Doctors visit - #2

Week 10: Day 70 – Still sick.

Thursday morning was our second trip to the doctor’s office. The plan was; I would accompany Tracy, listen to the heartbeat and then hightail it to the waiting room before any medical stuff could transpire. Apparently the nurse girl, who probably has a more formal sounding title on her business card, had a different itinerary. She informed us that the first item of business was to take blood. I decided to gut it out and stay. Tracy had no such choice to make.

Nurse girl inserted the needle and took a vial of blood. And then another. And another. By the third vial (or should I say, vile), it was a race to see which one of us would pass out first. Knees were weakening. We were like the final contestants in Fonzie’s dance marathon demonstrating all the stability of a Weeble. Yes, we were wobbling but these Weebles do fall down.

Luckily, the blood sucking stopped. She removed the vials from the room and allowed us a moment. Tracy leaned back to rest, reading the comics strategically tacked to the ceiling. I took a deep breath, scratched the recently grown Chia Pet on my chin, collected myself and I was back in the game.

The doctor came in the room and, with tape recorder in hand, we were ready.

Doctor – "How are you feeling?"
Tracy – "Terrible."
Doctor – "Excellent. That means the baby is healthy."

Did she just say excellent?!
In an Ally McBeal moment, I imagined myself springing from my chair and grabbing the doctor in a viscous choke-hold like Homer Simpson on Bart... Why you little…. If being sick means having a healthy baby then we are growing our own Gunner Peterson. I mean, this kid is going to pop out doing Billy’s Tae Bo Boot Camp.

I snapped back to reality to see the instrument placed on my wife’s belly. It was an amazingly simplistic procedure to hear the heartbeat. I’m not sure what I was expecting but she just placed in on the stomach and presto! - there was noise. At first just a gentle ticking. Then the doc repositioned the microphone and little Sally was loudly chugging away full steam. Strong like bull. We both agreed it sounded like she was doing a load of laundry.

For a moment, as we listened to this delightful sound, I saw the green of sickness wane from my wife’s face replaced, albeit briefly, by a smile that clearly said, "Ok, this makes it worth it." And for me, that look on her face made it worth it.

Working for the Weekend

Saturday evening:
I took a nap around 5pm to get ready for my evening. Awake and refreshed, I bounded to the fridge and chugged a Yoo-Hoo. Screw Michelob; weekends were made for Yoo-Hoo. Senses all a tingle from the Yoo-Hoo, I grabbed the towels from the dryer and folded them. And then, I put them in the closet. Oh yes!

Later that night, I went to Publix to buy some milk. I know what you are thinking; "not the same night you folded towels??!" Indeed that same night. Off to Publix I rode with a gleam in my eye and a shopping list in my hand.

Milk; aluminum foil; shaving cream; straws. (Now that I look at it, it's a pretty pathetic grocery list.) I was feeling a little saucy, so I decided to spice up the evening. I didn't buy just regular old straws like my wife instructed. Oh no. I got the Glad "flexible" straws. And I didn't even ask her.

Good times...Good times.

People let me tell you about my best friend

No, this is not an homage post to the good-natured early 70’s television show The Courtship of Eddie’s Father. But that was a catchy theme song, wasn’t it?

How many times have you heard a bride and groom, when offering their own heart-crafted vows, recite the sentiment "you are my best friend…yada yada yada"? At our wedding, I believe one or both of us made such a mention as well. They even used that phrase, along with some goofy nautical references, in the recent hit Wedding Crashers. (Sidebar: Crashers was funny but second to the hilarious 40 Year Old Virgin for best comedy of 2005.)

I am sure most people who say it, feel it is true and in our case, well, we are no different. But what sucks about having a wife as your best friend is when she gets pregnant, you lose both! Now I know how Dick Cheney must have felt when he lost his buddy and hunting partner in one fell shot. (Ba-dum-bum!) Anyway, there is no real point to mentioning this other than it sucks! Sniff :-( Hey, it’s my pity-party and I’ll whine if I want to (whine if I want to).

Tomorrow morning we go for visit number two. I am going to ask the doc if she can speed this thing up. I have determined that nine months is just too long. I thought we would get to see the little jabeeper again but I found out we do not. I did find out that at week 8, when it looked like an alien, it was actually only the size of a grape. First it was rice; then a grape. I am anxious to see what food my child will be likened to in this visit. My money is on kiwi.

