Well, it’s time for another entry in the internet’s #1 most read blog about my personal path to fatherhood! So far I’ve covered what an OBGYN office is like for a man, how disgusting old vaginas must be, how badly I would handle a daughter who is having her first period, and how happy I am to see a penis, even if it’s on a tiny monitor. Now that I’ve covered the important stuff, I think the next logical step is to cover the naming process.
My wife and I first decided that giving our child a name was probably the right decision. Most people have names, and we wanted our little boy to fit in. There is “the man with no name,” played by Clint Eastwood in the epic spaghetti western trilogy, but he had to shoot and kill several men to maintain respect among his peers. While I believe that there are plenty of people in the present day who are only good for target practice, I’m not sure that society agrees with me.
My wife and I agreed that if our child was a girl, that she would come up with names, and if it’s a boy, that I would pick names. My wife’s favorite girl name was Olivia Jane Malfitano. Jane is a family name that has been passed down through generations in my wife’s family (my family now too, I love the Wileys), and she just likes the sound of “Olivia” in front of it.
My decision making was much more difficult than it had to be for a boy. For years I was telling my wife that I wanted a Junior, but in the last year I strayed from the idea, in fear of being arrogant or self centered. I’ve come across several families, mostly hispanic for some odd reason, that have multiple sons with the same name as their father. Who the hell wants five Hectors in one house?! It seemed arrogant, and even a little shitty to me, but that’s a matter of opinion, I suppose.
Once we found that I had dodged the estrogen bullet, the wheels began turning, as far as thinking of a name goes. I’m not a fan of anything trendy at all, and names are no different. I’m more a fan of the classics, so I was looking at traditional names. The trendy names that sounded good to me were Maddox and Easton, but they didn’t really fit well with the Malfitano last name. I also liked Elliott, but it didn’t sit too well either. The only thing that I liked was Raymond for a middle name, in honor of the greatest and most influential man I had ever been in the presence of.
A great friend of mine suggested Rocco, and I really liked it. I tossed that name around for about a week, but every time I mentioned it to someone, their initial reaction was a chuckle. Part of being who I am is not giving a flying fuck about what anyone thinks of me. However, I’ll be the first one to admit that this is not a trait that one is born with. It takes a lot of practice to achieve the state of truly not giving a shit, and I don’t want my son to be made fun of right away, due to his name.
Eventually, I settled right back where I started, with Anthony James Malfitano Jr. I ran this by my wife, and she seemed to like it, and was already prepared for that decision. I then asked my mother what she thought. Although my belief is that my child’s name is a decision that is only up to my wife and I to decide, my mother’s opinion is one that I value, when it comes to things like this.
My mom’s initial reaction was a sincere one, “I like Anthony for a first name, but ‘James’? How well do you know James Malfitano?” And that is where the misinterpretation lies, and the plot thickens.
Giving my son my name is a homage to nobody, and there’s meaning to that. I didn’t even know James Malfitano is my uncle, and I haven’t seen my father, who also bears the name Anthony, but with a different middle name, in over 20 years.
In reality, I’m a part of the Brioso family, which is my mother’s maiden name. That’s the family that raised me, and the family that I love eternally. Malfitano is nothing more than a name to me, but Anthony Malfitano is who I am, so I refused to change my name when given the opportunity.
When I really thought about it, my name is the only good thing I have. Anthony James Malfitano always sounded good to me, and rolled off the tongue smoothly. I want my son to have that; a cool, classic sounding name. Hopefully, nobody thinks that it’s a tribute to anyone, because it isn’t. In my eyes, the Malfitano family currently consists of two people, soon to be three. Malfitano is my name, and the Malfitano family is a work in progress. Anthony James Malfitano Jr was always the right choice, I think. It sounds good, and it’s who he will be. He hopefully won’t be a carbon copy of me, but he will be my son. He’ll have my name, but will be his own man, just like his father. I want him to be himself, but aware of where he came from.
We had yet another appointment with the doctor this past Tuesday. The reason for this appointment was for screenings for various disorders that can be detected early on, including Downs Syndrome.
