Crunch time

Welcome back sports fans, we're in the bottom of the ninth, 2 minute warning in the fourth quarter, last minutes of the third period( hockey reference for my relatives in the north).  And here's the scene:  everybody just wants it to be over with, done, finished, for the love of God, GET-IT-OUT.

I would like to tell you that the belly's good spirits had flagged, but I can't.  She's as happy as ever, but is ready to stop lugging this thing around.  You may be surprised that for the belly to turn over in bed, it takes roughly the equivalent amount of effort to turn a bus around in an alley.  Nothing for the belly is easy. This is affecting daily life in a thousand ways.  For example, I asked the belly if she had a receipt we needed to return an item.(as we pulled into the parking lot of the store)

The belly looked at me and said rather matter-of-factly:

"It fell on the floor, so I said fuck it"

You see, things that wind up on the floor stay on the floor, 'cause the belly ain't even gonna try to bend over to pick it up.  Although I did see her grab a Popsicle wrapper up with her toes......I guess if the belly has shoes on, it's a no-go.  

What we need to discuss however is something all of you belly vets will undoubtably feel:  guiltious-bellious

This syndrome is the result of severe guilt for what is now the very apparent difficulty of the belly.  It went from a cute little bump with gentle flutters to a monster of a thing that moves like a rolling bowling ball in hefty bag.  you and I can't deny that the belly is working hard at just getting from place to place.  When the belly first asked me to help put on shoes, I thought there was a bit of laziness involved, but really it has become an issue of what it can no longer do.

Watching the belly move around, hell, just looking at the belly makes me feel bad.  I mean really, if I had that  enormous thing hanging from my carriage, i would go directly to the surgery center and demand it be removed immediately.  No matter how much i might do for the belly, I have come to the realization that no matter what I do I cannot alleviate the struggle the belly goes through every day.  

It is big, it looks ridiculous heavy, and I can't even image having to go though every day with all that hanging in my body.  I'll admit that I am he biggest wimp and I can't hold a candle to the strength of the belly in doing this truly amazing thing.  I feel bad, I try to to make it easier,  but there ain't no making it easier,  and that my friends in bellyhood, is why you will feel the the guiltious -bellious just like me.....

A rose by any other name......

Well now belly boyz, it has been a while since I've been here, but surely you understand my predicament. Much to do, and if I'm not steppin', I'm in big dutch with the belly. To say it has been quiet is a bit misleading, because nothing in belly world is ever truly quiet, just moments of serenity between a new crisis. The belly has been getting bigger and bigger, not resisting nature by any means, and it is not that far to the finish line.

I have to hand it to the belly, she has been taking it all in stride. Me? I'm not sure the activity in the abdominal region would be taken as nonchalantly. Bit-o-advice: do not make references to the critter's movements or the miracle of a living thing growing in your beloved's mid section as anything remotely resembling:
1. Weird
2. The creature from "Alien"
3. A giant gas bubble
4. Freaky
5. Any reference to movies in which the movement eventually ends in the the belly being exploded.

Just saying......

Now, on to the matter at hand. You will be asked to participate in the formation of the moniker of your unborn. You will be given several choices, and then asked to work on your own to determine the label that your progeny will be called for the rest of its life. These are weighty decisions, and you can't be expected to undertake this with nothing less than life-altering implications it will have.

Me? I never really gave names a second thought. If it were my choice we would all just get a number and identification would be easy. Not that names aren’t important for self identity and all, but I have always been of the opinion that names are just a crap shoot.  Personality will take over any name.  For example, one of my good friends is named Jay.  Great guy, smart, kind, real success.  I also know two other Jay’s, one is an idiot, and the other is a complete assbag.  Did the name help or hurt?  Neither.  Names do not matter when all is said and done. 

The belly, on the other hand, DOES NOT SHARE THIS INDIFFERENCE TOWARDS NAMES.  Names are very important to the process of giving our little darling an identity that will define her success in later life. As a matter of fact, the belly informed me it is very, very, very, important to pick just the right one, and you can keep your stupid opinions and slipshod scientific analysis to yourself thank you very much.

I have to admit I always begin the review of the names proffered by the belly with how many mocking names I can make. You know, anything remotely sounding like, rhyming with, or having initials that could also stand for a body part (preferably near the genital area), act of procreation, bodily fluid, etc.  Hey, sue me, I was a shit in grade school.

So after the belly had come up ideas I quickly shot them down with derogatory nicknames. What I didn't realize was the belly was expecting me to offer counter proposals. So I went on a website and picked the name "Katherine".   
Big mistake. 

And by big I mean never-even-seen-the-doghouse-I’m-in-now-big.

It started innocently enough.  The belly and I were watching a little television when she asked again what I had come up with for an alternate to the name she had settled on.  I had been stalling for a week or two with tepid responses to her idea along the lines of “it’s not that I dislike it, I just feel eh about it”

But my time had finally run out.  I had to pony up something.  So I threw out “Katherine”.  I’m not crazy about it(see earlier discussion) but it had a good sturdy feel, classic, timeless you might say.  I didn’t change my gaze from the television, but all of a sudden I felt the heat from her stare hit the side of my face like a blowtorch.  Conversation that followed:

Belly:  “Katherine????” she said, “where in the hell did you get Katherine?” 

Stupid guy:  “uh, I don’t know”

B:  “What do you mean you don’t know”

SG:  “I got it from a list of baby names”

B:  “What list?”

SG:  “uh.. something I saw on the internet”

B:  “Something off the internet”  The belly’s eyes narrowed suspiciously

SG:  “yeah, um, I…uh.. can’t remember which …”

Staring continues, belly has now begun to lean toward me and I get the feeling that she is about to leap from the chair, grab me by each ear, and begin to bash my head against the back of the couch until my skull splits open.  But that just may be the fear talkin’

B:  “Really??? Katherine???  Why would you want to name her Katherine?????”

SG:  “well…I….uuhhh….I…just always liked it, it’s a good sturdy name”

B:  “Sturdy???   Sturdy???!!!  STURDY????!!!”

SG:  “Well I’m not married to it or anything, I just ….”

The belly hung her head in disgust.  As all of you that signaled the last hope I have ever had of giving any input into the name of my daughter. 

So, without any further ado, I am proud to introduce the soon to join us member of the household:

Layla Grace

(Must. Resist. Urge. To. Make. Nickname…………………………..)

Cervix-shmervix

Well we went to the belly doc today with great anticipation. Some time ago the belly had a procedure that evidently had the effect of chopping off part of the innards of my beloved. At the time all I heard was "no sexual activity for 8 weeks" pretty much everything after that was "blah, blah, blah". Now I'm generally in the doc's corner but when you drop a bomb that the previously mentioned procedure can have a very substantial impact on the current condition, well a little heads up would have been nice. Both the belly and I were worried that the cervix had been affected to the point that we now had worry that the critter could fall out at a moments notice, that my brothers is real worry.

