Painful Lessons from the Maternity Ward: But our story has a happy ending.

by David Leonhardt

Turn your baby photos into adorable greeting cards.
Amazing Baby Sleep Secrets

Energizing. Practical. Inspiring. Discover the 9 habits that can change your life! Whoever dubbed New York, New York "the city that never sleeps" should visit The Maternity Ward. My recent visit included a drop-in on several screenings of "A Star Is Born" at the late-show theatre, right near Mama's Breast (all night milk bar) and Papa's Gas Station ("We burp you on your way.").

To a chorus of infant cries, I am drafting this column at 1:00 a.m. Of course, it is 3:00 p.m. in Tokyo, so I suppose it isn't so late after all.

The whole experience of child birth seems to be a very traumatic way to build a family. Fortunately, it did lead to two very happy results. It gave me a new daughter, Lauralee, the Little Sister. And it taught me some valuable lessons, which it is my patriotic duty to share with you.

The first lesson – all men, take note – is that my wife is my hero. Amazingly, she survived this traumatic birth story.

As the husband, I experienced the whole child-birth outburst second-hand. After careful observation, I conclude that this is the best way to experience it. (Apparently I had some first-hand experience over 40 years ago, but I can't remember too many details.)

Most husbands suffer great humiliation during child birth. Wives hurl razor-sharp insults like "I hate you!" and "You fink!" and "You did this to me!" and "I HATE YOU!!!" My wife, truly original even in pure agony, didn't use any of those words. In fact, she didn't say a thing. Instead, she threw up on me.

Of course, I don't hold the throwing up against her. The second child-birth lesson is the importance of forgiving people who act in haste, in anger, or in excruciating pain from pushing a six-inch wide baby through a one-inch wide hole in their bodies.

The birth story takes a turn for the worse

The survivor of our child-birth story, Little Sister, after five minutes
The survivor of our child-birth story, Little Sister, after five minutes

Did I mention that this was a "natural" child birth? Natural, as in no painkillers. OK, so there was the epidural, which should have relieved the pain, if even one of the four dosage increases had worked. And I suppose you could call morphine and nubain painkillers if they had actually killed any pain.

So my wife, with a permanent back condition amplifying the stab of every contraction and reverberating it through her spine with no momentary relief between contractions, felt every glorious minute – 487 in all – of the unplanned "natural" child birth. Did I mention that she is my hero? The third lesson of this birth story is, when the best-laid plans go astray, improvise (which might explain the throwing up – I have reason to believe that was not planned, either).

My wife's trauma was nothing compared to what Little Sister overcame. Her shoulders got stuck, pinching the umbilical cord and cutting the oxygen supply from her not-quite-yet-born brain. To do the equivalent, you would have to press your shoulder up into your nose, while a bulldozer on steroids pushes you in a river of blood through your mailbox. (Don't try this at home, folks.)

Thanks to Quick Thinking Doctor, the focused team of nurses, and a well-sharpened pair of scissors, Little Sister is enjoying great suction at the all-night milk bar with no more damage than a limp arm. (That's "brachial plexus injury" in medicalese.)

The arm will hopefully recover. Even if it doesn't, we know what the alternative would have been ... and we do not look good in black. Lesson number four from this child birth story is to appreciate what you have rather than worry about what you don't.

How Not To Stop Bad Breath

by David Leonhardt

Energizing. Practical. Inspiring. Discover the 9 habits that can change your life! I must have been feeling particularly gutsy. "Pee-ew! You smell like the dump on the tenth day of a record-breaking chronic heat wave."

I admit that it's not something I would say to Attila the Hun during a pre-battle sword-sharpening ceremony. But it was just my buddy Bart, and I was certain the Huns were busy causing trouble elsewhere.

"Pee-ew! You have bad breath," I repeated.

When the telephone rang that evening, the last voice I expected to greet me was that of Bad Breath Bart. "How's it going, Happy Guy? Personally, I'm feeling stupendous," he said. "Want to guess why?"

"You just won a free backstage pass to a Beatles reunion concert?"

"Say...that sounds like fun. I would love to see John playing live again," he replied. "But that's not why I feel stupendous."

"OK, I give up. Why do you feel stupendous?"

"Because I just discovered an easy cure to stop bad breath," he declared. "Want to guess what it is?"

"You bought The Bad Breath Report to cure your chronic bad breath and you are implementing every last piece of advice five time over?"

"Say...that sounds like a good idea, too," Bad Breath Bart said. "But that's not how I'm stopping my bad breath. My plan is even simpler. I covered it up."

