The Casual Visitor

I'm going to admit it, we had extremely low expectations for Orlando when we moved here. Sometimes that's not a bad thing. Like most people, we assumed it was full of tourists excited about Disney or the other theme parks, generally making our lives a crowded, miserable mess. But here's the thing, we live a solid 45 minute drive from Disney. By solid 45 minutes, I mean 45 minutes at full highway speeds with the distance to prove it. As a result, other than a billboard near the house that always seems to be advertising whatever seasonal event is going on at Universal Studios, you'd have no idea you were 45 minutes from the theme park capital of the world. That's a good thing.

The other good thing about being 45 minutes from the theme park capital of the world is that, of the 55 million tourists that make their way to Central Florida each year, we actually know a few. In addition to the friends and family that have made their way to Orlando for the sole (or at least that's what they tell us) purpose of visiting us, there's nearly as many people that we've been able to connect with that are here for their own personal, non Luth-related purposes. Many of those people have been kind enough to take a day or evening from their vacation plans. Last night was such a night.

Since these friends were staying on property at Disney and didn't have access to transportation that wasn't attached to a single rail, we made the 45 minute trek down toward the parks. Of course, since I'm pretty much a theme park neophyte (and am quite comfortable keeping it that way) I'm not terribly well-versed in where to meet people. My only idea was to meet at Downtown Disney, a collection of shops and restaurants that require no park admission. Thankfully, my friends' three energetic kids (ten, seven, and four) had other another idea - the pool at their hotel. Shortly before leaving the house, I received a text with the change of locale and a request that I bring beer. You see, this friend of mine is a craft beer distributor that had been stuck with the likes of Heineken and Budweiser for the previous few days, not that there's anything wrong with that. But his refined taste buds were ready for a change.

I quickly loaded a small cooler while Lindsay made final baby preparations, got the daughter situated in the car, and we were off for Disney.

There are friends in life, regardless of how far you may drift apart - I think it had been five years since we had seen them - that always hold a special place. For us, the Strickmakers are such a couple/family. They had basically adopted me as a pitiful bachelor in Chicago, graciously inviting me to dinner once a week (making sure I got at least one home-cooked meal per week) and pretty much came along for the ride when Lindsay and I met. They ended up moving to California to chase Hollywood dreams (I still blame Reese Witherspoon for stealing my friend's career), then back home to Ohio to join the family business, starting a family right around the time we got married, and finally settling in Nashville a couple years later. We stuck around Chicago, spent 2.5 years in India, moved to Orlando, and started a family when their three kids were all older than three. Slightly different time tracks and slightly different geographies.

Last week when he called, I had to admit I was excited to see them. Outside Kurt yet again trying to rationalize his unintentional roast of me at my rehearsal dinner nearly ten years ago, it was a pretty perfect night. For reference, last night's exchange went something like this:

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Kurt:"No, what I really meant to say was....you were ordinary."
Me: "I think the word I have burned into my mind was 'average' or 'exceedingly average'. But ordinary pretty much gets to the same outcome."
Kurt: "Yeah, no...it was that you were 'ordinary' but that Lindsay was 'extraordinary.'

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Mind you, this took far longer than three exchanges but far less time than the actual toast had lasted at the rehearsal. While I can't fault his logic (he hit the nail on the head), it's safe to assume that if smartphones and YouTube existed in 2003, this groomsmen speech would have, at a minimum, seven figures worth of hits. While he was giving this speech, I vividly remember his pregnant wife (who undoubtedly had a clearer head than most) giving him the 'hook' with her eyes, only to have him go on and on about the average, ordinary groom sitting before him.

Regardless, we had a great time, sitting next to a pool, catching up with old friends, introducing our daughter to them, meeting the cool little people they've brought into the world (including the celebration of their youngest's fourth birthday), and enjoying a craft beer or two.

Orlando likely isn't where we'll live forever, but one of the great things about living in Orlando is the casual visit. Rather than forcing ourselves to pick and choose which friends we're going to spend increasingly limited weekends with throughout the year, we're able to drop in and reconnect when they're one of the 55 million. Not a bad deal at all.

Baby Stay Asleep

One month ago I left for a two week combination trip; three nights in New Orleans for a bachelor party JazzFest, followed by a five hour layover in Orlando, then a ten day work trip to India. Two nights before that trip, to which friends and co-workers alike agreed "what kind of new mother let's her husband do that kind of thing" (Answer:An awesome one), we tried a new contraption in the infant's bed.

