A Big Deal

Me: Hello?
Jessie: Baby?
Me: Hi!
Jessie: I’m not feeling so well.
Me: What’s the matter?
Jessie: I just went to the bathroom and there was some blood.
Me: What?!
Jessie: I think I should go to the hospital as a precaution.

Alarm bells start going off in my head after I got off the phone with the wife. I’ve only recently started to get over the lemon head drama and now this. Bleeding during the second or third trimester is never a good sign. She’s still at work, so I rush out the door to pick her up. 

On the way to the hospital, I try to assess what’s wrong. 

Me: How much blood was there?
Jessie: A little.
Me: How much is a little? My definition of a little could be completely different from your definition of a little. Drinking 6 cans of beer is considered a little for me.
Jessie: Little as in not a lot.
Me: Give me a size comparison! The size of a quarter? A grain of rice?
Jessie: Maybe the size of a pencil eraser.
Me: So not a lot.
Jessie: Yes, that’s why I said, “A little.”
Me: Oh. Well, it’s still important to be specific.

At the hospital, the doctor said there was nothing to worry about. Only some slight spotting, though no explanation for it. 

I’m really beginning to dislike the nonchalant attitude of doctors. I realize they’ve probably seen the whole gamut of problems pregnant women have, but sometimes, I wish they’d show a little more empathy. I hate how they brush aside our concerns like they’re not big deals. Well, I got news for you, Doc. They’re big deals to me! And when I say big, I mean big as in Shaquille O’Neal size big. Andre the Giant big.

Rejected

While out eating with our families today, Jessie mentions how I’ve been busying myself with IQ tests. Instead of congratulating and toasting me for my very superior intelligence, her sister bluntly states, “Instead of playing around with IQ tests, maybe you guys should start putting some more effort into figuring out a name for your baby.

As you might have guessed by her comment, the name Rosalyn hasn’t been a huge hit with people. The argument being that the name sounds too princess-like and reflects a person difficult to approach. I beg to differ, but obviously, my opinion counts for nil. We’re back to square one again, and I’m back to calling our baby, Baby. 

Maybe that’s why A.A. Milne called the rabbit in the Winnie the Pooh series, Rabbit. Because his family members didn’t approve of whatever name he came up with.

To Mr. Milne, I apologize for saying earlier that you were too lazy to come up with a proper name for Rabbit. I understand where you're coming from now. We're in the same boat, buddy.

Very Superior Intelligence

Jessie and I are watching the movie, Diabolique, when she tells me that Sharon Stone has an extremely high IQ. This starts a conversation about other stars that are extremely bright. 

I decided to do some searching on the Internet to see who else ranks amongst the highest. In the midst of the list was a name that most probably wouldn’t think of when discussing people with high IQs. No, I’m not talking about Steven Seagal or Chuck Norris, though those guesses aren’t too far from the mark. Coming in with an IQ of 160 is none other than Dolph Lundgren! 

To put his score into perspective for you, Bill Gates, Stephen Hawkings, and Albert Einstein all have IQs of 160. That’s a pretty select group. Who would have thought that Ivan Drago would have a Master’s in chemical engineering and Fulbright Scholarship to M.I.T. to go along with his left jab.

This inspired me to take an IQ test myself. I scored a 122, which ranks me as “very superior intelligence.” I like the sound of that. It sounds like something worth writing down on your job resume. I tried to get the wife to take the test too, but I think the pressure of topping “very superior intelligence” was too much for her.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. My intellect more than compensates for the both of us, with extra to go around. This is extremely important because while I have clearly mapped out the Harvard Equation for her, she has yet to follow through with it. 

She still doesn’t exercise and hasn’t started taking DHA supplements yet. About the only thing she gets enough of in the equation is stress, and that’s only because I’m helping her out in that department. Therefore, I’ve decided to revise my equation yet again. This is the Harvard Equation, version 2.0.

Developing fetus x (Exercise + Stress + DHA) + (My IQ ÷ Spouse’s IQ)² = Harvard.

Crazy, Pregnant Woman Alert

With my parents staying with us at our apartment for a month, eating out every night isn’t ideal. My parents rarely go out to eat or to the grocery store since they plant all their own vegetables and fruit at home.  And since my mom is a vegetarian, everything is very simply prepared. She doesn’t like all the chemicals and processed foods that you find on the grocery shelf or in restaurants. This is why she volunteered to cook dinner at our home. 

I thought this was a good idea. It’d be healthier and we’d all save a buck or two. After picking up Jessie from work, she asks me what my mom is cooking and I say she’s cooking two vegetable dishes and a main dish.

The wife immediately begins freaking out, saying that we don’t have enough food and that she doesn’t know how much more food we should buy. I try to calm her down and tell her it’s not a big deal. We have enough food. If we don’t have enough, we can always cook more. Plus, my parents don’t eat that much. That’s not enough to comfort Jessie, however.

She goes on a rant about how I’m letting her and our baby starve because of my lack of foresight. Not wanting to get into another fight, I tell her I’m sorry and say we can buy more food if she feels like we don’t have enough. She says she doesn’t know how much to buy and worries about buying too much or too little. I tell her to buy more if she’s that worried about starving. 

I tried not to let this little outburst upset me, but it does. First of all, the way she was going on about this, you’d think that the world was coming to an end. It’s just dinner, baby! My mom’s got things under control. In all her years of being a mom, I think she’d know how to prepare dinner for four people. The wife’s a natural worrier, but being pregnant has taken it to the next level.

Second, I was a bit put-off by her comment about how she’s pregnant and eats more than before. I can accept this, except for the fact that she actually eats less now that she’s pregnant than when she wasn’t! I seriously don’t even know how she’s gaining weight. Anytime we eat, she eats half of what’s on her plate and then says she’s stuffed. If anything, my mom probably overcooked, not undercooked the amount of food we’d eat.  

Finally, does she actually think my mom or I would let her starve? Does she think that lowly of us? She says I get offended too easily, but how can I not, when she claims I’m trying to starve her.

I have to keep reminding myself, “She’s pregnant, she can’t help it. She’s pregnant, she can’t help it. Give the crazy woman a break.”

No Butterflies Here

The wife has been worried for awhile about not feeling any movement from the baby even though every check-up we’ve been to has shown the baby to be moving. Last night, she finally felt the baby kick. Or at least she thinks that’s what it was. 

Most pregnant women begin to feel their baby’s first movements, called “quickening,” around 16-25 weeks. However, first-time mom’s usually have a harder time distinguishing between baby movements and other things going on in the stomach, like gas. While moms who have been pregnant before can indentify movements earlier, first-time moms usually won’t feel them until closer to 20-25 weeks. Therefore, the wife’s right on track, as she is currently 20 weeks.

Most women describe the sensation as butterflies fluttering around inside, but I like to think of our baby’s movement as an aggressive spinning back kick to the stomach. Maybe the pain that the wife’s been feeling isn’t round ligament pain; it’s our baby training to be the next Cynthia Rothrock.