Now You See Him, Now You Don’t

I’m fairly certain my baby is Dwight Schrute.

I have to be honest, I’ve struggled with whether or not I wanted to write this post for some time. I generally try to keep things on this blog lighthearted and, frankly, the subject I’m about to explore is not a “fun” one. In fact, my doctor is so absolutely against people ever knowing about my Dwight Schrute baby that he reminds me at every appointment that I must never tell anyone – ANYONE – about it. And yet, it’s exactly his persistence on this subject that makes me more and more certain that I have to let others know about it.

How do I know I’m carrying a mini future paper salesman inside me? Do I suddenly have an unquenchable desire to devour and/or plant beets? Do my ultrasound pictures depict a fetus wearing a yellow hued button-up shirt with short sleeves? Not quite. But for those of you who are not avid watchers of “The Office” (and even for those of you who are but require a small refresher), I give you this evidence:

Yes, much like the not-so-loveable Dwight Schrute, our dear little boy also began his life as a twin. And (also like Dwight) we watched on ultrasounds as this twin disappeared and was reabsorbed by our one, remaining fetus (whether this will one day give our son the strength of a grown man and a tiny baby is yet to be determined however). This is actually the result of a relatively common thing that happens to women who are pregnant with multiples. It’s generally referred to as Vanishing Twin Syndrome. While the reasons that it happens to any individual are partially unknown, the general consensus on the subject is that, for whatever reason, the “weaker” baby is unable to make it full term and, therefore, is naturally weeded out through a process of womb-based natural selection.

Generally this happens very early on in a pregnancy (in my case at around 8 weeks pregnant), though I’m sure when it happens later on it can be even more traumatic for everyone involved. And, while we now know that it’s actually a fairly common occurrence, since early ultrasounds are not performed on everyone (and since they are a relatively “new” thing to do in general), there’s really no way of knowing just how often this happens. Any one of us could have also started life as a twin (or triplet) and we’d never know. Without an early ultrasound to show you that yes, you were at one point carrying more than one baby, there aren’t necessarily any signs that this was ever the case. Nonetheless, it’s estimated that upwards of 30% of twin pregnancies end up resulting in Vanishing Twin Syndrome. And, due to the increased number of multiples conceived through assisted reproductive technologies (like my own little fetus was), this number is even higher for women who didn’t conceive their baby naturally (upwards of 50% in these cases).

So, now that I’ve bored you to death with some medical lingo let me get to the real point of why I decided to write about this today. In short, I wanted to tell you about this because it’s something that happens … it’s even, relatively speaking anyway, “normal.” And yet, no one ever talks about it. When GAR and I went in for our first ultrasound and learned we were pregnant with twins our doctor (at the time we were still seeing a fertility specialist) told us that, in her professional opinion, the one baby was just too much smaller and weaker than the other to survive. She told us this casually, and repeatedly indicated (in not so many words) that it’s “no big deal” and is “quite common” and sent us on our way. I, of course (despite the many years of medical work in her favor), was skeptical. So what if one baby was smaller? He/she had a heartbeat … I could see him/her on the ultrasound … surely I just needed to eat more and take it easy while this second baby “caught up” size wise.

So I gorged myself on enormous quantities of pad thai (and assorted meals composed of “pregnancy super foods” I had researched, of course), plopped myself on the couch to rest and willed my second little embryo to absorb everything he/she needed to survive. But it didn’t work. At our next ultrasound the bitty twin was just as small and, this time, he/she had no heartbeat. Despite my best efforts I couldn’t do a thing to “save” my baby’s twin and, realistically, there really never is anything I could have done. There had been no warning. No adverse symptoms. The other baby was simply “gone.” Again I was told by my doctor, without any mincing of words, that this is normal and nothing to concern myself about because yay! – You are having a baby!!!

But, truth be told, I was a bit broken up about it (and GAR was even more devastated than I was because he really believed we could “fix” this … whereas I had done my research and knew it was a long shot). GAR and I had only wanted one child but, nonetheless, to have 2 (even if only for a short time) and “lose” one felt incredibly sad. However, we made a choice – and that choice was to allow ourselves to feel sad about it but not overwhelming so. Instead we chose to focus on that same facts our doctor did – the fact that we are, after all, having a baby. And, really, nothing could make us feel any more ecstatic than that.

