Baby Shower in the Lou

For those of you who think that Rachel and I had a baby shower in a bathroom, you are probably British or a bit too familiar with The Queen's English. Here in America, to those in the know, "The Lou" is short form for Saint Louis... Rachel's hometown. Technically, the shower was in the suburb of Fenton, but since most people don't know where Fenton, Missouri is, I titled the blog post as I did. Plus, Baby Shower in Fenton is not quite as hip or fun to say.

First off, big thanks to all the wonderful people who made the shower happen. Rachel's big sis Christine and buddy Jenna did the lion share of the setup work and deserve a big "Thanks." So, if you live with/near to them, give them their due. Also, we would be remiss if we didn't thank Rachel's parents for hosting the event, and all the fine folks who brought baby goodies our way (cue the orchestra).

OK, now that my Oscar acceptance speech is over, we can make with the shower talk. I have been to one baby shower in my life, and no, it was not this one. During the shower, I was sitting in Hessler's Bar and Grill in South County (shameless family plug) with the group of men exiled from the shower. We had a blast trading stories and watching a baseball game. Tough life, I know. Meanwhile, I guess the group of ladies played games like pin the umbilical cord on the baby, watched Rachel open presents and ate cake. OK, so no gross anatomy games, but I am certain there was cake. It was delicious.

As for the shower itself, the twins got all kinds of cool loot. They really did make out like bandits, receiving their stroller, several blankets and bottles, their monitor and even some St. Louis Cardinals gear that made Rachel grin and me gag. The list of thank yous for the gifts is too long to print here, or I would be typing all night. However, to all our friends and family that did send gifts, your love and support is very much appreciated. Rachel and I are truly in awe of how blessed we are.

Finally tonight, I'd like to alert all of you the hazards of being pregnant in the heat. Rachel and I got back into Jacksonville on Wednesday, and ever since then the town has been scorching. Seriously, I have been to bonfires that put off less heat than the asphalt parking lot at my work this week. It has been brutal. Anyway, poor Rachel has realized that every time she steps out into the 110+ degree heat, her hands and feet swell up to roughly 83 times their normal size. She is a trooper though, and toughs it out despite the fact that she feels comically inflated like a Macy's Day Parade Balloon. I, on the other hand, have learned not to laugh at a pregnant woman who exclaims, "Aargh, my hands!" every time she steps outdoors, because being smacked by someone whose hands are the same size as those hulk gloves is not fun.

Crib pics coming soon... Happy Father's Day to Dad Klug, Dad Finck, Grandpa and all our friends who are baby-daddies.