-Abe

I’m writing my family’s Christmas letter this year because my dad said I could. Want to know what it is about? ME TOO! I think it will be a lot about me and my epic skills. And I’ll prolly talk about my mom who is really nice, even though she puts me in this RIDICULOUS swaddle sometimes.

I just learned how to do the Cabbage Patch! My dad says the 80s were great. He is SO OLD!!!!!

Anyway, check back in a few days when I hope to finish the letter. Until then, happy dancing!

1. Weird.
2. Is this a pre-emptive strike by the Nobel committee to prevent escalation in Afghanastan?
3. I have trouble seeing how this helps world peace. If he goes all peacenik he’s seen as pandering to European pansies, even though an overwhelming majority of Americans gave him a mandate to make sane decisions. If he starts delivering on things like closing Gitmo, ending the war in Iraq, then he’s seen as pandering as opposed to delivering on a mandate.
4. I hope I’m wrong about #3.
5. They basically gave the award to the American electorate.
6. Weird.

So for the sake of getting past the small talk the next time you see us, here are a series of questions that you would be decidedly unoriginal in asking…

Megan, How are you feeling?
She wants to punch you. In the face. Hard. But she’s really nice so she actually doesn’t do that. How do you THINK she is feeling? She feels about as good as you can at 38+ weeks. Heartburn, lower back pain, fatigue, urge to nest, husband who should be rubbing my feet but is blogging instead… what else you want to know?

Megan, are you getting any sleep? You better get it now because you won’t get any when the baby comes…
It’s really quite shocking that you haven’t been punched in the face yet. Be VERY THANKFUL you haven’t been punched in the face. She is sleeping reasonably well, all things considered. You try having a 7 pound bowling ball sitting on your bladder.

Is it true that most first babies come late?
Oh no, I’m so sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but you have now been PUNCHED IN THE FACE!!! It must not feel great to have the shit beaten out of you by a 9-month pregnant lady! Ahem, so the answer is “yes.” Here’s some ice for that, and please, how bout something a little more mundane…

Do you have your hospital bag packed yet?
Now that’s better! The answer is “mostly.” Still some essentials we’ll need to throw in at the last minute like some kind of potassium-rich Odwalla product.

Is Megan working up through the birth?
Yep.

OMG WHAT WILL SHE DO IF SHE GOES INTO LABOR DURING WORK?
Ummm… she’ll drive home. Then we’ll hang out for a while to do some fun stuff in early labor. We have a bunch of TV shows queued up on Netflix, like This American Life. Maybe throw in some 30 Rock on Hulu or something. I guess there’s a common perception that you go from zero-to-sixty during labor. It’s not like she’ll be typing away on some memo one minute and all of a sudden the Oregon Food Bank will be washed away in a sea of amniotic fluid and mucous plugs the next. Most labors take a long time to develop, and you’re not supposed to go to the hospital until contractions are five minutes apart and, lasting at least a minute, for an hour, which can take a while.  Any good ideas for early labor activities?

How much time are you taking off after the baby’s born?
Megan is taking 12 weeks, the maximum allowed since that horrible socialist Bill Clinton passed some law in 1993 saying they can’t fire new moms for taking care of their kids. She has to run out all of her sick and vacation time, then go on “short-term disability” for a couple of weeks (is it me, or is it just BAT SHIT CRAZY that in America, one of the most normal of human events legally renders one with a short term disability?). I’m taking 4 weeks, but splitting it – two weeks after the baby is born, and 2 weeks after Megan finishes her leave.

Are you breastfeeding? (this can sometimes be asked with a leading inflection… like, “you’re breast feeding, right?”)
Me, no. Megan intends to, and hopefully she and baby will figure it out, either on their own or with the help of friends and lactation experts. But this is not an easy task for everyone. The answer is, we hope to.

Is “Joe the Baby” just an in-utero name, or are you actually considering naming the kid “Joe?”
The likelihood is no, though if we did, I think his name would be Josiah. That way we could say “you’re named after a dude in the Bible and the best fictitious president our nation has ever seen on TV,” as opposed to, “you are named after an unlicensed Ohioan plumber.”

Do you have a name picked out?
No. We have a short list of about 4 or 5 names. We’re not telling you the names because we really don’t care about your douchebag friend in high school that had that name. I’ll give you two hints… His name cannot start with R, because his initials would then stand for “Republican National Committee.” Also, his name will not start with “M,” because with parents named Matt and Megan, it would be just too cheesy. I am very sorry to those of you who were pulling for Martin Luther Ching. Maybe cousin Lani will get a brother someday.

OMG SWINE FLU IS GOING TO KILL YOUR BABY WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?
Relax, people. H1N1 vaccines are being rationed by our evil communist government so the most vulnerable populations – including pregnant women – can get them first. Isn’t rationing terrible? Actually, hospitals are imposing some pretty severe restrictions on visitors – we’re not even sure if Megan’s parents will be able to come to the hospital. So we may have to wait til we see them at our house before they infect us with swine flu.