Nonetheless, since I had done some research on the matter, I knew that not everyone who experiences Vanishing Twin Syndrome handles it as well. On internet chat rooms and discussion boards I found countless women who were absolutely inconsolable about their loss. The lack of understanding around the subject was evident with every story I read and, since doctors all seem to share this same “it’s totally normal and nothing for you to fret about” philosophy, I saw that women who experience this aren’t getting the moral support they need around this subject either. On one hand the doctors are right – this is common. There is nothing you can do about it. That baby was never going to make it. And, yes, you SHOULD be allowed to feel happy about the baby you are having. But, as common as this problem is, it’s so little known that, as parents to be, we never even realize it’s a possibility and, therefore, we’re completely mentally unprepared for how to handle this when it does happen. And often we feel “guilty” celebrating the fact that we’re having a baby when, in fact, we know inside that we once were carrying two.

Our only knowledge of Vanishing Twins (if we have any knowledge at all) are of characters like Dwight – controlling little weirdoes who we can just imagine devouring their twin in utero in their first unborn act of dominance. And for this I do blame the elaborate cover-up that doctors like mine are orchestrating. While my current doctor means well when he tells me not to ever tell anyone about this I do think it does more harm than good. He is concerned that someday one of you will tell my son that he was supposed to be a twin and that it will upset him. And he’s right about that. This could happen and it WOULD be upsetting … not the least because, as I just explained to you, realistically, he was never going to be a twin – his brother or sister was never going to make it. So why torture him by even bringing it up? But, where he’s wrong is that, if I don’t talk about it, people will continue to have no idea that this sort of thing happens. And I think people should know.

For awhile whenever a nurse would look at my chart she’d exclaim “Congrats on the twins!” and I’d have to explain to her that no, I’m not having twins anymore. I didn’t get upset about it really. But my doctor did. He was concerned it would upset me and so, again in my “best interest,” he removed any reference to my “other baby” from my chart. I didn’t know that you could just delete someone’s personal medical records like that, but he did. And now, on an ultrasound, there’s just one baby – my healthy baby boy – that can be seen. The other fetus has, as the name suggests, “vanished.” So now there’s really no record of that baby’s existence. And that’s what really bothers me. After all, as I said before, there really aren’t great stats on just how common Vanishing Twin Syndrome is and here is at least one case (and I’m guessing there’s many more since this same doctor sees many women who have experienced this – does he remove all evidence from all of our charts?) that won’t be tracked – can’t be included in the stats – either.

GAR asked me the other day if I ever think about our “other baby” and we both agreed that sometimes we do. I imagine it’s the same for anyone who’s ever “lost” a child, although I can’t even begin to comprehend the pain one feels to have suffered a full miscarriage or abortion. It must be truly heartbreaking in a way that I, frankly, don’t know how I’d be strong enough to handle. Thankfully, for those who have experienced that sort of loss there is a great deal of public understanding (well, maybe not so much for abortions – a mentality that needs rethinking in a big way that I can’t even begin to explore here) and many support options. As for me and GAR, we have certainly been able to keep our focus on the positive and we are nothing but excited for the upcoming arrival of our son. But we have kept the early, teeny little ultrasound pics of “Fetus B” … tucked away in a filing drawer. Our reams and reams of ultrasound photos for our now solo fetus – from tiny lima bean up to our baby’s current “Barbie” size (though I doubt he’s got those unrealistic proportions … those size knockers on a male infant would be downright disturbing) – are now too numerous to hang all on our fridge door, but we’ve still got at least a dozen on display. And when I think that, in just a few short months, they’ll all be replaced with photos of our newborn I could pretty much just dance with glee (although, really, GAR is the one who’s more likely to break into a random “jig of joy” – a pretty common occurrence for him).

And while I joked about Dwight earlier, I doubt our baby will be born with a giant forehead, poor eyesight and an unreasonable hatred for anyone named “Jim.” But for certain he will be hell-bent on dominating our hearts. And in that he will succeed.

Mama’s Boy

If you couldn’t tell by last post, I’m not the type of gal who’s particularly impressed by “macho” men (though I do greatly enjoy the song “Macho Man,” and I saw the Village People in concert this weekend so I’m still pumped from that – whoo!) In fact, while I wrote about some ways in which some parents are failing their sons by raising them to be too aggressive, too bullyish and, well, just too “dickish” in general, I could write volumes upon volumes more about the ways in which parents fail their daughters who are inexplicably attracted to this sort of Neanderthal, chest-banging “protector” of a man.