A bad breath remedy that just won't work

"Covered what up?"

"My breath, or course" he replied with unusual cheer.

"Bart, covering up your breath won't work. Since the dawn of time, people have been trying to cover up their breath. When Julius Caesar first invaded Paris and raided the famed Louvre Wine cellar, he declared 'Veni Vidi Vino'. But Mrs. Caesar was onto him – 'Ha! You've been into the vino again!' she screamed. You can't cover up your breath; you have to cure your bad breath. mint just is not strong enough."

"Exactly!" Bart exclaimed. "Mint is too wussy, so I found a more potent remedy. Want to guess what?"

"You've been rinsing again with that sardine-oil tapioca sauerkraut cocktail?"

"Nope."

"You've discovered that turpentine is most effective taken internally?"

"Nope."

"You downed a bottle of concentrated vanilla extract, mistaking it for beer?"

"Nope."

This guessing game was giving me headaches. "I give up, Bart. What's your secret cure to stopping your chronic bad breath?"

"Raw garlic," he declared.

"Raw garlic?"

Raw garlic. Nobody can sniff out my bad breath anymore, because all they smell is glorious garlic," he beamed.

"Glorious garlic?"

"Of course, there are some disturbing side effects," Bad Breath Bart noted. "For instance, my pet vampire, Boris, shriveled up last night when I tried to share my good news with him. How's that for appreciation! I decided to talk to my plants instead, but they all wilted. And this afternoon I blew a kiss to my wife, and she slammed the door on my face."

"Ah, how much garlic did you consume?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe 50 or 60 heads," Bart replied. "Why?"

I had to stop Bad Breath Bart

"May I offer a more pleasant alternative, Bart? A remedy for bad breath that won't put your nose in a cast every time you get the irresistible urge to blow at your wife or inspire the entire farming community to picket outside your door?"

"Sure, Happy Guy. I always value your advice," Bad Breath Bart said. "Remember when you suggested I should use a firmer handshake?"

"Yes, you put Parson Saunders in the hospital for three days. They still haven't found a cure, or even a name, for that new strain of crushed-bone injury."

"And the time when you suggested I lift weights to get in shape?" Bart recalled.

"When I said 'weights' I was not referring to Mrs. Martin. I wish you had listened to me when I suggested you put her down."

"And when you said I should call my mother last Mother's Day, did I not call her up that very minute?" Bart demanded.

"Oh, yes. I remember. By the way, did she ever send you that money?"

"So, what remedy do you suggest this time?"

Finally a cure for his chronic bad breath?

"Try using mouthwash with cetylpyridinium chloride in it. It's a great remedy for bad breath. It always works for me."

"Say...that's a mouthful," Bad Breath Bart exclaimed.

"That's the idea."

"Let me write that down," Bart said. "Do you spell that with one 'a' or two?"

I was glad to have finally given Bad Breath Bart a 'mouthful' that would actually help him cure his chronic bad breath problem...assuming he could ever get past the spelling barrier. I was excited to answer his call the very next evening.

"Hey, Happy Guy. Thanks for the tip," Bad Breath Bart said. "That centlip... cittap... centrap... That unpronounceable mouthwash ingredient you recommended is wonderful."

"I'm so glad you like it!" I was thrilled that he had finally taken my advice without creating a plague or causing any large structure to implode.

"Yeah. It really tastes great," he continued.

"Tastes great?"

"You bet. And so filling, too."

Suddenly I felt an ominous pang in my gut. "Just what do you mean by 'filling'?"

"After taking that cetilap... cettemp... certap... that unpronounceable concoction you recommended, I don't feel so hungry anymore," he explained. "Not only did it cure my bad breath, but it has cut waaaay down on my grocery bills."

"Bart, just what did you mix into that 'concoction'?"

"Oh, the usual – ten scoops of ice cream, a cup of milk, a bag of chocolate chips, half a banana, some corn flakes, a pinch of a wombat's earlobe hair and some leftover grenadine," he replied.

"But how would that stop your bad breath?" I asked in exasperation.

"Oops. I also added that ceptip... cetpen... certrip... that unpronounceable ingredient you recommended," he added. "It really tasted yummy."

It was at that moment that my wife entered the room. "Honey, I just made you one of your favorite banana-strawberry milkshakes," she said with a smile.

I looked suspiciously at the glass she placed in my hand. I cringed as I turned it from side to side. I looked all around it.

"Whatever are you searching for," she demanded.

I knew she would not believe me. "Chocolate chips, corn flakes, grenadine and a pinch of a wombat's earlobe hair."

