Pregnancy | GeorgeKovats.com

Milking Opportunity

2006.11.21

Those are some chubby damn kids, ain't they? I mean, SERIOUSLY. Lay off the sugar, would you little sausages? Geez. You’re a mom who’s just given birth to a beautiful bouncing baby, and now your days are relegated to changing diapers and lactating for your progeny. Now that all the attention is on your baby, you’ve become a glorified milk factory. What’s a mother to do?

Why cash in on your MAMMARY CAPITAL of course!

That’s right! There’s tons of feeding mothers who need what your body’s producing naturally: warm, economically valuable breast milk! It’s easy, it’s convenient, and it’s so freakin’ bizarre that laws haven’t caught up with it (yet).

But why would other mom’s buy my breast milk?

Those are some chubby damn kids, ain't they? I mean, SERIOUSLY. Lay off the sugar, would you little sausages? Geez. Infant formula milk is mostly saw dust and iron filings. But mother’s milk is created in the breastonious zone of the body, where warm and good things are born (as proven by this picture of Dolly Parton).

If you are one of the fortunate mothers who can breast feed, you enjoy a practice that some mothers cannot take part in. For those mothers who are not able to breast feed their children – for one reason or another, be it inverted nipples or uncanny baby canine teeth – they are looking for a way to give their babies something other than the traditional store bought, saw dust ridden formula milk.

That’s where you come in! You pump milk for those mothers, and they fork over hefty generous profits. It’s a win-win situation for everyone!

**Isn’t this really creepy and somehow immoral?**

Immoral? That’s commie talk. This is the free market! And in our free market, companies like Prolacta Bioscience are making a killing from the excess baby juice that you’re not giving to your rugrats. It’s simple economics! There are mothers in need of vital body fluids they cannot produce themselves, and you have the leverage to charge exorbitant prices for your own. Supply and demand!

Is this legal?

You ask too many questions. Sure, it’s sort of legal! Although, with Pelosi in the high chair, who knows what those kooky Dem’s will pull come January. That’s why you have to act now! There’s lots of needy hospitals that could use the life-giving fluid that’s seeping from your teets. Aren’t you finally ready to put your breast milk to use for financial gain?

Body Fluids: The next frontier for opportunists

Don’t sit idly by and let the market leave you in the stone age – move ahead of the market! Start collecting your unused spit and saliva now, before the demand comes in, so you can be one step ahead of the game!

And for the portly, what would you say if I told you that some day your sweaty polo shirts can be drenched… with financial opportunity! Don’t let those fat cat Wall Street Tycoons make all the big bucks! Start collecting sweat today, so you can make a killing tomorrow!

Eventually, people will require all types of body fluid to avoid health disasters of varying kinds: don’t you want to be there when they do, so you can make a huge profit?

Don’t just dream the American dream. Get yourself a carton of mason jars, and start canning your financial freedom today!

Bubble Burst

2006.11.14

Can you tell she’s ready?

I can vouch for her. Anna’s ready. That last picture has less of an ethereal glow than the others for a reason: there’s a bowling ball in her stomach (named Elena).

And so, in these last weeks / days / hours, we’re sitting on pins and needles… not because we’re restless and don’t know what to do, not because we’re afraid of the world of responsibilities awaiting us, but because we want to see our baby!

Here’s one thing that isn’t immediately evident to prospective parents: your baby is kicking and moving from around month 4 or 5 through the final stages. There’s no magical unveiling of some total mystery of life – this little human has been knocking on your door the whole time. [At least, this is how I've viewed it] It’s like Elena’s already here, but she’s hiding in my wife’s belly and both of us desperately want her out.

Some of the other things I’m noticing these final days

I feel with the impending “Father act” I have to play, it’s high time I tone down my wild ways (all three of them) and start acting more serious and grumpy like a real dad. You know – tuck in my shirt, grow some facial hair, gain a few (more) pounds, wear a blazer… stuff like that. I’m not clear on what I should do specifically, but I feel there’s some kind of change I need to make to ascend to “fatherhood” level.