We do get to hear the heartbeat. Tracy is bringing a recorder, which I did not discourage at all, to tape these sounds. My guess is it’s going to sound like this; lub dub – lub dub – lub dub. I don’t want to sound like an insensitive chucklehead, but I am not as excited as my wife is about this. I wish I were. Maybe it is because I am not attached to Sally yet. After all it isn’t growing inside of me. And I feel really bad that I am not more enthusiastic. It might be time to check one of the numerous books lying around the house to see if this is normal.

Pickles and ice cream

I didn’t think the cravings would come so soon and so mightily. But the first one has struck. Oh, it’s nothing weird like waffles smothered in Tabasco sauce. The food is quite normal. The strange part is, the one with the craving is ME!

Some Freaky Friday thing must have happened between us. I gather at one point I must have said, “I wish I could help you” while Tracy simultaneously said, “I wish you could help me”. We were, of course, referring to easing the nausea suffering but the pregnancy gods must have been drinking that afternoon, got some wires crossed and sent this piece of the baby making process along my way.

For the past week or so, I have been craving cake. All kinds of cake at all times. I normally like cake but not to this degree. I’m like the Cookie Monster’s torte-loving cousin. Last week in the cafeteria at work, they had a red velvet cake with strawberries and a cream cheese frosting. I stood there marveling at the pieces until someone kindly asked me to move.

Finally, I couldn’t resist anymore so Saturday I went to Fresh Market to soothe the hunger. Standing in front of the bakery display like a kid trying to decide which puppy to take home, I eventually settled on the Empire Chocolate Cake. This thing of beauty sports two blankets of fudgey chocolate frosting over a rich pastry mattress and topped with mini morsels of dark cocoa. But that wasn’t enough. I accompanied it with an equally massive slice of moist carrot cake stippled with diced walnuts. I am only slightly ashamed to say I polished off both pieces save for a few bites that Tracy sampled.

No cravings yet for the mother-to-be. I suppose it’s hard to crave a particular item when the thought of most foods turns you green. I imagine it’s like offering a bowl of raw spoiled oysters to someone coming off consecutive rides on the Tilt-A-Whirl. As soon as little Sally is old enough to appreciate what a punishment is, she is grounded for causing her mother such discomfort.

What's up, Chuck?

We had our first vomiting incident. I know it’s gross but it’s part of being pregnant so deal with it. To this point, we had only experienced (by we, I mean Tracy) the interminable nausea, as described earlier, so I was in no way prepared for this onslaught.

Brushing my teeth and maintaining a hearty mouth full of foam, I looked into the mirror reminded of Pee-Wee Herman’s mad dog impersonation. Tracy was nestled in bed so I was alone in the bathroom laughing at the trails of Colgate spittle snaking from the corners of my mouth. Alone, or so I thought. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, there was this hideous sounding growl directly behind me. I was startled. Half expecting to see a wild dingo, I jumped and turned around simultaneously, my heart racing like Bode Miller after a six-pack.

Alas, no dingo; only poor Tracy bent over the sink relieving her stomach of the recently eaten apple cinnamon Nutrigrain Bar. The noises sounded painful. I didn’t know what to do so I ran. I ran out of the bathroom traversing the living room all the way to the kitchen. I ran like someone was chasing me. Once there, I had no idea what to do. Standing there, mouth still chock-full of toothpaste spit, my first thought was to boil some water. My second thought was that my first thought was stupid.

I waited for the sounds to subside. When I thought it was safe to return, I cautiously walked back towards the bedroom. I peaked around the corner of the bathroom entrance, like one of the scared survivors of an old west gunfight, peering out from behind the swinging doors of the saloon as the dust slowly settles.

"You ok, Hon?" I offered meekly.

"I don’t think Sally likes granola." She joked. Still maintaining her sense of humor. She is such a trooper.

What do you do in a situation like that? Granted, running like I just kicked a beehive may not have been at the top of most lists. But I didn’t want make her more uncomfortable by standing right there, trying to hold her hair and potentially making, in hopes of injecting some levity, a smart ass comment like "Hey sweetie, let me get the garden hose and let’s see who can spray further."