Based on mild some digestive and/or acid reflux types of issues, we had the little one sleeping on a wedge that was placed under the sheet in her crib. The issue was that she would very quickly wiggle her way down and either restlessly sleep on the horizontal plane or get her feet stuck in the slats in the crib, inevitably waking herself up. A solution a friend recommended (everyone always has a recommendation, which I guess I do now as well which is kind of the point of this post) was a thing called a "Baby Stay Asleep". I'm going to be honest, it looks like some sort of baby restraining device more fit for a mental institution (albeit a very low-risk institution as there is only velcro and no straps and buckles).

It's a fitted sheet that has a velcro harness like contraption sewed to it, so the baby can't slide around and bumpers on the side so the kid can't roll over (or at least that's what their advertisement says, though I would think the velcro harness serves that purpose as well).

I felt bad the first night we placed her in it. I felt a lot better the next morning when I realized I hadn't been awakened. Seven hours of bliss. She had gone, at most, five hours in the crib prior to this. Over the next two weeks, while I was gone and as she went back to work (when Lauren hit 12 weeks old), the Baby Stay Asleep continued to work its wonders. In the month that we've used it, she's woken up before 6am a grand total of one time. Part of this may be the fact that she's aging and I'm sure we're creating an issue for the time that comes when it's no longer socially acceptable to velcro strap your child to a bed; however, for the time being, who cares? Our baby stays asleep with the Baby Stay Asleep.

It's Mango Season!

The northern Indian tourist season runs roughly from the festivals of October through sometime in March when the heat arrives. I’d highly recommend visiting the country during that temperate part of the year. However, when traveling for work, one doesn’t necessarily get to choose the month which is how I ended up traveling in May. The forecast called for a very consistent 108 degrees through the first few days of the trip. At least it was a dry heat. Don’t laugh. That’s really a thing. I’ll take the dry extreme heat of Delhi in May over the sultry heat and humidity offered in the late summer as the monsoon hits. If you’ve experienced both, you would agree. Just promise me you’ll never laugh at someone when they say, “it was a dry heat.” It’s a thing.

So what makes India worth visiting in May? That’s an easy one: mangoes. After living through multiple mango seasons in India, I’ve learned a few things about myself. First, bless the Ecuadorian’s hearts but the crap mangoes they export for sale at Publix in Orlando are just that. Crap. I’ll never eat another mango that isn’t Indian. I’ve heard a region of Pakistan has the world’s best mangoes; in the spirit of not starting an international conflict over who has the better mangoes, let’s just say the Indian mangoes are good enough to make you never want to have a mango produced in another region. Second, there is no fruit season I look forward to more than Indian mango season. I once lived in a world where honeycrisp apple season in the US was the most anticipated of the year. That world is dead to me. Long live Indian mango season. Third, it’s a little strange that I’ve actually put this much thought into my favorite fruit seasons. For what it’s worth, Florida strawberry season comes in a distant third behind mangoes and honeycrisps.

I doubt the mangoes will be enough to entice you to visit in India in May; however, this might: once you suffer through the 108 degree heat of the middle of the day, the breezes that accompany the 95 degree nights seem downright comfortable.

Return to India

My first assignment in India ended in April 2005. I didn’t return to the country until November 2009 for a short trip to find an apartment for our two year assignment. Suffice to say, much had changed in those four-and-a-half years. Highways had been built. The Delhi Metro had opened. Gurgaon had exploded into far more than a few multi-national offices, a luxury golf course, and garish malls.

My second assignment in India ended in December 2011. I was budgeted to travel back three times in 2012 but as those budgets dried, I didn’t return. Earlier this spring, an opportunity arose to accompany business leaders I had been supporting. Needless to say, I jumped at it.

Not nearly as much had changed between visits as I experienced in 2009. My trusty driver Kailash greeted me at the airport just as he had done dozens of times during my assignment. Even though the arrival process is far less scarring at Delhi’s sparkling Terminal 3 as it was at the old airport, it’s always reassuring to see a familiar face smiling on the opposite side of the steel divider when emerging through the green customs aisle.

After passing through the toll booth on NH8 that creates the border between Delhi and Haryana, I remarked to Kailash that it didn’t appear much had changed in Gurgaon. On cue, a new public transit system, a nearly finished Rapid Metro, appeared on my left just past Ambience Mall.

The next morning on the ride to work, I experienced a strange sensation: a road free of potholes. Kailash explained that the roads had improved and quickly gave credit to these infrastructure improvements  on the fact the elections were near. However, it seemed that nearly every main artery in Gurgaon had improved so much so that the suspension on the increased number of German sedans had a chance of survival.