Are you giving birth in a hospital? (you have to seem really tentative when you ask this one. Like, I know y’all are crunchy, so I’m not judging, I swear!)
Yes. So it breaks down like this… We wanted to do a water birth, so there are only two hospitals in the area that do water births that are covered by Megan’s insurance. The one that we felt the best about was Legacy Salmon Creek in Vancouver – nice new facility, a great small midwife practice, and new delivery rooms that include the option of a water birth. Moreover, they have a room in the maternity ward called “nourishment” that contains free refills on Coke. So they definitely know what they’re doing!

Can we bring you dinner once the baby is born?
Awww, that’s so sweet. Megan really didn’t mean to punch you in the face that one time. YES! We’ve set up a Calendar on a neat app called MealBaby.com that we believe is now functional. The calendar is live, and you can access it by clicking here, but since we don’t know when the kid is emerging, it’s empty right now. If you’d like to sign up for an evening during the week or a weekend, just sign up – it’s pretty easy, and if you can’t figure it out, just ask some 10-year old. We will have no shame in e-mailing this out right after baby is born…

Much love, all. Check Facebook and the Twitter feed in the right-hand column for late-breaking updates on Joe’s jailbreak.

I confess I’m less sad today but certainly more concerned. Earlier in the day (before we knew about Zippy), I called the vet at OSU extension who said that it’s pretty normal for a chicken to die at age 2, and that Winnie probably got some kind of chicken disease and the heat didn’t help things. He said that chickens have no problems with harsh winters, but heat can be problematic, as their body temperatures hover around 106. But the vet seemed to think it was most likely an isolated incident.

Megan called me today when she got home from work with the news about Zippy. It reached 104 today again. This morning we thought we outfoxed the heat by freezing two 1-litre bottles of water and putting them in the waterer. The waterer definitely stayed cooler, but apparently that wasn’t sufficient to save Zippy. In fact, she died about 6 inches from the waterer.

We’ll call the OSU vet again tomorrow, but we are definitely nervous that this is some kind of disease that will wipe out the whole flock. The good news is that both Marilyn and Roberta continue to lay eggs (albeit slightly smaler ones). Both Winnie and Zippy slowed egg production considerably in the past couple of weeks.

We liked Zippy. We called her “Zippy” because she was the smallest of the flock but she earned her spot on the pecking order out of sheer quickness. “Zippy’s” is also a plate lunch joint in Hawaii, but as you might imagine, that had less to do with the name.

Goodbye, Zippy. Hopefully Aunt Dana is right and there are streets paved with corn and no KFCs in chicken heaven.

I reiterate from my post yesterday… This sucks. The vet may or may not recommend delivering one of the birds for an autopsy. I know that probably sounds ridiculous, but OSU Extension has a kind of bird epidemiological unit that looks for patterns in disease. There are many strains of bird flu that will not transmit to humans, but are highly contagious and deadly to birds – it could be something like that or it could have simply been a bird-like form of heat stroke. As an aside, Joe the Baby has informed me that he is not a fan of bird flu. Will report back tomorrow.

You may know Winnie from her cheeky Christmas letter or her sassy Facebook status updates. She was a silver-laced wyandotte, and one of the original Newell-Ching brood. She was about to turn two in mid-August.

Some context… Today was a record-setting hot day in Portland. It got up to 106! Absolutely brutal. I got home after work and started making dinner, then went to collect eggs from the coop… pretty much a daily routine. The chickens get all crazy when someone comes. Total pavlovian response. People=food. Maybe some awesome food like a weed or two.

Anyway, I saw 3 chickens getting all crazy, but Winnie wasn’t among them, so I figured she must be laying. So I opened the nest box, and only found 2 eggs, but no Winnie. It was about 8 pm, so there was a chance she might be perched one the roost where the girls sleep. No dice. So I opened the coop door, and there she was, lifeless on the coop floor.

Having an animal die on your watch just sucks. In fact, that’s probably the best word to describe it. I was at a loss to find a word to describe how I felt. Surprised. Crappy. Terrible that we didn’t do much to prevent it – they had plenty of water and shade, but we could have been more consistent about putting out cold water. We probably should have kept the run watered and put out a block of ice, or perhaps installed a fan. I guess in hindsight it’s easy to play woulda-shoulda-coulda. It just sucks.

Here's hoping there are lots of worms in chicken heaven...

But the reality is that she’s just a chicken. And in fact, there are some practical considerations we need to take here. We’re calling OSU extension tomorrow to see how we need to dispose of the body. There’s a chance it had nothing to do with the heat. Winnie hadn’t been laying in the past week or so, and she appeared to be losing some feathers. Megan noticed this last week but we didn’t think anything of it. I remember thinking that the chickens got through the extreme temperatures of the winter, so heat ain’t no thing. But she may have been sick. There has also been an influx of rat poop in the coop – they are small rats that can fit through chicken wire, and they love chicken feed. Another possibility: it might have been some kind of bird flu. And bird flu and pregnant Megan don’t mix.