Another thing I’m noticing is the over abundance of people who absolutely love to cheerfully ask soon-to-be parents, “SO, are you ready?!”

Any response to this type of question elicits the same reaction: insipid laughter and the occasional “Yeah, I can see it from that look on your face! Ha!!” There doesn’t have to be a “look” on your face – they’ll find one regardless.

It’s as if you are supposed to respond, “Holy CRAP NO! I really should have been preparing these last nine months, but SOMEHOW my wife and I totally forgot she was pregnant!! Man! I wish you had asked me that sooner!!”

Some clerical business

For anyone who was aware of it, I’ve been updating a site called StraightSpin.com on the side. The idea was originally to vent any news and politics related matters on a separate site, kinda like getting up from one room to fart in another.

Well, I’m thoroughly sick of politics and news-like blogging for a variety of reasons. Chief among them is the BLOGOSPHERE.

OK, so this is technically blogging, right? I mean, no newspaper in their right mind would pay me to write crap like this, but here I am, jotting it down for anyone with a 2400 baud modem to see, right? That’s technically “blogging”.

But, in the realm of news and politics, there are legions of would-be pundits who spend large portions of their livelihoods ranting about the government and posting grade-D superimposed video clips of Bush speeches from YouTube.com (for example). Some are eloquent, but most basically regurgitate catch phrases from popular, lobotomized pundits. And they’re all part of the BLOGOSPHERE.

During the recent midterm election “madness”, CNN aired a live segment from a room of bloggers standing by, furiously writing their own little spins on the days events. The image of these odd men and women typing away, hoping to cup a feel of the punditry shrine and have their clever opinions valued by someone was a deeply disturbing scene to me. I think most of all, it frightens me that the BLOGOSPHERE has been inching toward become a recognized part of the news media, and CNN was confirming it by filming them.

So, for fear of being associated with some psuedo-journalist who gets his data from Ann Coulter books and independent films, StraightSpin is no more. The last thing the world needs is more viewpoints on world issues that already receive a scarce amount of respectful handling in today’s new media.

Of course, the dick and fart jokes will continue here at GK.com, where all my data comes from The Onion, Calvert DeForest and my diseased head.

The Belly Show

2006.08.16

Odd choice of picture, I know. But it’s funny.

This picture also signifies the final receipt of our wedding photos, 11 months post-haste (thanks again, Marcin – you’re a scholar and a gentleman). I like looking back at all the pictures and being reminded of how absolutely drunk I was during the reception. Somehow, I had imagined I was sporting a tuxedo and top hat the entire evening, charming guests with my witty anecdotes and delightful puns. In truth, I was stammering around for 2 hours with cake on my shirt looking for various opened bottles while Anna chased after me for photo ops. But I digress…

As of late…

It melts in your mouth, because it's mostly fillers and hydrogenated oils

The theme has been “so how’s Anna doing?” Frankly, it’s getting on my nerves. Who knew that the minute a woman gets pregnant, the next thing they do is turn the attention on themself for the next nine months?! No one cares that I’ve beaten “Utlimate Spiderman” on the PS2. They want to hear all about Anna, but the minute I start in about the killer sandwich I made on Thursday, they lose all interest.

For those not in the know, she fares well, and enjoys tracking Elena’s kicking and bumping throughout the day. We can be in mid-conversation about the Japanese stock market (for one plausible example), and in mid sentence she’ll grab my hand and place it on her belly with a smile. Apparently our daughter already has strong opinions about the Nikkei, and I know she’s uninformed. Clearly, she’ll just love being an American.

Belly Picture Show

So the Doc put one of those belly cameras on the Mrs. not too long ago, and Elena put on a little show for us. It was a little like that skit from Ally McBeal, only this infant was still technically a fetus. Ironically, at an estimated 2lbs, our baby’s still heavier than Calista Flockhart.