What else had changed in India? The exchange rate. In 2010 and 2011 the rate hovered at or around INR 45 to the American dollar. With this exchange rate, I would try and coach the wife to “pretend” the rate was 40:1 to justify a purchase. In other words, it would seem more expensive and if she still really wanted an item (usually some sort of pashmina or scarf) at the higher price, it was a good purchase. She quickly caught on to this little game and instead used an exchange rate of 50:1, making items seem cheaper than they really were. Fast forward to 2013 and the exchange rate is now nearly INR 55 to the dollar. Needless to say, I still used the 50:1 rule when purchasing but can only imagine what the number would have been in Lindsay’s head and how many additional purchases that may have lead to. The fine folks at Anokhi and her other regular haunts surely regret her missing this trip (nearly as much as I did).

Whether it be driving between familiar places or seeing people in the office and the professional and personal memories flooding back from those two years of my life, this first trip felt like I was returning home. In fact, I got more nostalgic for my former expat life than when I return to Chicago, though I’m sure this has absolutely nothing to do with the considerable time required to return to India as well as the comparative frequency of trips to those former homes.

The hardest part of leaving India, which I’m sure will come as no surprise to those that know me, was parting ways with my trusty driver Kailash. I’m sure Indian work colleagues (not to mention friends that get sick of hearing my stories) think I have an abnormally close relationship with my driver. When I found out I was returning to India, the first note I sent was to request his service. For two years, he was a trusted part of our family. He made my life immeasurably easier, was always on time, and always made me laugh. There’s not much more an expat can ask of a driver. When my bags were loaded on a cart and as I made my way toward the terminal, I looked back a couple times as he drove away. Each time, he was looking back at me, smiling and wildly waving good bye.

I’d like to think another spring dust storm kicked up as I presented my itinerary to the friendly man with a gun at the airport door, but it may have had something to do with leaving a friend. For what it’s worth, I think Kailash thinks of Lindsay and I in much the same regard. From what I could tell based on our conversations during the week, I’m pretty sure he skipped going to his home village for some weddings based on my trip. When I learned this, I asked why he would sacrifice this. His response, “Sir, they are only friends. Not best friends.”

Diagnosis: Temperamental

After numerous trips to the doctor with queries about stomach issues, colic, and acid reflux, we had a second doctor in the practice take a look at little Lauren today. His professional opinion and diagnosis? After Lindsay regurgitated Lauren's entire medical history (which in nine weeks is far longer than my own personal medical history over the past 20 years - yep, I'm one of those many people with health insurance that subsidizes all the other people that actually use the group policy), the doctor came to a startling conclusion and diagnosis: It might just be possible that we have a "temperamental" child.

While I'm sure there's a reason for her discomfort and we'll obviously continue to try different things to figure out the cause, it was actually a little refreshing to hear a diagnosis so simple as that. And how has Lauren reacted to the news? Sleep. Finally. It's the first evening in recent memory that we've had time to clean up the house, get somewhat organized, and write a little bit. Of course, as I type this, she's sleeping with a bit of a smirk on her face as if to say, "enjoy it while you can, buddy, but be warned; because when it goes bad, it's going to go BAD."

She's actually been fairly decent at sleeping in the night. Sure, she still gets up at least once at a time that a normal person would consider ill-opportune, but for the most part during the middle of the night she basically wakes up, gets changed, eats, stays upright long enough so as to not get the hiccups, and dutifully falls back asleep. It could be a lot worse. And it is, during the days. I was under the impression that the only cohort that sleeps longer than infants is college students. While it might be the case, not with my infant. It's one of the many times I've heard the phrase, "every baby is different," over the past 63 days.

Regardless, tonight marks the night we're changing sleeping arrangements. For the first seven weeks, Lauren slept in the pack-and-play next to our bed, which if not for the University of South Florida (located in Tampa) would be the most misnamed noun in the world as it neither easily packs nor seems like a cool place to play. I traveled for business during the eighth week. Lindsay took that opportunity to move Lauren to the nursery and moved herself to the guest room that shares a Jack-and-Jill bathroom with the nursery. Baby steps but steps none the less. When I got home, we stayed in the guest room; partially because it was convenient and partially because while I was away the baby monitor had broken (Lindsay claims she held it next to her iPhone and the monitor "scrambled"; I have no way to confirm or refute this story as she had already contacted the manufacturer and arranged for a new one to be sent up on receipt of the new one). Whatever the case, we didn't have a monitor so we remained in the guest room. Last night, the monitor showed up (OK, in the spirit of full disclosure, it actually showed up like 3 days ago but I was simply too lazy to open it and get it set up until now; like I said, Lauren can be a little high maintenance), so we had one "final" night in the guest room (which was one of her better nights, including a nearly 7 hour window between feeds, which only added to our confidence as new parents and that Lauren (yeah, that's right, Lauren) was ready to be on her own).

Let's just hope the little temperamental one feels the same way.

