Oh, the irony

I know you have come here for Ben's latest and greatest post, but alas...
his work has blocked the website.
Seems they have caught on to him.

He has been kind enough to send me a copy of what he had written before he found out he could not post, and I am happy to share it with you. Perhaps his being blocked is a sign that he won't have to go to work on Monday because we will have a baby? We do have a snowstorm coming, and a full moon on Sunday or Monday depending on which calendar you use, both of which have anecdotal evidence of bringing on labor. Keep checking here!

This is Ben's post (without photos; they did not come through):

Delayed Reactions

After two “near calls” so far, and still 13 days to go the common question I’ve been getting from people at work and other dog walkers follows along the lines of “you must be jumping out of your skin”. Nobody is more surprised than Corrie and I that so far, really not so much. She called the other day before a scheduled Dr. appointment to say, “I think I might be in Labor”. I finished another 15 minutes of work, got on the T and met her at the station. She drove to the Dr., he checked her out, said everything was dandy. So we grabbed a delicious burrito, had some pre-valentines’ day chocolate, I went back to work and she went to a café to study. Hardly the stereotypical frantic scene of panic and stress we all expected.

Back when I around the time I graduated from college a good friend and I decided we had to go skydiving. We drove out to the country, found a guy that sounded like he knew what he was doing and signed up on the spot. We were to be strapped to him as part of a tandem jump so if we freaked out, he would still have the presence of mind to pull the cord. This unfortunately meant we had to go one at a time. Flipped a coin, I lost and watched my buddy gear up.

At this point the realization of what he was about to do started showing itself. He began talking very quickly. Constantly needed to pee. Wanted to make sure we had his parents phone numbers, etc. Suited up and on the way to the plane he grills the pilot and jumpmaster on what was about to happen. As he tells it, as the plane rose his palms started sweating profusely, he couldn’t stop blinking, and there were some sphincter control concerns. So they finally reach the jump altitude, door fly open, a hearty high-pitched scream and out they go. Of course everything was fine, and he sprints back to the hanger just dripping with glee. Now it’s my turn.
And I am the Fonz at this point. Laughing in the face of a painful and embarresing death, just cool as can be. Strap on the suit, skip to the plane, couldn’t care less. We start climbing and I’m talking to the pilot about real estate, his gripe about local taxes, his daughters dating life, whatever wasn’t related to the 10,000 foot first step I was about to take. We hit altitude, I strap in, mumble something the Marlboro man might say before castrating a bull, “Let’s do this thing” and then that door opened…

And Fonzi become Ralph Malph

Thankfully somebody else up there had the presence of mind to record this moment in what has become I think my brother’s favorite picture. The jumpmaster is smiling giving the thumbs up, and my eyes are doing their cartoon bug-out, staring at a 10,000 foot drop. He said jump. I don’t remember anything really after that beyond tumbling through the air with every muscle in my body screaming at the stupidity of it all. We made it to the ground after which I was stuck in a Zen-like trance for the rest of the day.

All this to make the simple point that you don’t get to chose how you react to certain things, as much as we would like to. Right now the collar is turned up and our own personal jukebox is playing. Who knows what’ll happen when the moment comes though.