As originally thought, my presence in the bathroom was not welcomed. She confirmed that the best thing I could do was to leave her alone and be near by in case she needs anything. Her only suggestion was that it wouldn’t hurt to make my exit a little more manlier and a little less frantic.

I think I can handle that.

And the Oscar goes to...

Recently, several people close to the National Hockey League were mentioned in an illegal gambling ring. One of them was Janet Jones. At what point can we stop referring to Janet Jones, as “Wayne Gretzky’s wife, actress Janet Jones”? I think it is safe to say we can remove the actress label.

I looked her up on Rottentomatos.com and she hasn’t had a meaningful acting gig since she played Kate in Police Academy 5: Assignment Miami Beach in 1988 (if you can call that meaningful). That is only slightly more impressive than my 1987 appearance as an extra on the TV gem Spencer For Hire but I don’t have the gall refer to myself as an actor (although I did steal the scene from Robert Urich, playing my video game in the background. The game wasn’t even plugged in however you’d swear I was really battling those space invaders.)

This has nothing to do with pregnancy but it was just getting on my nerves.

Mr. Mom

So far, I have done a commendable job tending to the duties bestowed upon me as a father-to-be. I realize Tracy is under the weather so I am trying to help out wherever possible. The days can be challenging but in a way, it is helping me spend less time worrying about myself. Repress your fears, I always say.

I frequently offer support and assistance with the greatest intentions. While I have certainly helped, there are still some things, which should be simple, that prove challenging. For example, we have three compartments for dirty laundry and I am not sure why. Her folded shirts and my folded shirts do not look the same. Same friggin shirt type; but mine looks like 10 year old did it. But still I venture forward.

Saturday morning began with breakfast. That I can handle. I prepared eggs and toast to accompany her apple, which was a pre-breakfast snack. After breakfast, I loaded the dishwater, ran a cycle of laundry (towels only - those are easy) and did a cursory cleansing around the house in preparation for evening visitors. All the while, making sure each time I passed by my wife, I gave some sign of affection, like a peck on the top of her head or a brief hug.

Later in the weekend, while relaxing on the couch, I offered up a shoulder rub. This progressed to a full body massage, making sure I strategically skipped the tender areas. Before rinsing off the oil, I prepped the shower for her, so the water was hot upon entering. Then I laid out her sweats so she could stay warm after exiting. Yesterday, I even used a hair dryer on the bed sheets, warming them before she crawled under the covers (man, I am so whipped!)

Whew. This is tough work. I am exhausted. I am beginning to think that men may have the tougher job in this escapade. This may be an over simplification of the nine months but all women have to do is rest, be catered to and at the end, give a couple of pushes. All things considered, that sounds pretty easy. Am I right? Ladies? Anyone? Can I get whoo-hah?!

Update to the update

This is what he/she looks like at 8 weeks. Ever see the movie Alien? That's what it looked like right before it came tearing through Kane's stomach.

Weekend Update: Week 8

My wife is missing. I am speaking figuratively, of course. Two thirds of the way through the first trimester and the last month can’t pass soon enough. And I am not just speaking for myself. I am sure Tracy feels the same way. I understand once the second trimester begins, there will be a day when she wakes up and feels relatively normal again.

Based on the information in a book we are reading, the baby has passed the seed stage and now resembles something along the lines of a little lizard complete with a tail. Kinda gross. Hence, I have stopped referring to the baby as Pilaf, and now called it Sally (as in salamander). Along with its tail, the major organs are starting to form. This requires nutrition so the mother is instructed eat 52 small meals a day.

The intense vomiting from morning sickness has been thankfully absent but replaced by a continuos morning, afternoon and evening nausea. It’s an endless seasick feeling like living onboard the Andrea Gail except without the hunky Mark Wahlberg. This would make is hard for anyone to smile let alone feel chipper for any extended period. Tracy is usually one of the cheeriest people on the planet but the daily queasiness, bursts of hiccup like sounds, required food and water intake and general tiredness has transformed her into something different. Mind you, I am not blaming her. I feel bad but there is nothing I can do. I now realize the science of baby growing is quite simple. In order to create a life, the little tyke must suck the life out of you. At least for the first three months.