The Plight of Late Night Feedings

Since I'm working and Lindsay's a saint, she's agreed to do the lone "middle of the night" feeding during the week if I do the bookend feedings adjacent to that crappy middle of the night feeding. It's a fair enough deal (perhaps too fair). Lately, I've found it to be downright comfortable. Why? For once, I'm not complaining about the late start time of live sporting events in the Eastern time zone.

At Lauren's current pace (and her requirement to stay vertical for 30 minutes after feeding to stave off supposed reflux), the entire process takes about an hour from the start of the feed until the time she can realistically be put back down. NCAA tournament games have been lasting until well past midnight which means I can delay that last feeding until 11:00pm or 11:30 to still catch the end of the games guilt free.

Tonight, we're only a few minutes from the start of the US/Mexico World Cup qualifier and she's closing in on four hours. I find myself glancing over her way saying, "stay asleep...stay asleep" so I have an excuse to stay up to watch the game (again, guilt free). In ordinary infant-rearing situations, it would be completely irresponsible for me to forgo an hour of sleep to watch a game if she had already been fed. However, if I know I have to be awake at some point during the game, there's really no point in trying to catch a quick nap, is there? Plus, I can always use the "I was trying to extend the amount of time she could go between feedings" excuse in the event I'm overtired the next day.

Let's just say if you're a dude that lives in the Eastern time zone and anyone ever gives you the choice of months to have an infant in the house, you could do a lot worse than March. Anyway, I need to run...fine, you caught me: I need to make sure I've got a beer in hand for the start of the match.

Quick addendum - Before going outside to get that beer that you want to have in hand for the start of the match, make sure your wife hasn't set the house alarm. On the bright side, Lauren slept through it (Lindsay awoke slightly to very confused). Of course, I might be a little tired. Upon opening the door to get to my beer fridge, I heard an alarm and my initial thought was, "what idiot just set off their house alarm."

Book Review: The Cat in the Hat

Since I'm pretty much the world's greatest parent, I read books to my two or so week old daughter. I know she can't understand but I've heard it's important. I haven't read out loud since elementary school, so I'm rediscovering a lost skill. In addition, my sister said she's read books to her twins every night they've been home since they were born. There's no way I'm going to fall behind my sister.

Earlier this week I selected Dr. Suess' classic, "The Cat in the Hat." It had been a while since I had read the book; in fact, it's possible I never did. I was always more of a "Green Eggs and Ham" kind of guy.

I get that with kids books there's a whole suspension of disbelief thing that's pretty much a prerequisite; however, that isn't going to stop me from offering my thoughts. First off, how plausible is it that a cat rings someone's doorbell and immediate treats someone else's house like some sort of amusement park. The only thing I can even come close to comparing it to was my first couple years out of college when myself and a couple buddies lived a block from Wrigley Field. Seemingly every weekend we'd have some sort of visitors coming into town, tearing through our apartment and the north side of Chicago, and leaving a path of destruction. At least the Cat...

<SPOILER ALERT>

...ultimately comes back and cleans up. Something our fraternity brothers never seemed to stick around for.

The other thing I struggle with about this book is exactly who's in charge of taking care of the children while their mother is away. It's pretty obvious they're not old enough to be left alone and the lone authority figure and voice of reason is a fish. I'll grant you that in the land of children's books it's plausible that an animal might be designated as a temporary caregiver, but a fish? Is there a more ill-equipped member of the animal kingdom to care for human children than a fish?

Even though the key message I took from this story was that the two children were obviously neglected and quite possibly unloved, it's still a fun read, though probably not age-appropriate for a 17 day old. As with most Suess classics, there's a lot of rhyming and ridiculousness. And couldn't we all use a little more ridiculousness in our lives?

What I Learned from Hugo Chavez

During our first six month assignment in India, we lived at the Taj Palace Hotel, which is in the heart of the Diplomat Enclave in New Delhi. When world leaders visit India's capital, they often stay either at that hotel or the nearby ITC Maurya Sheraton.

One Friday after work we made a quick stop by the hotel to drop our drycleaning so we could subsequently take a cab home from dinner (during our 2004-2005 assignment, we didn't have the luxury of our trusty drivers Kailash and Ashok). I noticed the portico of the hotel was eerily empty but that didn't stop me from calling over a bellhop to fulfill my request. Expat entitlement was in full effect. As he nervously stepped over, I noticed the few people that stood around were all equipped with machine guns. Well, except myself and the bellhop. Not thirty seconds later, a luxury vehicle stopped, the door opened, and then-Senator Hillary Clinton quickly hopped out of the car in a stylish red pantsuit (I'm not being sexist here in that I noticed what she was wearing, but when an important person wears something so distinctive, you tend to take note), and quickly ascended the steps to the hotel. The entire scene happened so quickly that Lindsay, who was still seated in the car, had no idea what had taken place.