We walked into the OBGYN office, and what did we see in the waiting room? The usual group of senior citizens, and approximately one woman in our age group. I still can’t believe that old ladies have vaginas. Why? All they’re doing at that age is peeing with that thing. I should invent some sort of genital crack sealant, that leaves the opening needed for urination, and that’s it. It’d be so much simpler for these poor women, and they wouldn’t have to see the doctor all the time. I bet if I did it, I’d be a bigger hero to them than Bob Barker. Oh yeah, there was one man in the room who was around my age. He was alone, and holding a purse, poor bastard.
My wife had to pee after she signed in, so I took a seat while she went to leave her specimen. Unlike the poor bastard in the waiting room, I made sure that she took her purse with her. She came back and took a seat next to me, and a few minutes later, we were called back.
We went into the room where they do the sonograms and ultrasounds, and my wife laid back on the bed. The overly excited woman (who is very sweet, by the way) came in and placed the lubricant/jelly on my wife’s abdomen. Her first question to my wife was “Did you pee?” to which my wife answered “Shit! Yeah, I did.” Apparently, this ultrasound is easier with a full bladder, because it pushes the baby up higher, out of the pelvic region, and is easier to see. We attempted the ultrasound anyway, and although we could see our child, we weren’t getting the angles we needed for this screening. The ultrasound lady had the answer; a can of soda. She handed my wife a can of Coke, and sent her back to the waiting room. The caffeine will make the baby move around a little bit, and the fluids will fill the bladder, win/win.
While we were waiting for my wife to fill her tank, we went ahead and had them take her blood, which is sent off to be examined. About a half hour after that, my wife was ready for another ultrasound. We headed back into the room, lubed my wife up again, and everything was visible. The lady did a measurement of our baby’s neck, and identified the nasal bone. Having a nasal bone at this point is one of the things they check for Downs Syndrome, and the skin on the back of it’s neck is another. Nothing looked abnormal, but I think we’re still waiting for lab results to be certain. Nobody seemed worried, or gave us any kind of reason to be alarmed, so I’m assuming that so far, everything is good. Then the ultrasound lady said “While I’m here, let’s take a look down below, and see if we can determine gender.
She looked at the baby’s private parts area, and said “Ok, there are the legs, and we have one leg, two legs…. three legs.” followed by “I’ve been wrong before, but let me take a different look. There it is again, three legs.” at which point I let out a big “Oh yeah!” followed by a Tiger Woods fist pump. Here’s a couple of pictures of my son’s little dinger:
The above picture has an arrow pointing at his little pee-pee, I think the angle is from beneath him.
I think this picture is from below also, and his little man bits are in the middle of the shot.
I was shocked that we found out so early on, because my wife is only twelve weeks along, but the ultrasound tech seemed pretty sure. She said that she’s been wrong in the past, and then showed us three different angles of his penis. I’m going to go ahead and run with my kid being a boy.
I would have been happy to have a daughter too, because the baby being healthy is far and away the most important thing. I’m so happy to have a son simply because I know how to handle guy stuff. “Your wee-wee is feeling funny when you look at pretty girls? That’s ok, it’s normal.” “You want to play baseball? I’ll be your coach!” I can do all of that stuff. With a girl, it’s a different story. “Your boobs are growing? Umm, talk to your mother.” “Blood is coming out of your pee-hole? I’ll cut a couple of holes in the bottom of this trash bag, and you wear it until your mom gets home.”
On top of that, two of my very best friends just had boys, so I know that my son will have a couple of good friends with good parents. My wife’s best friend has three girls, so either way we were good. Another thing is that my mother already has a granddaughter from my sister, so now she’ll have one of each.
Like I’ve said before, ten fingers and ten toes is a winner. Ten fingers, ten toes, and one penis is a mega-winner. If I had a healthy daughter, I’d feel like I won the lottery. With a healthy son, I’ll feel like I won the powerball.
