Random ramblings

Last week we had another visit to the doctor. Nothing wrong, just a routine check up. We both entered the examination room and Tracy sat up on patient table while I casually thumbed through my book, pretending not to be uncomfortable. The doctor made her appearance and asked some basic questions. Then she slathered the Smuckers on Trac’s stomach and prepared the Doppler. (For those not paying attention, that is the device used to hear the heartbeat.)

It was within these next few moments when something happened that hit me like a side of beef smacked upside my head. The doctor shifted the Doppler and we all sat eagerly awaiting the thump-thump of little Zoe’s ticker. Nothing. She repositioned it. Nothing. At that very moment, my own heart sank. What if…

I didn’t want to appear concerned so I sat there silently. Stoic. My eyes focused purposefully on the doctor’s face to see if I could discern any hint of fear in her expression. She was stone-faced. Time stood still while the doctor continued to wiggle the Doppler around Tracy’s belly like kid using a video game joystick.

When Zoe’s heartbeat finally broke the silence, I think I let out an audible gasp. The little washing machine was chugging along as strong as ever. The doctor’s first words were "everything sounds perfect." I don’t even remember what happened during the rest of the visit. When my kid gets as much as a paper cut, I am going to be a complete wreck.

As Matt Lauer would say; on a much lighter note, I tasted my first Preggo Pop today with no weird side effects. It was relatively tasty. And we got one more bit of good news. Our blood sugar levels are all hunky-dory. Results showed Tracy aced her test.

So now we are off on vacation. We are embarking upon a 6 day, 4 state road trip from the Mountains of Asheville, North Carolina to the beaches of Saint Augustine, Florida. Bon voyage!

The name game

A girl at my workplace recently gave birth to a baby girl named Hannah Rose. So I was thinking; what if Hannah Rose married Darryl Hannah and they got divorced and she then married Beau Bridges; then they got divorced and she ended up settling down with Eric Bana (from the movie Munich). Her name would be Hannah Hannah Beau Bana.

And this is what I do in my spare time now.

WEEK 14

We have arrived at the beginning of week 14. Only 26 more weeks to go. Ouch. I’m no math major but I don’t think we are even half way there yet. As for information on the baby, I read that our uterus is now the size of a melon! (Why is it when I read these books I always end up hungry?!) The baby is about 4-5 inches long and has begun to urinate (gross). The mother’s appetite should be increasing along with her sex drive. (Um, yeah, that hasn’t happened yet) And the belly’s growth persists, inspiring one jokester to remark about the possibility of twins. Prompting me to forthwith kick him in the shin.

But Tracy continues to feel better which has lead to this week’s planning of a pregnant vacation. No, that isn’t the latest installment in the Chevy Chase Vacation series (thank god). We are actually going to take a road trip to North Carolina and St. Augustine, FL. It is about a 10-hour drive, 11 when you factor in the pee breaks, to Asheville from here. The plan is to just take a ride, relax and get away from the house.

I could use a break from the house. Sunday, while Tracy combed the mall desperately trying to find some pants that would fit, I became the Tasmanian Devil going from the kitchen to the bedrooms to the bathroom on a mad cleaning frenzy. I started easy with some vacuuming and unloading of the dishwasher. Simple stuff. Then graduated to 200 level tasks such as cleaning the layers of dust behind the toilet and along the crevice between the wall and refrigerator.

The coup de grâce came in the master shower. In this shower, we have a plastic foot suction-cupped to the shower floor. You sprinkle some soapy substance onto this foot, which is equipped with hundreds of little bristles, and when rubbing your own foot over this device, it is supposed to create a soothing pedicure-like feeling. Of course, fixed to the shower floor, it is prone to all of the normal shower unpleasantries, like mildew and soap scum. So there I was, cleaning in between the toes of this foot massager shower accessory. Mind you, I rarely clean between my own toes.

When it was finally over, the house sparkled like Emerald City and I was exhausted. Of course, it wasn’t a totally testosterone-free day. The college basketball game was on every television in the house, I was drinking beer, and I made sure to spend ample time burping and scratching myself like a man. And I did come up with a great use for the untouched portion of our vacation fund for this year. Next time, I’m calling a cleaning service.

To Amnio or Not to Amnio

That really is the question. Since it is not proper to divulge my wife’s age, let’s just say I am over 35 so it has been suggested that we consider an amniocentesis because of her, I mean, my age.