At that time, we were living a life that made this experience somewhat notable and slightly more exciting than "just a normal Friday night." But not by a lot.

Shortly after the Clinton visit, we went to the Mauyra Sheraton for dinner. I'm guessing it was less about dinner and more about India's premiere Irish pub, Dublin's. Regardless, as we approached the front entrance to the hotel, it was obvious that there was beefed up security via both extra guards and metal detectors. I asked one of the friendly mustachioed bellhops in traditional Rajasthani garb who was visiting. He responded, "Chavez."

For some reason, and I have no idea why, I decided I'd test the security. Now please understand, and this is no excuse, but I was in my twenties and at the height of my obnoxious "I'm a westerner that does no wrong" phase where I thought I knew exactly how to navigate the Indian culture when the reality was more that I sort of knew how to navigate the Indian culture of luxury hotels. I decided it would be a good idea simply to walk around the metal detector at the front door. For all I know, I could have been shot - and probably would have deserved it. But guess what happened? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I simply walked around the metal detector and into the hotel.

Granted, in the eight years (nearly to the day, if my slight research is any indication) since this event, security at Indian hotels has increased but it's still less than meets the eye. We were told by Indian colleagues that the security checks at blockades to enter hotel grounds are far more thorough when there's a westerner in the car than when there's not. And as you might expect, when we stayed at the Taj Mahal Palace in Mumbai, security was tight to enter the hotel (it was one of the hotels attacked in 2008) and access floors via guest elevators but there were obvious gaps to access the floors via service entrances.

So what did I learn from Hugo Chavez? I basically learned the placebo effect of Indian hotel security and that it's far more show than substance.

Special note: I'm not sure what it says about my life or priorities that 16 days after I became a father (we welcomed a healthy and beautiful daughter on February 18) it was the death of Hugo Chavez that made me come out of writing hibernation (I'm certain I will hear about this from the wife). But no worries, the labor, delivery, and early fatherhood posts are coming (including one where I try to compare labor to visiting India for the first time - which seemed easy in concept but is proving harder to actually execute).

It's Not Delhi Belly, Weeks 36 - 38

The waiting game has officially begun. To be honest, I think both Lindsay and I thought that Little Luth would have made an appearance by now, but we find ourselves just waiting. We've been on a one to two times per week diet of doctors visits. We're both really happy with the practice we selected; however, one of the "down" sides is that as we see various doctors at various points, they each seem to have slightly different approaches. Just before 36 weeks we had an ultrasound that pointed toward the baby being ahead of schedule from a size perspective (it was measuring as if it were 39 weeks). Based on those measurements the doctor emphatically stated, that one way or the other, the baby would arrive before the due date.

The planner and professional in Lindsay instantly started peppering the doctor with questions (all of which were permutations that asked the much more direct question, "when is this baby arriving?" She's done this with each of the doctors we've seen since. On Friday, the doctor (who was on the more conservative spectrum) said, "The only prediction I'm going to give you is the due date, and I can confidently say I'm correct 5% of the time."

And so we wait.

And so we continue to take weekly photographs of the always lovely and beautiful (and increasingly more pregnant) Lindsay Luth.

Week 36

Week 37

Week 38

Baby Names

We're one of those couples that isn't finding out the sex prior to birth. From what we've heard, we're in the vast minority here. We're also one of those (annoying, to some) couples that isn't sharing baby names before the birth. From what I can tell, this phenomenon is becoming somewhat more common.

While there are many parts of the pregnancy that we're gladly sharing with others, it's kind of nice to have something that's just between the two of us. In addition, it helps that we'll never have to endure the situation where we tell someone a name that we like, they recoil in horror, and we get a complex about the name we selected. If someone recoils at a baby name after it's born and already named, it's on them. They're the asshole.

That hasn't stopped some ideas from flowing in. If people ask, I have a boy name and a girl name readily available to tell them: Ruth if it's a girl (i.e., "Ruth Luth") and Babe if it's a boy, (i.e., "Babe Luth"). Personally, I think both names are awesome but the wife doesn't agree. I keep threatening that I'm going to find a way to get either of those names on the birth certificate. She hasn't found these jokes funny.

Truth to be told, I nearly convinced Lindsay "Denali" would be a good middle name. It means "of the national parks" or something to that extent and is actually in the baby name book. I figured since I'm a bit of a national park dork that I could make it work. Though I do find it odd that a mountain that I'm pretty sure was named by native Alaskans well before the birth of this great country much less the advent of national parks could mean "of the national parks," but it was just ridiculous enough that I could have probably sold it if I really wanted to subject my child to that.

