WEEK 6 – EXCUSE ME WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE IMPREGNATED? (Week 5)

What a difference a week makes, now the baby is the size of a… well, I forget but it’s very small and it’s already changing my life in big ways. Going into the pregnancy I couldn’t care less about what we ate and The Wife handled all the dietary needs of our family. Now, with the baby on the way I find myself cooking more, reading labels, asking Chinese take out if they use MSG (even though I just spent 20 minutes trying to see if there’s pork in the Egg foo young – there is by the way).

I am coming to terms with the fact that, if everything turns out right, I have successfully impregnated my first fellow homo sapien. My job here is done. Bring on the next female for me to impregnate. 'You, woman walking down the street, you’re not ugly – would you like to be impregnated?' Gladly, this is just some primal urge from the archaic lower brain and it's easily squelched. And knowing that I love my wife allows this ‘impregnate anything with a uterus’ feeling to pass. Whew, that was close.

The Wife is looking different, a little like a ‘vessel.’ You may not want to share this with her, but if you do, select your time and place carefully. Oh, and preface all comments with gentle caressing and loving touches and say it in public. If she gets mad in public she might forget by the time you get to the car and she can just be mad at you later for ‘no reason,’ instead of the fact you called her a container. The specific word is very important - definitely don't say 'container.’ Since my wife’s BA is in Art History and Archeology I went with ‘Amphora.’

So I call our doctor’s office to reschedule an appointment. I say ‘our’ in the sense that we are a family unit luckily the speculum doesn't go anywhere in my body.

Back in the doctor’s office he’s talking but I’m not listening. All I can do is stare at the little, round cardboard slide ruler in his hand. The Wife asks the doctor, “We’re suppose to travel in June, can we?” He pushes the small wheel on his slide rule and gives a professional – No. I’m sure this Ob-Gyn’s intense medical education did more than teach him to read the slide ruler but it seems to be calm The Wife so I let it go.

I ask the important question, “How about sex?” He smiles. No need to pull out the slide ruler on this one. He says sex is a wonderful thing. I glance a knowing look at the woman that shut me out since we got the news. God bless her she was worried about the baby that is now the size of… damn, I guess you’ll have to look at the Internet.

“Stop reading the Internet,” the doctor says. Thank god! The Wife had me searching for every list of foods that were verboten for the pregger-set. Taken cumulatively the Internet suggests that pregnant women shouldn’t eat… anything. Wow, that’s pretty restrictive. That can’t be good for the baby. I’m not a doctor but—

“No, you are not.” The Wife doesn't like contractions in grammar and soon she'll find out if she likes them in childbirth.

At the doctor's office I’m happy, so I smiling the proud, stupid smile only a husband can pull off as he looks at his wife's growing belly. The doctor pulls me aside and places his hands on my shoulders and says, “this advice is for you, and it’s especially important in the third trimester – STOP SMILING!” That’s a tall order but considering what my wife is willing to do for this baby I consider myself lucky. OK, I’ll keep the cheesy grinning to a minimum and try to curb the nervous laughter.