As I mentioned in a previous installment, we had another appointment scheduled with the doctor this past Tuesday. It wasn’t really to monitor the health of our little gummy bear, so much as to monitor my wife’s health on her new medication. Nothing big really. She had her blood pressure medication changed to something that is safer for her pregnancy. Like a good husband, I wanted to come along with her, just so I know exactly what is going on.
My wife’s homework for the week leading up to this appointment was to monitor her blood pressure on a daily basis, and to collect all of her urine for the 24 hours leading up to the appointment. The doctor also told us that we needed to keep her urine cold, in order to preserve the, um, I forgot why actually. We were left with two options; either keep the urine jug that the doctor supplied us with in the fridge, or keep it in an ice cooler in the bathroom. My wife opted for the second option, probably out of fear that I would accidentally drink it.
For the entire day leading up to our appointment, I had to look at this red and white Igloo brand cooler next to the toilet. I was tempted to put some of my pee in the jug, just to mess with the doctor, or maybe poop in it, and tell the doctor that I was worried about my wife’s health. Since there was more on the line than just my wife and I’s heath, I opted against both. Instead, I just stared at this cooler every time I used the restroom, wondering how I’d feel keeping my own little piss collection.
The next morning, we went to the OBGYN. Somehow, I was relegated as the pee cooler carrier. I put the cooler in the back of the car before we left. My wife looked at me like I was stupid, and said “Really?!” What did she expect me to say? “Oh, I can’t wait to have this stuff splashing around on me. I think I’ll put it on my lap! I know, I’ll unscrew the top too!” No, if something is disgusting, I put it as far from me as possible. In the back of the SUV it stayed.
As we walked into the office, I carried the red and white cooler. I was getting some strange and horrified looks from the Unfuckables in the waiting room. It took a second for it to register why they looked freaked out. These people thought I was carrying a dead baby into the clinic. It’s not like I could say “No, no, it’s just piss” either. Instead, I decided to just smile, to give off the message that we were there for a good reason. Only after the fact did I realize the people probably saw that as me being happy that I wouldn’t be a father, or that I was some weirdo who liked to carry urine around. Either way, I’m the dumbass.
Shortly after my wife signed in at the desk, we were called back to see the doctor. Nothing really exciting happened back there. They just weighed my wife, took her blood pressure, and drew some blood. Everything checked out fine.
I don’t remember how it happened, but somehow I was the one who ended up opening the cooler, and taking the piss jug to the testing lab. I think my wife had to go to the restroom, and the nurse asked me to bring the urine to their little lab that they had inside the clinic. Before I knew it, I was walking around with a jug of pee in my hand, and I could actually feel it splashing around inside of the container. Next thing I knew, I was holding this jug of pee, and I was surrounded by urine samples. There was a cup of pee right in front of me, with no lid on it. Being a bartender, I was naturally inclined to mix up a cocktail. I resisted that urge, thankfully. For those of you wondering if I can handle changing my child’s diapers; I carried my wife’s urine around with me, so I’m feeling confident that I can wipe my own child’s ass.
The last amusing thing that happened was when my wife answered some of the doctor’s questions. Liz had been peeing nonstop the night before, because her new medication was giving her a wicked case of cotton mouth, so she was drinking a ton of water. She actually filled the forty-plus ounce jug, and ended up having to flush some of her urine down the toilet, how bizarre. When she told the doctor this, the doctor began asking a million questions about the urine. “It’s not all here? How much more urine was there? What color was it? Did it have an odor to it?” All I could think was “What kind of pee fetish freak of a doctor are we dealing with here?” I’m sure that there was a good reason for the questions. I just figured that if someone hands you a big gulp cup full of piss, you don’t complain about the ten ounces you didn’t get. I personally would have said “Don’t worry, doc. I’m literally a pee factory at this point. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Anyway, everything still looks great at this point. I’ll update the news as I receive it. There is one more thing though….
I am officially convinced that my “Baby Bump” app was created by a group of women who want men to pamper them, and fulfill their every need!
Don’t get me wrong, I treat my wife like she deserves to be treated, especially while she’s carrying our first child. But, it isn’t Baby Bump’s place to tell me how to treat her.