Regardless, the heat probably didn’t help, and we probably could have helped mitigate that. And we feel lousy.

And yet, I say this knowing that our attachment to animals are completely irrational. Consider two unrelated facts:

• Today, about 28,000 kids under the age of 5 died mostly because they were too poor to survive.
• I have eaten chicken in the last week. Twice!

So human psychology must be pretty weird, because I am genuinely sad about losing Winnie. I never had pets growing up, so when I drove our five little two-day-old chicks home from the feed store two years ago, I remember feeling like some kind of light switch turned on. I took this footage hours after I got home:

I was now responsible for living beings. They were so helpless. Each week for the first five weeks we would meticulously adjust the heat lamp so they would be at the right temperature. Ninety-five degrees the first week, and five degrees cooler each week.  We were so proud when they laid their first eggs back in the spring of last year (one of the first is the banner of this blog). We had to give one of the chickens away because she was too aggressive, so we were down to four, and now we’re down to three.

I kind of feel like the Natalie Portman character in Garden State when the hamster dies a tragic accident in the hamster wheel. Yes, there’s something objectively comical about it, but it’s also kind of sad.

So to Winnie, adieu… Thanks for the memories, the eggs, the life lessons in responsibility, and for your sharp wit. I’ll miss you as much as a man can miss a chicken (don’t ask me to quantify that) and promise to take better care of the rest of the girls…

I suppose there are worse things than outsourcing baby-making to Germans… We both like beer and brats, and we can tolerate shiny clothing and techno if need be. But it’s decidedly less fun than actual baby making.

Here are two versions… I think this warrants a caption contest…

earnest and mildly intense Joe

It’s hard to say what Joe is thinking here… Maybe something like, “Please God make this crazy man take down this blog before I learn to read.”

giant-lipped and mildly concerned Joe

Joe appears somewhat curious about the world, but mostly interested in pudding.

Commence caption contest… (hat tip to Howard for the link)

Megan and I went in for our 20 week ultrasound on Friday. I confess the ultrasound is pretty bad ass. You get to see the little thing squirming around, chewing on amniotic fluid, and flaunting it’s rapidly beating heart – which is going fast… Like 140 beats per minute!

Traditionally, at 20 weeks it becomes reasonably clear if you’re having a boy or a girl. But before you get to that part, you have to go through some motions… The “ultrasound tech” puts some blue goo on Megan’s belly, and then shoots sonar into the womb, which bounces back directly to the 32-inch flatscreen above us rendering a picture of Jo(e) the Baby.

The real purpose of the ultrasound is to confirm that everything is going well, which (1) I’m thankful to say seems that all systems are go; and (2) admittedly is pretty boring… “Hey, I thought we were paying you to discern what kind of genitalia our kid has. What does having two kidneys and a properly-proportioned femur have to do with anything?”

And then, without any change in tone or excitement, the tech looked at what appeared to be two legs, and said… “well, I think what you’ve got here is a little baby girl…”

Here’s what I heard…

IT’S A GIRL!!! OMFG IT’S A GIRL!!!

It’s really interesting how you prepare yourself for this moment. I grew up with two brothers, so there’s always been a part of me that was really curious about what it would be like to have a girl. Preferably one that likes golf, but the rest is all pretty negotiable. So when I heard we were having a girl, I had two thoughts, pretty much in this order in the span of 3 seconds… (1) Wow, this is really cool; (2) Wow, the teen drama is going to be immense. I’m definitely not prepared for this.

After the news broke, the rest of the ultrasound seemed kind of mechanical. The tech takes a lot of measurements and types lots of acronyms on the screen, which makes us feel like she knows what she’s doing, but pretty much all you’re thinking about is the big news.

So a few minutes later, the tech starts fiddling and little Jo (sans (e)!) decides wiggle around a little. Up to this point, Jo has been relatively still – the tech even mentioned how cooperative she was. I made some crack about how Jo will stay cooperative through age 18, to which she replied, “ummmm…. yeah, good luck with that.”

Then, Jo decides to give us a closer look… legs pop open.

“Oh,” says, the tech. “Well, that’s ‘the turtle sign.’”

Yep, that’s right. IT’S A BOY! Indeed, it didn’t take us long to figure the etymology of “the turtle sign.” Observe:

“]”

[Note to Maryland fans: don’t even think about “fear the turtle jokes”

I kind of began to think how arbitrary all this is. It’s like you flip a coin, and randomness determines whether it’s a boy or girl. And as big of crunchy pro-feminist Portlanders we may be, there’s no denying that the kid’s sex will have a lot to do with his identity as well as our own.

Now then, I’ll spare you the rest of the deep thoughts and show you this super-cute picture of Joe sucking his thumb. (the head is to the left)

“Amniotic fluid tastes like piss!”

So let the baby-naming games begin. Here are our (read: mine, as Megan rolls her eyes) two favorites, submitted by my dad and brother, respectively…

• Barack Tiger Newell-Ching
• Martin Luther Ching

It’s important to manage expectations, you know…