A Study in De-Fooding

"I might actually upchuck while you're writing this. Just heads-up."

My wife just said these exact words to me. We're sitting on our couch, and I just finished finding an appropriate title for this entry, thanks to slangdictionary's thesaurus.

Indeed, these past few weeks have been rather "urpy". As hormone levels and body functions are scaling off the charts at both ends, my poor wife has been voiding her meals at an increasing rate. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start at nearly the beginning...

First off:

Pregnancy = super powers

     Beth has changed. She's... different. During the day, she works as a mild-mannered teacher/makeup designer/babysitter. At night, however, she becomes... Expecto-Woman! Able to sleep long naps in a single stint (also able to sleep pretty much anywhere. really, anywhere. trust me.). Her superpowers are amazing.

     Like her sense of smell. When I do dishes, or make fragrant foods... she knows. When you pass gas, chances are she knows that you have before you do. Walls, doors, air fresheners... these barriers to the olfactory process are no match for Expecto-Woman and her radioactive nostrils of justice and pre-natal power.

     In addition to an amazingly developed sense of smell, she's acquired some rather random "kryptonites" in the food world. One prime example is her sudden, and rather violent, distaste for bell peppers. Even just the thought, or the smell, of bell peppers sends her stomach into barrel rolls that would make the Blue Angels jealous. Much like our dear Superman, Beth's kryptonite is familiar. Though not shards of her previous homeworld, bell peppers were once a nearly-daily staple of her diet. Unfortunately, they are no longer such. Also unfortunately, because I, in fact, live with Expecto-Woman, I cannot partake of said kryptonite...

     Which is why I've had lunch at Chipotle every day for the past week.

We still refer to the fetus (or the parasite, as I prefer to call it) as Scrump, sometimes to a fault. It's hard to maintain a non-gender specific nickname. Scrump seems masculine, yet I insist that we're having a girl.

Names! Random, I know, but these are the names we've been pondering and thinking on.

Pink = Penelope Mae Mosey
Blue = Christian Alden Mosey

They're solid names, and I think we've settled on them. I was trying to convince Beth that, should we have boy-girl twins, that we should name them Luke and Leia.

She said no.

I tried my darnedest to be the bigger person and go for a compromise, like any sane human being would. I said, "What about their middle names? Luke and Leia as middle names?"

... she said no. Again.

I'm beginning to think she doesn't like Star Wars. Alas, however, we are not having twins. There is but one fetus.

But I digress...

Beth vomits. A lot. What more can I say? She vomits at night, she vomits in the morning. She vomits before eating, she vomits after eating. To be honest, she hasn't been "disturbing the waters" as often as some expectant mothers. She keeps telling me, "I don't like throwing up," yet I find myself wondering if anyone really does...?

Anyway, her digestive system has taken a kick to the pants, and she's having a hard time coping. All I can do is worry and work on this ulcer that my mission started. I feel utterly helpless. Apparently, my only job is to try to feed her when she won't eat, clean up her puke, and hold her while she falls asleep. It's like Daddy Boot Camp.

Maybe I'll be more ready for Scrump than I thought.

Eight Weeks and Three Days (or My Journey in the Land of Estrogen)

I am fairly certain I was the only official Y-chromosome in the entire building. Nurses, receptionists, patients, etc. and I was the only member of the "Pee While Standing Club". One needed to merely walk into the waiting room of the Arizona Women's Care to feel the flowing and ebbing tide of estrogen. From the beige-slathered interior walls to the nondescript, existential artwork mechanically gracing the fringes, I felt that even the office itself was female.

I was alone. Horribly outnumbered. Even my wife was against me.

I suppose that's a natural occurrence in an office where all five of the lead practitioners are women. I can only hope they don't cycle together. That would be an interesting time of the month in that office.

Smack-dab in snooty Scottsdale.

Anyway, awkwardness aside, the experience Beth and I enjoyed yesterday was amazing. We arrived early that morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Then we waited, though not for long. Beth went off to give various fluid samples, both from voluntary and involuntary ( AKA very pointy) means. After a lengthy discussion with a nurse practitioner on Pregnancy 101, we were finally ushered into a room with a large, flat-screen television on one wall, a slightly startling set of instruments and cables on another, and a small bed in the foreground with telescoping stirrups. As we waited, our nervousness was palpable. And tangible. And perceptible. And a whole lot of other descriptive words which I leave to your imagination.

Dr. Heathcott rushed in. She was very intense, but also slightly dormant. Her intensity belied a sense of being hurried through a day fraught with appointments and agendas; her dormancy indicated, at least to me, that this was nothing to get her excited. And I felt slightly sorry for her. Sorry that such a jaded attitude is a natural product of someone in her profession. And that she wouldn't share in our sense of wonder and amazement.

Without wasting time, violations of personal privacy were made (which Beth assures me wasn't nearly as invasive as other things women are subjected to in those offices. but i digress.) and there, on the screen was...

A bright little lump. A misshapen, jelly bean-sized lump.

The lump in question.

Thus far I was impressed, but slightly confused. I knew that fetuses are not quite... human? But a jelly bean? A blob? I don't wish to sound ungrateful; I was very happy we found a blob and not blank space. But it was a lumpy little thing, wasn't it? So lumpy, in fact, that I soon thereafter gave him or her a decidedly unflattering nickname: Scrump. (for those of you who are sadly uninformed on Disney movies, Scrump is the misshapen and decidedly ugly little doll that Lilo carries with her in Lilo and Stitch. i have posted a picture for those of you who are thus ignorant.)

From left: Scrump, then Lilo. Go watch the movie if you haven't seen it, ruffians.

I got used to it, I promise. Our doctor pointed out different landmarks in our Scrump, and I began to feel better. She identified the head (which looks rather large), the nubs that will become arms and legs (which look rather diminutive) and the heart (a small, bright seed in the center of the blob). Thus far, the experience had been one of discovery and happiness, but I still had yet to be awed. I was waiting for the goosebump-laden, thrilling moment I was promised.

Then, I saw the heart moving. Pulsing. A glowing beacon shouting to everyone (like Horton's dear friends in Dr. Seuss' story) "I am here! I exist!" Once I was struck by that thought, everything meant something spectacular. Beth and I are going to be parents. This miraculous blob of flesh, tissue, and blood is something we have been privileged and blessed to create together. And though we really have very little involvement or say in the actual physical building of this little Scrump (much to Beth's nauseous dismay), we were able to see, and even listen to, this miniature, frantic heartbeat and respond with joy and wonder.

I'm very excited to meet our Scrump.