You don't really think about all the problems, until you read(damn you google) or the belly doc drops a bomb on you that the belly might have to have bed rest and you are permanently barred from the happy place. Now we spent a two week period worrying about whether we need to make the belly pose a 12 week handstand. Cooking a baby is no walk in the park, I can tell you that. The belly has been pretty mellow lately with no big problems, so when the worm of worry gets placed in her ear, it burrows straight into the brain.

But all was good, the cervix was the proper length, as demonstrated by the doc in a gesture of forefinger and thumb, although when representing distance, hand gestures should generally be avoided. The cervix is adequate, and that is all we needed to know.

The belly took it all in stride and asked few questions. Me I wanted to shout, " what he f**k, doc? Could you not give us a little more heads up on the whole 'complications' issue"? But right now I seem like the only hysterical one. The belly is in a state of bliss, and although I'm not complaining, I have a hard time switching gears. Now that we are in the 30th week, my trepidation has been nullified by the belly's relaxed state. She has chilled to the point that I really don't recognize her anymore. She is on the downhill slide and dropped the non-stop anxiety of losing the critter almost entirely.

So with the indeffirence of the preggo-doc, we are in the home stretch, we aren't nervous about the outcome of the pregnancy, we are now shifted into the "do we have enough shit" mode.and judging by the advice of others, we do not have nearly enough short.

I got blisters on me fingers

So I know it has been a while, but what can I say.... I am to tired to type. You see, the belly has been tired and lethargic, but that has not translated into rest time for your brother in bellydom. Last weekend the belly asked me "are you going to get started on the baby's room?". Now my friends you must understand that no question posed at this point is actually a question. No, no, no, no, a question at his juncture is simply an order, a call to action, an ultimatum. You may be fooled into thinking that a question is an opportunity for you to explain how you will spring into action when it is closer to necessity, but you would be wrong. So very wrong.

Now let's talk about the baby room. It has to be exactly what the belly has envisioned. This would be simple enough if the belly was able to explain precisely what it wanted, but you will not be that lucky. You with get have exposed photos and strips of magazine pages that are meant to give you guidance. It is up to you to take these scraps and create the perfect baby room. Now I know what you're thinking.... The baby has absolutely no awareness of the surroundings, but you have to remember the baby room is not even remotely for the baby, it is for the belly, by the belly, and from the belly. It is the manifestation of the motherly love realized into shades of blue, white and pink. You see, the baby room is the one thing the belly can control at this point, and man o man you better get your paintbrush out and get to steppin'. I have now refinished the previously purchased dresser. Painted the ceiling and walls, and moved anything that is not baby centric to other parts of the house.

The ironic thig is that we have an ample supply of room, but the baby has already occupied a big chunk of real estate and she hasn't even been born yet. I mean really, do we need to spend this much time on picking out the lampshade? Chances are the belly will keep the critter close during the first few weeks so why do I have to kill myself getting just the right shade of gray? The belly doesn't concern itself with these practicalities. The room must be prepared and must be just right. I have now busted my ass getting the right layer of latex paint on every conceivable inch of the new room, and I. Am. Tired.

Tired not because I don't want a pretty room, but because I would have waited until a much more sane "notice to proceed" was issued. One that aligned a little closer to the due date. The belly, however, wants to get this facet of the future hairless squirrel locked in, finished, completed, done...

So my back, hands, and gluteus muaximus are tired and sore. Small price to pay in my book, cause I am in the "good husband/daddy" category. Not the "sorry-worthless-doesn't-care-I-don't-know-why-I-agreed-to-procreate-with-this-miserable-bastard" category.

You want to know how to avoid trouble: do what the belly asks you about, nothing more, nothing less. You will be tired, but consider it training for when you have to step up and care for the little poop machine. The point being that you better set down your beer and start creating the room that will make the belly happy. And let me clear up an important misconception. You are not actually ever being asked for your opinion. Your job is to nod and say "sounds good to me". If the belly wants a specific color on the walls, you schlep yourself down to Home Depot and tell them to mix you up a gallon of the subtle shade of gray.

So the baby room is done, the refinished dresser is firmly ensconced, and I avoided the urge to try to offer
the male perspective. I am all good with the belly, finally.

The belly: 974
Me: 3

Whoa nelly! I got a belly!

Let's talk about the dirty little secret amongst us belly guardians, that as we shepherd the belly through the maze of ups and downs, the ins and outs, the good, the bad, and the truly frightening; we are slowly trapped into the cycle of food. I have spent many hours in the preparation, pursuit, and delivery of food. What I didn't realize is that I would also begin to grow my waistline. I mean how do you constantly make sure there is something good to eat and then order a salad? Look at me now, it's almost 10 o'clock and what am I doing? Making turtle brownies. And will I eat them? Oh yeah baby! Do I need to eat them? Oh no baby! (by the way I'm sitting here in my sweatshirt and under a blankie even though it was 92 degrees today- the belly must be kept well chilled)

Empathy is a strong emotion, my concern for the belly is doing terrible things to my girlish figure. But how can I stop? I've tried serving vegetables, lean meats, and low fat treats. How does the belly receive these caring, thoughtful gestures? Let's just say the belly is less than pleased. Make some grilled chicken? First question from the belly is "where's the freakin' gravy, dude?". And I have learned if it ain't gotz gravy, it better have some butter and cheese instead. I apologize in advance to all the cows that will grow their udders in order to provide the creamy dairy products. Hey, at this point it's all about survival, and if it's me or a cow, all I can say is "bossie, you got your work cut out for you".

We are now in the phase which the instruction books have told us(damn them all to hell) that the baby will be doubling in size over the next four weeks. Good news for the belly is, "the baby is doubling in size" has replaced "I lost a pound" which replaced "I'm eating for two" which replaced "get outta my face I'm hungry". The trend, i fear is: keep the food coming bub, and don't stop 'till I tell you to.

On to some more mundane matters. At this point we went in for the glucose test. I'm not real clear on what that is, but all I know is I had to go to doc 'o babe and watch the belly drink a cup of flat orange drink, and then.....wait...a....long....ass....time. Then he put a tape measure on the belly and said "thank you very much, see you in a month". Clearly he doesn't get it. The belly needs something much more tangible. Like a report or a readout from a machine that goes beep, beep, beep. We di hear from the bastard stick, but by now we no longer fear it, in all it's staticy noise. We own you, you sorry piece of Doppler technology!

So we venture on into bellyhood, watching the big build happen and begin the dreaded next step, picking a name for the critter. More on that later......

My new Science: Bellyology

I know, I know, it has been more than a week since I updated my bellow bellyistas on how to cope with the tribulations of bellyness.  I had hoped to give a glowing report of a renewed sense of person and the re-emergence of my wife from the state of belly.  It appears the belly is here to stay.  But now that I have had time to spend among this strange creature, I like Jane Goodall herself have slowly gained the trust of the belly and have, while not accepted into the community, at least  I am allowed to sit quietly and observe the goings-on from a distance.  They say it takes time for creatures of the wild to grow used to normal humans, and eventually, once the sense you are no longer a threat, they carry on with their normal activities such as eating, sleeping, and screeching at the top of their lungs. 

