Woke up at 3:45AM this morning. Big day. Think I woke up in the middle of night distressed with how saddened I was by the movie we watched yesterday. Wendy and Lucy starring Michelle Williams from “Dawson’s Creek” fame and her dog are trying to get cross country (here, I’ll ruin it for you), her dog gets locked up, she spends the whole movie trying to get her back and once she does, she decides that life in a car is no life with her so she col’ leaves that mutt in someone’s yard as she walks off tearfully. I keep replaying that scene in my freaking head and I’m dying. I keep rolling over and over and I can’t shake it. The sadness overcame me. Then I started thinking about providing for my family. I started thinking about retirement which I’m nowhere near even doing anything about. Then, again, those who were on a path to retirement just had their plans rattled and flushed by this recession. I think I used that to sleep another ten minutes. Then, like a zombie in search of fresh blood, I rose to my feet and stumbled into the sunroom where I watched videos of James Brown on Youtube.
This is how my mornings used to be. Think I’m not ready for fatherhood? Yeah, I used to run on about five hours of sleep. Now, I literally run on five hours sleep. This morning it was three with Wade the Gazelle. We blazed that threebie. Did it at 9:04 pace. Came home, drank some coffee. Went to work. Monday…word ’em up.
Before I get too far into this, I gotta tell you that I’ve been sharpening up my homemaking skills. Straight up, son. I made a casserole this weekend. My lovely wife and I determined that, given the fact that she’s on bed rest and I’m too much of a craphead to cook every night of the week, that we’d make casseroles so that we could eat off of them until we were sick of them and chunked the last portion into the dumpster and then vowing never to eat any of the individual contents of that furry casserole again. Since I like to make things with, uh, vegetables and substance, I opted to make my own. It’s a chicken and squash Mexican casserole. Or do you put the nationality/origin first? Like a Mexican chicken and squash casserole? Anyhow, it basically had every existent ingredient in Mexican food with condensed cream of celery soup added. That’s the soggy casserole part I guess.
Before it went in, it looked like his.
After about thirty minutes of suntanning in the oven, it came out looking like this…all smothered in cheese like Americans like it. Speaking of, know what rocks about West Texas? Out here, we cover our chicken fried chicken with queso. I kid you not. I’ve had it and it’s awesome.
Yep, while the lady’s on bed rest, I got everything else. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, watering the lawn, the beds, feeding the kiddos. Making casseroles. Ask me sometime and I might give you the recipe. That or you can just search online. I didn’t make it up. It’s out there. I want to be the dad that makes casseroles. The dad that makes jello salads with marshmallows. I’m making homes, son. I digress. I’m sorry.
Today was a big day. Lots on the plate. My lovely wife and mother to my unborn daughter was going in early to have some bloodwork done, getting stuck and stung and then we were to meet at the obigen’s office (that’s right, the incomparable and sometimes kinda blue…), Dr. Miles Davis for blood pressure check, then to the sonogram/ultrasound office, then back to Dr. Miles Davis’ pad for one last examination. As you might recall, the lady’s blood pressure had been a little high and there’s been protein in the urine (apparently, that’s an issue…glad someone else gets paid to figure that stuff out). For that reason, we’re now going in almost every other day. Keep an eye on things. You never know: it could be any day now. Up to today’s appointment, though, she hasn’t been dilated so the thought of inducing at this point was truly going to turn into an endurance sport which could take a couple of days. Only reason he would induce was if her blood pressure was going skyward.
Determined early that it wasn’t going up anymore. Thank God. Probably the last thing we need at this juncture. Protein in the urine remained at +1. Same as last time. The numbers don’t mean anything at this point. Just know whether you want them to 1) stay where they are, 2) go down a little or 3) go up a little. Blood pressure staying where it is or even going down slightly is __GOOD__. Protein in the urine remaining at +1 is __GOOD__. Baby weight going down is __BAD__. Baby’s weight going up, conversely, is __GOOD__.
I was in and out of consciousness because of my early rise. I realized it was a big day. I have a knack for being awake for the big stuff and falling asleep during the not big stuff. For instance, I kinda fell asleep in the lobby of Miles’ office reading something about when it’s okay to lie to kids and when it’s not in one of those parenting magazines. Just kinda zoned out. They put a heart monitor on my lovely wife and we listened to Elle’s heartbeat for about ten minutes and my lovely wife was asked to punch a button when she moved. Her heartbeat put me asleep. I sat there and talked with my lovely wife about my jog and last night’s movie that made me sad. But I was half asleep. Woke up to walk to the car. Fell back asleep as we drove over to the ultrasound place. Yeah, I was driving, but it was just through the parking lot. Plus I know the precise distance at this point. I’m a Boy Scout. I bank stuff like that. Spacial navigation: one reason why boys are cool.
Fell dead asleep for a total of four minutes after looking a pictures of naked natives in the National Geographic that was at the ultrasound office. Just passed out for a second. Came to as it was time to see Ellison. Can’t wait to meet this girl. Ultrasound/sonogram (what do you call it? is there a difference?) is cool at this stages. No longer looking like a science project or amphibious being. It looks like a baby. Face. Head. Feet. Eyes. Mouth. Nose.
Found out today that she’s weighing now 6 pounds and 10 ounces. Before she was at 4 pounds and 9 ounces. That’s a two-week gain of two pounds. Normal weight gain is about half a pound a week so she’s doubling up on the normal. She went from being in the 43rd percentile of weight to the 61st percentile. Of course, those are just approximations, but her foot is the size of Wilt Chamberlain’s.
Even the ultrasounder or sonogramist remarked that her feet were sizable. Glad she got that from me. Know my Gommy didn’t want a big girl because she’d have such a hard time finding a date. The big feet she’s just gonna have to deal with. I’ve had to for all these years. Plus, I don’t think this girl’s gonna have any hard time finding a date. She’s absolutely adorable. Chubby cheeks. Little button nose. My lovely wife says that her mouth is mine. Not sure about that. But I can tell you that she’s one gorgeous little baby and sleeping like mad.
After swooning over the new images of Ellison, we drove back over to Dr. Miles “In a Silent Way” Davis’ office for another examination. After the examination, we were told that there’s no reason from what he sees at this point that we’ll change the due date…September 27th it still is. However, he did say that one change since last time is that our baby is now the size blue-ribbon watermelon and that my lovely wife is dilated. For those not in the know, that means the door’s opened. Not enough for something to come flying out, but enough to slip contraband through. Not that we’d want to. That’s a good progression.
And baby’s seemingly healthy at this point. Blood pressure has leveled out. Still high, but leveled out. Protein in the urine remains at +1. Miles even broke off a “if you’re pregnant at the end of the week” comment which caused me to pee in my panties just a little. There’s no small days from here on in. They’re all biggies.
My lovely wife’s gotta go daily from here on. And, here’s the best part, she’s gotta bottle up her own urine and store it in the fridge. Don’t believe me? Check this.
Yep, you’re reading that correctly. My lovely wife is 33 years old and that’s her urine…right next to the jelly on the bottom shelf. Tell me that ain’t some Dahmer steez, right there.
It’s okay, honey. By the way that lady explained at the office, you’re not the first one required to store up you’re urine. My lovely wife even tricked me as I sat on the couch and she made way from the bathroom to the kitchen to put her bottle away, acting like she was falling with her urine in hand. Don’t know what scared me more: the thought of her landing hard with a melon-sized child behind her belly button or her sending fresh urine through air and all over me. Good one, hon.
Glad we can still laugh.