Women are tough. Whoever implied that men might have the tougher role in a pregnancy was an idiot. Knowing the pain my wife is scheduled to endure over the next several months, she has little sympathy for any of my ailments. After I banged my hip on the bed the other day, I lay writhing in pain on the bedroom floor.

"What happened to you?"

"I just whaled my hip on the bedpost. I think I ruptured my uterus."

"Boo-hoo. I have to be gored with a needle through my stomach in a couple of weeks. Get up. And by the way, you don’t have a uterus."

I looked it up. She is right.

Now, in case you do not know what an amnio is, remember in Pulp Fiction when Vincent plunged Lance’s needle into Mia’s heart to resuscitate her? It’s just like that; only the needle goes a little lower into the abdomen. Basically, you become a human shish-ka-bob.

Just looking at the cartoon drawings of this procedure in my pregnancy books made my knees buckle like Joe Thiesman’s leg. So why would one subject themselves to such agony?

Without going into any detail, there are benefits and risks involved and the benefits seem to have an edge over the risks. Even though it sounds dreadful, the pain is supposed to be relatively minimal. In the meantime, as we make our decision, I am going to coach little Zoë on the art of ducking. Just in case.

WEEK 13

I am starting to feel like I am in a boxing match. And I am losing. Pregnancy is Mike Tyson and I am every opponent he faced prior to Buster Douglas.

Congratulations! You are having a baby! Body blow
Your wife is going to be completely miserable. Left…left
And you can’t help ease her pain at all. Body blow…right
Daycare costs more than buying a Porsche. Jab…jab…Upper cut
And now I realize, once the baby is here, I’m expected to know how to care for this child.
He’s down for the count.

When a person experiences grief, they go through 5 stages. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. With the pregnancy, I hit 3 of the 5. First, denial. We are having a what?? Followed by a brief spell of depression and finally acceptance. I can handle this.
(I did bargain for a kitty but my “kid for cat” proposal was about as popular as a David Spade movie.)

Starting the 13th week, I actually began to settle into the changing routine. I can handle this. But just when you feel like you’ve got it under control, something else comes along to kick you in the butt.

This week’s butt kick comes in the form of the startling realization that - I know nothing! Here I am learning about breast tenderness, something which I am unlikely to ever experience, and I have no idea what to do once my kid arrives.

What’s the difference between a cry from a wet diaper, a cry for food or a cry that means something is really wrong? Do infants sleep on their back, side or front? How long before we potty train? 2 weeks? 2 months? What is the proper burping technique? Was it considered good parenting when Steve Irwin dangled his youngster in front of a live alligator? When do their teeth sprout? Fallout? How much does the tooth fairly leave these days? Do we still believe in the tooth fairy? Is there any other kind of fairy I should know about? If my kid asks me a question and I don’t know the answer, do I tell her/him I do not know the answer or do I just make shit up like Calvin’s father. How severely should he/she be punished for failing home economics? What if they choose acting school over an accredited college? Coke or Pepsi?

This is not going to be easy. Raise the alert to code Orange. Take us to Defcon 3. But don’t worry. I can handle this!

You are now free to move about the country

Ha! And everyone said that once we have kids our traveling days will be over. It would be Disneyland or nothing.

“Might as well buy a season pass now” joked a nearby goatee-wearing co-worker.

Over a discussion about travel yesterday, Tracy and I decided to plan our first post pregnancy trip. We will be going to Las Vegas in January 2007. The grown-ups Disneyland. We’ll enjoy shows with freakishly agile acrobats; shows with quirky Blue Men; shows with Australian hunks (for the ladies); dancing at the Ghost Bar; throwing craps with Ben Affleck; and much much more.

After nine months of growing a toddler, and a few more getting acclimated to life with child, we will be ready for some quality adult time. No? I figure four months, September through December, is adequate time to prepare little Zoë for her first slumber party at the in-laws.

Any bets on if we will actually make it? If we make it there, we can make it anywhere. I give us about an 80% chance of following through.

A name by any other name

Naming a pet is tough enough. Try naming a child. You don’t want anything too plain. Or anything too fancy. Or anything that rhymes with puke. Since we are not finding out the gender, we need to come up with an option for both. Or one that would suit either outcome, like Shane.