So, obviously, I’m more the type of woman who appreciates the softer, kinder, dare I say delicate, aspects of men. As a modern, strong, independent woman I’ve never felt I needed a man to be my savior in any way, and I’m strongly turned off by any man I view as domineering or controlling in any manner (clearly I did NOT see what all the fuss was about with the “50 Shade of Grey” series). But, okay, I’ll admit it, this has led me to really make some piss poor decisions in my dating life as well. Instead of dating strong, masculine, corporate ladder climbing assholes I spent far too many years schlepping along with some real (for lack of a more politically correct way of saying this) mamby pamby losers. I overcorrected in many ways and wasted years dating men who were simply too much of a pushover, who lacked drive of any kind, who not only didn’t stand up for me, but who didn’t stand up for themselves long enough to not be totally walked all over, who were too “sensitive” and, worst of all, I dated oh so many mama’s boys.

In addition to hearing everyone tell me that boys are so “easy” to raise, people also tell me all the time that it’s great I’m having a boy because “boys love their mamas!” Awww… Well isn’t that so true? But, I mean, doesn’t (most) every child love his/her mother? Granted, I think during some of my teenage years my mother wasn’t really seeing (or hearing) the love from me, but it was still there. Perhaps boys appear to love their mamas so much more because, as I said in my last post, moms tend to go a little easier on their sons than their daughters. Case in point (to use a reference that, if you’re of my generation, you should easily identify with): On “90210,” when Brandon tells his parents he lost his virginity his Dad takes him out for a game of friendly basketball, has a brief chat with him where he loosely mentions being responsible and then, essentially, gives him a congratulatory pat on the back. Flash forward to the episode where these same parents learn that Brenda is sleeping with her boyfriend and, instead of taking her out for a manicure and some “girl talk” about being responsible, they threaten to file statutory rape charges against her boyfriend Dylan for sleeping with her (with her consent). Well, gee, if I was Brandon I sure would “love” my mama/dada a heck of a lot more than Brenda was “lovin’” her parents at that moment.

While certainly I want my son to love me and, selfishly, I would not so secretly love it if he did grow up to be a complete and utter mama’s boy (oh I know, no woman could ever live up to ME darling … now let me make you your favorite spaghetti that only I know how to make the way you really like it), I know that I’d be doing a great disservice to him (and to his future wife – or husband, I don’t want to make any assumptions) if I didn’t try to steer him somewhere down the middle … to help him grow up to become someone that’s neither a complete macho man or a wimpy, unable to let go of my dress hem, mama’s boy.

At the risk of inflating GAR’s ego to epic proportions, I essentially want to our son to grow up to be just like his Dad. While I suppose this is where some boys go wrong (with the whole “no son of mine is going to play with dolls! Stop crying – men don’t cry!” type of “be a man like your father” mentality), our child should be so lucky as to grow up to be just like Dad – intelligent, independent, thoughtful, rational, successful, strong and a really fantastic husband. GAR is soft and mushy in all the “right” ways while still being smart, forceful when necessary, passionate about important things, and towing that line between steamrolling others to get what he wants without managing to get walked all over by anyone. Thankfully our son will have GAR around to be this great example for him (even if he will pick up some really terrible tv watching habits as well – I mean, all-day viewing sessions of “Maury?” … And I may never, ever get to live in a house where the toilet seats are put back to their correct position – 4+ years of training and I still haven’t gotten my way on that one). And with GAR serving as a great male role model maybe I can spend more of my time just focusing on, you know, making sure my son is the kind of boy who fits the cliché and really does “love his mama!” (within healthy limits, of course).

And maybe we’ll also be a little stereotypical and get him playing football too (or, if GAR gets his way, rugby … just like his Dad played in college). It couldn’t hurt. After all, the first thing every sports star does when he makes it big is buy his mama a house, right? But don’t worry, in the spirit of keeping him well rounded we’ll also teach him chess and enroll him in ballet (or, again, if he really wants to be like Dad he’ll take tap lessons so they both can “shuffle off to buffalo” together), okay?

If our son does grow up to be like his Dad he could be a published author...

A doctor (of the brain, like Dad ... or simply handy at home improvement - after all, he'll certainly be making LOTS of trips to Home Depot with us over the years) ...