You get to see the strange and wonderful nests they build.  Just how so many pillows can end up in one place is truly amazing. (quick aside- I resented the great wall of foam, also known as the body pillow, but I am slightly ashamed to admit I woke up the other day and I had co-opted the stupid thing from the belly.  It really is comfortable to sleep with……on second thought, I am very ashamed.)  You can watch how they roam from place to place munching on every sort of foodstuff. And observe the fierceness with which they lay claim to territory and defend it with a snarl and bearing of teeth. 

So, I have arranged the periods with which I have taken in my field observations, these are not exact, mind you, but more like general periods with which you can anticipate behavior, and if you so choose, you can take preventative action:

Weeks  0-4:  the excited times, all fun and anticipation, several pregnancy tests are taken

Weeks 4-8: the terrified times, all fear and apprehension, you both may experience difficulty breathing, first appearance of the bastard stick

Weeks 8-12:  the sleepy times, the ability of the belly to remain awake and upright is severely diminished. 

Weeks 12-16:  the grouchy times, keep your hands and fingers away from the belly, and always wear head protection

Weeks 16-20:  the quiet times, yes I said quiet.  A calm before the storm, you can sense the gathering energy of the atmosphere as the belly is about to begin the big build

Weeks 20-24:  The heavy times, the big build has begun and moving is getting increasingly difficult, your belly might ask you to “build me a step so I can climb into the bed

And last, the Belly has clearly established,

Weeks 1-40, the hungry times

Crack an egg? How 'bout I crack your head

Hello belly brothers, I know it has been afew days since I commiserated with you, but life takes its toll, eh? You may not realize that when you hit the 2nd trimester you hit the doldrums of the belly time. Well past the initial excitement, well past others being excited for you, and well past the memory of the little blue cross that sealed thy fate. Like a sailor on the vast ocean you have forgotten the maidens waving to you from shore, tossing flowers as you embark on the journey. The smell of the salt air as you felt the rush of the boat when the trade winds filled your sails and the look across the bow into the vast ocean into the unknown. Filled with trepidation tempered with anticipation, you felt the sway of the sea and couldn't wait for the distant shores.

Well belly life is much like the sea voyage. The undulating of the vessel rolling you forward has now become the rythmic equivilant of water torture. You wake to the roll, you spend all day with the roll, and you go to sleep with the roll. But some time has past, and much time has yet to go. At the half way point, you are tired of all this freaking rolling. The belly is growing increasingly uncomfortable, and having difficultly doing what it did with ease a few short weeks earlier. The hormones have subsided, the estrogen is stable, but what they didn't tell you is they have been replaced with the new hormone, bossogen. This is the hormone that affects the belly and brings out a pronounced increase in the certainty that the belly is the boss. Of you, of the weather, of everything and everybody.

Bossogen is less unstable, but the downside is that it never wavers. At least early on, the mood would ebb and flow. A temper would flare and subside, you only had to weather the storm. But now my friends, the boss has arrived and you had better get used to it. Nothing you own is yours any longer. You think you had rights to your own home? Ha! You were so very wrong. Scenario: you are getting ready in your bathroom(admittedly you share with the belly, but heretofore it had a sort of squatters right, whoever was in there got to stay until finished) the belly rushes in, sees you engaged in activity, and says "I have to pee, get out". Now you could protest, in your half dressed state you might even ask a stupid question like "what?". But what you need to do is get out....pronto. I have a recurring nightmare where the police are called because I am standing in my underwear in my front yard because the belly has ordered my evacuation. The good part of the dream is the coppers are both belly veterans and when they ask me why I am in the yard in such a state of undress, I only have to say "my wife's pregnant". And they holster their weapons and drive away.

Up until now things have been going swimmingly, but I am coming the the realization that the belly is steadily losing brain function. Not her fault, to be sure, but still an alarming development. We went to breakfast, we reviewed the menu, I said how about the breakfast plattter? Scrambled eggs, chorizo, beans and potatoes. The belly responded, "fine, whatever, I don't care, I'm just soooo hungry". We got our food and I immediately noticed the sour mood. "what's wrong" I inquired? Well I misunderstood the direction of "I don't care". Now I have always understood "I don't care" as meaning lack of care or concern of the outcome. Well, clearly this is not the meaning of "I don't care". What it really means is I-don't-want-to-be-bothered-with-ordering-but-you-better-order-me-exactly-what-I-want-or-your-ass-is-grass. Evidently scrambled eggs are not what the belly wanted, nor is it, as I was informed, anything the belly likes, has ever liked, or will ever like anytime...ever. Luckily, I had a couple of over easy eggs on my plate and with a quick scrap of plates, the offending scrambled embryos were removed and order restored.

I had thought the belly was omnivorous, and as long as it was not fighting back, it would be consumed. But here is your cautionary note. Never, ever, order "whatever". 'cause even though the belly says "I don't care" the belly cares very, very much.

The real hunger games

Now we have said before that belly logic is unlike any other logic.  Some say it's a higher form of consciousness somehow springing from the consanguineous   connection of two bodies joined through the miracle of birth.  But with the belly it seems like only the basics are covered.  It's as if on Maslow's hierarchy she never gets off the first rung.  So given this formidable task you must be prepared my friends in fatherdom, you cannot rest and you must be ever vigilant.   

Let me give you an example: the other day I went to the store to buy the belly some Popsicles, I got home, and put a new unopened box of Popsicles into the freezer.  The belly asked for a red one, which is by far the favorite.  (as a matter of fact we put all the green and orange ones in the deep freeze to give to all the kids during the summer) However after giving her the requested red popsicle the notion struck a few minutes later that one popsicle simply would not do.  The belly went to the freezer to get said popsicle and came back and immediately glared at me asking in all seriousness, “did you hide all the red Popsicles!?” now my immediate response was to gather the belly in my arms, hold her close, look lovingly into her eyes and whisper softly, “Darling I love you, but- you. are. bat. shit. crazy.”

However, this impulse was quickly suppressed, and in an instinctual flash of self preservation, and I leapt from my chair to dig through the box until a popsicle of the red variety was secured.  The belly padded off happily and calm was restored.

