My Child, A Future NASCAR Driver...WTF?!!!

So I've had some pretty ludicrous conversations with my husband in our relatively short time together. I am a comedian and he's Australian- 'nough said. I'll be the first person to say comics are odd birds and anyone who knows and loves an Aussie understands that this group of people are typically very often lacking in the filter department. Intelligence aside, they can let stuff slip out of their mouths that if it were a visual thing you'd do a double take. 

What I find fascinating is that some of the most absurd conversations have occurred the past few weeks since "our" pregnancy has gone into full swing. A few of these conversations have been covered in this blog from our "Baby Naming Debates" to "S#!T One Should NEVER Say to One's Pregnant Wife".  A classic conversation last week revolved CJ suggesting that we NEVER have a diaper touch our baby's bottom. (I kid you not!) I truly couldn't make this up if I wanted to. I've been wanting to blog about this, but every time I think about it I just shake my head in disbelief. 

Now, in my husband's defense, I appreciate his desire to a) be GREEN and b) fiscally responsible. But THAT is why we're doing G-Diapers or some kind of fabulous earth friendly cloth diapers.  

Now the other thing in my husband's defense is that this was NOT an original thought of his own. (Thank God!) The brother-in-law of the Russian Super-model mom I talked about in my blog "Ah! The Joys of Little Boys" informed CJ during one of their male bonding visits that this woman, his sister-in-law from the former USSR, NEVER once used diapers on her boys- EVER! When he first told me this I called bullshit! 

There's no way any baby in the Western world in today's society has gone diaperless their entire babyhood. But CJ swore up and down it was a Russian thing- and I just didn't understand. So he kept challenging me to call her and see what the trick was so our baby could be just as well trained. I was like, "I don't have to call her because I know what you're saying is INSANE!". Well, they finally caught up with one another on Facebook and it was revealed that although Miss Russia's boys were potty trained early they still wore diapers through at least their sixth month. Told ya so! RIDICULOUS!

Well, the conversation tonight went from the ridiculous to the sublime. We just finished watching the NBA Finals (Poor Oklahoma City Thunder- they got served!) and there was a commercial for ESPN and all sorts of sports. I commented on how happy I'd be if our child played soccer or basketball or even danced- (football is off the table as both of us feel it's just too high a risk for head injuries). It was then that CJ, who is a motorcycle and motocross enthusiast, says, "Or racing." He then tells me about how one of his best friends who's also mad about motocross is looking to buy his son a go-kart. This child is 7 MONTHS OLD!!! He's just barely mastered sitting up by himself.  CJ was like, "I should do that for our baby." (Insert double take here!) 

I was being a smart ass when I said, "Do you have any idea what that could lead too?! You want our baby in NASCAR?!" And that illicited this response:

CJ: "You know, that would be pretty incredible! Do you have ANY idea how badly NASCAR is looking to have a Black driver?! Hello Ca-ching! And if we have a girl?!! Are you kidding me a FEMALE BLACK NASCAR driver! That's like printing money! AND she'd be beautiful!!! Forget about it. I'm going to look on-line for go-karts now."

That's when I excused myself from the conversation- or just stopped listening however you'd like to envision me tuning out and started writing this blog entry- aka my therapy.

God help us all. Especially little Baby Bean.

The Infamous Name Game Part III

Somehow I think this is going to be an on going discussion up until the very end and I suppose I'm just going to have to be okay with it. My husband CJ, whom I love dearly and dare I even say in this day and age I REALLY like, does not see eye to eye with me on baby names. Nor I with him. With the exception of 2 or 3 names neither of us care for any suggestions the other has. Case in point, last night as I was heading to bed I threw out the suggestion "Lark" for a girl's name. I guess you could even say I did it on a bit of a lark (yep, pun totally intended), but nothing prepared me for the response I got from the other side of the house. Let's recap that conversation shall we?

Me: Hey Honey?

CJ: Yeah?

Me: What do you think about the name Lark?

CJ: What?!

Me: Lark.

CJ: Absolutely not! Lark is British for a joke. (He's an Aussie so
still very tied to British culture & language.)

Me: Um, okay, but it also means little bird.

CJ: First of all no kid of ours is going to be little. (He's 6'4- so he
has a point there). Secondly, we are not having a bird- we're having a
BABY. And lastly our child is NOT going to be a joke.

Me: (audible to myslef) Well, Mreow!

CJ: What?

Me: Nothing Honey. Okay- I guess Lark is out.

Then I brushed my teeth got in bed and crashed- lamenting the fact that another name I  thought was cool and unique was kabashed! A shame too because the only Lark I know of is Lark Voorhies- aka Lisa Turtle aka the only Black girl from "Saved by the Bell." She's cute, seems smart, successful and put together. 

It seems the only questionable thing she's done was be engaged to comedian Martin Lawrence. That was a WTF moment, but c'mon who hasn't had one of those?

What is HE Going to Do when the Baby Comes?!

The HE I'm referring to is of course my darling husband CJ. Even though the arrival of our baby is a couple of seasons away I've been thinking about this more & more. One situation in particular started this spiral of worry. Let me give you some background. I am married to an Australian. If there is anything to know about Aussie men it's that they are viral and proud almost to a fault. My husband fits the bill, but is a far cry from a machismo a-hole. That being said, CJ thinks "man-scaping" is for punks, calling yourself a "metrosexual" means you're really two cocktails away (pun intended) from being a homosexual, and let's just acknowledge that the last three dogs he owned were Rottweilers. Sweet and loving dogs but VERY masculine. Since we split our time between California and New York but have been in NYC as of late CJ has only recently begun walking my 7lb. Chihuahua, Lealah, around our Manhattan neighborhood by himself. It was a hugely successful feat on my part to convince him during his solo mission that people would not doubt his sexuality- especially when it's chilly enough for my pooch to wear a sweater from her extensive wardrobe. Part 1 of this 2-part hurdle down. The area that needs some work is that CJ refuses to pick up my Chihuahua's pooh because- get this- it freaks him out. Mind you not cleaning up after your dog is completely illegal and punishable by fines up to $1,000 in NYC. 

But he's found a way to side wind his adorable Aussie self around it. He gets Lealah to relieve herself in this one particular spot that's part grass/part gravel/part someone's empty lot/private parking area- and the way it's situated there's actually no pedestrian traffic at all. Seriously, you would have to be half 3 Stooge half Tracy Morgan to step in this shit (literally).

 Some of you may be thinking: So?! What's the big deal? Well, it ticks me off for a few reasons: One it feels like he's shirking off his civic duties. (Someone was obviously a Brownie, Girl Scout and all around Goodie Two-Shoes.) Number two (no pun intended this time) I can't get my dog to pooh in this spot every time. In fact, in the almost 4 years since this dog has been alive and in my possesion she's pooped there maybe ONCE for me- and I still picked it up. He claims they (he & the dog) have an "agreement" (I'm also now sensing some jealousy on my part). I just keep thinking is if this were a cat / liter box situation both me and my baby would be dead from Toxoplasmosis! But lastly- my biggest concern of all is- if my 6-foot-4 knight in shining armor is SO skeeved out by picking up the .09 ounces of waste from an adorable Chihuahua what in the world is going to happen when our darling infant has fecal Armageddon in it's diapers? I'll tell you right now I'm already (albeit willingly) sacrificing my breasts for this kid. I am NOT risking complete loss of my sense of smell because Crocodile Dun-skeeve doesn't want to change a diaper or assault his senses of touch or smell. He says it will be different with the baby and he'll be fine. I pray for his sake he's right 'cause if I catch him outside holding our baby over the spot where Lealah goes it ain't gonna be pretty.