D-Day, Pt. II: Checking Out of the Priciest Hotel We've Ever Stayed At

The first couple days after having a baby is one, humongous endurance test - a gauntlet of sleep deprivation and psychological torture.


Sound dramatic?  Shut up.  Hear me out.


The joy and excitement of having a newborn baby on your hands is neutralized almost immediately by the horrifying reality that you have this 6 lb, porcelain-fragile, meat sack that you have to somehow keep alive for the next eighteen years (if the economy doesn't improve in that amount of time, it might be more like twenty six years).

Anyway, we checked out of the hospital yesterday afternoon after suffering through a long, uneventful lounge-session in our post-delivery room.  While hanging out in the posh Dr. Phillip's Baby Place was cool and everything, we were really wanting to get home and relax in our own surroundings.  Nothing against hospital food or twenty minute naps or anything, but settling in at home sounded way sweeter.

Now, before we could go anywhere, the various doctors and nurses had to run a series of tests on the kid.  No surprise there.  Everything came back fine - Abby's got good response time, hearing, reflexes, color, weight (although she's pretty skinny), and vitals.  Her Jaundice level was questionable, but not alarmlingly so.  All in all, everything was good, so the pediatrician was cool with us peacing out a day early and leaving after one day in the hospital.

Anyway, in the afternoon, Adam and Lindsey brought the Cannonball over and she got to meet her little sister.  She didn't have a toddler freak out on her or anything, but she was a little weirded out.  I'm sure this marks the beginning of a real, fun period of adjustment for everybody involved.  Can't wait.

Not sure if you guys realize this or not, but hospitals are the most expensive hotel you will ever stay at.  I think you can rent Mick Jagger or Brad Pitt's private, beach bungalow at a cheaper, daily rate.  For the amount that we're sure to end up paying for our 24-hour stay at Winter Park Memorial Hospital, I'm pretty sure Mick or Brad would be willing to personally wait on you as a butler during your stay in their house.

The Houghs aren't a big fan of bills, so we weren't about to pay for two nights at the hospital.  As good as the food is.  No thanks.

So, after sitting around the majority of the morning and afternoon waiting on this doc and that doc, we were finally able to leave the hospital in the early evening.  After Kris gave me wrong directions home, which resulted in me taking a victory lap around the greater Orlando area by traversing across four, major interstates only to return to my previous location (some 45 minutes later), we finally arrived home as one, collective family unit.

Now begins a full week of sitting around the house, pretty much doing nothing.  While Kris begins nursing, pumping, and otherwise devoting most of her attention and time to boob management, yours truly gets to take care of the house, the Cannonball, and everything else not directly associated with the newborn.  Throw in grad school homework, and you got the makings of one, awesome week off of work.

Booya.


More pics and updates to come, folks - stay tuned.

- Brian

'The Clock Ticketh,' or 'Wuddabout Dad?'

My kid's Due Date is starting to seem like some sort of fanciful mirage. And its starting to seriously piss me off.

The ol' day-to-day in La Casa de Hougho seems to be grinding down to a point where, if it were my car, I'd take it in to get something fixed muy pronto-like. Kris is getting worn out earlier and more frequently (she's about 8 months along now, so that shouldn't come to too much of a surprise, I guess), and that means that this guy's getting more stressed out because he's picking up more of the slack due to her inability to take care of as much around the house.

Before I have every, last female across cyberspace rise up to smite me, allow me to continue.

Yes, I totally realize pregnancies are difficult things for women to endure, and I'm not discounting that in the slightest. Nobody's stupid, here - we all know she's got it way worse off than I do. That's a no-brainer, folks. All I'm saying is that this isn't necessarily a stroll through the ol' park for yours truly, either. Dad's suffer through pregnancies - hate to break it to you, ladies, but its true - and I think its high time that women learn to appreciate this. With grad school, work, my writing program, and a toddler at home, I have next to zero decompress time for myself, with day after day of minimal decompress time adding up continuously over a prolonged increment of time, it begins to take a toll on one's stress level and sanity.

My gray hairs have multiplied this year ten-fold - I'm not even kidding! - and I attribute this more to the stressful act of balancing work, school, writing, and parenthood more than I do the fact that I'm currently racing down the final stretch of my 20's and approaching the dreaded 30.

F*** 30.

- Brian

Four Twenty: A Smoke-Free Celebration

Hallmark achievements abound when you have kids, guys. Baby's first poop, baby's first solids, baby's first steps, baby's first tooth, etc. etc. etc.

Lots of excuses to blabber to family and friends and celebrate mediocrity in all its 'blah'-ness.

Well, tonight's different. Tonight is a reason for serious 'what the hell, you wouldn't believe what my kid just did!'-ishness.