I downloaded the app for details on my unborn child’s size, what’s developing, etc. It usually tells me things like “Your baby is currently the size of a green olive. It’s eyes are now fully developed!” or something like that. The size is always compared to a food, which is weird to me. Anyway, the last time I looked at an update, it said “Try offering your partner a back rub. If she looks uncomfortable, ask her where it hurts, and rub that spot for her.” I understand that a back rub is something that I should do to comfort my wife, but it isn’t Baby Bump’s place to tell me to do it, it’s my wife’s.
Anyway, the second I read that message, I immediately pictured a bunch of unsatisfied women in front of the computers typing this shit. I can’t wait to see what’s next: “Tell her that she’s sexy,” “Don’t fart under the sheets,” “Do the laundry for her,” “Watch her shitty tv shows with her,” etc. I’d get a different pregnancy app, if I didn’t get so much of my funny material from it’s messages and forum.
Ok, that’s it for today. We have another appointment with the doctor on Monday. As always, The Baby Chronicles updates as the news does!
To be continued…
As I’ve said before, I’m all in with this baby thing. I’m insanely excited about being a dad, so I want to do everything. Doing everything includes going to the doctor with my wife, and we had our first appointment this past Tuesday. It was definitely an experience for me, so I’m going to go ahead and document it for everyone.
We’ve been looking forward to our first visit with the doctor together, because we’re the kind of people who want to be as informed and prepared as possible. In my 33 years of life, I’ve never been to an OBGYN, probably because my equipment doesn’t require much maintenance. As long as it’s washed on a regular basis, it’s pretty much good to go.
Women, on the other hand, need constant care and attention with their lady parts. If body parts were cars, the penis would be a Honda. Just make sure the oil is fresh, and it’ll run forever. The vagina is more like a Ferrari. You need to make sure everything is tuned just right, because if anything is off, your beautiful Ferrari will be spending a lot of time in the shop. Women have an entire section at the drugstore dedicated to their lady parts. Men don’t have a penis section, unless you count the beer aisle.
We walked into the doctor’s office, and the first thing that I noticed was that there were a few older women in the waiting room. They were maybe 60, if not a bit older, so I was a little surprised. I didn’t even know that older women had vaginas. I always thought that after your baby making years were behind you, your vagina just sealed shut. I figured there’s just a scar where it used to be, or maybe a series of notches in the pelvic region, to show how many wars your vagina had been in, like a brave Indian warrior. Needless to say, I was thrown off by what I saw.
My wife signed in, and we took our seats in the waiting room. If you happen to see us during her pregnancy, I would like to offer my sincere apology to you. We’re pretty disgusting, with all of the hand holding, and “I love you’s” every 5 seconds. We’re just excited. I’m sure that shortly after she farts this baby out, we’ll go back to silent dinners, and not having sex. In the meantime, wheeeee! Anyway, we were sitting down and holding hands, like the nauseating idiots that we are.
Once my wife was called back to be seen, I stood up and followed her into the next room, like the clueless husband that I am. Our first stop was to take my wife’s blood pressure. Me and my wife both tend to have high blood pressure, but we take medication for it, and it’s usually not a problem. Hers was fine, and mine was probably through to roof. We weren’t there for me though, so we moved on, to the next station.
Our next stop was the scale. Right next to the scale was a sign that said “If you wish to be weighed privately, we are more than happy to weigh you discreetly.” Only a woman would want to be weighed privately. Your weight is what it is, and that’s that. I love MMA, and every fighter has be to a certain weight for their fights. I’m very surprised that in women’s MMA, that there isn’t a “none of your fucking business” weight class. Anyway, my wife stepped on the scale, and I did what any responsible man would do at a time like this. I looked at the floor and plugged my ears.
Up next was the sonogram. This was the part that I was looking forward to the most. My wife has been in pregnancy denial since we found out. Don’t get me wrong, because we both want a child very much. She was just thinking that the doctor would laugh at her, and tell her that she wasn’t even pregnant. Apparently 3 home pregnancy tests weren’t convincing enough for her.
