Entries Tagged 'second trimester' ↓

On Sunday I didn’t love HW. Sure, in an abstract way I was committed to taking care of and providing for it, but at the time there was no practical way for me to emotional connect with lil’ foetus. Then we had our twenty week ultrasound Monday afternoon. You can read the whole story over here if you’d like. Short version:

Monday the ultrasound technician casually dropped the words “amniotic band” during our appointment. We didn’t think anything of it until googling it later that evening. Tuesday we got back in to talk to our doctor and he suggested that we see a specialist. Thankfully we got into see the specialist, Dr. Head, on Wednesday. Dr. Head, whom, incidentally, always makes me think of this, quickly discovered that there were no amniotic bands and that everything is just fine in utero.

This week was excruciating while also devastatingly happy. Monday/Tuesday/Wednesday we just felt so helpless — there was literally nothing we could do other than wait to hear what the doctors had to say. Everything — tv, people, work, inets — reminded me that some little thing inside my wife wasn’t safe and I couldn’t do anything about it. It was utterly depressing.

Wednesday morning I was distracted and nervous. Like, really really nervous. I couldn’t think and my chest felt constricted — for like four hours. I thought our best case scenario was going to be: “Well, we’ll keep an eye on it. Everything is fine for now.” But through some miracle we walked out of the specialist’s office with a healthy baby once again. And things were fantastic.

So I bought a huge beer and drank it to celebrate.

But somehow, through all of this utter shit, I’ve come out loving HW. Like really loving it. Nothing like a crucible of a terrible medical anomaly to sort your out feelings.

THAT'S RIGHT. FEELINGS. I'VE UPGRADED MY OPERATING SYSTEM TO INCLUDE THOSE. SOMETIMES THEY ARE INCONVENIENT. EOL. EOF.

So Val is fifty percent pregnant (week 19). I, occasionally, wistfully remember how recently I awoke to barfing each morning. Those were the days folks. When men were men, and women were barfing constantly. But honestly people, the second trimester is serious logz: the wife gets fatter and a wee bit saner, but things remain relatively plateaued.

Now we wait for The Happening or The Quickening or The Somethinging.

Quantitative proof

It has always been a possibility that this whole “pregnancy” has been an elaborate ruse put on by Val to cover up her burgeoning beer belly. There was no real proof that something — something wondeful/disgusting (wonderfully disgusting?) — was growing inside of her loins. That is … UNTIL NOW.

On Sunday I felt HW punch Valerie in the guts. Most likely Val had said something which HW and I both disagreed with and HW decided to voice his/her displeasure with violence. I blame video games. But it was really cool and bizarre.

Also, HW can now hear — opposed to his/her’s namesake (IRONY!). So we’ve loaded some tunes onto the ol’ iPod shuffle and blast them nightly into the ol’ uterus. The list of approved music follows:

• The Beatles
• Otis Redding
• Johnny Cash

Screw Mozart.

Materialism

We are also starting to get our first influx of child related things. The great part is we haven’t spent a dime. Things have miraculously apparated into our house with alarming frequency. For small things — and luckily most baby things are necessarily small — this is fine. We tuck them in a draw and forget about them.

I am wary, however, of all the stuff you “need” to have a kid. Chairs, bouncy things, rocky things, soft things, terrible plastic things that make noises. People: I am trying to de-clutter here. I am also, hopefully, trying to raise a kid who doesn’t use stuff as a measure of self-worth.

We’ll see how far I’ll get in this my current quest.

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.