It's Official

We got the call last night, and it appears that we're along than we thought. Obviously, more details will emerge as the pregnancy progresses, but they're assuming we're at about the two month mark. That means it's probable that THE WEEK my wife went off birth control, I ably performed my manly duties.

Once again, rough guesstimations and the best laid plans of mice and men have drastically gone astray. Conventional wisdom can suck it.

Now, I may just be nitpicking here, but when the doctor's office calls to give you "the news," why do they assume a positive result should be congratulated? In our particular situation, certainly, but we're just one couple. I can imagine a whole spectrum of circumstances where an additional mouth to feed may not be the greatest news in the world, or may in fact be the dawning of a woman's nightmare.

I'm not talking about the fact her new jeans won't fit for much longer. What if the woman in question had been raped, was ill, or had significant medical history that made a "normal" pregnancy unlikely if not impossible? Setting aside all of the complications that can arise even in the best of situations, with the purest of intentions, becoming a parent isn't getting a new job, or car, or even like anything else in the world. Wouldn't "I hope you're ready for this" be a more equitable segue into this particular piece of life-altering news?

And We Have Liftoff?

I hope I'm not tempting fate by typing this before we get the official, M.D.-endorsed confirmation (due sometime today), but I saw with mine own eyes the business end of the home test the Lovely Wife peed on; Pregnant. Much easier simply reading the word than having to figure out "is it blue?"

I understood why she felt the need to hold onto this particular item for the more than the hour it took me to get home from the office, but it still slightly disturbed me. She wanted confirmation, and she wanted to share it with me, but she peed on it. Then put it on my dresser.

Two words, dear; Ziploc, Bag.

Another part of me also understands that we're not out of the woods yet. From what little I know of the whole "process" (and I broke down this weekend, doing what I promised I would not: buying for my hypochondriac, OCD wife the modern day Necronomicon; "What to Expect When You're Expecting"), largely derived from friends who have gone through the same ordeal, it's touch-and-go until she's got three months under her belt.

Then again that's all part of the joy, and terror, of being a daddy-in-waiting. Stay Tuned!