Item numero dos:

You would think the belly would focus on the great news from the sonogram.  Spine was there(thank you daddy for going to get the folic acid) two arms, two legs, three vessels in the umbilical cord(see previous post)good sized head etc.  What was really great news, no, make that truly stupendous news was when the belly came back into the room and announced that she had in fact, lost a pound.  As incredulous as I might have been, the belly was even more so.  Little did I know that the phrase "shut up, I'm eating for two" would now be replaced with "I lost a pound". As I peered over last night’s cheeseburger, the belly looked me straight in the eye and said "don't look at me like that, I lost a pound"

The lost pound is evidently in great danger because the belly has been knocking me out trying to find it again.  Two nights ago we went in search of that sucker via the Chinese food place.  Now all of you will relate when I tell you the mood of the belly can best be plotted with perceived hungriness.  And I had waited too long.  Hungry had taken over.  In one short trip, I was:

-Accused of deliberately not remembering the color the belly had chosen for the new dresser

-Got a back hand for rolling my eyes(my fault for getting caught)

-Told I was “driving stupid” (twice)

-Was told to quit being “so white” 

I love the belly, I truly do, but man, does it have to be so hard for a guy to go get an eggroll?

The important lesson for all you in the preggo-boat with me, is there is a time to surrender as do as your told, and a time when you must stand your ground.  You can’t be pushed around everyday of the nine months of bellydom!  You have to be strong, courageous and lay down the law.  Yes, my brothers-in-belly, it will be frightening, and it will be tough, and you will have to steel yourself against the torrent of hormonally charged emotions.  There will be a time when you must be brave!  You must not succumb fully to the tyranny of the belly! 

That being said, if I ever find the time to stand my ground I’ll let you know.

Belly:  however many points she wants

Me:  -4 (I got one back for furniture moves)

Congrats, it's a .......

Okay the title is a teaser, shameless I know, but hey, anything to keep my fellow pop-to-be friends on the edge of your seats. Because the sex of the unborn critter is of significant importance and knowing so with the help of all the modern technology is truly a miracile. But before the good news, let's review how life is at 20 weeks.

20 weeks is a funny time, the belly is big enough to be a real thing, and the future is still unknown but clearly headed in the direction of babyness. But 20 weeks is also a time of what they call "nesting". Now my fellows, "nesting" seems like an innocuous term, but it is the the single most physically demanding period of your life. It is a time when you are expected to shrug off your old, creaky body and run around like a twenty-two-year-old stud muffin moving furniture and getting the home environment ready for the little bundle of joy to arrive. You will be worked to exhaustion, sore, tired, and stiff. You will be asked to grab large pieces of furniture and manhandle that crap by yourself, because the belly cannot be asked to lift anything heavier than 4.1 ounces and you will do it gladly. You will tell the belly to step aside as you heft ridiculous amount of weight, grunting and straining all the while uttering the phrase we all know so well by this point, "I got it". No, sorry old timer, you ain't got it. And by the sound of your groans every morning your tired body ain't got it either.

Now maybe I was wrong, (oh screw it, I was definitely wrong) in that I thought the belly would be relaxed and no-big-deal about the whole pregnancy. I guess I thought she would be relaxed and nonchalant regarding the impending miniature person. I was wrong. Very wrong. The belly has a notebook with quizzes and items to cover with the poor saps at the doctors office know as the preggo people. I have learned that this is the belly world and we are all just visiting.

And she has a plan for the baby room. This would not be a big deal for us, but now the that the plan has been formed, we will be driven like the slaves of ancient Egypt until that last son-of-bitch stone is put on the top. Not that this plan is clearly articulated, as a matter of fact, I have no idea what the plan is, but I realize I am just the labor force and the the big picture is not for my lowly status to understand. I am there to agree with the belly that the dreasser we saw is the one we do in fact need, and you, mr.-thought-this-was-laid-back-Saturday need to figure out how to fit it in the car. And so we had some succes in securing some of the the items the belly has said are necessary for the welcome home for the little one.

The organization of the belly has been quite remarkable. How does any one know the umbilical cord needs to have three vessels? I don't, and I consider myself somewhat informed. The sonogram was today. The poor tech had no idea that the belly was well prepped. (kiss my ass again Google). She knew the key item to check for, spine, fluid volume, etc. and kept a keen eye on the grainy black an white images. Thankfully everything looks good. The belly is excited and has been to the store to begin buying items that will be worn once and sold in the enveitable garage sale.

This is not a bad thing. Because today, we found we are going to have a baby girl.

I'm so excited I almost forgot to notice I have no idea how to deal with having a daughter.

I just hope she is cool with going hunting.......

Run and hide, no one will blame you

There are mysteries that mankind has struggled to understand, the cosmos, the Mariana trench, the space-time continuum. But nothing has perplexed the scientific community, or modern thought, more than the inexplicable mind of the belly. Why I thought I could plumb these depths, I do not know. A little known fact: Stephen Hawking first began his studies in the psychology of pregnant women but abandoned it in favor of something easier- contemplating the cosmos. (it's true, look it up....well maybe it's not true but it seems reasonable, doesn't it?). Understanding the mind of the belly is not simply a vexing academic exercise for yours truly, it is the daily struggle for survival. Why the thoughts manifest themselves they way they do and the logic behind them leave me exhausted. I am trying to be empathetic, I really am, but sometimes I am rendered speechless faced with the logic and needs of the belly.

Last evening, on an otherwise uneventful night of dinner(the número uno priority) the belly announced that maybe she wasn't pregnant, and was, in fact, just fat. Now what would you say? Would you roll your eyes and essentially dismiss this statement as pure silliness not worthy of a response? Me too. You and I would be so very, very wrong.

For whatever reson, and in spite of all evidence, this thought had lodged in the belly's brain, and like epoxy, it had hardened and was not be dislodged by my feeble attempts of reason... Nor a jackhammer for that matter. You see there is no logic like belly logic. It is unshakable, unstoppable, and unmovable. Like an UFO believer, or a Elvis-is-still-alive wing nut, the belly was not to be derailed by mere trifle evidence. If anything the empirical facts only contribute to the conspiracy that everyone: me, the first response corporation( I know that's not their real name but I'm too lazy to go look at the box) obi-wan-va-jay-jay, the bastard stick, and the sonogram people is actually in cahoots to mislead her and she is not eating for two, but really just eating to get fat.

Now I and the belly have looked at the sonograms while in progress, and at 5 months there is no denying that the belly's dimensions are the outcome of the bun in the oven. But still, the belly looked at me with all seriousness and announced that we should stop what we were doing and take......a.... Pregnancy....test.

Ooooohhhkaaayyy, "honey I really don't think that is necessary at this point". To which the belly said, "why not, we still have one don't we?". Well, my friends what do you say now? Do you humor it and go open the test? Or do you take the easy road of cowardice? Any of you in my spot know the answer. You fake stomach pains and excuse yourself to the bathroom until the belly gets tired and goes to bed. I ain't proud, but I got a good nights sleep. They say modern man exists because its prehistoric ancestors were small rodents that hid in the rocks and crevasses away from the flesh eating reptile dinosaurs.

Man, I know how they felt.