Nonetheless, like that dancing baby skit, here’s Elena’s opportunity to make it around the weird circles of the Internet with her very first video. Next, we’ll begin her singing, acting and dance lessons with professional coaches, and aggressively push her through a cycle of auditions that she’ll swear on camera she “wants to do”, all the while planning record deals with Disney and show contracts with Nickelodeon. By the time she’s 16, we’ll be able to retire and live of the lucrative, shattered remains of our family.

Anna may not be on board with raising the next Hillary Duff (you know, one of those drunken girls you see in the magazine rack as you’re checking out at the supermarket), so nothing’s definite yet.

License to Haggle

Recently, we bought a car, because our current one isn’t quite “kid friendly”. It’s a Mustang, better suited for picking up Motorhead roadies than picking up play dates.

I don’t know about your experiences, but I don’t know why none of my car transactions feel legitimate. Aside from buying a mattress or a home, where else do you end up “discussing” the price? I’ve never tried this
elsewhere, but I’m inclined to see what would happen if I tried talking down a carton of eggs with a cashier.

This wouldn’t work because 99% of the time, when you see a price, that’s literally the price! There’s no “wiggle room” with a $3 notebook; it’s three dollars! So why the hell does a car manufacturer filter its cars through seedy, degenerate businesses who prey on public ignorance to live
fat on markups?

We got to the dealership with little care for a purchase, but we were prepared if the right price presented itself. We directed the salesman to the exact model and edition we wanted, and saw there were three crappy
colors in stock. The stickers say $15,200. So, we shrug our shoulders and walk away. Then, the anxious salesman, salivating over a potential deal, asks what price we’d take the car for at that moment.

Let me repeat myself – the salesman was asking us, the customer, for a price. I don’t like this at all. “I’ve got 23 dollars in my wallet. How about an even $20 and we’ll call it even?”

So, I throw back $14,500. He eventually grabs it. Then we leave the dealership to mull over the price at Denny’s for an hour. We eat our Grand Slams and return to ask what the final price would be (after taxes and a peculiar “administrative fee”). He comes back with $16,400. We don’t like this, so we leave. Then that price drops to $15,200.

So, in the course of 2 hours, the car we first looked at dropped by $2000 in price, which begs the question “if they could afford to drop two grand, how much money are they really making?”

The kicker is as he’s writing the price down, once we’ve shaken hands of course (that’s a car dealership ritual, apparently – no car is sold until the hand shake), he actually writes $15,250. I corrected him immediately. What balls a guy has to write himself a tip right in front of our eyes! This ain’t a Casino, I ain’t a high roller, and you’re
not booth clerk. No, you don’t get a few chips for your troubles – you get my gullible patronage. That’s it. We’re not friends, and you do not get a little extra for your smile.

So we still probably got ripped off, but knowing how far we could have been ripped off makes it less painful… I suppose. Man, the things you do for an expecting baby! All I know is save room on your calendars; Elena’s
world tour starts in three months. Daddy and Mommy need a beach house!

Anna Update

2006.07.01

…but six months later she began to swell. Ah yes, Anna’s coming along nicely.

There’s a lot of funny little things that you begin to notice during a first pregancy – or at least things we’re noticing. First, Anna says women who were just casual aquaintences once before are now checking up on her maternal process. There’s some sort of badge that motherhood seems to earn between women, and those who’ve been through it have a bond. It’s kinda like Adkins dieters.

Also, the whole physiological process itself is fascinating. Every now and then, Anna rubs her belly and exclaims, “honey, look how big my belly’s getting!”

I’ll admit, when she first said this, I was amazed to fathom that life was creating inside her womb. The second week of hearing this, I thought of how someday our child would grow larger than us, and how amazing life is. During the third week of her observations, I was finishing level 9 in Spryo the Dragon, so I couldn’t fully appreciate the moment. After the fourth week of hearing this, I realized I’d be hearing about her growing stomach for another 20-something more weeks.

