I feel good...is something wrong??

This is the panicked message I received on Tuesday. Yes, my lovely wife was completely freaking out because she felt, wait for it...normal. "Should I call the Dr?", she asked me. Now, in my head, this is what I was thinking, "Uh...no, this is what you've been praying for for months now, and p.s. take off your pants!". What I said (because face it ladies, if guys actually said what they wanted to, most times it would end with p.s. take off your pants AND we'd be in a lot more trouble than we already are) was, "Honey, if you think that you need to call the Dr, then you absolutely should." So (of course) she decided that she would call the Dr, and after 24hrs of panicking over feeling completely awesome, we made the trip to the office and once again was able to hear Peanut's strong heartbeat. It should be noted here, that the only reason the Dr called us in is to make sure that Jenni wouldn't be stressed out over the holidays. However, by calling us in, she not only stressed Jen out, she sent her into an all out tailspin. So please, if there are any doctors that just happen to read this (AHEM, dear sis-in-law Susan) please understand that when you call a pregnant woman into your office for an unscheduled visit, make it known up front that there is NO NEED TO WORRY!

So here we are at 17 weeks already! Jen is convinced we need to go buy our very own Doppler to allow her to listen to the heartbeat whenever she sees fit, and I have to argue against her (which is as dangerous as filling your mouth with Pop Rocks and chugging a Coke) because I keep getting a vision of her walking around in public with a goo covered belly and the strangest looking ipod any one's ever seen. Seriously, think about that vision for a minute and you'll realize why we don't own one...it's disturbing. Speaking of strange looks and such, please allow me to dust off my soap box for a minute, cause I SAYA! I said, I said I SAYA, I feel a sermon comin on!

Listen, I completely understand that for some folks, I don't exactly fit the stereotype of "normal" looking. And for the most part, I even take pride in the fact that I seem to scare the very old (and young) with my mere presence. But time has come to put something to rest, I DO NOT BEAT MY WIFE! Now, please retract that look of confusion (or horror) and continue to read, I'll explain. It's been understood that Jen is the balanced one in our relationship, the "normie", or if you'll indulge me the yin to my yang, the Paula Abdul to my MC Skat Kat (yes I know the name of the cartoon rapper from the video), or the Zippidy to my Doodah. Ok, so maybe the last one was a little ridiculous but you get my point. But here lately, thanks in large part to the blessing of a gift we call hormones, I've been getting nothing but mean and hateful looks from the fairer sex out there. Whenever Jenni decides to cry, like when she sees an old couple, or a baby, or a cute puppy, or hears a song, or gets hungry, or when the damn doctor CALLS US IN FOR NO REASON, or (strangely enough) when she sees Marshika Hargitay (yes the Law and Order chic) on tv, and I'm there to comfort her, everyone looks at me like I'm the next Son of Sam. It's as if every woman out there shoots daggers out of her eyes and directs them at me, and silently tells Jen, "Honey, you don't have to take this kind of treatment, he's a bad man." And does my beautiful wife help me out here? Maybe cry at home? Or at least not in public? No. So there I sit at (fill in any place here) smiling awkwardly as she sobs into a never ending stream of tissues. (Which b-t-dub comes from MY pockets so she doesn't have to carry them!) So please all of you store clerks, restaurant hosts and waiters, movie ticket takers, seemingly innocent passers by, and little old ladies (I'm talking to YOU lady from the doctor's office!) remember that she's crying for any number of reasons, not because her mean looking husband just roughed her up out back with a phone book. Hmmm, maybe I should get a shirt that says "I didn't make her cry... she's just pregnant"....

Well enough of that...Oh! I almost forgot, we now officially have a baby's room, which is conveniently located in our very own new house!! We are about 80% unpacked and sailing right along. And if you're wondering how it was to move with a pregnant wife who enjoys being in charge....well, I'll fill you in on that one some other time. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!

P.S. Do me a favor, and if you like this blog, recommend it to others and there's now a link to email any of the blogs you find particularly interesting near the end of the last paragraph.

And if you look to your left, you'll see your first trimester waving goodbye...

I'm pretty sure that I expected a lot of different things with pregnancy; crazy demands for weird food from a seemingly possessed woman at 3am, the ever shifting tides of emotions producing such drastic waves, any surfer would be jealous, and the endless reassurance that comes with a rapidly expanding stomach. One thing I didn't expect is that it seems to be flying by. We are now at 14 weeks, practically 15 and the first trimester ends with not a bang, but with a blast of pickle juice infused air as it passes into the realm of "You know...it wasn't really that bad...".



So as most of you know, we are at the stage where you see the doctor about every four weeks, and this was the time we would be able to finally hear Peanut's heartbeat, so we were very excited! Going to see the doctor is always an experience and living up to her full potential, Jen (as always) provided me with way more material that I could ever cram into this blog. It begins immediately as she slaps my hand as I so stupidly try and read a magazine as we wait for our name to be called. "I can't believe you touched that!" "Do you have any idea how many germs there are in here?" And need I remind you this is my beautiful wife hissing at me like Kaa from the Jungle Book, NOT, my mother. Although both have mastered the art of what I like to call "Scolding with a Smile". It's that thing women do where they're yelling (or hissing) at you in public when you've done something stupid, yet appear to be smiling like nothing's wrong...you know the trick. So as I'm sitting there with a bruised ego (and wrist), mumbling under my breath some smart ass comment about how YES, I actually do know how many germs there are here, our name is called. For those of you who have never been to a visit like this, it can be a bit overwhelming.



First of all, don't think of this area behind the waiting room door as a safe one. Consider it more like a battleground, full of not just your pregnant wife, but many, many more. Treat all of them like you would a dominant silver back gorilla, keep your head down, don't make eye contact, and if at all possible, give them as much space as they need to get around. Also, prepare for a constant stream of a fun game called "Am I as big as her?". This newly found game can be fun for young and old alike as long as you remember the one (and ONLY) right answer every time she asks, which of course is, "Are you INSANE? There's no WAY you're her size, and I don't think you'll EVER be that big!" Trust me. Follow that answer guideline and you'll always come out a winner. Now somewhere through the sea of urine samples, and the line of depressed/angry looking women lined up in front of the scales, lies your safe haven, the doctor's room, where if you're lucky, the doctor will be in to see you after a short (45 min) wait.



I feel obligated here to tell you a few things that may help you understand this next scene a little. I'm what some people call.....immature. I play with the little stick thingies in the jars by the sink, try and assemble and disassemble the lady parts model then try again to beat my fastest record, and yes (to Jen's chagrin) I laugh every time I hear my wife say vagina. I don't know why I do these things, I'm sure it'll go away eventually....



So the doctor comes in a let's us know that all is going as it should be, everything seems normal, including Jen's growing hatred for all things sweet, and then they talked about some stuff where I just kinda zoned out for a bit (sorry hon). Oh and if you were wondering, yes they did say the magic word, and yes, I did try my best to stifle the bouts of laughter. But then after the obligatory squirt of insanely cold goo, we where able to finally hear Peanut! He was pumping away at 150bpm and (next to Jen saying "yes" when I proposed) was the best I've ever heard. It was like he was sayin "hi, I'm down here". I think as we were leaving, we both were grinning like the criminally insane, and floating on cloud nine. And as we were leaving the office, after the gauntlet had been ran, I can now look back and say, "It wasn't really that bad....." See ya soon everyone!