Tonight, Alayna muttered 'awesome.'

And dad nearly crapped his pants.

Next up, teaching her supplemental vocabulary that she can utilize in her day-to-day activities (both at home or school). These include, but are not limited to, other catchphrases made popular by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (tubular, radical, gnarly, bodacious, and - for the advanced beginner - COWABUNGA!!).

(Its hard following up that one, so I'll close now).

- Brian

'Gertrude,' or 'Why Picking Out Baby Names is Arguably the Crappiest Undertaking in the World'

I'm ready to off myself, folks. For real.

I've always been an indecisive person. If not properly motivated (or threatened) by the spouse, I'll spend hours in a store trying to choose between two nearly-identical books, video games, shirts, or what have you. This drives the ol' ball n' chain bonkers, but she's gotten used to it over the years (I attribute this indecision to the Hough OCD).

Now, accordingly, when it comes to 'big ticket items,' such as babies, the difficulty in selection becomes even greater. Naming the Cannonball was a feat unto itself, and it took us taking a mass-text poll directly before, during, and immediately after labor before Kris finally decided to name the kid 'Delilah.' Even after all of that tallying, averaging, analyzing, and evaluating, we still ended up going with the other name, 'Alayna.'

Lucky us, we get to do it all over again. As before, we immediately settled on a boy's name, right off the bat (Wyatt Ulysses - which would've been badass). When it became evident that the life-form growing inside Kris lacked a penis, however, we turned a quick about-face and settled upon a female middle name ('Mae'). This was the case, too, with Alayna (we settled on 'Renee' almost immediately).

Girls names are weird (no offense, ladies). I'd like nothing more than to name the kid something out-of-the-ordinary, like something from Greco-Roman mythology, but Kris isn't holding fast to any of my suggestions. I also have shot down several of her suggestions, which I won't delve into here for fear of reprisal. I'm so sick of this process, in fact, that I'm real close to just saying 'screw it' and naming the little trainwreck 'Gertrude' and being done with it.

Rest assured, readers, that picking out baby names is arguably one of the most unpleasant aspects of having children.

That, and getting poop on your hands. That's pretty bad, too.

One Beat's Enough

kris went to the doc today, and, according to the heart monitor-thingy, it looks like we're having one child. this is really, really welcome news, as yours truly didn't have the heart to pay for the whole 'buy one, get one free' deal. one's a lot easier for the wallet to deal with. besides the financial side of things, kris is happy she doesn't have to deal with giving birth to two kids at the same time (or however that works).

that's all for today, folks. looks like we dodged the twin bullet yet again.

relieved,

- brian

Easter and Epcot

hi gang.

one of the most aggravating aspects of having a kid under age of 1 is all of the official 'firsts' you, as a parent, have to deal with. 'baby's first christmas,' 'baby's first st. patrick's day,' 'baby's first miller lite,' etc. well, you can chalk one more 'baby's first...' off the list, folks, 'cause the easter bunny just came to town and dropped off a pedia-friendly, age-appropriate easter basket to remind us all of whatever it is easter's supposedly about anyway.

rabbits delivering baskets of eggs to children... i have no idea what this has to do with Jesus.

(though i guess whomever came up with the 'fat, bearded guy flying through the air in a deer-powered snow carriage, breaking all existing laws of time and space in doing so, all for some ridiculous gift distribution scheme based solely on a child's individual merit'-thing really wasn't trying to drive home the whole birth of Christ thing, either...)

anyway.

we went to epcot the other day with the voigts... i hadn't done that since sims came down to visit in december. as usual, 'going to the park' entailed passing on all existing rides and attractions, and taking a liesurely stroll around the world showcase, which is absolute heaven for a beer affeciando and lover of social studies (i happen to be both).

this was a good warm-up for mid-may... when the hough clan comes down and we all throw on our tourist pants. cowabunga.

- brian

Fezzig Faces the Gallows...

today, a line was drawn in the sand.

we started seeing warning signs last summer that something was starting to go awry with our parrot, fezzig. he started plucking his own feathers out, and wasn't as talkative as he used to be. the most obvious factor for this change in behavior, obviously, was the brand new, fresh-out-of-the-womb kid that kristina had just popped out - our bird was jealous as all hell, and was taking it out on himself/herself.

several months went by, and while his feather plucking did, in fact, cease to an extent, his mood progressively got worse. he started to bite kristina more, and would no longer respond to her commands... which is weird, seeing how she's the one he bonded to when we first got him back in 2005. i, personally, chalk this up to the whole 'lover scorned' thing... but that's just me, and i don't know if parrots do that sort of thing.

i'm not a orthinologist... or whatever they're called.