And I’m not sure the remaining 6 months is enough time to decide. Neither of us are good decision makers. We can spend 20 minutes in Starbucks debating the pros and cons of a white chocolate mocha versus the holiday favorite pumpkin spice. Do we really need to have a name ready by the time it’s born?

I was just told my niece has some helpful suggestions but based on her age, I may be looking at calling the child Littlefoot or Ducky.

Using vacations as inspiration, we recently traveled to Sedona and Jamaica, which led to the ill-fated submission of Schnebly (after a hill we climbed) and Marley (after Bob Marley). Schnebly Marley. But since most people couldn’t pronounce Schnebly, saying Schmedly instead, we scrapped that idea.

From the entertainment world, the lead character in my most recent novel was Ignatius and the protagonist of my most recent movie was Melquiades. We obviously have more work to do.

After looking at what we’ve come up with so far, Ducky may actually be the leading contender.

Zofran-tastic!

Flowers are blooming; birds are singing; rainbows appear out of every window in our home. That can only mean one thing. No, I am not high. Rather, this Zofran stuff really works. Who was complaining about the price? Not I. $370 for 2 ounces?! Heck, it would be a bargain at triple that price. Nary a heave has been heard within these walls for almost four days.

And recently, Tracy’s face has changed. The month long perma-frown has become inverted. The two invisible weights hanging from strings epoxied to each corner of her mouth have been miraculously lifted. Putting these symptoms in WebMD, I discovered this is called a smile. I must say, I like this “smile” thing.

So begins week 12 with renewed hope. (Although Dr. Quinn took it upon herself to skip a dose last night so she was feeling slightly worse this evening.) We are chasing down the end of our first trimester. Which brings us to our latest development. Saturday morning, we congregated in the kitchen to make pancakes. Pleased that the tsunami of nausea continued to recede, we paused the mixing of the batter for a brief, yet firm embrace. And then it hit me. Literally.

“Good christ woman! What is that thing poking me?!”

“In case you haven’t noticed, detective; that is my belly.”

We have a belly. This thing is huge. (And I don’t mean huge in a derogatory “you look huge” sense, but more of a “where there once was nothing there is now very much something” connotation. Where the hell was I? Since she won’t let me take an actual photo, here is an artist’s rendering of what it looks like:












Doesn’t she look great?!! The rest of the weekend we were actually able to focus on positive baby topics. With only 6 months to go, there is still much to be accomplished. First on the list was thinking of a new cute pet name for my wife. My initial two attempts of “Chubbs” or “Halle Belly”, were both met with abundant disapproval.

Pucker up

Well, on the Suck meter, with 1 being mildly sucky and 10 being total suckfest, so far week eleven rates about a 9.2. I realize that having "mildly sucky" as the optimum rating on weekly gage can seem rather glass half-empty but right now our glass has more cracks than a plumber’s convention.

Nothing works. Sprite, crackers, water, Popsicle’s, Preggo pops, big meals, small meals, no meals, going to bed early staying up late, setting the alarm for 3am to wake up and have a snack, ginger tea, ginger ale, ginger snaps, watching Ginger Rogers on TV, taking the prenatal pill at different times, skipping the prenatal pill, moving slowly in the morning, milkshakes, having me say "just try not to think about it". None of that worked.

Today we took evasive action. We sought a savior and Zofran be thy name. This is what the doctor prescribed and it is apparently some heavy-duty stuff. At $370 for 2 ounces, it better work wonders. I kid you not about the price. And I thought a shot of Grey Goose was expensive. At this price, the prescription should come with a guy that wakes me up in the morning and makes me waffles.

Cross your fingers. I can’t tell you how happy we will be if this helps. Well, I can give you an idea. To paraphrase Chevy Chase, I’ll be so f**king happy, I’ll be whistling zippity-do-dah out of my a**hole!

Week 11

“Wake me up, when September ends.” - Green Day

It is Saturday morning and I am perched on my comfortable patio chair, a hot cup of coffee at my side and a pregnancy book in my lap. The breeze off the lake, once refreshing, becomes decidedly unsettling. There is an eerie silence about. I half expect to look up and see Haley Joel Osment telling me he still sees dead people. Something bad is about to happen. And then I read the words; “in some cases, morning sickness can last throughout the entire 40 weeks”. Oh my. If that should be the case, please heed Green Day’s message and wake me when it’s over.

