Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

thoughts

spilling

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Well, now people know we’re going to have a baby.

We had our BFF Ross and his lovely wife and adorable six-month old son over for dinner last night, and after much sideways eye contact conversation between E and I we broke the news over desserts.

It was… weird. It’s the first time we’ve done any verbalizing about a baby to anyone other than each other or a medical professional. And while it was a relief to suddenly spill guts over all of my crazy concerns to people who just recently went through it all for the first time, I also experienced my first little piece of parental sadness. The idea of the baby doesn’t just belong to E and I anymore.

Next up on the to-tell list: siblings!

Note: This post was embargoed until we reached 20 weeks; it was made public on 3/20/2013.

heart misplaced

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I am on my way to work, but I don’t want to be.

We never saw any more blood yesterday, so we’re maybe okay? Apple seed intact? E is calling the OB today for an appointment. I want to be doing that and driving her there and hearing what he has to say, but I am on a trolley to the rest of my life.

I’m starting to understand the whole “having a child is like wearing your heart outside of your body” thing, as if being married wasn’t a good enough example.

Note: This post was embargoed until we reached 20 weeks; it was made public on 3/20/2013.

too long, for me

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We are lying in bed, wrapped around each other. We are tired, but neither of us are going to sleep.

E saw blood. How much and what color and all of that is at once important and immaterial. If she sees it again, something may be wrong with our baby, just an apple seed in her belly.

This is hard.

Not only the worry, but the not knowing what the hell to do. E does not have an OB yet, just a GYN, so there’s no one for us to call. (Long story, not mine to tell.) Our potential birthing center and its midwives don’t want anything to do with us until eight weeks.

I am not the boss of E or her body, but I am invested in this apple seed, so I say my piece. We should go to an urgent care center in the morning, or else we’re going to be worried forever. Let’s get an answer, even if there’s nothing in our power to change it.

She made the call – no urgent care, but she would get referred to an OB on Monday.

That’s a long time from now. Too long, for me.

Note: This post was embargoed until we reached 20 weeks; it was made public on 3/20/2013.

Don’t Lean On Me, Man

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I am not ready to be a parent.

I’m sure every expectant parent thinks that sometime during the pregnancy process, but I have real empirical evidence.

Like, I didn’t know scooping ice out of our ice cream maker with a spoon was going to scratch it up. So, I scratched it ALL up. E was like, “How could you not only do that once, but keep doing it for five minutes?”

I don’t know. For all of the smart stuff I know about words and music and human behavior, I don’t really know anything about the common sense of making things and maintaining them. Like, I can’t hang a picture on the wall. I don’t know how to keep most plants alive. I’m still confused about how to clean our butcherblock  counter tops.

I have gaps in my common sense in those areas. How the heck am I supposed to teach a very tiny person about any of them? All they’re going to know about from me is David Bowie. That’s it.

Note: This post was embargoed until we reached 20 weeks; it was made public on 3/20/2013.

Definitely Probably Pregnant

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As I fall asleep, I think about cells rapidly dividing.

Nothing is ever a sure thing, but I am pretty sure we are pregnant.

ZygoteWe have been trying for a few months now, where “trying” means (close your eyes, future offspring) having sex with a little more consternation and chart-making than usual. I mean, depending on your usual sex, I guess.

This time around I don’t think it would be projection to say we both felt a little different as the week wore on. When we woke up yesterday, after much devil’s advocacy from both sides we wanted to take the test. I inquired if I needed to hold any sort of papers while E peed on them and was rapidly dismissed.

“Wait,” I said. “What should I do?”

“Not follow me into the bathroom?”

“No, I mean, what should I be doing in case you come downstairs and tell me we’re pregnant? I don’t want to be surfing the internet. This is a big moment.”

“It is,” she acceded, maybe fidgeting impatiently.

“How long does it take?”

“Five minutes.”

“I’m going to play a song. Something I wrote. A song about you.”

“Okay,” she said. And, maybe, “Can I go take the test now?”

“Yes. Okay.”

I played a song called “What Do You Want From Me?” which in retrospect was a peculiar choice. It’s a song about being an imperfect partner and lover, and being afraid you aren’t enough how you are. I don’t think I chose it with any intent, but it was a decent enough selection for five minutes of being Schrodinger’s Expectant Father.

She returned during the last verse and proffered me a tiny strip of paper full of arcane writing and a series of red lines.

“I think it’s positive.”

“What am I reading here?” I said, squinting down at the paper.

“Two red lines.”

two-red-lines“I see them. The one’s a little faint.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she replied. “I’m pregnant.”

Of course, this is me we’re talking about. E is growing a baby while I harbor an OCD Godzilla. She would need to test again. I would watch. Luckily, this was not the pee right on it sort of test. There was a sort of shot glass full of urine for testing purposes. Is that too much information? I’m just trying to be transparent about the utter ridiculousness of the situation. This is how new life is discovered.

We tested and I watched. Like a hawk. From two or three inches away from our second little urine-soaked paper strip while E kept time on a digital watch.

“I definitely see a second line.”

We were pregnant. Definitely. Probably.

“Can we just dip a fistful of the strips into the pee to be sure?”

She sighed, exasperated, maybe realizing she was in for nine months of me being the crazy one … and, that even if her hormones allowed her to briefly surpass my crazy, Godzilla and I would spring back into the lead and maintain it for the majority of our offspring’s 18 years of childhood.

“Imagine,” I encouraged E later in the day, “if we had a way to make just one or two of those cells the best possible cell right now. We’d wind up with a 12.5% better baby!”

That was most of the baby chat for the day. We’re not too precious. But, as I turned over in bed to face E all that was on my mind was cells that were once one and are now many, more even since we discovered them in the morning.

That was our baby.

Note: This post was embargoed until we reached 20 weeks; it was made public on 3/20/2013.