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.

Day Eleven - "Tales of Happiness and 'Whoa!'"

Hard to believe it was eleven days ago that we found out. That's nearly two weeks. In that time, there have been exciting times, scary times, teary times (never by me), and frankly some kinda gross times (mainly caused by my making a big deal out of normal pregnancy things).


My wife and I had decided at the beginning of April that we were going to start trying to have a baby. Embroiled in visions and fears of lengthy processes, fertility clinics, and (literally) swimming in circles, we were never prepared for how easy it would be. Or how fast. Apparently, as my father-in-law puts it, Beth and I have "fruitful loins".


Anyway, all that I have witnessed of pregnancy thus far is:


1. It makes women really tired.


   I mean truly exhausted. Beth has never been much of one to take naps (though she is in constant need and want of one). But recently, she has been exhibiting an amazing ability to sneak in any number of naps in her day. Thus far her record is three naps in one day, which occurred on Saturday. And I don't mean any namby-pamby catnaps. I mean each nap is at least an hour long. It's amazing, and I find myself sometimes being jealous.


2. It makes women very nauseous.


   We all know the phrase. "Morning sickness". First of all, it isn't relegated to just the early hours of the day, so I haven't the foggiest on where that came from. Second, calling it a "sickness" is far too kind, and I feel sugarcoats the true nature of the malady. I don't believe I've ever watched Beth NOT eat this much. Which is saying something, considering her typically dainty appetite since I've known her. I literally have to force breakfast down her throat, an activity that she often finds annoying and I find empowering in an odd, possibly sadistic way. Perhaps it's because I feel forcing her to eat checks off several items on my "caring husband to-do list" (didn't know there's a checklist? there is. it's rather demanding.) I suppose it can be categorized somewhere under my "Take Good Care of My Wife" section.


3. It breeds questions.


   "When are you due?" "How far along are you?" "What gender are you hoping for?" "Have you picked out any names yet?" Blah blah blah. (apparently, it also inspires a veritable cornucopia of "congratulations" or, my personal favorite, the "congrats". i would much rather prefer if people would say "good job" or be genuinely excited.) These are all questions that everybody asks just to seem interested. I should know; they're my standard questions to ask an expecting couple. They're "cotton candy" questions; they're sweet, but without substance. Still, cotton candy questions are preferable to the alternative: the questions I ask myself. "What kind of father will I be?" "Can I teach my child to be righteous and amazing in a world full of vices I fall prey to on a daily basis?" "How can I set an example for my child?" and, the most meaningful question of all: "Will he/she love the important things in life, like Star Wars?"


These thoughts keep me up some nights. Like tonight. And this is only day eleven.


I can do this... I can do this...