His Inheritance

I often think about what traits this kid will inherit from his parents. Here's what I hope he gets from Andrea:

Her silliness. Seriously, this girl is silly. She's a little shy when you first get to know her but just wait till she's with her family. Then she busts out her robot voice (I least I think that's what she's trying to sound like). She answers questions in a high-pitched, loud, monotone nasal voice, and says things like "affirmative." She also does these weird dance moves to her self-sung sexy song (it's a song that she composed herself that she sings with "duh duh duh duh duh DUH DUH DUH DUH" noises). Her silliness makes me laugh. I hope our little Merlin gets that.

Her work-ethic. This girl knows how to work! She gets extremely high marks in her employment, doesn't cut any corners, and deserves a big raise in any job she has. If our son gets just a fraction of her desire to work he'll do very well in life.

Her frugality. I hesitate to put this. Sometimes I really like it when Andrea's strict with money, but sometimes it drives me nuts! On the whole, our little guy will be blessed to inherit this trait from Andrea. She keeps a meticulous budget and knows exactly what's coming in and out of our bank account. It's certainly served us well during this time of employment uncertainty.

Her smarts. Andrea's very smart, and it shows in how well she performed in school. She should have been the one in law school; I'm sure she'd do much better than I did!

From me? I hope he gets:

My hair. I like my hair. It's thick. Nice color. I'll be honest here, he'd be lucky to get hair like mine. Ha!

Science & Pregnancy Blog and Consciousness

For those interested, I thought I'd pass along this gem of a blog:

Bumpology - The Science Behind Pregnancy

The author is a pregnant scientist herself, and provides some cool information.

The latest article, the baby's level of consciousness, is especially interesting. I've often wondered whether, or to what degree, our little Merlin is conscious. Is he self-aware? Does he have memories? Does he reflect on those memories?

Consciousness, I think, is largely informed by sensory experience. But what sensory experience does he have up to this point? He's apparently been able to taste differences in the salinity of the amniotic fluid. He's no doubt been able to sense differences between light and dark (we've shined lots of flashlights on Andrea's belly to see if he would react). He can hear muffled sounds. And he's probably felt me push back on his little limbs that he puts close to the surface.

But these episodes barely scratch the surface of what WE experience in our daily life. How can he build an identity, a sense of awareness, from these incredibly watered-down sensory experiences? Does he even recognize the gradients in salinity, light, pressure, or sound?

She confirms in the article what I've always imagined his existence is like to this point: "[T]he fetus remains for the most part sedated by low oxygen levels and anesthetic chemicals that are produced by the placenta . . ." I think our little baby is mostly in a sleepy, anesthetized state, not unlike the foggy state that I remember waking up from when my wisdom teeth were removed, or when I woke up from that nasty concussion in high school after I was hit in the head with a shot-put (I'll tell that story later).

I'm excited for this guy to "wake up" and experience the joys of this outside world in a more conscious state. I think he'll like it.

Honeymoon Stage?

I have a feeling about this son of mine. And I hate to admit it. But in the interest of preparation, and reality, here it goes: there might be times where this kid gets on my nerves. I can't possibly imagine how his cute little whimpers could be annoying, or how his constant need of attention would interfere with my heretofore selfish lifestyle. But if I'm honest with myself, I must concede that the honeymoon stage with little Merlin may not last forever.

You know what I'm talking about, right? There's that beginning of every relationship where the whole world is alive with happiness and everything is glorious to behold. You want to spend as much time as possible with that other person, and he or she can do no wrong! "My son! Oh, look at you!!! You just pooped all over yourself. For the third time today! What a good boy! Oh, and what's this? Poop in your hair? How adorable! So proud of you son, for pooping like a champ! Can't wait to snuggle after your bath!"

Sadly, this utopia may come to an end. "My son! What the hell did you do in your crib?! Why is there crap smeared all over your back and in your sheets?! And, WHAT THE . . . how did you manage to get poop in your hair?! Who poops in his hair, Merlin?!?! Now I get to wash your sheets and clothes for the third time today! But don't worry about me. It's not like I'm not busy studying for the bar or anything! Oh my gosh, please go to your mom as soon as I'm done cleaning you up."