Speaking of subjecting a child to something, another name has been suggested that certainly would have raised eyebrows, subjected the kid to a lifetime of ridicule and/or questions like, "what the hell were your parents thinking?" Strangely enough the, the first name is the same as mine, John. The full name?

John Wilkes Luth

The Diaper Bag

There's a lot of crap to buy (or receive via registry gifts or as handouts from neighbors and siblings - thank god for both registries and the fact that other people have done this before) when a first baby comes along. One of the items that I hadn't initially considered but was directly instructed I needed to procure via my own means was a "daddy" diaper bag.

There are actually quite a few gender neutral options and even a couple manufacturers like Diaper Dude that make bags aimed at the involved father. To be honest, I didn't really care for any of these options. I get that bags from Diaper Dude are specifically designed for the purpose, I just couldn't get over the name and the logo just made it feel like they were trying too hard to cater to dads and masculinity, if that makes sense.

I started doing a little research and a little thinking. I asked myself, what characteristics do diaper bags have? Easy to carry, space for stuff and a bunch of compartments. My second thought was to go to my three favorite outdoor specialist manufacturers when it comes to luggage: Osprey, Patagonia, and The North Face. Unfortunately (but expected), they didn't have any bags specifically made for that purpose. Knowing that diaper bags need to be easy to carry, have space for stuff, and a bunch of compartments, I thought a little bit more. What other kind of bag typically has space for stuff, a bunch of compartments, and is easy to carry? A backpack. Who makes backpacks? Osprey, Patagonia, and The North Face. The dream was alive.

I sent an email to a former college roommate, who's much further advanced in this parenting thing than I am (and will probably ever be). I asked what he had done. His response was something to the effect of, "we got a special diaper bag and quickly moved into a backpack." This pretty much sealed it. Why even go through the motions of getting a special diaper bag? Why not just move straight to the backpack?

So yes, I used the excuse of having a child to add yet another backpack to the arsenal. In hindsight, the arsenal may have already contained such a pack, but it just seems so unsanitary to start your child's life with a diaper bag you've dragged across the world. I'd much rather have the diaper desanitized by things produced by said baby.

After careful consideration and hours of painstaking research (I left the unimportant research on things like the stroller and car seat to Lindsay), I finally landed on an answer: The North Face Surge. I figure worst case, even if it turns out to be a crappy diaper bag, I've got a brand new backpack designed for things like carrying a laptop and other suburban pursuits. It's a win-win.

Mr. (and Mrs.) Luth Travel in India

I've been home from India for thirteen months. It was about time to get organized and get to work on photos. Over the summer I completed a book about the three treks we had taken while on our expat assignment. For some reason chronicling those trips seemed like a more controlled experiment. The next planned volume was all of our domestic travel within India. It involved sifting through thousands of photos (which I had neglected to keep well organized) from nineteen different trips, recreating a 400 - 500 word summary of each of those trips that wasn't just a recitation of what we did, and organizing it into 332 pages.

A few things I realized while putting this book together:

• Neemrana may be one of my favorite places in the world. For anyone travelling to India that has an extra day, I'd highly recommend making the stop halfway between Delhi and Jaipur. It's a fantastic fort palace that they continue to renovate and makes a great one night getawway from Delhi. We discovered it for the first time in 2004. In total, we've returned five times since.
• Eleven of our 19 trips were to the state of Rajasthan, including multiple trips to the aforementioned Neemrana, Jodhpur, and Udaipur. While I really enjoy looking at the photographs from Jaipur, it remains one of my least favorite places in India; extremely touristy and, personally, I think it's a shame that it's the only Rajasthani city many travellers to India visit as part of the golden triangle along with Delhi and Agra.
• We stayed in some ridiculously nice hotels in India. Nicer hotels than we'll probably stay in for the rest of our lives (though having the ability to travel at the tail end of an off season, or in the case of Udaipur in late May right smack dab in the middle of off season, certainly helped make those places more affordable).
• There were a number of strangers we decided to trust along the way. I love having pictures of those (former) strangers - they bring back stronger memories than simply looking at a picture of the Taj Mahal.
• As a general statement, I have incredible family and friends. More specifically, I appreciate having had so many of them visit us (and allow me to direct their travel schedules to my own benefit) and having so many familiar faces sprinkled throughout our travels and the book.

While I'm pretty sure there's only a handful of people that will take the time to look at the book and even fewer that will read and look at the entire book (admittedly, I'm not sure how excited I'd be to look through over 300 pages of someone else's vacations), here are the links to the book in all its glory:

Blurb Bookstore - Preview

Apple Bookstore - Free

"The Gift of Motherhood"

One of the battles I elected not to fight during this whole pregnancy thing was on the classes to attend. OK, so maybe I battled the quantity of classes, but knowing my wife, I knew there would be classes. Even though I'm relatively certain that, over the course of history, more babies have been born to parents that didn't attend classes than born to parents that have, I knew there would be classes.

