Chunks, Waffles, and other bits

So Amy's cookie-tossing count is now at one. (Aren't you thrilled I led with that, babe? Hey, at least it's over faster now, right?) I feel horrid because I wasn't even home with her when it happened - epic fail in the supportive husband column - but I'm sure at least one or two other opportunities to make up for it will come along. Hopefully not, but there you go.

I was out beating myself through an exercise routine - few miles on the bike. Also cut way back on my food intake, as well. It's very important to me that I be in proper shape when The Unknown One (I'm trying out nicknames here, bear with me) joins the world. There's the obvious "I want to live a long time and enjoy parenting/grandparenting" and being there for my wife, but honestly, there's a simpler motivation, too - I don't want my kid being the one other kids can crack on for having a fat dad. My own personal vanity and motivation was never quite enough to get me off my proverbial hind end, but I'm not taking my kid down with me, as it were. Sixty pounds in eight months shouldn't be too bad - and I figure if I get rabid enough about it, it ought to keep the ol' wife healthy as well.

So there you go, expectant-dad-types, sage advice: when the wife gets pregger, it's a great time to start exercising yourself: communal activity, keeps their weight gain reasonable, and you'll be glad you were healthier when you're running around with two hours of sleep anyhow, right?

Other subjects.

My mother. Hell, I don't know, at some point maybe I'll even tell her about this blog and let her read it, or maybe not. It's tough to know what to think about her. On one hand, I've got a laundry list of reasons to be very, very angry with her - there isn't a headshrink or childcare specialist under the sun that wouldn't shriek in utter horror and proclaim "Abuse" at any of a hundred stories I could tell. On the other, I know she did what she believed to be in her/my best interest, most of the time. Whether that's an excuse, I dunno. On one hand, I've got a lot of trouble dealing with my temper and a busted nose I can thank her for. On the other, I've got a determination and an ability to deal with rude/hostile actions calmly (hey, when you deal with it for eighteen years, who the hell cares what Johnny in class has got to say?) that is probably within the top 10% of the population.

Those are the thoughts that swirl around in my head all the time. Now I've got new ones to add to the mix - the woman really does know a lot about kids, loves babies, and can be pretty supportive. I've also got the memories of THIS kid's childhood to counter that with, and the "do I want my child exposed to that." Part of me goes, "There's no way she'd do something bad to her grandchild." But of course, we all have the demon that says, "Wanna bet? Wanna bet....your kid's welfare on it?"

Not so much.

(And you wonder where I get my own nervousness about parenting from, right? Heh.)

Been getting back in touch with a lot of the old high school friends lately. That's pretty keen. Even back in touch with the Snooze and Kacy, two of my best chums in the whole world, back in the day. That's also pretty keen. They all have kids - I seem to be behind the power curve here - but I guess I'll be catching up soon.

Eh. That's more than enough for 6:30 in the morning. Does anyone actually enjoy reading this voyeuristic, self-aggrandizing, what-goes-through-my-head-hits-the-page stuff? It helps me think at times, I guess.

Buncha weirdos.