One step forward, two steps back

Been busy at work and haven't had time to update, so let me catch you up. Last week was relatively uneventful, we have settled into the doldrums of the 2nd trimester. Everybody knows the belly has arrived, and the newness has worn off. How quickly we went from from enthusiasim for the new pregnancy to to "how is the belly feeling". Which leads quickly to "enough about you, let me tell you about me, my kids, my blah, blah blah". The second trimester is the anticlimax of the the belly world, excitement ebbs, the symptoms subside, and you are stuck in a holding pattern as thrilling as waiting for the plane to land. Not unlike the flight, the takeoff makes your pulse quicken, and the g-forces pin you back in your seat, once in the air you realize you are stuck with a mass of humanity you don't really want to be with, the air is stale, the food is bad, and you have to wait in line to pee.

Since I've been gone the belly has had only a couple of head turning moments, one being last week. At work I got a text from they belly that read "what were we thinking? I can't believe we are going to have a baby!". Now a lesser man might be compelled to to empathize, to re-affirm the nervousness and anxiety of the impending babydom. But let uncle deebs give you some advice; do not, and I mean never ever agree with the belly about second guessing the road you have taken. This would be catastrophic, oh no, my friend, your job is to provide unwavering support and confidence in the babyness. My initial reaction was to say "I know, I'm nervous and scared and wonder why we thought this was a good idea.". Thank almighty god I did no such thing. Instead I texted back (a quick aside, texting is a double edge sword, you can give a reasponse without allowing the belly a chance to scrutinize your facial expression which would certainly give away your game, but you also provide evidence which can be used later to club you over the head) "no need to worry, our love is so great that it is too much for two people to keep to themselves, it is and our baby is just the outcome of all the extra love we have". Sounds good doesn't it? The best part of being an old dude is we know how to handle a situation! Well played sir, if I don't say so myself. The belly was calm, the belly was happy, and that is the best possible thing for yours truly.

The second update is the realization that he belly has no filter to the things it says. You know that little voice in your head that stops you from saying things you might be thinking, lest those around you would think to themselves, "you are a crazy bastard"? Well, the belly arrived and evidently took that voice and put it in a full Nelson and choked the life out of the poor f***er. For example the belly evidently had a whole argument with me about the size of the bed the 16 year-od wanted. I distinctly remember never having a conversation where the belly and I disagreed on what size she wanted. But when we went shopping for said bed, and the pronouncement was made that queen was the necessary size, the belly turned to me and exclaimed: "I told you!". Now I'm willing to admit when I am wrong, but what do you do with with a proclamation of how you were wrong when you never expressed an opinion? The answer is: you don't. There is no limit to the issues with which you must not respond. Your best bet is to take a deep breath and look at the floor. Listen up my fellow GBP's (Gonna be poppa's) the floor is your best friend, look at it often. When questions come your way, do not be tempted to be answer (or god forbid argue). Just look at the floor, it is your most trusted companion. Walking away will only trigger the attack response from the belly and it will chase you like a lioness chasing an antelope, it will not rest until you are caught, brought down and dis-emboweled. There will be any number of statements by the belly that require no response from you whatsoever.

For instance, when the belly looks at your feet in you new sandles and says "we should paint your toenails". Your job is to continue you to cook food for the belly and pretend you didn't hear the crazy shit she just said. Somtimes however this can lead to some awkward silences on the phone. Let me give you a scenario:

Me calling the belly on the phone: "how are you feeling"

Belly: "I've been choking on my own spit all morning"

Me: uhhh, where do you want me to take you to lunch"

You see, it is not about being right. It is about being there. Your job is to reassure the belly, make sure it is happy, full, and well rested. Don't question, don't argue, and brother, you might make it out alive.

By the way, I know I won a point earlier, but tonight I made spaghetti and meatballs for dinner(made a green salad for those worried about my dietary responsibility) but due to some genetic defiencincy I put the sauce ON TOP OF THE NOODLES! I swear I'm as dumb as they come. The belly didn't yell, but gave me the look that said "I have half your DNA in my gut and I am seriously wondering if I have made a huge mistake". Maybe she did, but hey, I aint all bad, at least I made a salad....

Penalized for stupidity:

Belly: 312
Me: 1, but minus 5 for the sauceness error

A few good men

All rise, the court of the bellyness is now in session. Today's case involves the defendant, accused of extreme imbecility. Gentlemen of the jury, please take your seats and prepare to hear the irrefutable evidence that the poppa-to-be is not only guilty of gross mis-management of the belly's state of mind, but also of inconceivable stupidity. How did we get to this, you ask? Well, let me paint you a picture of the events of this past week. The defendant had to travel out of town for work. Now this is a different situation than described earlier, in that permission is not necessary, given work is directly responsible for the happiness of the belly as it is what allows the frequent trips to the green grocer and the purchase of mini drumsticks that bring the belly much joy.

So off he went to the fair isle of Galveston to hobnob with others of his ilk, sleeping in a large bed with no responsibilities while the belly was left to suffer with the tedium of work, children, and meal preparation all alone. Truly this is a crime in itself, but not why we are here today. Instead, we are here to examine the events of of last Friday morning. The very morning the poppizzle called the belly at approximately 7:30 am, to check in and make sure the belly was awake and preparing for work. He uttered a phrase so vile, so unbelievably insensitive as to be almost unspeakable in modern society. What do you have to say for yourself, lowly vermin?

The following is a transcript from the deposition of the accused: "I spoke with the belly Thursday evening, I asked her how she was feeling, and she related she was very tired from her day. I said I was going to go out to dinner, and I would call her later, and she said she was 'so tired' and would retire early. I went to dinner, which lasted late as many business dinners do, and found myself returned to the inn at around 11:00 pm. Not wanting to wake the beloved I went to sleep and awoke the next morning with calling the belly foremost in my mind"

OBEJECTION! Pure speculation on the part of the poppy wannabe only to make him look like a caring hubbin' when clearly he is not!

Sustained, he is a weasel trying to make himself sound better when clearly he is something akin to pink slime, palatable only when treated with ammonia. Proceed.

Me: "anyway, I called the belly FIRST THING in the morning to check on her. I asked her how she was, and then after confirming she was 'tired' which was completely normal in my book, I mentioned that today was trash day, and that she should take out the trash now, as to not miss the sanitation engineers"

YOU DID WHAT???? YOU CALLED HER TO TELL HER TO TAKE THE TRASH OUT???

Me: "wait, not JUST to take the trash out, well I did say, no, wait, I also asked her how she... But your twisting my words....I, just, no, wait....oh god, your right! I did it! I wanted her to take the trash out! I am despicable! I don't deserve her....please have mercy!

There you have it, I abandoned the belly and tried to manage the practical affairs of the bellydom from afar. And failed miserably. What was my first clue I boo-booed? The text I got about an hour after our phone conversation, in which the belly said "I'm glad you just called me to tell me to take the trash out". You know that sinking feeling you get when you realize you stepped in a big pile of dog pooh? Well I had it, bad.

So I have spent the last few days serving my sentence, and as far as I can tell I am on probation for at least 5 more months. But I can tell all of you my brothers in preggoness, I am guilty, guilty, guilty.

