Genetical dilemma and paternal prejudice

So this is week, today officially, is week fifteen. There have been few changes since last we spoke. Oh wait: I think we had sex a couple of times! The wife’s delicate condition has, over the last three weeks, become significantly less delicate and no longer does the travesty of chicken make her cry or is her libido a resident of Fraggle Rock.

The first trimester is no joke people.

Maybe pregnancy gets a bad rap, though. The other day I was telling a dude about how Val was complaining about something legitimately annoying — like getting stung by a bee, or being trapped in an elevator with a flatulent Pauly Shore — and the guy was like “But that is because she is pregnant right?” What!? Perhaps not all of pregnancy is like that painting in Good Will Hunting: alone, awash in a stormy ocean of “feelings” and “emotions.” I don’t want to get ahead of myself, knowing nothing about the mythical Third Trimester, but the second trimester is like this plush oasis on the edge of the petulant and barren first trimester.

Now I would like to talk about two different things.

Genetical dilemma

At some point during HW’s continued development INSIDE THE CONFINES OF MY WIFE we can elect for some voodoo witchdoctor procedures that will deduce his/her genetic make up. Actually, I’m not sure what they deduce, but you end up with a report of whether your nascent offspring has Abraham Lincoln Disease or some equally terrible affliction. Do you get the tests done and live with knowing your child has some debilitating condition? Can you live with not knowing? Also the tests have a high rate of false positives. Also this graph terrifies me.

Honestly, I don’t care either way and have left the decision up to Val. At this point she is against having the tests done.

Paternal prejudice

My mom gave me a copy of Parenting Magazine to which I responded with “I’m too young for that!” to which, in turn, she responded with a critical glare. At the top of the magazine is their, I guess, motto: “What Matters to Moms.” How irritating is that? I realize that “What Matters to Dads” isn’t alliterative but seriously people when did fathers stop being parents? PROPAGATING OPPRESSIVE STEREOTYPES. I’ll probably end up ranting about this quite a bit. Get excited.