The hormonal outbursts have been sparse save for one about a canceled trip to Las Vegas. And surprisingly, it wasn’t my outburst! This eruption came on like a rogue wave crashing through the kitchen. My normally even-tempered wife was hysterical over the notion that I might be a little disappointed our upcoming trip has been cancelled. (She’s so cute) I tried to make her feel better by telling her I could still go and I would take lots of pictures of my trip for her. This is when I learned a valuable lesson. Don’t make jokes at a time like this. I think I need to start writing these things down.

Define “Ironic” -

Things you can expect with a pregnancy :

>Bigger boobs! - "Yay!"

>Boobs so sensitive they hurt just looking at them
so don't even think of going near them! - "Boooo!"

The Sonogram

Have you ever seen the Grand Canyon in person? Once you do, you soon realize that all the movies, TV clips and pictures cannot do it justice. Being there live is a completely new experience. This also applies to pregnancy stuff. Sure, I’ve seen stirrups, surgical gowns and the jelly-belly ultrasounds in countless films and shows, but it still didn’t prepare me for my live audition.

Our doctor told us it is still early so we wouldn’t see much. Our future child currently maintains the dimensions a gummi bear. The nurse doing the sonogram said it would look more like a piece of rice. Not a long grain Basmati but more of the southern medium grain version. Ok, I get it. It will be small.

And it was small. There was a bean shaped blob next to a little line inside another blob. Hello junior. She pointed out a tiny flicker on the screen, which she claims was the heartbeat. If she wasn’t bullshitting us, that was pretty cool.

A few years ago, I nearly had to take a Valium while my wife went in for Lasik surgery (I am currently looking to score a bottle for these upcoming months) so I was a little anxious before this visit. I am the type of person who cringes at the first sight of a televised surgery when channel surfing. I can’t even watch Nip/Tuck without getting a little queasy but the medical aspect of this first appointment really wasn’t that bad.

I know I am going to have trouble with some of the graphic nature of a pregnancy but I am hoping that there is no time when I actually pass out cold. Without getting too detailed, it was a little more invasive than I had prepared for (I can now give a precise description of my wife’s bladder) but all things said, I came out like a champ!

Oh yeah. Tracy did very well too!

You are going to be a dad!

I have some catching up to do.

This whole predicament started at Fort Lauderdale International Airport. I don't mean we conceived there, although that would have made for an interesting story, I mean, at the airport, I found out Tracy was pregnant. Discovering you are going to be a dad, coupled with an almost paralyzing fear of flying, can send one rapidly skating towards the land of unconsciousness. Luckily there was First-Aid nearby. And by that, I mean beer. I walked up to the bartender to order our drinks.

"What'll ya have?"

"I just found out my wife is pregnant!"

"Nice for you. What'll you have?" (Ah, the South Floridian demeanor.)

"Draft beer and a water please."

I brought the beverages back to our table and questioned my wife why she waited until 10 minutes before boarding a flight to New Hampshire to tell me. She explained something about just finding out herself right before I picked her up, and after that I was a road raging asshole as soon as we hit the traffic on I95 (which is true), etc etc.

The details of her explanation are a little fuzzy since she was hard to hear over the voice in my head screaming "Your life will never be the same from here on out!". Honestly, we were both spooked.

Raising my lager and her H2O, we toasted each other and readied to board the plane with some news to tell the family once we arrived. After that, the next big item on the docket was our first sonogram.

Welcome to the Jungle

Nine months is not completely accurate. We are currently seven weeks into this endeavor so technically it is only a little over seven months away. The first month was a breeze because, well, we didn’t know. Now things are starting to get a little trickier, so with many weeks left in this journey I decided to chronicle the events, mainly as a form of therapy for myself.

My wife and I, both in our mid 30’s, led a rather active life before this pregnancy. Based on the myriad of unsolicited advice we have received, it would appear that our lives are over; travel is a thing of the past; the only movies I'll be watching will have talking fish; and basically any and all interests we once had, will be replaced by this bundle of joy.

That sort of thinking terrifies me. Not that I won’t give the little bugger lots of attention but I hope to retain some of the joys in life I currently possess (which we can get in to later) and quite frankly, prove some of these people wrong.

But in the meantime we have lots of other things to experience and worry about. So without further ado, here we go!