Belly - 147
Me - still zippo

While we're on the subject

Clearly I am not qualified to speak on the topic of clothing, but I really would like for someone to explain to me how a particular item made with stretchy stuff is vastly different from another item made with stretchy stuff. This morning the belly emerged from the bedroom and declared "this dress makes me look HUGE! To myself, I said "uh, okay, I I cannot tell one iota of difference" out loud I said...nothing (see! I'm getting smarter!). I merely gave a puzzled look like what she said made no sense at all and prayed she would get distracted before I was forced to come up with some sort of English language response. The belly stared at me with a look that can best be described as: You. Are. A. Moron....

Now, she is definitely beginning to show, noticeable, but not what I would call "huge" by any stretch. So how am I supposed to manage this new minefield? I would like to survive until the actual birth, and I am becoming increasingly worried I ain't gonna make it. I think I got the food part down, although the belly picked up the lunch bag the other day and even without looking in it, stopped it it's tracks and said "it's kinda light, isn't it?" whoops, my bad, let me cut up some carrots and celery my love. See, I got this, but with the clothes, I am in uncharted waters. I have known my wife long enough to know which parts to compliment, her hair, her skin, her legs, all of which she is in general agreement that they are very good features. I stay away from problem areas(if you're reading this my love, I'm just kidding, you're PERFECT, you don't have a single thing that's not beautiful) and this has stood me in good stead. No melt downs, no angry recriminations. I have also learned to evacuate the bedroom while the ritual of getting dressed happens, avoiding even the remote chance that I might give astray glance that would be interpreted as anything negative. I don't ask why 3 or 4 or more outfits are on the floor, because I know when an outfit doesn't pass muster it should not be given the respect of being hung back up.

The belly however, has changed the rules. Evidently if I am not in the immediate vicinity of the bedroom when the clothes are tried on, I must be sought out and cornered like the dog that I am so I can bear witness to the offending article. Maybe I need to start hiding in the bathroom, faking gastro-intestinal distress is better than having to verbalize my opinion. My advice, the belly don't want no stinking opinion, so do whatever you got to do to not give one.

And lastly, I fear we are about to cross the line into that no-man's land, gigantic underwear. I was informed today that the current undergarments are no longer up to snuff. No Be-band is gonna help me now, I fear the arrival of the large cotton preggo-panties is at our doorstep. So like a good soldier, I will shrug and say "they're not so bad, as long as you're comfy". But inside, I weep. I love the belly, and I am going to miss some things, but hey, we're in this together aren't we?

Justin Timberlake has left the building

Why, oh why, do I do the things that I do?  There is a precise moment (quite frequently of late) I realize something has come out of my mouth and all I want more than anything in the world is to stop time and hit the reset button.  I don’t need to go back a few days, or hours for that matter, all I’m asking for is about 5 seconds.  Why would I want such an ability you ask?  To play the lottery perhaps?  Not on your life bub, I would take those precious few seconds to stop my pea-sized brain from sending instructions to my vocal cords to formulate anything even closely resembling words.  Forget about higher level stuff like sentences, I would stop using actual words, maybe move to only grunts.  And moans.  That way I would never feel the withering look and stinging rebuke from the belly. 

Saturday started fine enough, got up, headed immediately to breakfast.  Prioritization is key with the belly, food first, always.  As a matter of fact I’m a little worried I need to make sure we have a route to the hospital that has multiple food service options available 24 -7 just in case labor strikes right before the next scheduled feeding.   Then it was off to the baby stuff sale.  I have discovered there is an active sub-culture of commerce that exists amongst bellys whereby they rent massive ballrooms and send out secret e-mails alerting one another to these extravaganzas of all things babyish.  We were on the hunt for maternity clothes, which is another way of saying I am supposed to stand there quietly and hold the stuff the belly picks out.  Do I behave in the proper way?  Of course not!  I, in my zeal to be a supportive, interested hubbin’, jump right in, and start perusing the racks in order to aid my darling wife in the search for something that will go around the belly and most of all “look cute”.  Now “cuteness” has clearly replaced anything even close to what I once knew as “sexy” .  We don’t use the word “sexy” any more, after all, the “sexy”  must have worked, or otherwise we wouldn’t be in this pickle.  “Sexy” has been replaced with “cute”, “comfortable” and “not constraining”. 

Looking for “cute” I held something up and mentioned to the belly it “looks cute”.  Big mistake, I mean, really big.  Colossal, gigantic, almost epic in scale.  You see, I take the small clues that the belly gives to gauge displeasure, and in this case the belly took one look and said, “Why are you trying to dress me in a potato sack?”  See, I just need 5 seconds.  This led to many reassurances that she was indeed still a beautiful woman, and that if anything she was just a bit “more round” and may I please be forgiven for ever even thinking I might have any idea about what would constitute a “cute” article of clothing.   I escaped with my life by changing the topic immediately to where the belly wanted to go for lunch and a near crisis was diverted.

 I have heard that women are blessed with something that allows them to forget the pain of childbirth almost immediately after the deed is done.  This way, so say the experts, a woman is not dissuaded from procreating again.  No memories of the south of the border agony to dim the enthusiasm of subsequent critters.  This is definitely a good thing.  We have both been to this rodeo before, albeit some time ago, and we should avoid these fears, doubts, and mistakes, shouldn’t we?  I wouldn’t be surprised when the belly says in all seriousness, “don’t kiss me, I’m so hungry I might try to eat your lips off your face” would I?  Clearly us pre-poppas have a selective memory as well, we forget the pain of pregnancy right after the birth, all 9 months of it.    

Why I hate Google

Before you accuse me of being an old crotchety bastard that despises all things high-tech, I have to tell you that I consider myself a pretty modern guy. I have an iPhone, iPad, and a blackberry. I love digital content and have up until this point enjoyed the easy access to information and the lightning speed of communication. Some who know me will probably say I have a foot in both worlds, as I have often advised that personal communication is always better than electronic, but by and large I'm down with the digital. All of this being said, I have come to loath Google, or Yahoo, or whatever. As a matter of fact I would take a global shut down of the whole freaking internet for the next 5 months in order to spare myself any more agony.

What brings this on you say? It is simply the unfettered ability of the belly to seek out new and fascinating ways that everything about the critter's development is going to hell in a hand basket, like, right this second. Having been a veteran of this 9 months of altered reality, I do remember the "what to expect when you're expecting" books, also known as "how I learned to stop worrying and become completely hysterical". I remember the happy parts of each chapter followed with the last couple of pages of all the horrible complications that could occur. But that was it, not, click the link to see pictures of said calamity, no subsequent searches for specifics on the possible indicators of these gruesome problems. Especially the ridiculously benign ones like "excessive fatigue". Come on, you can't put any kind of "fatigue" as a symptom for anything without causing undo alarm, I mean as far as I can tell "fatigue" is the one thing that every belly has in every case on every continent. That's like saying "breathing" is a symptom. It's just dumb. Since the medical profession has already abandoned me, I guess I should expect no less.

