The Guessing Game

Friend 1: Let's try and guess whether Jessie will have a boy or a girl.
Friend 2: Ok. I think it's going to be a boy.
Jessie: Why do you think it will be a boy?
Friend 2: Well, they say that if you're having a boy, you usually look ugly during your pregnancy.

(Silence. Awkward glances exchanged.)

Aha! Seems like I'm not the only one with a problem of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time! Welcome to the club. If you were a man, I’d offer you a lifetime membership to the Men’s Support Group.

No-win Situations

When talks about our future come up, discussions about money issues aren’t far behind. Now that Jessie’s become pregnant, the subject has taken on a more serious tone.  And for some reason, she likes to bring it up right when we get into bed. 

It’s a devious plan, like trapping a helpless puppy in the corner with nowhere to run. Can't it wait until the morning?! She must be doing this on purpose. Just cause you can't get a good night's sleep because you're pregnant doesn't mean you have to ruin mine too!

We’ve been discussing ways of earning extra money on the side for some time. She thought that having me tutor would be good. However, I haven't been too keen on this idea. Yes, I know I could probably get paid a lot, but it just doesn’t seem very stable to me. I have other ideas of my own.

I’ve been fixated on opening up my own restaurant for awhile now. At first, I was thinking pizza, then Chicago-style hot dogs, but now, I want to open up a burrito bar. 

No, I don’t know the first thing about running a restaurant, no, I’m not half-Mexican even though people claim my mom looks like one, and no, I don’t know anything about making a burrito, which are all valid reasons why Jessie probably doesn’t take me seriously in the first place.

Also, I have this habit of tossing out random ideas for businesses that I want to start. Jessie’s heard so many by now that she probably tunes them all out whenever I start talking about any new idea I have. She’s probably waiting for my fascination with burritos to die and seeing what cockamamie idea I come up with next.

With a baby on the way, I know I can’t just keep daydreaming. Therefore, I told Jessie I’m willing to go out and tutor. I can always put Eddie’s Burrito Bar on the backburner for the time being. However, now she says that she doesn’t want me to tutor because she doesn’t want a tired husband, and she doesn’t want to force me to do anything I don’t want.

I'm a workhorse. I don't get tired. No one is forcing me to do anything. I want to tutor. How will we be able to save for the future if I don’t? To which she responds that she doesn't want a tired husband, and she doesn't want to force me to do anything I don't want.

Ah, you would have made a great lawyer with your scintillating and persuasive arguments. It seems like not earning extra money is the wrong answer, and trying to earn extra money is also the wrong answer. I hate no-win situations! And I hate not getting a good night's sleep even more!

Push it to the Limit

Last night, my mission was nearly compromised. I pushed things a bit further than I should have. I was watching TV when Jessie had just finished showering. She comes and sits next to me and tries to start being intimate.

Come on! Not while I'm in the middle of watching TV! You're the one who made up that rule! Plus, I know she doesn't really want it. I know she's too tired, moody, and nauseated to try and make sweet, sweet lovin'. Believe me, I've tried.

I try to shrug off her advances, but she's pretty darn pesky. I really have to applaud her for her effort. There she is, towel still wrapped up in her wet hair, wearing her big ol' glasses and an old shirt, trying her hardest to seem sexy when she's dog-tired and not even in the mood. 

I can't help but feel touched that she's doing this all for me, but at the same time, I can't help but laugh and say how silly and unsexy she looks. I tell her to take a look at herself in the mirror.

Now before you let out a gasp of disbelief that I did such a thing, let it be known that my wife is one of the most beautiful person in the world. Like I've said, my problem is that I always say the wrong thing at the wrong time. But lo and behold, she didn't really get angry! Am I living in the Twilight Zone? This has never happened before.

Perhaps she really is the one that's changed and I'm still the bumbling idiot that I've always been. Perhaps she is the beauty and I am the loathsome beast. What a revelation. Or perhaps she's just too tired to garner the energy to argue with me. Whew.

Musn't Make Mommy Mad

Ever since we found out that Jessie's pregnant, my Spidey senses have been on heightened alert. What I feared the most, more than changing dirty diapers or dropping the baby, was her mood swings.

My extensive baby knowledge has taught me that because of hormonal changes that affect my wife's levels of neurotransmitters (chemical messengers in the brain, for you non-experts), a pregnant woman may, from time to time, become a little crazy, to say the least.

I've read post after post of horror stories about the things pregnant women did to their beloved and innocent husbands when on this hormonal rampage. And let me tell you, they weren't pretty. I hate to say it, but some of these women probably would have had even the mighty Chuck Norris begging for mercy, though I cringe to even think of such a thought.