anyway.

about a week or two ago, as the bird was squawking at the top of its lungs for no apparent reason, and my wits were quite nearly at they're end, kristina and i came to the realization that weren't doing anybody - either ourselves or fezzig - any favors by continuing on in such a fashion.

so we decided that we'd put him on a trial basis for the next couple of weeks and determine whether or not we should put him up for adoption.

its been a pretty hard decision to make on our part - the guy's been part of our family since i returned from africa - but we had to do what was best for everybody, and, honestly, i don't think we can give the guy the attention he deserves at this point. we spoiled the crap out of him when we first got him, and are unable to give him the same level of attention that we did when we were both kid-less and career-less. besides, what happens when kris gets knocked up a second time? or we end up getting a dog? or the dog we ended up getting gets knocked up? these are things we have to think about, and, unfortunately, all signs are pointing towards the adoption of fezzig the ferocious.

we'll keep you posted.

Cannonball's First Bath and Other Updates

Hey folks...

How's everybody doing? We're still not getting any sleep on this end. Alayna's beginning to have a tendency of sleeping all day and raising a ruckus at night - she hates her cradle with a passion, and Kristina and I are lucky if we can wrangle 3 hours of sleep at a time.

Anyway, we decided to give Alayna her first bath on Friday, as it had been a few days since coming home from the super-sterile hospital and all. This fiasco probably could've gone over a lot better.

Kris assumes that the water was too cold, but I like to think that we just have one, stinky-ass baby who hates being clean and would rather gas up the house in her own filth instead of taking a bath like a civilized human being. That's just me, though.

<- This picture, I believe, speaks for itself.

Bathing aside, things are beginning to settle down (slightly) around here. Fezzig's not enjoying the extra noise and commotion around the place, and we're pretty convinced he/she's already beginning to pick up and imitate the baby's wails. Not cool. Alayna's becoming a big fan of her Fisher Price 'Rainforest' gear and her Baby Einstein DVDs - holy crap, does music seems to knock her right out. If only this practice could be utilized at night... then we might be able to catch some shut-eye around this damn place.

In other news, we're getting ready to kick-off the Summer of Grandmas. Starting tomorrow, we'll be importing grandmas from Michigan to come stay with us for week-long stints of helping out with Alayna, the house, etc. Kristina's mom Marcy is coming in first - we're picking her up from the OIA sometime around 7pm, I think. Stay tuned.

F----n' Exhausted,

- brian

Reproducin', Part II: Bring It On Home

(continued...)

kris shot out that baby she'd been carrying around (for the last 17 months), the hospital wheeled her over from the delivery room to our post-labor room. this room, in which we would spend the next 48 hours, had a fridge, a bathroom, a couple beds, a DVD player, and a big, flat-screen TV that was bigger and better than our own TV in our house. it was a decent little set-up for the kid's first two days of post-vagina living, but nobody got much sleep.

alayna, upon bursting out of her flesh-walled prison, weighed about 6 lbs. 1 oz. and measured approximately 19 inches in length. for those of you who are as oblivious to the knowings of babyhood as myself, that's not quite dangerously small, but its definitely underweight.

being underweight isn't necessarily bad, i guess, but it does bring about some small problems. problem #1: low blood sugar. or high blood sugar. i forget which one it is, but its something to do with her blood sugar levels. one of those two. anyway, she had to have a series of blood samples taken during her first 12 hours out, which meant kris had to breastfeed more frequently and, as a result, lost a crap-ton of sleep in the process. and, as a result of her losing sleep, yours truly didn't sleep much either. this sucked.

problem #2: jaundice. i'm not sure what this condition is, really, but i'm pretty sure it has something to do with pirates. or maybe that's scurvy. i'm not sure. what i do know is that jaundice turns the skin yellow and has something to do with her liver. i guess most babies have some level of jaundice when they're born, but underweight babies are more susceptible to it. and, a sure-fire way to treat this condition is to stick the baby out in the sun and let the UV rays cook the jaundice out of her. or so i'm told (i'm not a doctor).

anyway, back to the tale... we spent about 48 hours in the post-delivery hospital ward. we had to attend some boring, pointless discharge class on how to take bathe your baby, how to hold your baby, etc... boring rubbish, and i was the only dude in a room full of newborn-wielding moms so it was pretty awkward as well. we also had a bunch of old ladies man-handle kristina's titties on a regular basis and show her how to 'appropriately breastfeed' the baby (note: if you ever want to be really creeped out, knock a girl up and stick around for the "lactation specialists...). then, finally, on wednesday, they let us take the kid home... which ruled.

hospitals are great and all, i guess, but after awhile you get sick of old ladies bossing you around and the constant smell of disinfectant and rubber. i also hate hospital food and the clammy feeling you get from the air conditioners. anyway, we brought alayna home on wednesday and introduced her to fezzig, who was not nearly as cordial as we would've hoped (though we kinda expected that from the get-go).

