The day before I found out Andrea was pregnant, I had a very strange dream. In my dream, I woke up late one morning to find out that Andrea had just delivered a perfectly healthy baby boy – a creepy-looking miniature version of myself. She didn’t want to wake me up for the birth because she wanted me to sleep in. How considerate. What’s more, she had already named the baby: Merlin Nolan Alba. The name sounded perfect in my dream!
So that’s what we call our muffin: Merlin. Giving it a name is just so much better than calling it “it.”
Anyway, we haven’t heard from Merlin in a while and it’s driving me nuts. Andrea’s not showing, she’s not sick, her boobs don’t hurt, she hasn’t gained weight, and we have no outside indication that Merlin is actually growing inside of her. The last time Merlin presented himself was at the ultrasound where we were surprised by the heartbeat. Since then, nothin’.
I wish we could get an ultrasound every week, or that I could peer inside Andrea’s uterus and make sure everything’s ok. It’s a little maddening.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Tick Tock Tick Tock
The sound of my baby’s little heart beat, and the warning of an imminent disaster awaiting if I don’t get a job soon.
I’m thrilled that we have a little muffin baking in Andrea’s oven. It’s humbling to imagine the delicate chemical reactions that are building the baby’s heart, nerves and eyes. Nature and Andrea are doing their parts. Now the weight of responsibility to provide for this child is bearing down on me.
Andrea and I grew up in with our mothers at home. We decided early in this marriage that we wanted the same division of labor for our future family; Andrea would stay home, and I would (hopefully) bring home enough bacon to feed the family. In the abstract, that sounded like a great idea. With the legal economy in the shape it’s in, however, our plan is proving incredibly difficult in reality. I can’t find a job for the life of me.
People tell us that if we “do the right thing” and have faith that “everything will work out.” But what does “everything will work out” mean?
At a minimum, I think it means that we’ll always have food and shelter. I know that we have a safety net with our families. We will never starve. We will never go without a roof over our heads. But the thought of relying on our families to take care of us is emasculating. I candidly admit that my pride would have a difficult time with that.
I want it to mean more than that, though. I want it to mean that I’ll be able to take care of my family independently. But maybe that’s where the faith component comes in. Maybe exercising faith means surrendering my pride and being willing to accept what’s best for my family, regardless of how it affects my career, and my view of myself?
In any event, wish me luck finding a job. I’m going to need it.
I’m thrilled that we have a little muffin baking in Andrea’s oven. It’s humbling to imagine the delicate chemical reactions that are building the baby’s heart, nerves and eyes. Nature and Andrea are doing their parts. Now the weight of responsibility to provide for this child is bearing down on me.
Andrea and I grew up in with our mothers at home. We decided early in this marriage that we wanted the same division of labor for our future family; Andrea would stay home, and I would (hopefully) bring home enough bacon to feed the family. In the abstract, that sounded like a great idea. With the legal economy in the shape it’s in, however, our plan is proving incredibly difficult in reality. I can’t find a job for the life of me.
People tell us that if we “do the right thing” and have faith that “everything will work out.” But what does “everything will work out” mean?
At a minimum, I think it means that we’ll always have food and shelter. I know that we have a safety net with our families. We will never starve. We will never go without a roof over our heads. But the thought of relying on our families to take care of us is emasculating. I candidly admit that my pride would have a difficult time with that.
I want it to mean more than that, though. I want it to mean that I’ll be able to take care of my family independently. But maybe that’s where the faith component comes in. Maybe exercising faith means surrendering my pride and being willing to accept what’s best for my family, regardless of how it affects my career, and my view of myself?
In any event, wish me luck finding a job. I’m going to need it.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Little Heart
Andrea’s pregnancy came as a bit of surprise to us. Her body had been sending us mixed signals: no periods, but the home-pregnancy tests were negative. Relief flooded over us when the blood-work finally gave us a conclusive answer: PREGNANT!
I still had trouble believing, though. Weeks after the call from the lab, Andrea still didn’t feel pregnant. No nausea. No boob-tenderness, nothing. We had a routine ultrasound scheduled where we would finally get some answers. Was anything even in her uterus? If so, how far along was that thing?
We were the first ones in the OB’s office that morning. No waiting. We were quickly ushered to a waiting room with an enormous sonographic machine. My heart was pounding. I wanted to commit to this pregnancy. I wanted to tell myself that it was real, but I was hesitant to believe until I could see. We barely had a chance to sit before the ultrasound technician burst in and got to work.
Within seconds, I had my evidence. There on the monochromatic screen was a white, amorphous globule against a black background. Within that globule was a rhythmic flutter. ”You’re definitely pregnant,” the technician told Andrea, “About six weeks along.” ”And you see that flutter right there? That’s the heart.”
Come again?
Before I could gather my thoughts, the technician turned on the sound. Muffled, but steady “blips” filled the dark room. I was speechless. All I could do was smile. Andrea is definitely pregnant. I am definitely going to be a father.
I still had trouble believing, though. Weeks after the call from the lab, Andrea still didn’t feel pregnant. No nausea. No boob-tenderness, nothing. We had a routine ultrasound scheduled where we would finally get some answers. Was anything even in her uterus? If so, how far along was that thing?
We were the first ones in the OB’s office that morning. No waiting. We were quickly ushered to a waiting room with an enormous sonographic machine. My heart was pounding. I wanted to commit to this pregnancy. I wanted to tell myself that it was real, but I was hesitant to believe until I could see. We barely had a chance to sit before the ultrasound technician burst in and got to work.
Within seconds, I had my evidence. There on the monochromatic screen was a white, amorphous globule against a black background. Within that globule was a rhythmic flutter. ”You’re definitely pregnant,” the technician told Andrea, “About six weeks along.” ”And you see that flutter right there? That’s the heart.”
Come again?
Before I could gather my thoughts, the technician turned on the sound. Muffled, but steady “blips” filled the dark room. I was speechless. All I could do was smile. Andrea is definitely pregnant. I am definitely going to be a father.
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