Or maybe he'll be athletic, even if he is a little on the "short" side like his Dad ...

But not afraid to flaunt some awesome moves on the dance, or roller skating, floor ...

And mock sophisticated enough to enjoy a cheap glass of wine while dressed in a sports coat and t-shirt with a tie painted onto it ...



On second thought, maybe I should put a little more focus on raising him to be like his mother.

Boys Will Be Boys

These are 4 words that, when spoken together in this order, make me cringe (okay, so technically they are only 3 words, with 1 word used twice, but you get my point). And, now that we know (pretty much) definitively that GAR and I are, indeed, having a boy (ha ha! I was right! The “angle of the dangle” doesn’t lie!) I’m guessing that I’ll hear these words a lot. And it will take every ounce of control I have in my body not to scream when it happens.

Though I may be over generalizing here, I’ll say it anyway – it’s this “boys will be boys” attitude that parents use when raising their sons that’s responsible for so much of what’s wrong with the grown “men” I encounter in society on a daily basis.

You have no idea how many times I’ve been told that raising a boy is soooo much easier than raising a girl. And, while it’s true that I’ve yet to raise a single child and, therefore, my opinion on such things generally can’t be trusted, I still feel rather confident in declaring that statement total hogwash – raising ANY child, and raising him/her “well,” is very, very hard. In addition to teaching our children the basics and nurturing their intellectual growth we also have to teach them how to be good people … how to grow up to become a functioning, contributing, well-rounded, considerate and an all-around kick-ass adult someday. And this is hard because, let’s face it, as we look around there are a ton of really shitty adults out there setting examples for everyone to see.

And it all probably started when they were kids.

Once, years ago, a coworker brought her young son into my office because he had been kicked out of daycare for biting. While in our office he was really beating up on his mom and dad – slapping, kicking, ramming his toys brutally into their shins and making loud explosion sounds – nothing out of the ordinary for a child exploring his boundaries really. But his mother didn’t once correct him. She stated that they were choosing to ignore this behavior instead of rewarding it with attention (even if that attention was negative). Certainly this is one school of thought of raising children, and I’m neither agreeing nor disagreeing with it right now – just stating it here. But suddenly this child turned towards me and punched me right in my stomach. I wasn’t sure how to respond. For one thing it hurt like Hell, but should I ignore it as his mother wishes? After all, isn’t punching strangers where you draw the line? But before I could even react everyone else in the room began to laugh and my favorite words were uttered: “Ha! Boys will be boys, won’t they?”

Yes, yes they will. If that’s how we believe boys SHOULD be acting. While this sort of behavior is normal for children of both genders I’ve noticed that a little girl who pinches or bites or even so much as shouts out in a manner that’s considered too loud is scolded or told she’s been “unladylike,” whereas a boy who does such things is generally treated much less harshly. This is just one small example of what I mean here, but you can no doubt see the general point I’m trying to make – people say that raising a boy is easier because we expect less of them in so many ways (and then we expect sooo much more of them when they’re adults and running for president and whatnot – it’s a weird way of thinking that I’ve never really understood). Or, at the very least, we associate things like roughhousing and rowdiness, which are normal “kid” behaviors, as being “boy” behaviors and, thus, when boys do them we find them less objectionable, less in need of “correction,” than when a little girl does them.

I guess my point is this – boys aren’t a single bit easier to raise. If you want them to grow up to not exhibit these behaviors later in life you can’t laugh them off with a “boys will be boys” mentality when they’re young. In fact, I think raising my son to be kind, caring, gentle and yet also emotionally very strong will be incredibly hard because everywhere he goes outside of this house he will be given the green light by others to “act like a boy” in all these other (in my opinion) unhealthy ways.

My mother-in-law said to me once that she was so glad she had 2 sons because she never had to worry about them “getting in trouble.” Since my own dear, sweet, wonderful husband has seen the inside of a jail cell a time or two (while still under the care of his ever watchful mother), I can only assume that by “get in trouble” she really meant that he couldn’t get knocked up. While there’s no denying that this IS a perk of being born with man bits it sort of leaves out a very important fact – that boys can get GIRLS pregnant (in fact, that’s generally how it works). And it’s exactly that sort of laissez-faire philosophy that mothers of sons have about teaching their children about responsible sexual practices that is why every mother/father of a daughter lives in constant fear every time they let their teenager out of their sight for more than 5 minutes.