The wife's already got a bit of a short fuse (probably because of me), and I figured these hormonal imbalances would only make things worse. I knew I had to come up with a battle plan. I called it Operation M⁴ (Musn't Make Mommy Mad). Snazzy name, eh? Made that one up myself. Thank you very much.

The plan is to say, "Yes, mam" to whatever the wife says, wipe the pee off the toilet without being told, do all the housework, and try not to say anything stupid (this last one being extremely difficult for me).

So far, things have worked out fairly well. Jessie's in the middle of her first trimester, and this is supposed to be the period of time during the pregnancy when her hormones are out in full regalia. I bragged to her that I've done a pretty good job of not upsetting her. 

I wanted her to praise me and tell me, "Job well done," but she claims that she hasn't gotten angry because she's changed for the better, not because I've been on my best behavior, and that I should be thanking her.

Hah! As if! But of course, I said, "Yes, mam. You're right. You have changed. Your metamorphosis has transformed you into a radiant, peaceful butterfly. So silly of me to think that I was the one that changed. I am still nothing but a lowly caterpillar unworthy of gazing upon your magnificence." 

On the Origin of

People come up to me all the time and ask, "Hey, Baby Expert, how did you become a baby expert? You reek of awesomeness!" Yes, I do.

Alright, so maybe this has only occurred in my dreams and has never happened in real life before. However, I know you've spent many a sleepless night pondering over this very question!

The fact of the matter is, I've got a plethora of time on my hands when I'm at work. I have around 2-4 hours of down time a day in which I can bury the ol' noggin in baby trivia. One of my favorite sites I like to visit is www.BabyCenter.com. I highly recommend this site for anyone that's thinking about getting pregnant, is pregnant, or has a child.

What makes this site super cool is the fact that I started my own group on it. That's right, I am the founding president of the Men's Support Group. This, in and of itself, should be reason enough for you to visit the site. Now, whenever I need to send out a job resume, I can add that to my list of accomplishments. In fact, I'm thinking of petitioning it to become a historic landmark (or in this case, bookmark), a place you need to visit whenever you go on the Internet.

What's even cooler is that my group has only one member, yours truly. It's that elite of a club. I'm not sure why no one has joined my group. Perhaps people are intimidated by my credentials. I mean, it's not every day that you're in the presence of a bona fide baby expert. 

But should I be punished for this fact? Should I be labeled an outcast? You try and bring a little light to this world, and what do people do? They give you the cold shoulder. I feel your pain, baby Jesus. And it hurts. It hurts.

To my unborn, lucky charm baby ...  It's a cruel, cruel world out there.

Walker, Texas Ranger

Now that we've finally started telling people that Jessie's pregnant, my attention has now turned to what to name the baby. You're probably thinking that I'm going to start listing a bunch of silly names, but for once, I shall try to be serious.

Last night, Jessie and I got to talking about balances in life. Balance between working and being a parent. Balance between school and extracurricular activities for our child. Balance between being a parent and a friend to our child. Balance between what we want and what our parents want.

And that got me thinking. How about naming our child after a name that means balance? After doing some research, I came across the name, Atalanta. It's from the Greek word, Atalante, which means "equal in weight." In Greek legend, Atalanta was the woman who refused to marry any man who couldn't beat her in a foot race. She was finally defeated by Hippomenes, who dropped three golden apples during the race, causing her to stop and pick them up and ultimately lose the race. They married and lived happily ever after. The end.

This Atalanta character seems like one tough cookie, but I always did like a good challenge. Unfortunately, I don't really like that name. It doesn't seem to roll off the tongue very easily. However, I did have a student once who was named Atalanta. Don't remember if she was well-balanced, though.

If all else fails, I suppose if we have a boy and girl, one can be called Yin, and the other, Yang. And if they're both boys, the obvious choice would be Walker and Texas Ranger. I love you, Chuck!

Luck of the Baby

Ever since Jessie's gotten pregnant, we've been on a lucky streak. For example, in the last lottery, we won $36. Before that, we hadn't won anything in months. In fact, I've never won more than $6 before. 

Also, the security guard at our apartment complex recently clued us in on how to park in the garage for free without paying a monthly fee. That's a savings of $120 a month! 

And don't get me started on the bird droppings on our car. Jessie claims it's a sign of good luck, and that we need to hurry and buy lottery tickets. It's happened twice, thus far. Twice, people! If bird poo really does bring more luck to people, I’m parking the car under trees from now on.

But our latest stroke of luck has been the best. Jessie's birthday and our one year wedding anniversary, Oct. 25, is coming up, so I decided to take her to the mountains for a little hot springs retreat in hopes of relieving her body of all its aches and pains.