Now what Google has done is taken these flights of panic into new and profoundly frightening ways, all in record time. My example: the belly calls and says "the doctor's office called with the blood test results, everything is good, but they want me to add a folic acid supplement cause it's a little low". Fine, no sweat, we'll pick some up I say. 20 minutes later a text: "we need to pick up some folic acid on the way home from work today". Okay, sheesh, didn't I already agree to that? 20 minutes later, a call.

The belly: "what are you doing?"

Me: "Just about to go into a meeting"

The belly: "I think we should go get some folic acid at lunch"

Me: "I thought we were getting some this evening?". (now don't judge, I don't know why I didn't just say "yes dear")

The belly: "No! I want to get some right now, I've been reading about what can happen if you have a folic acid deficiency (damn you to hell Google)and IT CAN LEAD THE THE BABY BEING BORN WITHOUT A SPINE AND YOU DON'T WANT OUR BABY TO HAVE THE POSTURE OF A SOCK PUPPET NOW DO YOU, MR-IM-SO-BUSY-AND-IMPORTANT THAT I WOULD RATHER GO TO A STUPID MEETING THAN GO GET SOME FOLIC ACID SO MY BABY WILL HAVE VERTEBRA!"

Me: I'll be right there

So, I hate Google, 'nuf said.

Et tu brute'?

So the two significant thing that I love (in a very non-homoerotic way) about Obi-wan-va-ja-ja is that first, he keeps the belly very comfortable. Now as I have said comfort is of supreme importance to the belly, and all who recognize and support this delivery of comfort are held in very, very high regard by me. I cannot explain the importance of a good doctor when marching through the journey of pregnancy. He, or she, with only a simple word can send you home with a relaxed, satisfied wife or with an emotional basket case that repeats phrases over and over; obsessing over the exact meaning of "wait and see". Up to now, doctor cool-daddy has been stellar, except for the "see you in 4 weeks" issue we have previously covered. But yesterday, I must admit he did me no favor. Now I get the whole hippocratic oath crap they are supposed to adhere to, but really? Can't you help a brother out?

First, let me just say it is all good news, everything right on schedule for 16 weeks, and the "bastard stick" had no trouble at all finding the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of the citter right away. The clench we feel at the sight of that damn Doppler was quickly laid to rest, but then my former best friend began to talk about more general issues such as the belly's 2 pound weight gain. Blah, blah, blah, he starts talking about "portion control". What? Are you kidding me? Have you met a pregnant woman before? He then asks her to make a fist as a representation of the size of portion she shoul be eating of carbs, you know, rice, pasta, potatoes, essentially all the things the belly craves on a non-stop basis. Then he starts talking about a deck of cards for the lean protein. Seriously, if I serve the belly a fist and a deck of cards somebody is going to get hurt. Bad.

Up 'till now he has been my ace-in-the-hole(no pun intended). Back when he was just the GYN part of his title, my LBN and him had a grand old time at the office visits, lots of laughter and bonhomie. I could even hear the merriment as I waited in the very comfortable area that is his waiting room when I took her to the check-ups. But now he transitioned to the OB part of the job and has seemed less concerned with her leaving the office with a smile and a giggle. Everything checked out okay with the blood work and the folic acid(more on that drama later) but still, why are are you getting in the way of the belly and the chow line?

The second issue is more of what he didn't say. A pause here if you are offended by what two consenting adults might do in the dark under the covers, don't read further....what my bestest friend has said at every appointment heretofore, is almost a throw-away statement at the end of his instructions. Amongst all the important items she must do, is the statement "normal sexual activity". Now from my perspective all the baby stuff is important, but that little nugget makes sure there is no impediment to what makes the pre-poppa feel like he has not just lit a firecracker that, despite the dire warning of the voices of authority, will blow his fingers off. Every visit up to now that I have been privileged to attend, he has added those three words. Yesterday he didn't. I'm trying to not get worked up about it, but, would it have been so hard? I thought we were in this together, but now I realize I am on my own. Pray for me.

By the way I figured something out tonight. When tHe belly says "I'm tired". What it really means is "you need to take over whatever it is I started doing and finish it, oh, and clean the crap up after you finish what I was doing cause that's what I would have done too.".

Belly-2
Me-still 0

I'll go medieval on yo' .....

Now before you get the wrong idea, I want to make sure you understand my lovely bride is one of the, if not the most, wonderful women on the planet.  But since the arrival of the belly, I am continually surprised by the fact that my wife has been possessed by a 70 year-old man.  Seriously, I’ve never seen her even come close to sitting like that before!  The belching alone makes me do a double take, because frankly she is not nearly big enough to produce sounds of such depth and vibration.  Ironically, the first thing she does accuse me of the aural assault(albeit with a giggle) as if even she can't believe the belly is capable of such a thing.  So I hang my head and say "excuse me".  The funny thing is I am know beginning to think I’m responsible (although Technically I am…) the belly has altered my reality to such an extent, I now think I really need to see my doctor about my gaseous nature.

What really changes your world is what comes out of the two lips that once held me captive with the sweet nothings whispered and gentle kisses.   Now granted, I was somewhat prepared for the short temper, and have even experienced a wee bit-o-that.  The other day I made spaghetti- turkey with a tomato, olives, and garlic sauce, and I did what I thought you were supposed to do with spaghetti sauce- put it on the spaghetti.  Oh, you simple fool, sauce on top of the spaghetti?  Ha Ha Ha!  Surely you fell on your head as a child.  Repeatedly.  The Belly took one look at the bowl, and thrust her hands to her side, face screwed into a mask of utter disgust, and said “YOU KNOW I DON’T LIKE MY SAUCE ON TOP OF MY NOODLES!”  What did I do?  By God I puffed out my chest and in the most macho, swaggering way replied “ I’m sorry, you want me to scrap the sauce off your pasta for you?”  I admit it, I am no match for the belly, I’m not even going to lie. 

Just as shocking is the language that could best be described as somewhere between a sailor and a Quentin Tarantino movie.  A simple response can often be peppered with language that is inconceivably coming out of the sweet little thing you married.  For example, the other day we were preparing to leave for work; I walked into the kitchen where I observed the belly drinking some orange juice.  We were running a little late so I asked the (what I thought was innocent) question "are we ready to leave? Cause, you know, we got to go.”  The belly, without missing a beat, turned to me, and uttered six words to let me know who was in charge around here: "I'm getting my vitamin C, bitch!"  

Belly-1, me-0.   