I am very much looking forward to raising my little man (and I do already think of him that way, as a “little man” who will someday be a “big man” and it’s my job to raise him to be the type of man that deserves respect), but I’m not laboring under any delusions that it will ever be even remotely “easy.” Parenthood is full of so many challenges and, let’s face it, I don’t have a freakin’ clue what I’m doing (nor do I even really have a handle on what challenges I’ll even be faced with – and I’ll probably never see most of them coming). It’s an incredible adventure that I am excited and nervous and overwhelmingly overjoyed to begin. I love my son so much already and I can’t wait to bring him into this world and show it to him. And, no, I’m not always going to be his best friend. He’s not always going to fill me with incredible pride with all of his actions and decisions. But I can’t wait for both of us to learn from our mistakes, try again and emerge as better people. To me this is what raising a child, any child, is really all about.

Oh, and I’m sure I’m going to screw it all up – bad. We all do. And he’ll hate me and resent me for all the things I didn’t get right – that ungrateful little fetus that he is. But damn it if I won’t try my very hardest every step of the way … and maybe start buying wine in bulk … I’m sure they’ll be plenty of times in my future when I’ll need it!

The Angle of the Dangle

“By now you should be feeling your baby kick!”

These are the words I’ve been reading for weeks now on every pregnancy app, book and email I’ve gotten. Liars. I don’t feel a thing! Although I do feel jipped.

Oh sure, I’m sure I’ll feel it all soon enough, but it’s hard to know what’s going on in there. And, like any mom-to-be, I’m more than a little freakin’ curious to find out. Due to the fact I underwent fertility treatments, and the fact that I’m 35 and therefore of “advanced maternal age” (ouch! It stings every time I see it on my file), I spent the first several months of pregnancy getting frequent ultrasounds – much more than other, “normal” women get – to check me out, and I liked it. But now it’s been a long time since I’ve “seen” my baby bopping around in there … and I’m getting restless. Thankfully there is another ultrasound on the horizon – in just a few days in fact – and this time I also get to learn the baby’s sex!

Now, if you’ve read my post about the smugness of pregnant women (and you really should)  you know I have a few pet peeves with the whole “learning the gender of the baby” process. The first of which is that, when asked if they’re hoping for a girl or a boy, 99.9% of women respond “Oh, I don’t care, as long as it’s healthy.” Well no shit. Having a healthy baby is literally ALL I think about. I obsess about it. I lament not being kicked in the stomach hard every 5 minutes just so I’ll have an idea that, yes, my baby IS doing well inside there (or trying to beat me to death, whatever). It's why I don't drink a nice big nightcap of scotch before bed, nosh on soft cheeses or take up skydiving. But, “do you want a HEALTHY baby?” is not what I asked you. I asked if you have a preference on the GENDER of that baby. And I know you do. Of course you do. Everyone does. And it doesn’t make you a bad person to hope for one or the other (men certainly seem to have few qualms about declaring that they want a boy – a little boy who they can raise to be just like daddy … whether or not that’s a “good” thing is besides the point). I certainly don’t think you’re going to throw your baby in a dumpster or refuse to care for it if you don’t get your first choice. I’m not even saying you’ll be even remotely upset or disappointed about it. All I’m saying is – you have to have a preference, why can’t you just admit it?

Me? I want a girl.

Oh, there are so many reasons that I want a house full of sugar and spice as opposed to dirt and snails and a million angry looking action figures that I’ll no doubt step on in the middle of the night causing me to curse as their tiny bayonets puncture my foot. There are so many things I want to teach my daughter! About how to be strong and independent but not a diva or a princess … to have compassion and kindness without being weak … to be fearless without being reckless … to rock a frilly little dress while also being able to kick some serious ass … I could go on but you get my point – if I got to pick, I would choose a girl.
But, of course, I don’t get to pick. And, of course, I knew this fully when I embarked on this whole pregnancy adventure. I am fine with it. Because, like (almost) every other mother in the world, I will love my child completely and wholly, boy or girl (AND I hope that he/she is healthy, duh).

And it’s a good thing too, because I know I’m having a boy. I just know it.

