Pathway to Disaster Baby Steps

I have decided to keep an online diary of my personal experiences with the pregnancy, doctor visits irrational wife and classes. So, without further ado...

Victoria, B.C. October 28th

I have picked up another pregnancy test. Jocele is now on day 33 or is that 93? Who the hell knows. If anything was going to happen, it would have happened by now, surely. The first test was negative , but J is convinced that we have been blessed with what will most likely turn out to be a smaller version of Sophie Collins (i.e. professional cheerleader). We shall see.

The line on the second test is VERY faint. I mean, I have to hold the damn tester thing up to the window just to see the line and to plan my escape. I don't think that the manufacturer had this in mind when they marketed the home pregnancy test. "After three minutes, check applicator. If there is a vertical line next to the horizontal line, the test is positive. If the line is faint, but can be seen by the light of a 3 million watt bulb or a super nova, the test is positive." Perhaps I should have had Jocele pee on it. Don’t know how it knows if she’s pregnant when I do it.

Although I want the test to be negative positive, I don't want to get my hopes up. We will take yet another test when we get home.

Home, November 1st

So there it is. A full on, brightly colored, no further review needed positive test. Boo Whoo Hoo!!! My lil guys aren't faulty! (Although they are lonely) Although it might be prudent to tell everyone later, we are planning to do a slow, but inevitable news release (I was thinking of 18 years). This means NOT telling either of my sisters, as their only rival to the speed in which they can disseminate information is the internet (and about as accurately, to boot).

November 4th

The first doctor's visit. This is something rather new to me and rather peculiar. I have never been present during a female examination before (well, not in a “clinical” sense. Matter of fact, I don’t even remember the first part either. Is this marriage?). While we were waiting for all the hubbub to happen, Jocele is wrapped in a large paper towel and the upper half of a hospital gown (One would think that “burrito wrap” is a fashion statement). What happened to the lower part, no one knows. After passing out, Jocele explains the exam and asks me to not to faint. After looking about the room, I see a tray with implements of torture on it. Sam, (That Sam I am. That Sam I am, what Big Hands has Sam I am) our doctor, comes in and starts the examination. She then reaches into a hidden drawer of the table and pulls out something that can best be described as a tool from the Spanish Inquisition and had the words “CRAFTSMAN” embossed in red on its side. I ask about the device and am told it is a "Speculum". I won't continue any further, except to say that I always thought a Speculum was an ancient Roman arena for gladiatorial combat. Apparently, it’s for glandatorial combat. Jocele did not like this joke, or the three others I said. Of course, watching the woman you love and saying “Hey, it’s like opening a can of spam” wasn’t the brightest thing I’d ever done. Ain't so, man... just ain't so.

November 9th

We go to get an early ultrasound just to make sure everything is ok and to pinpoint the due date. There is picture of a blackish oval thing on the screen, but nothing in the blackness. We are not as far along as I had thought, but the doctor said “no, this is what has become of your lives now that you will have a child”. Now comes the all the statistical knowledge of how many women have something called a Blighted Ovum and the percentages of having a miscarriage in the first trimester. Not the happiest thoughts for such an occasion. Well, we will come back in a week and check again.

November 11th

The instances of Morning Sickness are increasing, but not during the morning hours. Jocele isn’t feeling good either and she told me to quit hitting the booze every time I think of our next 18 years vanished into oblivion. It seems that she has Evening Sickness. I have to ask... is this normal? Where's the much talked about puking? Where's the fun times that I hear about? I think the joke is on me. The people who had the kids and talked about humorous stories during pregnancy were just lulling me into a false sense of Laugh-a-Minute talk.

November 15th

Holy Mother of God! I saw something the size of a grain of rice with a heartbeat on the monitor. I’m the father of PacMan! How did it go from a vague black spot to a black spot with something and a heartbeat? I tried to scan the picture of "Sprout" into the computer, but the scanner just saw it as gray fuzz. Next time, I will ask if they can send the image to an email.

November 18th

Yesterday saw the first positive signs of Morning Sickness for Jocele as I asked her what was for breakfast and she threw up on the stove. I told her no thanks. As was later retold to me, it was like a Tsunami of Nausea instead of the small waves that she had read about. Papers flying, people being maneuvered around like a star running back, she almost made it finally made to the restroom before erupting. How many more weeks and months of this, I ask? 18 is the echo. The answer is as varied as patterns of snowflakes. Of course, I am paraphrasing. The answer to my question was a surly, "I dun know." Followed by "Could be the first 8 weeks or the entire pregnancy. And don't touch me. Ever" Finally got the picture of Sprout to look better by superimposing a picture of JoLo on it. Click Here. Sprout's the one between the white crosses, not that this is a message from God. Or is it?

November 24th

Working nights again, I have become Jocele's alarm clock and abuse taker. I get home, she gets up and goes to work. However, before I can fall into blissful slumber comes The Brushing of the Teeth. From the bathroom, I hear *brush-a-brush-a-brush-a-brush-a-brush-a* Ugh! *brush-a-brush-a* Ack! *brush-a-brush-a-brush-a* Gag!!!! A pause. Heavy breathing, generally from myself. Then it starts all over again. Sometimes, she gets half way thru the gargling of the mouthwash, spits then does the heavy breathing bit. Its like she is fighting the nausea. Hell, I am fighting the nausea. I feel this is going to be a reoccurring theme. We were out Bra shopping earlier this week. That was quite an experience. The lady there was showing Jocele bras that looked like old lady braziers but were necessary for the support needed. Now, I didn't know how much of a racket bras were. We bought 2, and in a few months, the sales lady said J would need a couple of more. Then a few months after that comes the nursing bras, which should be standard attire for all women, if you ask me. The Costa Nostra has NOTHING on the undergarment industry. Oh, and a tip for those out there... its not healthy to be singing "She's a Brick.... House" when you live with a pregnant woman. I hope to soon extract that toothbrush of hers from my backside.

November 30th

Today we listened for a heartbeat at our doctors visit. For those keeping score at home, this is the 2nd official visit (although, being from Washington, many of you will demand a recount). It was a pretty boring visit until Sam got out The Device. No no, not the evil device, but a listening device. (Jocele: that Sam I am, that Sam I am. What cold hands, Sam I am!) I guess its a suped microphone/sonar thing. Very exciting stuff. Techie medical stuff around a technophile; it was pretty cool. As Sam was moving the Magic Wand across J's belly, I felt strangely out of place. These women know how this device works, they know what they are listening for. I wanted to be in a submarine movie. All I heard was static. Not the static I hear when J is nagging me about smells, cooking or being a man, but a different static. I kept expecting to hear a trucker break in on the frequency! *krrrsshhh* "Breaker breaker, this here's the Duck".

No heartbeat. But Sam said she wasn't expecting to hear one this time. Maybe in 4 weeks. 4 Weeks?!? Damnit! Oh, and also for those keeping score at home, The Illness Report: Every so often she stops what she's doing and gets The Look on her face. This is so much different when “that look” skipped my heart. Now I skip feet. I have stopped myself from asking her "what's wrong" every time I see that Look. The answer is always a surly "I'm pregnant and I'm nauseous, what do you thinks wrong?!?" And its invariably followed by either "And stop touching me!" or "Its your fault. You did this to me! I had nothing to do with it!" Ahhh, the joys of pregnancy.

Is prozac allowed for expectant mothers?

How about fathers?