Rather than spreading out our required learning over the course of three Wednesday evenings, we binged on expectant parenting and took it all in last Saturday on a session called "The Gift of Motherhood" scheduled from 9 - 4.

Overall, the day was less worthless than I had expected. How's that for a rousing endorsement? On the positive side, during the morning session the instructor did a nice job of explaining what the physiological changes are that take place in the mother's body during and after labor. For some reason, having an explanation about what's actually going on inside (and now knowing what the word effacement means when the doctors use it) gives this whole experience a sense of reality and logic rather than it just being referred to as a miracle or magical.

Every expectant mother there was accompanied by a supporter, with one exception, all of those supporters were the spouse (one woman's husband wasn't able to join so her mother came). As a means to help all of us idiot first-time fathers to understand what our wives were going through, we were forced to where a 35 pound weight suit, complete with breasts and all. Maybe I'm more sensitive than the average father-to-be, but I'm not sure how putting on a weight suit makes me any more sensitive or understanding. I get that my wife has gained weight during the pregnancy. I get that that sucks. I get that that can't be comfortable. I've probably gained 35 pounds since my low weight in India. It sucks. I get it. Wearing a weight suit isn't going to make me a better parent. On the other hand, other than watching David Schwimmer fall of a table on Friends, seeing me in the weight suit is one of the few times you'll hear Lindsay laugh out loud, so it had that going for it which is nice.

Just before lunch the group went on a tour of the birthing section of the hospital. This was another aspect of the class I had made fun of prior to attending. How many other medical procedures are there where you visit the hospital for a look around to get comfortable with your surroundings? While I was skeptical, I must admit that helped to understand the their process, when we'll move from the birthing suite to the recovery suite (yes, it's obnoxious that they call them suites, but I'm using their nomenclature, not mine), and what to expect throughout our stay. It didn't hurt that they also mentioned that both mom and dad get a massage during the stay. Nice to see our healthcare dollars being put to use.

After the tour, the class took a slight turn toward the realistic. They showed a video of three mothers going through labor, answering questions about what it was like, and finally, showing the actual births. I hadn't seen an actual birth on video since high school. They showed it in biology class as a means to understand the reproductive systems but the true motivation behind showing had to be birth control. Seeing a similar video 20 years later was no more "meaningful" or "beautiful" - it was still, honestly, pretty gross. Based on the look of horror on Lindsay's face, it was safe to assume she was going through a similar set of emotions.

Once the scare tactics ended, there was swaddling and diaper application for beginners. Probably things I could have figured out on my own, but always good to get a refresher. I'm pretty sure the last diaper I changed was for the kids I babysat next door when I was in high school. And yes, I realize the fact I have niece and nephew that are eleven months old whose diapers I've never changed makes me a crappy uncle. Even worse that I'm the godfather to the nephew. Something tells me I have more than my fair share coming my way in the next few years.

As we progressed through the afternoon, it was obvious that we didn't have enough material to prolong the class until 4pm. I got that same feeling you get in college or grad school, especially when it's a once-a-week class where it's obvious you're going to get out early. You get giddy. You get excited. It's like you've found time. And so at 3pm when the class ended, we merrily made our way to the car, hit Park Avenue in Winter Park, got a coffee, shopped a little, had an early dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, Prato, and made it home by 6:30pm. Not a bad little reward for a day spent in class.

I had expected a painfully slow day filled with people prolonging the class by asking unnecessary questions (everyone knows people like this); thankfully, there was only one extraneous question-asker in the class and the class wasn't that bad (I know, another ringing endorsement). Could I have become a father without attending? Absolutely. Where there parts that annoyed me? Absolutely. Do I regret going? Not terribly. If nothing else, I learned that the late afternoon circuit in Winter Park might be a regular thing once baby arrives and before baby becomes mobile.

Overall, I'd call the day a success.

It's Not Delhi Belly, Weeks 31 - 35

I didn't realize it had been since before Christmas that I had last posted weekly pictures. That being said, I'm not going to waste much time because there's not much time to waste. Here are the last five installments, all taken here in Orlando; no more travel for either of us until the little one arrives. Since we're not travelling, it's always nice to know that two of the more notable guards in the house, Raji (week 32) and Sharky (week 35) have her back.

And yep, she still looks GREAT (not that I'm biased or anything).