So I went hunting this week, now before anybody calls TPWD about nuthin' being in season we were huntin' wild hogs. Admittedly hunting is really an excuse for us boys to go out to the country, sit by a campfire, drink and eat a lot of meat. But still it is a good thing for my buddies and I to take our boys out of the suburbs without electronics, cable TV, or even running water for that matter. Normally we get out a few times a year, but with the belly on the scene, it could have been touch and go. Normally my wife is understanding about these forays into the gritty west, but as I have said, the game has a whole new set of rules and it ain't Monopoly and there ain't no get out of jail free card. The key here was to stock up some quality time with my beloved and make sure the belly was happy and contented, good food and plenty of time doing domestic activities. Then the phrase "I was thinking about taking the boy hunting over spring break" slips into the conversation. Very important to use the word "was" in that sentence, it demonstrates an idea of leaving, but also gives the impression that the foolhardy idea was quickly abandoned. Now the next step is to reintroduce the idea along with all the positives, more meat for the freezer, quality time with the boy, and some manly time shooting and drinking whiskey. The best thing about my LBN is her understanding of the masculine needs and appealing to that was by far my best bet. However one can never underestimate the new paradigm of the belly universe, and I knew I had to cover every contingency before I would be in the clear. So as our departure approached I spent a long weekend making sure the belly was attended to, and even called in reinforcements(the sister-in-law) in my absence. We did leave for a few days, but what I have realized is others will never be able to attend to the belly the way you the expectant daddy, can, and while you think you someone else can step in for you, that is a big, big mistake. I thought the sister-in-law, having been visited by the belly three times herself, would be an acceptable substitute, I didn't realize other bellys do not have the temperament for the job and in fact make matters worse. So if you are going to leave the belly, think twice, and then don't do it. The belly needs attention, and it doesn't want it from anybody but me. But you know, that's kinda cool.....

Stupid questions

You would think that by now I would know better. I mean, I'm a reasonably intelligent guy and I have a full awareness of what my lovely bride is going through. I've been to the doctor, I see the baby magazines and expectant mother books strewn about the house, and yet sometimes even I believe I may be the single most idiotic human being on this planet. Why do I question myself thusly? Because of the thermostat. I foolishly think that empirical evidence should be sufficient to alter the belly's take on a given situation, rather than acknowledge it defines the world as it sees it, all other facts be damned. Take for example last evening, as we prepared to retire to our chambers for the evening the belly said "it's hot in here",now granted it has been unseasonably warm for the past couple of days, and reached a balmy 80 degrees yesterday. Not hot, mind you, but warm and very pleasant. And so, as sleepy time arrived, it was 75 degrees in the house, how do I know it was 75 degrees in the house you ask? Because I looked at the thermostat of course, and that, dear reader was a big mistake. Because I was rendered momentarily stupid, my response to the belly's statement, I went to look at the thermostat. I did this because I was not hot, and sought to confirm my observation by gathering the facts necessary to disprove the hypothesis that it was "hot in here". As I reported the actual temperature to my wifey, hoping she would accept the fact that it was a comfortable 75 degrees, I was met with a look that can best be described as "who is this idiot that has replaced my otherwise dutiful husband, and why is this moron telling me what the effing thermostat says when I have clearly explained THAT IT IS HOT IN HERE AND IT NEEDS TO BE NOT HOT!". Realizing my mistake, recovery being my strong suit, I quickly switched the thermostat from "heat" to "cool" and ran the AC until the belly was comfortable and I was huddled under the blanket. Crisis averted. Now before you judge me with a dismissive chuckle, bear in mind I am doing my level best to not bring rational arguments to bear in these situations, but even I slip up once in a while. With a due date in September, and a hot summer bearing down on the belly, I have begun to fear the future. Take heed, any of you expectant fathers, do not question, argue, persuade, or even plead. The belly wants what it wants, and by God you had better get with the program.

The backstory

Well, let me catch you all up to how we got here. As all dads to be know it goes something like this...."honey come look at the pregnancy test!" you go look, and yup, there is a blue cross. You re-read the instructions about oh, 14 times and yes, you holster your pistol, 'cause cowboy, you done did the deed. Then you wait to go to the doctor and then he says, "congratulations, you're preggers....see you in a month". Wait, what? A freakin month? But Doc, we need reassurance, a calm voice telling us it is going to all work out...but seriously, you do not expect me to go home and deal with a month's worth of anxiety by myself! Have you met my wife? Your patient? Hippocratic oath evidently don't mean shit to you brother, I mean really, a month by myself? What do i know about pregnant women? You're sending back without any back up? I. Am. Not. Worthy. Give me a minute, I'm still getting over it....sooooo, were now at 15 weeks(funny how all my time is now accounted for in weeks, if you don't know it, preggo time is only measured in weeks, each one having more significance than the last). We went back at 10 weeks and the "bastard stick" didn't pick anything up. Thank the lord the sonogram guy was waiting in the wings with the blue jelly and he ended the longest 5 minutes in the history of yours truly and showed us a grainy, image of our little critter. By the way I'm pretty sure it was shadow boxing, not an entirely good omen for the belly, and we breathed a huge sigh of relief. And now we are here, the belly has asserted itself as a very real presence, and as I have alluded to earlier, it is not be ignored, it means business. I hope only to survive.....

The beginning.....

Some time ago I met a beautiful woman and got married. Now this in and of itself is not remarkable except for the fact that we have 3 older children between us(both of us having prior marriages) and by older I mean the in-high-school-where-are-we-going-to-travel-first kind of older. But in a moment of delusion, we thought "wouldn't it be nice to have a baby"? Now from my perspective who am I to turn down the chance for a little extra "hanky panky". Little did I know, but was soon educated by the good Dr. Obi-wan-vagina that my darling wife's name in Latin means "fertile Myrtle" and thus 2 months later she was indeed preggers. I have to tell the whole story, in order for later items to make sense, and so with some sadness I must share that we went back for a check up and the Doc searched in vain with the Doppler device(henceforth to be known as the "bastard stick") and we were shuttled over to the hospital where we got the terrible news that she had miscarried. Not to dwell on the sadness, we processed it and moved on, letting go of the idea for the time being. We did continue without any preventive measures(as a sidebar I know it is not exactly in line with our catholicism, but hey, I have already admitted to being a divorcee, and I'm trying to be better, I swear). Now as I have mentioned earlier my lovely bride, or as I refer to her as my LBN(you figure it out) has a certain condition know as "fertilious maximus" and bam! 2 months later she was again with critter. So in 24 hrs we went from anxious, eyes-wide-open-when-you-lay-down-sleep worry, to excited, eyes-wide-open-when-you-lay-down-sleep worry. If you think it's going to get easier, you are dead wrong my friend. Now we are on are way, and I have recognized very quickly that my part in the whole conception screenplay only gives me a speaking part in the prologue(I don't even see a line until the third act) and I was quickly relegated to stage hand, key grip(that's the lighting guy right? Or the electrician? doesn't matter-I do both) and craft services. These are not in order of importance and I can tell you right here and now that keeping meals, drinks, and snacks ever-present for the star of the show is clearly job one. Because it has crystallized in my age addled brain that I must have focus, determination, resourcefulness, but above all I must.......Obey The Belly.