So we walked into the sonogram room, and my wife sat on the bed, after changing into her gown, and I sat in a chair. There were stirrups at the end of the bed, but I was seated by my wife’s head, so I was safe, and unable to see the x-rated scene that was soon to come. A few minutes later, an overly chipper lady walked into the room. She told my wife to lay back, and place her feet in the stirrups, so my wife obliged. The lady then pulled out what I can only describe as a long, narrow dildo, with a cord attached to it. She put a condom on the dildo, and then covered it in lube. It now made sense why this lady was so chipper; she was clearly a lesbian who enjoyed her job very much. She inserted the object into my wife. Much to my dismay, my wife did not moan, ask me to spank her, or pull her hair. This was strictly business.
We then saw what the lady described as “our little gummy bear.” I was upset, because I thought that this sick broad was suggesting that unborn babies taste like candy. I then learned that she said this because at our current stage of the pregnancy, our baby is just starting to grow it’s arm and leg buds, and has a proportionately large head. Gummy bear, teddy graham, they both make sense. Apparently, calling it a fetus is too much for some people. Either way, I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t a little moved seeing my child for the first time, even if it was a grainy image, and some lady was cramming a sex toy into my wife at the time. The lady handed us a printout of the image, and sent us back into the waiting room.
We went back into the room with all of the old ladies, or as I called them, “The Unfuckables.” Now that I think of it, “God’s Waiting Room” would have been a much better title for that place. After we sat down, Liz pulled out the printout, and began looking at it. She told me that her friend told her that you can tell the baby’s gender by how high the heart rate is. I later found out that this was total bullshit, but at the time I didn’t know any better. If the heart rate was over 150, it’s supposedly a girl. Liz told me that the heart rate was 169. When I heard this, I blurted out an instinctive “FUCK!” which isn’t something that you should say around a bunch of old ladies. Let me clarify something: I want a healthy baby more than anything. All I really want is to be a dad, and gender isn’t that important to me. The way I see it, if I have a healthy baby girl, I just won the Florida Lottery. If I have a healthy boy, I just won the Powerball. Either way, I’m a winner. 10 fingers and 10 toes is a winner. 10 fingers, 10 toes, and 1 penis is a mega winner.
Our next part of the visit was with the nurse practitioner who resided at the clinic. When we stepped into her office, the first thing that I noticed were all of the pictures of dogs on the wall. She told us that she breeds boxers as a hobby. I love dogs, and boxers are great dogs, so I let out a big, unmanly “Awwwww.” It then registered that this woman dealt with pregnant women for a living, and pregnant dogs for a hobby, what a weirdo.
This was the part of the visit where we got all of the information we needed. She asked us if we were planning to have our baby circumcised if it’s a boy, and we both blurted out “yes” simultaneously. It’s funny, because we never discussed this before being asked. Apparently my wife feels the same way as me about foreskin, that it’s yucky. Mom, thanks for mutilating my schlong, you did good. I just realized that I just described my penis to hundreds, sometimes thousands of people. Oh well, I’m not changing it.
The nurse practitioner then informed us of the option to cryogenically freeze our umbilical cord blood, for the stem cells. I didn’t even know that this was legal in the US, but from my research, stem cells are the building blocks of our genetic code. The things that you can treat with them is almost unbelievable. We decided that if we can afford it, that we’re going to do it, religious fanatics be damned. I believe in the miracles of science and modern medicine, not some man in the sky. The down payment is a fairly large sum of money, but they’re willing to work out payment plans. The cost isn’t important anyway. I’d sell one of my legs, if it meant potentially saving my child’s life.
Finally, we saw one of the doctors of the practice. He seemed like a pretty cool guy actually. He reviewed my wife’s medical history, and decided to change one of her medications, no big deal. He then said “I see that it’s time for your yearly, so let’s do that while you’re here,” which in my head sounds like “I see your Ferrari is due for a tune-up, so go ahead and pop the hood.”