Just then, the baby began to move a little, which has had us both on edge. Now I figure it’ll be another three weeks before I begin acting like a jerk about this as well.

Seriously, it’s almost unfair how easy men have it in new parenthood. As soon as the new mom is told she’s pregnant, she’s immediately cut off from all her vices – smoking, drinking, caffeine and a variety of foods – and forced to spend about 5 months lugging around a 20 lb weight around her mid-section. She gains weight, is nautious for two months, stretches her belly, and forces life out of a fairly narrow passage (`nuff said).

As for the guy, he’s given nine months to clean his act up and get it together before becoming a parent. It’s like nature is saying, “Mom, it’s up to you to take care of this new life. Dad,… you’ve got nine months to stop sniffing glue and stealing road signs.”

Fortunately, I’ve thrown out my cache of Tester’s model cement, and my city stopped restocking the signs I like, so we’re all set for being the proud parents of a boy(s) and / or girl(s)?

The 20 Week Question

2006.06.04

Will it be a boy? Will it be a girl? Who knows?! One question you immediately hear as an expecting Father is, “so what are you hoping for?”

I don’t know – a human? Preferably one that’s not Asian, cause that would raise my suspicion.

Of course, every father ultimately gives it the, “gimme’ ten fingers and ten toes, and I’ll be happy” response. Who cares if it’s a boy or a girl? I’m not running a farm and I’m not looking for future dowry. Personally, I’m satisfied with whatever God’s decision is. Who the hell am I to start squibbling over, “well, blue eyes would be nice, and maybe big hands would be useful…”

Nontheless, everyone finds enough old wive’s tales to regale us with about how we can know the gender of our future baby. It’s almost gotten comical how many predictions we’ve received over the last few months, and best of all, they all split down the line 50 / 50.

I’ve always figured my first would be a girl, but that’s not because I want one. “Breathing” is my only real wish.
My father-in-law has stated it’ll be a boy, because (as I know of it) the pregnancy started with a painful apendectamy. As he puts it, “the baby’s a boxer – he’s already kicking and puching down there.”
My mom says it should be a girl (not that evidence leads to this probability), and so that alone means fate will give us a daughter.
My mother in law says the baby is sitting low, which leads her to beleive it’ll be a boy.
A friend of ours says it’s actually sitting high, and that Anna is having way too good of a time being pregnant, leading her to beleive it’s a girl.

I may be leaving a few predictions out. I’m respectful about hearing old wisdom, but personally I’ll just wait for the sonogram to let good ole’ science answer this 20-week question.

StraightSpin.com

Also, I’ve started a new site called StraightSpin.com. The idea is to create a place to write about current events, or rather miscellaneous crap inspired by current events, and move away from a site “all about George Kovats”. I mean, let’s face it – there’s little question about what this site is for. I could trip over political conjecture and topical philosophy for only so long before you get back to the fact this is all about me. And I’m not good about being self-centered. Seriously. Just ask me sometime, and see what I say about myself.

So, the new site is basically a forum for everything I do here, but with free run on poking fun at all things (without constricintg to all things “Kovats“). Some of you may remember the lark of “www.coffeeclotch.com“, which is still up actually. The ill fate of Coffee Clotch was brought on by a clumbsy interface and lack of initial support. The new site will just be my new blog. No lofty goals, just a place where I’ll blog more regularly.

For now, I’ll keep to writing about me. Because although I’m not self-centered (again, just ask me and I’ll prove that I’m not), people want to know what’s going on with me several states away.

It’s sort of a weird thing, and almost sad, that we’re reduced to “blogs” for friendly communications. If I had my way, a drunken barbeque would be more the format, but for now, it’s something to read at work I guess.

It's… an embryo!!

2006.04.19

Forget everything you ever knew about me. And, if you didn’t know me before (or rather, if you had somehow actually known me once long before), get to know the new “me”.