...and there you have it. baby-birthin', hough style. keep a weather eye out for more updates and pictures to start popping up on here. if you guys need me, i'll be elbow-deep in baby shit.

stay outta trouble...

- brian

Reproducin', Part I: The Cannonball

what's up, fan club...

as most of you guys know, preggosaurus went into labor on monday and shot out a little baby girl, which, after a few hours of deliberation and polling from the public, we named alayna renee (who we often refer to as 'cannonball,' for reasons disclosed below.)

our tale begins on saturday, the 14th of june... allow me to backtrack for a sec, here...

kris had just finished swimming in the pool and was home showering off when she thought her water had broke. the folks at the hospital figured it was best to err on the side of caution and had us drive from our place in hunter's creek to the winter park memorial hospital (all the way across friggin' orlando). after four hours of running tests and sitting around a hospital labor room, bored of our wits, the doctors discharge kris and tell her that, in fact, her water had not broke. more than likely, they said, preggosaurus had peed herself.

the next day, absolutely nothing at all happened. it was a really boring day, and kris was so exhausted she couldn't really do much. this all changed, however, at about 2 am, early monday morning, when she started having severe contractions. they started off being an hour apart, then began at half-hour intervals, then fifteens minutes apart, and then finally at ten minute intervals. not wanting to drive all the way across town for yet another false alarm, i told her to call the doctor's office when they opened at 9am and ask if they wanted her to go to the hospital again. in the meantime, i had to drive down to kissimmee for that stupid, boring ESOL strategy class (the one i mentioned before in my last posting), and, as you all remember, i could only miss one day of class before they'd drop me like a sack of wet laundry.

i was not about to use up my own absence on yet another false alarm. so i went to class.

after about 45 minutes of sheer, mind-wrenching boredom (that class was horrible, horrible business), i received the phone call from kris stating that the doctors wanted her back at the hospital immediately. i drove back to the house, picked her up, and we went back, yet again, to the hospital in winter park.

this time, however, they wanted her to stay. preggosaurus was dilated to 4, and she was thinning out like nobody's business.

while kris' cervix was spreading apart like the red sea, i was frantically calling my HR department for the school district and trying to see if i could retake that ESOL class in the fall. i was convinced that i wasn't going to be able to make it back the next day at 8am and continue to attend class regularly for the next two weeks, thereby completing my teacher's certification requirement and, consequently, keeping my job. by the time kris was dilated to 8, i had been told that i could take that boring ESOL class in the fall. trumpets sounded from the heavens.

these trumpets, however, turned out to be the thundering approach of a terrible lightning storm that would kick off around the time of the baby's birth, and which would ultimately screw up my mass picture texting from the hospital (for those of you who received the same picture text message three or four times that afternoon, and for those of you who didn't receive anything at all, this is why).

now, kris has bore witness firsthand to the painful throngs of labor before, and she wasn't having any of it. natural vaginal childbirth was not something she was down with. therefore, she had an epidural done as soon as possible to nullify the pain of the contractions, which, for those of you previously unaware of this practice, is when they drive a railroad spike into your back and run a feeding tube of numbing goof juice into your spine. with this done, kris was oblivious to just about everything afterwards.

by noon, the nurses brought in this skinny, piece of blue plastic the size of a shortsword and rammed it up kris' crotch to break her water. for nearly three hours afterwards, absolutely nothing at all happened. nothing. it was boring as hell, and the only thing on the TV in the room was a marathon of home improvement. i wanted to kill myself. you always hear about the emotional and chaotic times of people in the delivery room, but it wasn't like that at all for us. occassionally, kris would ask me to check the monitor thingy and see if she was having a contraction or not. she'd feel a little bit of pressure, but that was about it. so yeah... really boring for a good three hours or so there.

...then the nurse came in and realized kris was dilated to 10, her uterus was vanquished, and the baby's head was in view. holy crap, its time to call the doctor.

the delivery gear was brough in and the doctor told kris to start pushing. she does this, no joke, about three or four times, before the baby's head comes out and the kid cannonballs its way into freedom. that was it. that was the delivery process: four or five minutes of painless pushing. and then we had a screaming, bloody baby on our hands.

in closing, i highly recommend all women out there reading this considering reproducing any time soon to receive a railroad spike of goof juice in the back. totally worth it. just make sure you bring crap along with you to the pass the time, just in case you're stuck in a room with nothing on but home improvement.

- brian