We had just gotten back from another prenatal class where we learned about all the things we’ll need to have ready when the baby arrives. And it finally hit me. We could easily sink 10 grand into all of the cots, nests, baskets, blankets, car seats, clothes and electronic gadgets and gizmos.
There are items to swaddle, harness and cradle the baby in virtually any condition from naptime to nuclear winter. There are trendy brands, mid-range brands and inexpensive ones.
We just got back from the 13th week scan. On the monitor the baby was flipping and spinning and doing acrobatic things I was surprised by. My wife routinely trips walking down pretty straightforward sidewalks and I have about as much grace as a bull. So I hadn’t been ready for the stealthy movements my tiny offspring would be capable of.
Lots of people watched it and admired Doogie, which was sort of the point of the show. And Doogie was cool—don’t get me wrong. He had a stethoscope, and could perform surgeries. He could speak intelligently to adults and treat leukemia all before he could legally drive a car. He was impressive. And when it came time to take the SATS I’m sure I even envied him more than a little bit.
Why is it that whenever I’ve just taken a bite of an apple I have a sudden urge to projectile sneeze? If most sneezes are about a factor three or four, these apple sneezes are in several classes of sneeze more powerful than that—a factor seven, at a minimum. It may be that I’m allergic to apples. They are, after all, healthy, and it hasn’t been too long since I’ve been swallowing cheeseburgers and French fries on a regular basis.
On our Second full day in Tunisia we went to the city of Sousse to see the 8th century medina, (the indoor marketplace) where Tunisians haggle for everything from fish to spices to housewares.
It is a busy and colorful place where merchants sell everything from live snails to pots and earthenware, silks, candies, and dried scorpions of various sizes encased in glass boxes. I will admit to picking one up and thinking it was pretty cool. Then I remembered that I’m not eleven, and what would I do with a dried insect in a box.
We’re all familiar with the scene: a ‘spiritual’ teacher wearing a black turtleneck, and a discreet lapel mic walks onto a well-lit stage in an auditorium full of pre-converted fans who’ve already purchased his seventh book, titled something like, What if God were a Blade of Grass?
He eases into an unchallenging, paternal tone that will carry him from his opening remarks all the way to the book signing at the end of the hour and half presentation. After the signing, in a private breakout room, some who have paid a little extra will be able to have a boxed lunch of tuna and radish sandwiches and speak with him one on one.