George Kovats: drawer of things, friend to the porcupines, drinker of beer, healer of the leppers,… father.

Yes, my wife Anna has produced a child; or, she is “with child”. And so, the Jakubowski / Kovats empire grows, bringing honey liquor and dry wit to all in it’s path.

I know, this is somewhat anti-climactic in light of the starring triumphs of Katie Holmes and Brooke Shields: two crazy
hollywood primadonna martyrs willing to sacrifice an eventual tummy-tuck for 9 months of Enquirer coverage. Still, it’s a joyous occasion for the whole family. But before rejoice can echo throughout, I have to first state the conditions and plans my son(s) and/or daughter(s) must follow through to earn the name Kovats, and all the non-expired Jiffy Lube coupons that entitles them to.

They must find me extremely funny.
This will be easy at first. I’m sure a dangling key chain will suffice for a couple of years, but once they can grasp complex shapes, I’ll need their full appreciation of my complex and obscure humor. If they don’t get my Oscar Wilde quips and references to Henry VIII, we’ll have issues.
They must be a “man’s man”, or conversely, a “woman’s woman”
Nothing queer or quasi-normal here – just everything the Good Lord and Jerry Fallwell intended. And no metrosexuals either. You survive like your father: on one bar of Lava soap. Nothing fruify for my children like moisturizer, exfoliating cream, hair spray, deoderant, feminine products or toilet paper.
Mandatory Military Service
My children will earn their citizenship! Through grueling, boring, and highly anecdote-worthy service to our Uncle Sam. And, not to be totally unfair, if my children are fiercely against becoming a part of our Armed Forces and captivated with the civilian lifestyle, they can join the Air Force. Either way, it will be at least 4 years of their life they can talk about in bars for endless years to come.
They will not become a podiatrist. Period.
I had a neighbor one time – the man collected pictures of hands cut out from magazines. He was a former podiatrist… or a magazine editor. I could never remember. Either way, it was friggin’ creepy, so no Podiatrists in the family.Magazine editors are negotiable.
I will put the “fear of God” in them
My father enjoyed making us scared witless when we interupted “Wheel of Fortune” during recliner time. So, in keeping with tradition, I’ve been mentally practicing the “fear of God” technique for years now. The minute my children begin to emulate a TV child star or listen to Clay Aiken, that’s when the yelling begins. It’s a lot like how you’re told to scare off black bears in the forest – stand really tall with your arms waving above your head and yell gutteral sounds. It’ll will send my children into a panicky frenzy, make them realize the error of their ways, and potentially show them how to act in a mosh pit.
No Barney
I know, more 3 year olds these days are watching The Family Guy than Barney, but that smug purple bastard is still waiting to be knocked down a peg if you ask me.
No Family Guy either
I’ve Tivo’ed almost every episode that has aired, and I gotta tell ya, they’re not missing much. Plus, I don’t think babies with british thespian accents are cute or funny, and I’ll have none of that crap in my house. At leat not anymore, now that I’ve seen every episode.

I know – I’m a fan of lists, so I’ll cut it short here. I’m thrilled about the prospect of having a baby, but like all life events, I’m going to downplay it out of respect for those who have braved these events before me.

I will say I have a lot of pent up parental hostility from watching Sally Jessie Rapheal reruns and whiny WB teen shows, and I vow to raise a grounded, respectful child that understands this world doesn’t owe them jack. I marvel at parents that let their children strut around without any sense of consequences or unforgiving reality. Of course, I jest above – my son or daughter can be a gay podiatrist that doesn’t understand my humor – but this part is real. The second goal of every parent, next to providing all life-giving necessities, is to prepare their children for the real world. And, in the real world, you don’t get toys and gifts for bad behavior.

So, to my future offspring, you’ve been warned. If you so much as smell a whippit or start considering Scientology as a viable lifestyle, be prepared for flailing arms and boisterous howling. It was good enough for me, and it’ll be good enough for you.