Week 31

Week 32

Week 33

Week 34

Week 35

Environmentalism vs. Cost Containment

I'm not the most environmental fellow, but I'm certainly not anti-environment. I freely admit that. What bothers me is when hotels feel the need to make me feel like I caused an oil spill. I simply hate those annoying little signs instructing me to support their environmental efforts by reusing my towels. Do they really expect me to think their true intentions are as altruistic as those little signs would lead me to believe?

I would take those little cards a little more seriously if they were a little more honest: "Not only would you be helping the environment but you'll also be helping us reduce or contain our costs in a highly competitive industry with increasingly shrinking margins." In fact, I might even pay attention. Or better yet, more hotel chains could go the way of Starwood Properties. At least the fine people there had the decency to introduce the concept of gainsharing into their environmental efforts by throwing a few extra reward points your way for electing to forego room cleanings during your stay. Seems fair enough and is certainly a cost effective way to reward guests for doing the "right" thing.

On the other hand, I mean, it's been well over a year since I've had a cleaning crew picking up after me each and every day; why would I need that same level of service just because I'm staying away from home? For me, there's an inherent expectation built into the "deal" I make with a hotel: I pay you for a room, you give me clean towels every day.

The more expensive the hotel, the fewer of those little cards I want to see.

The Registry

I'm in no way a handyman. In fact, there are about four house projects for which I'm qualified: hanging blinds, installing dimmer switches (quite the advanced project for someone of my skill level), hanging shelves, and assembling any type of furniture involving an Allen wrench. Even with this limited skill set, I can work my way around Home Depot or Lowe's and have a relatively decent idea of where to go and what I'm looking for. In my younger days, I would roam around those stores with a befuddled look, crisscrossing the store, and generally getting more and more frustrated by the minute.

These days, home improvement stores have been replaced in the befuddlement department by baby stores. Even though I'm eight weeks away from becoming a parent, I have a horrible (actually, it's not really that horrible as I don't really like the stores, but as an expectant parent society tells me I should feel horrible) feeling that I'll never quite get comfortable in the big box baby stores, which made for a somewhat frustrating evening. An evening spent clearing off the registry.

I thought clearing the registry would be a relatively easy task that would resemble a quick look the remaining items, confirming what was still needed, and quickly shoveling items into a cart as we moved briskly through the store. This expectation came to a crashing halt within minutes of entering. Nine minutes to be exact. You never know how long nine minutes is until you've watched your wife walk around an infant clothing section looking for mittens, a hat, and socks, none of which, mind you, were on the registry. Somehow my expectation of crossing things off a checklist had morphed into some sort of sick shopping expedition. Part of the issue was that when she registered she knew about as much about baby stores as I do now (she's easily at a more advanced level).

You might also be asking yourself, isn't "T minus 8 weeks" a little early to be clearing off the list? To be honest, I don't know. What I do know is that the fact that it wasn't done was causing stress in a person to be named. Since my job is basically to remove as much stress from that person to be named's life, I didn't ask any questions or put up a fight. We found the earliest night that worked and it's one less thing on the list.

Even though I'm smart enough to know my stress reduction role, I'm not going to lie, my attitude didn't start out terribly well. When Lindsay showed me a $60 theremoscan electronic ear thermometer, my response was something like this, "Did you have that when you were a kid? Are you still standing here? Then I think we can probably do without." I'm all for technology and realize there are things available that weren't thirty-plus years ago, but I drew a line at a $60 thermoscan electronic ear thermometer.

Shortly after the thermometer incident we found ourselves in the pacifier section. Like any normal person, I expected to find a few different types of pacifiers but I didn't think an item so simple would deserved its own L-shaped interior section with shelves from floor to ceiling. I was sorely mistaken. I had no idea what the differences were but thankfully we had been told, "just pick out a mix of them and the kid will figure out which one he or she likes." That's exactly the kind of randomness that could change my attitude.

Eventually we worked our way around the store though I still had to push a little bit; when shopping with Lindsay she can easily regress into dawdle mode which means she can take far longer than necessary to get around a store. I'm fine with this, I think it's somewhat therapeutic for her (though it's usually at Target), I just tend to be more fine with it when I'm not involved.

On the bright side, it's one less thing that needs to be done. We're in really good shape on the material side of things - the nursery is 95% complete (the remaining 5% being finalizing what to put on the walls) and the house stocked to handled a newborn. Over the next few weeks, we shift out attention to the classes. Let's just hope the little bugger sticks in the oven long enough for us to complete the classes. And yes, I've gently tried the argument that there are far more babies raised in the world by parents that didn't attend a class than those that did but that's one of those areas where I've decided it's not in my best interest to push. Those classes are nowhere near as ridiculous as a $60 thermoscan electronic ear thermometer.