"Don't be silly," she chided. "You know we don't stock corn flakes and more. They give you bad breath."

Read more: http://www.thehappyguy.com/stop-bad-breath.html#ixzz0eyQXoEPm

The Art Of Kissing

by David Leonhardt

Your strengths. Your weaknesses. Your life. Create a personalized plan for happiness today! Every now and then a quarrel breaks out down at the barber shop, lines are drawn, challenges leveled and, with any luck, somebody walks out with very few blood stains. All over a seemingly innocent discussion: What is the greatest sport on earth?

Some say "football". Some say "baseball". Canadians say "hockey". The rest of the world says "soccer". (Actually, they say "football", too...but they mean "soccer".)

I say: "kissing". Yes, kissing is the greatest sport on earth. Allow me to explain just a few of the reasons.

ATTENTION: If bad breath (yours or your partner's) makes you uncomfortable kissing, you need The Bad Breath Report

Kissing is the most versatile sport around. There are so many types of kisses to choose from – at least one for just about any occasion. There is the quick peck on the cheek kiss, the peck on each cheek kiss, the peck on your nephew's cheek kiss while grabbing the other cheek flab with your hand, the wildly passionate kiss, the elegant kiss on the hand, the dreaded kiss of death, the "Hey you! Kiss this!", and even the Florida town of Kissimmee (founded, no doubt, by early Italian pioneer kissers).

The Art of Kissing Is Easy

Kissing is easy to transport. It really doesn't matter where you are. You can kiss: at the gym, in the boardroom, in the space shuttle, even in Alaska from June through September.

Kissing requires so little equipment, which means you can do it even when not prepared for the occasion, and even when you have to travel light. This makes it the ideal participation sport for businessmen, world travelers and marsupial groupies.

Kissing always livens things up. Try this: the next time you are in an oh-so-booooring meeting that seems to last oh-so-foreeeeever, why not just kiss somebody. Go ahead; try it. See how it livens things up?

Kissing is legal in all 50 states and most earth-bound countries. Rumors are circulating that kissing will even be legalized soon on Mars, Jupiter and in Afghanistan.

Kissing is 100% biodegradable, so when you kiss somebody, you help the environment.

Kissing is safe to do in a moving vehicle, as long as you are not driving.

Kissing is non toxic...unless you kiss somebody who has just swallowed a bottle of Drano. Even so, kissing is still safe, as long as you do not use your mouth.

Kissing is non-fattening. This is perhaps the best news of all, because dieters now have something to keep their mouths busy while not eating, and smokers can quit smoking without having to chew candies until they a) need to diet or b) induce diabetes. (Read the headline: "Kissing prevents diabetes")

Kissing is organic, low in sodium, preservative-free, low in saturated fats and does not contain dozens of delicious ingredients that cannot be pronounced, like javelchromopntheoremicherbicidic acid.

Most kisses are not tested on animals, but who am I to stifle your sense of adventure?

You can kiss just about everyone: your boyfriend, your aunt, your wife, your veterinarian, the Prime Minister of the Duchy of Grand Fenwick and your pet aardvark. Don't try kissing them all at the same time, though...especially not your boyfriend and your wife.

Kissing meets the toughest safety regulations of any national or international sporting organization. Kissing has a tremendous safety record, except for the occasional locked braces. But a quick call for a AAA tow truck fixes that problem (CAA in Canada, AA in the UK, the local plumber in France)

Extreme Kissing NOT Recommended

The only recorded deaths involving kissing are by third parties, usually wives, husbands, spurned lovers and other spectators who somehow get past security and storm onto the playing field like that well-dressed gentleman at the Superbowl.

We do NOT recommend "extreme kissing". For instance, don't kiss an on-duty garbage truck; it is considered dangerous. Don't kiss a metal fence-post in sub-zero weather; readers in northern climates know exactly what I mean. Don't kiss any electrical outlets, or you'll look like this.

Are you paying attention? This one is important. Don't kiss the vacuum cleaner if you want to retain all your vital organs. It's OK to kiss sandpaper, just don't use your tongue. Don't kiss a chainsaw; we feel this one is self-explanatory. And don't kiss your office manager while on duty...unless you happen to be a work-from-home hermit like me.

But overall, kissing is so great that it makes baseball, hockey, football and soccer seem like bush league sports. Next time you hear a brawl at your local barbershop, just go in and give everyone a kiss. I guarantee that you will win the argument hands down. And if not, at least you will make some new friends to argue with.