on truckin’. Oh, she complains to me…but complaint is an art form in the Gren house, so I’d never suggest that she hold back any verbal objections she may have. But generally, she is upbeat and laughs good naturedly at herself rather than pitying her condition. She continues to tackle jobs that she wants to get done. She mows the yard and makes the gardens beautiful even though I continually remind her that I will handle it. She went out to one of those pick your own strawberry farms last week and brought home a huge bundle of strawberry goodness. Basically, she just keeps on doing the things she enjoys doing…she just takes more breaks. And I guess I had sort of taken that for granted. But the truth is that when she’s doing these things, people look at her in awe. Women comment that THEY wouldn’t be doing such-and-such if they were pregnant. Neighbors give me dirty looks when I come home to a newly mowed yard. Basically, society seems to be amazed at how my wife is tackling her pregnancy. And realizing this has made me realize that perhaps I should be a bit more amazed myself.

So, Moonshot is awesome. Just thought you all should know.

Related Sentiments about Duke and Pinky

There are all sorts of reasons that Duke and Pinky are wonderful friends. However, their awesomeness has been popping into my head more frequently of late since I am bombarded with their generosity each time I walk through Pumkin’s future bedroom. The space is now filled with items from Duke and Pinky’s basement that their children are no longer using. They handed over a Johnnie-Jump-Up, a motorized swing, a vibrating kid hammock that zips up to protect against wind and sun and bugs. Furthermore, we’re now the keepers of the very baby basinet that Duke and his younger brother slept when they were Pumkin-sized. This will allow Pumkin to sleep upstairs with us until s/he is able to sleep through the night. And Duke is cleaning up a baby bathtub that fits in the kitchen sink for us too. So, every time we walk through that room, Moonshot and I both have to stop and take in the sudden “babiness” of the room. And the vast majority of the baby stuff in there came from Pinky and Duke. So, thanks.

And if that weren’t enough reason to sing their praise across the blogosphere, they also let us use their children as test subjects. (See below)

Oh, and Happy Birthday Pinky! It’s today…Sunday for those of you who’d like to send a birthday message. She’s just a few days older than me…but somehow those few days that keep me 29 while her odometer flips to 30 make me feel better. Thanks for takin’ the lead on this, Pinky.

Aunt Gimpy’s Heart

I’m in a pretty upbeat mood today. This is in no small part due to my Aunt Gimpy’s recovering health. A little background:

My Aunt Gimpy, MoMa’s younger sister, is the type of woman who has no business walking around and laughing as much as she does. Several of her vertebrae have been rebuilt and fused so that that she’s in constant pain. She lives off doughnuts and Diet Coke…with the occasional infusion of fast food when she needs a “meal”. She smokes like a chimney, watches vast quantities of television, and only sleeps a couple hours a night in a TV-facing recliner. Her continued jovial nature runs contrary to everything I think I know about health and nutrition.

Recently however, her body has been less cooperative. She suffered what the specialists think was a heart attack, has fluid on her lung and has what is being described as a leaky valve. Despite the underlying heart problems, her lungs have been the major hurdle. They can’t work on the valve until they get rid of the fluid and she’s been on a respirator for the last two days. The respirator means she can’t talk and that they have to keep her sedated so she doesn’t instinctively fight the tube. However, this morning, I got word that the fluid had drained sufficiently that she could breathe on her own. There are still more hurdles to face, but forward progress feels wonderful. She’s in good spirits and hopefully will be back to her recliner in no time.

I just wanted to take a few minutes to let my aunt and the rest of my family over in Kansas City know that I was thinking of them. I love you all.

Best Dog in the World…Period

One final tip of the hat to my sweet little pouch, Arlo. Moonshot and I have been planning for how to introduce Arlo to Pumkin once Pumkin takes up residence outside Moonshot’s expanding belly. We’re not worried, exactly. But Arlo’s never really been around a baby before. Through Moonshot’s piano lessons, he’s gotten used to children…but not babies. Pinky and Duke’s two children have been our obvious test platform, but they have been waiting to open an invitation to Arlo until their youngest was mobile enough and strong enough to hold his own against a small dog.

Well, the kid has been crawling deftly for a few weeks and is just about to start walking, but we’ve held off on pressuring them into allowing Arlo to come over. Seemed more polite to wait for them to bring it up. Last night, however, we were scheduled to go visit them and a large storm was rolling toward St Louis. Arlo, like most dogs, hates storms. He tries to be brave but ends up trembling, huddled against me. The idea of leaving him alone to face the thunder didn’t sit well with Moonshot and me, so we finally threw politeness out the window and asked if Arlo was welcomed back at the Dukedom. Pinky seemed more than happy to have him so we loaded up our furry little friend and trucked on out to O’Fallon.

Upon arrival, Arlo charged into the house and made his speedy rounds. The children squealed in delight and gave chase. But Arlo seemed far more interested in the scent of the resident cats than in the infant or the toddler. Only when he had finished his inspection of the main floor did he stop to pay any attention to the high-pitched pip-squeaks in continual pursuit. And even then, he was curious but not overly concerned. He gave the crawling child a few sweet kisses and generally steered clear of the berserk toddler who had been overly stimulated by a doggie in his living room. But at no time did Arlo appear uncomfortable, aggressive, or freaked out in any way. And at the end of the evening, Duke told Arlo he was welcome to come back any time. The experiment was a glowing success.

We hadn’t really expected anything less from our friend, but it was wonderful to be reminded the extent to which we hit the doggie jackpot when we adopted Arlo. Other than a possible and understandable jealousy issue, I’m now more convince than ever that he’ll make a wonderful big-brother.