J.J. Goodman: Writings, Musings and More

Three months, a week, and a wake-up. One hundred days.   One. Hundred. Days.   Dear holy poop on a Pringle, I'm going to be a father in one hundred days.   (Poop on a… *shakes head*)   What? It's kind of like crap on a cracker, only worse. Because Pringles aren't quite as hardy as crackers.   (How many cups of coffee have you had this morning?)   *gives stink eye* Anywhoos…. Okay, I fully understand that the countdown isn't exact. She could take after her mother and be a little late, or take after her father and be a little early. The fact remains that there are only one hundred days remaining until my daughter's due date, and I'm freakin' right the f*ck out. A little. A smidge. A skosh, if you will. I'm keeping it together, really.   *twitch*   (Alright, bucko, take a deep breath.)   Easy for you to say.   And I'm sure you realize that for the purposes of humor I t...

You know what? I think I'm getting to be okay with all of this. I don't feel stressed, or I at least don't feel as stressed as I had before. I've researched baby furniture, we've mailed invitations for the baby shower, and we've even started cleaning out the spare room so I can start working on the nursery. I got this.   Ultrasound technician: It's a girl!   *blink blink*   I…   *twitch*   Annnnnd thus goes out the window any sense of having my shit together. I mean… we're having a girl.   (OMG Stahhhhp. Girls are great!)   I know, but… it's a girl.   I'm gonna be a dad to a baby girl.   A. GIRL .   (Caps and italics? Alright, simmer down there, sport.)   Look, don't get me wrong. I am ecstatically overjoyed. My gut feeling since we saw two bars on the pee stick was that we were going to have a girl. I should have been preparing for this all alo...

So, Placenta cookbooks are a thing.   (I.. wait, what???)   That was my first reaction. Followed closely by a series of guttural retching noises that I was heretofore unaware could be produced by my body. Once the pallor in my cheeks subsided and color returned to my flesh, I began to understand that yes, the whole "parental consumption of mom's internal bits" thing is indeed a thing , and a thing more common than I would have ever guessed.   (*gack*)   Me too. I think I'm gonna let this one slide into that recess of my mind where I store things like clowns, Keanu Reeves' acting skills, the new Jeep "Cherokee" and that time I accidentally called my second grade teacher "mom".   (Probably best.)   I'm sure we'll revisit the discussion as we get closer to birth. For those playing the home game, that's approximately "the square root of 19,600" days from now, give or take. But… ...

Writing is cheaper than therapy and I've had copious amounts of caffeine today.   (Oh crap.)   Yup. So, I know I haven't blogged as often this year as perhaps I have in years past. Be it a fuller social/home schedule, stress of work and workload, general lack of inspiration, or whatever other reasons, I just haven't been writing. I suspect that's going to change in the coming months and year or so ahead, as I experience a major life change with my anticipated candidacy for President of the United States.   (Yay! Congrat… wait, what??)   I jest of course, but I'd make a very great president, the best president, believe me. Think about it – instead of a border wall, I'd have a border ball crawl. If you can get through that, you deserve to be here. Make immigration fun again!   (There is something seriously wrong with you.)   Oh, my dear parenthetical heckler, this, I know. Alas, I am not running for president. ...