Before I knew it, this guy’s head was between my wife’s legs. I had to resist the urge to toss this man across the room, because I’m as dumb as the rest of the men out there. I’m just kidding actually, I really just assumed the position of me staring at the floor. If I had heard the doctor say something like “Oooooooh!” or “Nice!” then I might have gotten upset. Instead, the doctor and nurse were busy heckling me, because they could tell how uncomfortable I was. If he had a sheet over his head, and had a button in his hand, he would have looked exactly like a 1920’s photographer. I would have laughed if he said “Say cheese!” Anyway, everything checked out fine, and we’re looking good so far, knock on wood.
Well, that was the visit in a nutshell. We go back to the doctor this coming Tuesday, to see how my wife is doing on her new meds. Our next appointment is 4 weeks after that. The Baby Chronicles will be updated according to how often new information is gathered, stay tuned.
I’ve been a bit harsh towards women on here. I’m not a woman hater by any means, it’s just that when it comes to certain things, a large number of women are super obnoxious. Face it ladies, you have shitty opinions about a lot of things. That being said, there are many times that I’m ashamed to be a man. This is one of those times..
Since I found out that my wife is pregnant, I decided that I want to be involved in every aspect of this. I want to go to all of the classes, doctor visits, everything. I’m only going to be a first time father once, so I want to take it all in. Liz showed me an app for the iPhone that she downloaded called “Baby Bump,” that shows you interesting facts about your current stage of pregnancy, what to expect, baby names, and more. I decided to get the app for my phone too, so that I’d have something to read regarding this whole scenario.
There’s a large discussion board on the Baby Bump app, with a whole section dedicated to discussion for expecting fathers, and an “Ask Dad” category too. Some of the things these guys talk about is just, well, you’ll see. I’m going to show you a handful of questions, and even though I know nothing about being a father, I’ll try to answer them. These are actual questions that are on the forum. I’m not embellishing in the least.
“Does your wife/girlfriend get mad when you pee in the shower?”
No, but she get furious when I shit in the bathtub. What an uptight bitch!
“Does wanting to have anal sex make me gay?”
It depends on if you’re pitching or catching. If she’s taking it, you’re not gay, just inconsiderate. If she’s strapping one on, and going to town on you, then maybe. Even then it’s debatable. I do think that wondering if you’re gay makes you gay though.
“Do any of you guys go through your wife/girlfriend’s emails and text messages?”
Come again? Let me get this straight; you’re in a committed relationship, with a baby on the way, and not only do you snoop through your partner’s things, you’re wondering if this is normal behavior? Therapy, go now!
“My wife’s vagina is too wet, what should I do?”
Put your dick in it, duh. Describe “too wet.” Is she peeing on you? Wet = aroused. Does your wife ever complain that your dick is “too hard”?
“Does anyone else’s girlfriend put pop rocks in her mouth while blowing you?”
No, but sometimes we cram a bunch of popcorn kernels in her snatch, then fuck on top of the stove. Good times…
“Do you like it when she swallows?”
I don’t like blowjobs at all, yucky! And how dare you for even suggesting that I would even consider violating the mouth of my unborn child’s mother!
“Are any of you planning on eating the placenta?”
What’s a placenta? You mean the fleshy hefty bag that comes out?! Oh god, I just threw up on my keyboard…
“Is anyone else grossed out by their wife’s nipple hair?”
How the fuck am I supposed to enjoy this deep fried placenta when you guys keep asking disgusting questions? No, I love my wife’s nipple hair. I like her ball hair too. And her adam’s apple.
“Do you lie about watching porn?”
Porn?! I’m a virgin, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Our baby is a miracle from God. Seriously though, no, I don’t lie about watching porn. I only lie about starring in porn.
From a woman: “Why won’t my husband have sex with me now?”
In his defense, look at what happened last time he did it. He either learned his lesson last time, or he already accomplished his mission.
“Does anyone else not like it when they’re ordered to have sex?”
Whaaa! My wife finds me too desirable, boohoo! If you’re made to have sex when you don’t want to, that’s not an inconvenience, it’s a rape.
“I love going down on my wife, but she says eating pussy is bad for the baby.”
Is saliva toxic? I’ve never heard this one before. I have news for you buddy; you suck dick at eating pussy. Try putting some pop rocks in there.
