"Apparently not," Sarah said, and ripped it off...
" />"Apparently not," Sarah said, and ripped it off...
" />"Apparently not," Sarah said, and ripped it off...
" />
While I sat in the hallway, locked away from the only person on earth I wanted to be with, my wife was apparently giving them hell in triage.
They took her blood pressure, which was fine, but when a resident came in ten minutes later and put the blood pressure cuff on, Sarah asked if it was necessary.
“Well, uh … ”
“Apparently not,” Sarah said, and ripped it off…
Sarah hijacked this entry, which is fine with me. After all, it’s her uterus; maybe it should be her words, too.
At some point after Jeff turned off Napoleon Dynamite—which I never really wanted to watch—I went back to bed and fell asleep. When I woke up around 1 a.m., Jeff was snoring in our bed, his dad was snoring in the guest room, and his mom was snoring on the basement couch because she was sick and didn’t want to keep Jeff’s dad awake. I couldn’t go anywhere. I was still having these terrible constipation pains, so I took a bunch of magazines and pillows into the bathroom and put on some music…
Lately, I’ve been thinking about joining a Polar Bear Club—you know, those maniacs who load up on Bloody Marys, strip down to nothing at the North Avenue beach, and hop into the freezing lake for charity. Then I heard about Sean Cooper.
After waiting in our basement for two weeks, my parents leave tomorrow. They will miss the delivery, assuming it ever happens. This bums me out, and I know they’re frustrated that their whole visit was for naught, though they’re far too diplomatic to say so. It was never clear to me what exactly their role would be during the delivery, though my wife continues to maintain—even after spending 11 days with them—that she wanted them in the room when she delivered. I just don’t see it…
When Hillary Clinton was growing up in Park Ridge, the town—like most of suburban Chicago—was emphatically Republican. Her youthful slide from right to left previewed by three decades
a similar, remarkable shift among Illinois voters.
Still nothing. Now we’re just pissed.
My parents leave in two days.
In our Bradley class, which seems like a distant memory now, Denyse encouraged us to write up a “birth plan.” I didn’t get the concept at the time, figuring the plan was: Give birth; go home. How could we possibly develop a plan for the most complex, unpredictable moment of our lives, when the experts should be calling the shots? It seemed ridiculous…
We’re not sure why, but Leap Year intrigues us so.
Well, mostly it’s the fact that all of the babies born today won’t get to celebrate their actual birthdays again until 2012. We at Snap wonder if there are any parents out there who deny their children birthday gifts and parties on this technicality. That’s what we’d do if we had children, leaving them to seek consolation from…
The late Mayor Daley’s donated documents are still nowhere in sight at UIC.
The Supreme Court may shoot a hole in Chicago’s gun ban
Just got off the phone with Sarah. Very excited. Still no baby, but here’s a transcript of the call—which I pray no one overheard:
Me: Hello?
Sarah: You sitting down?
Me: Yeah. What’s up?
Sarah: I passed my mucus plug.
Me: (excited) Really? Your mucus plug? What did it feel like?
Sarah: I didn’t notice. I went to sit on the pot, and…