Week 10 ended on somewhat of a sour note. Tracy’s condition remains shaky, to put it mildly. We attempted to leave the house for a brief spell. We made it to Macys but once there, I spent most of my time loitering outside the woman’s restroom. Judging from some looks I received, women are a little uneasy around men who choose to hang out by their bathroom. Then, after a nearly fainting in Borders (her - not me), I knew it was time to get back home.

I also became a little depressed last week. I think I figured out part of what is scaring me. The major consensus from women is, life with kids is great and life pre-children was inconsequential and thus should be forgotten. Women adore kids like Kirstie Alley adores cheeseburgers.

At a recent work function, part of the opening ceremonies included an exercise in getting to know each other. We went around the room introducing ourselves, along with our title and other various scraps of information including our hobbies. To a man (or woman), nearly every female with child said they had no hobbies; they only enjoy sitting around staring at their child. This frightened me. I once heard a female so excited because her child ate a Cheerio. Big deal. This morning I ate a whole bowl. I even cut up my own banana and no one seemed even moderately impressed.

On the flip side, the male reaction to kids, with a few notable exceptions, has been more gloom and doom. Maybe they are just trying to scare me but then again, maybe not. My concern being, life was really good before and I hope we can once again achieve that level. But if the wife is utterly consumed with every piggy-toe wiggle, that isn’t going to leave much time for the husband. Or will I become equally enamored with such happenings and consequently won’t mind the reduction of affection we show towards each other?

But I do not want to sound all negative because I have made great strides with my attitude. It was just a rather tough week so forgive me. It has truly been two steps forward and one step back. And that is a 50% rate of progress, which I can live with. Among the positives are; I have a list of potential names, I have made mental plans for rearranging rooms, and I am wondering how small a size they sell Bruins jerseys and which player’s name to have ironed on the back.

Oh incidentally, we have a new fruit. One of the books called it the size of an apple. I am partial to the Fuji.

What I have learned

The transitory name Sally has been retired. I now refer to the child as Dennis. (as in ‘The Menace’). It may be mean but right now it's fitting. The cause of nausea, headaches, dizziness, fatigue, blurred vision, etc. But I don’t say it to him. At his age, I am not sure he can appreciate the finer points of my sarcasm. Only happy loving positive comments directed at the belly. Good karma.

I have a new job this week. I offered to read weeks 9-12 of a pregnancy using the plethora of books we have accumulated. So if you happen to hear someone running past you screaming uncontrollably, don’t worry. It is probably just me.

Thus far, I have learned a lot in my sparse research. Some stuff is helpful. Other information is downright ghastly. An example of the helpful stuff; that microphone thingy used to hear the baby’s heartbeat has an actual name. The technical term is not thingy but, in fact, it is called a Doppler, named after Dutch Biologist Henri Doppler (or so I just made up).

Further supporting my salamander claim, our baby, unbeknownst to me, recently had a tail. According to the Mayo Clinic, that tail has now gone. I have mixed feelings about this. While a kid with a tail sounds fun, he’d probably be in for a world of beatings in grade school so it’s probably for the best that the tail shriveled away.

I also discovered that at this stage of development, the baby’s brain is producing 250,000 neurons per minute! 250,000 of anything per minute is pretty amazing. Although I suspect my child is producing more in the 300,000 – 350,000 range. Is it too early for parental pride? Hey, if this kid has Tracy’s brains, looks and personality along with my…um, my ability to remember state capitols (South Dakota is Pierre), we are unquestionably looking at some kind of wunderkind.

And finally, I learned that "Bedbug" wasn’t kidding in his comments about gas. I don’t mean I experienced it first hand, I mean I read about it. Yes, there is an increase in gas but thankfully it doesn’t harm the baby at all. In fact, it may be comforting. The baby can actually hear the bubbling gurgle noises around it. Think along the lines of an electronic waterfall you would keep by the bed. Same soothing effect. Although maybe not so soothing for the husband. (I’m probably not going to be allowed to read anymore after this post!)

I will spare you the details of some of the more frightful matters because you either already know about them or don’t want to hear about them. Peeking ahead to next week, if Dennis is really a Dennis, his little manhood will begin to form. If Dennis is actually a Denise, her girl stuff starts to take shape. This is all very exciting. Stay tuned!