There’s more questions than those too. I only checked the first 2 pages of the forums. So yeah, these are the questions fathers-to-be ask. I’m a bit embarrassed. In case you want to make sure that I’m not making this up, the app is called “Baby Bump.” There you go, ladies. Men are idiots too. You’re welcome.
I have a friend who is a huge fan of horror movies, especially the ones about the zombie apocalypse. I love a good zombie flick too, and since I love writing, you’d think that I would try my hand at writing a zombie story of some kind. I found over the years that writing nonfiction is more enjoyable for me, and I’m not great at making up stories. For that reason, I’m going to keep a journal of my wife’s pregnancy, from my point of view. We just found out on Saturday night that she’s pregnant.
After a long, boring night of work, I came home to watch UFC 137 with a few friends of mine, and my wife, of course. Before anyone else had shown up, my wife greeted me with a hug and kiss, as usual. She seemed especially happy to see me, and I had no idea why. I received text messages from her a few hours earlier, saying that she wanted me to come home already, and that she missed me. Something was up, and I was about to find out what it was. After greeting me, my wife said “Well, are you ready?” The question was vague, so I asked what she meant, and that’s when the bomb was dropped. “I’m pregnant!” I was overjoyed, and I still am. After the adrenaline rush calmed down, and I fought off my tears of joy, reality sunk in. “Holy shit, life is about to get crazy!”
Then, my first duty as an expecting father kicked in. It is now my job to clean the cat’s litter box. You see, kitty litter is dangerous for pregnant women, so they can’t touch it. On top of that, I don’t even like cats! I’m not going to bother the cat, and sometimes I’ll even pet the damn thing. But, that cat came with the package, when I started living with my wife 9 years ago, and the agreement was that she cleans the litter box. Things change though, and this is a damn good reason for them to change. I’ll admit though, I’m tempted to tie a hotdog to the cat’s tail, so my dog will chase her around the house nonstop. She’s old, and maybe he can help nudge her in the direction of a heart atta… shit, I’m getting evil again. Forget what I just said.
After Brian showed up, I broke the news to him, and he was happy for us. Later that night, I sent a text to my other close friends, who both have newborn babies of their own. My friend James notified me that even though I may think that having a child will wear me down mentally, the physical damage is equally devastating.
We don’t have great eating habits as it is, and now the person who I spend most of my time with is going to have cravings for random things at all hours of the day and night. I’m not the kind of person who passes on food easily, so this will be rough. Instead of 250, my new goal is to stay under 300 pounds. And before you call me a fatty, I’m pushing 6’5″ and 245 pounds currently. I’m not slender, but I’m not obese either, not yet at least.
Then, my final revelation in the first 24 hours kicked in; I will never have time for anything ever again. You see, a month earlier I made a promise to myself to go back to school, and get a damn degree. I figured that since I detest my current employment situation, and never got a college degree, that I would start pursuing it again. I have a couple of college credits, and never had a problem with the classes, and always aced my exams. I just got lazy and stopped going to school, so I had more time to do nothing productive at all. You see, before Liz, I wasn’t the most mature fella. But, when I’m committed to something, I usually follow through. I’m committed to improving my life, and making things better for myself, and especially for my wife. Now that the stakes have been raised, that only increases my motivation to get it done. You see, some of you who know me may think that since I have no contact with my father (I haven’t seen him in over 20 years), that I may be a little wary of something like this. I didn’t have a dad, but I did have the greatest father figure in the world, my grandfather. He’s the best man that I ever knew, and I’m going to do my best to take after him, and handle this in a way that would make him proud. There’s nothing he loved more than his family, and that’s how I’ll be too.
Anyway, the thing that ties this in with zombies is that there is a part of me that is scared to death. I’m going to experience things from here on out that will be absolutely horrifying. This is where I will address them in a way that only I’m capable of. People find zombies to be scary because they’re the walking dead. Everything relating to death is scary to most people. I’m taking a different angle though. There’s a living thing growing inside of my wife, and it’s freaking me the fuck out! I’ll update “The Baby Chronicles” as the horror happens.
To be continued….