Today, Val announced to the public that she is, in fact, pregnant with the next iteration of the Catrow family line. Since you, dear internets, were the last to know you have some catching up to do: we are currently ten weeks into a forty week (lifelong?) process, my how time — like a mighty river — has flown.
The following is clearly TMI
For some reason, who knows why, I had it in my head that I wouldn’t dream of siring a babe until I was nigh unto 30 years of age. Valerie had quite different plans. Thus we fought endlessly as many fists were shook and tears shed. Note: always talk about when you want to have kids with your prospective wife, not just if. Finally through much bartering, hemming, and also hawing, we decided to “try” — which means “have unprotected sex” — the last two weeks of February, skip March, and resume in April. This was palatable and I accepted the offer as I laughed haughtily, twirled my moustache, and envisioned weeks of endless sex.
Valerie was impregnated ON THE FIRST TRY. ALWAYS WEAR A CONDOM PEOPLE THEY AREN’T KIDDING. I imagine that when I turn 46 and the opportunity for endless sex presents it self again the erectile dysfunction drugs will be miraculous.
Disclosure: My wife told me that if I made it seem like she forced me into having kids she would hit me with the baseball bat again.
Tests, which are, honestly, pretty expensive
On March 5th Valerie and I got into a huge fight — something that is pretty rare for us. I think I failed to a) do the dishes like I said I would or b) clean the bathroom like I said I would. Either way, it escalated rather quickly. Which made me feel rather bad when … Val took a pregnancy test at work the next day! And it was positive! And then she took five more!
She is thorough, that one.
So we told a few people close to us — I told like, literally, two people while Val told the entire state of Nebraska — and made a doctor’s appointment. Then we waited, and actually are still waiting, to pass out of The Danger Zone. Apparently, until week twelve (interesting sidenote: they spot you four weeks up front. So when you find out you’re pregnant you’re actually four weeks pregnant) you live in this constant state of fear of a miscarriage.
While dreading the impudent exeunt of our newly fashioned life form I stepped up my culinary efforts. As my wife knits bone from flesh my main task is to provide her with the nutrients necessary to do so. She does not need to “eat for two” as they (the fatties) say. She just needs to eat balanced and healthy meals. This is where I come in.
Alan Alda
Today we had our first doctor’s appointment with a kindly gentleman who, while looks nothing like, has the mannerisms of Alan Alda. Not only that, but he is the OBGYN for fully three generations of my wife’s family. If we have a girl and Valerie’s grandmother is still alive he will have seen FOUR generations of Harris family vaginas. Seriously.
Val was supposed to get an (awkwardly internal) ultrasound, but the technician had a “family emergency.” After waiting six dreadfully slow weeks we’ll have to wait another to see a blurry, grainy picture of our foetus. But! We got to hear the heartbeat using a weird portable sonar device that looked like a ray gun.
It sounded just like it does in the movies, rather wooshy.
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That’s where we are. The awkwardly internal ultrasound has been rescheduled for next Monday. Barring terrible catastrophes I might have pictures then.
STOKED!