Now, before you'all get your panties in a bunch and start telling me that I shouldn't be taking my wife to such places because she's pregnant, you need to remember who you're dealing with. That's right, you're dealing with the baby expert. Respect that title. And as such, I, of course, took all the necessary precautions. Good air circulation, water temperature that was only slightly warm, and only a 10 minute dip.

I had spent all last week researching and trying to find the perfect place to take her, so when I finally found it, I was thrilled. However, it's been raining nonstop for a week now and the forecast said it would be raining for another week. I was afraid that our weekend getaway would be spoiled by the rain, especially up in the mountains where everything is covered by a thick mist. If this happened, the room I got with a nice mountainous view would have been in vain.

However, I believed in the power of our unborn baby to make us lucky and decided to go for broke. I tempted fate and won! Though it was raining and extremely foggy when we got to the hotel last night, this morning, when we woke up, the weather was gorgeous and warm. I couldn't have planned things better. 

Who's the one who tried to convince me not to go last night, huh?! This was the one time where not listening to the wife paid off and didn't end with a trip to the couch. Don't doubt the power!

The Three Minute Check-up

Apparently, most people think like my wife and I. We thought we were being slick by going to see the baby doctor during the middle of the week. We figured there would be less people there because people have to work. Well, the losers turned out to be us. Little did we know there would be even more people there than on the weekend. Seems like everybody was trying to pull a quick one.

This time around, we had to wait almost 2 1/2 hours before seeing the doctor. And if last time's visit lasted 5 minutes, this time's visit clocked in at a blazing 3 minutes. Here's how the scene at the doctor's office played out.

Doctor: Alright, let's see if we can get a heartbeat.     
(Fiddles around with his ultrasound machine)
Doctor: Ah! There it is. You're 7 weeks pregnant now.
(Doctor exits)

Yup. That's seriously how it went. No celebratory high-five, not even a good-bye as he's leaving. According to my wife, the reason so many people come to see this doctor is because he's supposed to be good. Good at what? Good at having the shortest conversation and interaction time with patients out of any doctor? Sheesh!

How can a doctor run a clinic like this? I mean, let's say my wife and I don't know the first thing about being pregnant. Isn't the doctor supposed to be the one that provides us with the information we need? He didn't even ask if we had any questions or concerns. Does he just assume we'll go off and find the answers we need by ourselves? Or perhaps, he's too scared of the fact that he can't answer our questions.

For instance, does he know what percentage of pregnant women have twins? I do, but I bet he doesn't. About 3% of all pregnant women will give birth to twins. This rate is an increase of nearly 60% since the early 1980s. However, 17% of pregnant women over 45 will give birth to twins. 

Thank goodness there's at least one real baby expert around here. And yes, I do mean myself. I don't know what we'd do without my vast resource of knowledge.

On our way back home, the wife is a bit upset and keeps saying how she wished the doctor would have said more. I said we could do some role-playing. I could be her and she could be the doctor. Then she could say all the things she wished the doctor would have said. 

Our little role-play lasts well over 10 minutes, and she feels a bit better after having talked things through. Take that, you crappy baby doctor!

I then suggested that we could continue our role-playing back at home, but this time, I could play the sick patient and she could play the hot nurse...

Pooch Patrol

My wife has been the victim of yet another heinous pooch crime. With so many recurrences, I feel like I need to form a neighborhood pooch patrol to prevent this from happening again to helpless victims like my wife. This time, the perpetrator was the security guard at our apartment. This is a transcript of what follows as we enter the building last night.

Security guard: Hey, you're pregnant aren't you.
Jessie: Uh, no I'm not. (She doesn't want people to know just yet.)
Security guard: Yes you are! How many months pregnant are you?
Jessie: I'm not pregnant!
Security guard: Come on...how many months?
Jessie: I'm only a few weeks pregnant! Whah!!

She flees into the elevator and I follow quickly behind. As she buries her head in my shoulder, I scowl menacingly at the camera that's mounted on the elevator. I know you're watching Mr. Security Guy! No one comes between me and my wife's pooch! You will have your comeuppance for your careless remarks!

I give the camera my best Chuck Norris death stare. There’s an urban legend that death row inmates in Texas are put to death by having Chuck Norris stare at them. I'm from Texas, and it's no legend, folks. Everything you've heard about the man is true.

I don't know if I managed to scare the security guy into submission, but by the time we reach our floor, I feel like I've strained an eye muscle or two from glaring at the camera too long. Who knew that being a daddy-to-be would come with such health hazards.