You get my drift? Of course I'll always love and cherish my son. I'll do anything for him. It's just that I might bug him at times, and he might bug me. But until that day comes, I'm going to cherish the blissful state of our budding relationship. I cannot WAIT to spend every waking minute with that child. Just five weeks to go.

It's Here!

A little package arrived today!



No. Not that little package.

This one came from Barbri, not the stork. I don't like them. They just took nearly $3000 of my Andrea's hard-earned money.

Whoa. Somebody get me a forklift. 31 lbs.

The green is to sooth you. It prevents you from slitting your wrists or gouging out your eyeballs upon opening the bar-review materials.

Tah-dah! One source of my stress for the next few months.

Mantivity with My Son #2: Mowing the Lawn

Few things are manlier than laboring for the perfect lawn. Instead of peeing on trees, we men of the bourgeoisie fulfill the primal urge to mark our territory by showing off our landscaped quarter-acre of property in the suburbs. Mowing the lawn also incorporates other manly things, like engines, gasoline, sharp blades spinning at high speeds, and dirt. What's not to love about mowing the lawn?

My son and I will mow the lawn together. I'll teach him the tricks for getting a mower started, the techniques for achieving a nice checkered pattern in the lawn, and how to edge around trees, sprinklers, and curbs. We'll take pride in the lawn together, laugh at the neighbors' ugly yards, and sweat in the sun. If I can teach my son to love mowing the lawn, then I'll have succeeded in part of my fatherly duties.

Still Want to Be a Lawyer

I'm in a clinic this year representing indigent criminal defendants in their appeals before the Maryland bar. Really neat stuff. Among the highlights:

• Traveling to a supermax prison smack in the middle of Baltimore* to meet one of my clients in a 4' by 8' cell. Though the guy has made some stupid decisions, he was a very nice and encouraging man. Saddest image of that day? Watching him fumble with the pen and paper as he struggled to sign the consent-to-representation form while being tightly cuffed.
• Traveling to another prison in rural Maryland and receiving the most thorough pat-down imaginable. Seriously, that guard went places I didn't know I had.
• Proudly printing the final version of the brief for the case I was arguing. It was the 17th draft. I think. I lost count there at the end.
• Doing my first REAL oral argument! So much of law school is faking it. We play lots of pretend. But this time, just two days ago, it was for real. A real man was behind the name on the brief, and he was hoping that I would do a good job for him. I did the best I could, and I had the time of my (professional) life. I really got into it and was this close to approaching the bench and yelling, "No! You don't get it! This is what I'm saying. This is why we win!"

Not having a job lined up (yet), has been messin' with me. What if I can't cut it as a lawyer? What if not having a job is the universe's way of telling me that I should work at McDonald's instead? Maybe I am fantastically talented a making Big Macs, and that I just have to give it a try? Well, the clinic pushed me back in the right direction. Yes, I can and should be a lawyer. I'm pretty good at it. I have fun doing it. I just need to find somebody to pay me to do this stuff.

*I'm not kidding about that facility being in the middle of Baltimore. One minute my co-counsel and I are driving through some shopping/office district, and the next minute we see an enormous dungeon-like castle with barbed wire all over it. C'mon, Baltimore! I want to like you! But you're not helping your reputation by keeping a large group of Maryland's most dangerous right next to the Bath & Body Works!

Just a House, That's All

There's this song by the Animal Collective that came out last summer called "My Girls." It's basically about this guy's desire to provide a simple living for his family, for his girls. While the timing and the source of the message are a little irritating-I don't need a rich hipster to tell me, the poor unemployed father, that it's really the simple things that matter in life-I relate to the sentiment:

There isn't much that I feel I need

A solid soul and the blood I bleed

But with a little girl, and by my spouse,

I only want a proper house

I don't care for fancy things

Or to take part in the freshest wave,

But to provide for mine who ask

I will, with heart, on my father's grave

Nice, right?

When I'm not thinking about finding a job, I usually think about owning a house to raise a family in. Nothing big. Nothing opulent. Just a nice house with a yard that I can take of, and a garage that I can work in. The yard will have incredibly groomed grass so the kids can run around barefoot with the dog, whose name will probably be Karl, or Bruce. The garage will have a work station for my bike stuff, and a big bench for my other projects. It will smell like gasoline and wood, and the kids can come in whenever they want to help me do things.

The day when we own a house will come. I'm sure it will. I'm just itching for it to be here sooner rather than later.