GAR thinks I’m crazy (see my previous posts for my disclaimer about using the word “crazy”), not only because there is no way for us to know for sure just yet, but also because he dreamt that we’re having a little girl – he was dreaming about it when I woke him up to tell him that the pregnancy test was positive – and therefore it MUST be true. He has named her and grown attached to her and believes that this will be the case (who’s the crazy one now, huh?) BUT my craziness about having a boy is MUCH more legit than his vision of having a girl. Mine is based on semi-scientific research (I think it’s totally scientific, but I threw the word “semi” in there to make GAR happy)!

It’s called “the angle of the dangle” theory (see, doesn’t that just sound sooo official?) Basically here’s what it’s about – at 13-weeks pregnant (which was when I had my last ultrasound) all babies have external genitalia. What looks like a penis on screen could really just be the beginning formations of a labia. You literally cannot tell what it is – it’s just a nub … or, as this theory says, a “dangle” (which totally squashes what all those expectant parents who brag that their unborn child is “all boy” say when they proudly declare that what they saw was “definitely” a penis! A declaration that has always creeped me out anyway – why are you so braggadocios about your unborn child’s junk?) But, according to theory, if that “dangle” hangs more between the legs, or parallel to the baby, then it’s likely a girl. Whereas, if the dangle is upright at a 30 degree angle or more, it’s more likely a boy. In fact, I read a study online that found that if the dangle was 30 degrees or more in the upright position that there is 97% chance that it’s a boy. 97%! And, of course, our little baby’s dangle was pointing straight up – at a 90 degree angle – when we last saw him (oh yes, I’ve been calling him “him” ever since).

Of course GAR thinks this whole thing in nonsense. The professor part of him claims the study wasn’t published in a peer reviewed journal, that we don’t know the sample size or p value, and he doesn’t believe it’s statistically valid – blah blah blah. And, naturally, the ultrasound tech also told us it’s a load of hooey. Nonetheless, I COMPLETELY believe it and have already started picturing my little boy in teeny bow ties and dockers. And, likewise, GAR is standing firm on his “I had a dream” theory that we’re having a girl.

But I know I’m right. Want more proof? While we long ago settled the debate about what to name our daughter we can’t come to an agreement AT ALL when it comes to naming a boy. This fact alone HAS to mean that a boy is what we will have, right? Otherwise it would all be just too, too easy.

We’ll find out soon enough though (though never, ever soon enough for my liking - I'm dying of anticipation!) and, frankly, I don’t know how people are crazy enough to NOT find out. Clearly they’re just not as much of a planner as I am because I gots to know in order for me to make it through these last 4.5 months. I just gots to! And we’d better name him soon too (yes, “him”) because I want to call the little tyke by his name. I think it will really help us bond with each other – especially now, while I still can’t really feel him in there. And, while I totally DO understand why many people choose to keep their baby’s name a secret until birth (even if it is a little smug-ish to do so) to avoid hearing everyone's snotty opinion about it, I have to say that I could never do it. I have no problem telling anyone. And why not? They’ll have to get used to the name we pick, like it or not. Because once we’ve got this mess sorted there’s no way we’d let anyone else’s opinion sway us.

But we’ll try to do right by you kiddo (at least if your mom gets her name choice we will – no promises on what sort of trauma you’ll endure if dad’s name wins out). Guess it’s time to go through that list of 1 trillion and 1 baby names all listed in alphabetical order one more time, just in case we missed something!

DAR (Dad-A-Saurus Rex)

You may have noticed that, on this blog, my dear husband goes by the name of GAR. It’s a nickname he gave himself during our wedding planning process, and it originally stood for “Groom-A-Saurus Rex” (he didn’t like it when I called him “groomzilla” – somehow he felt GAR was more manly. I say it’s 6 of one, half dozen of the other, but I humor him nonetheless). GAR was extremely involved in all aspects of our wedding and yet he often felt that the wedding industry was trying to push him to the side. In other words, he felt hus-banned.

GAR is a very passionate person and he cares deeply about decisions that affect his life … even when those decisions involved what kind of boutonniere he’d be wearing on our wedding day or what song he’d have blaring as he walked down the aisle. So, as you might imagine, when it comes to something even more monumental – say, impending fatherhood – he takes this shit pretty seriously and, no shocker here, he is SUPER involved in every aspect of the preparations (I honestly think that if he could be carrying this baby inside of him he would be happy to do so – no, he’d insist upon it – because he’s just that very “special” sort of involved). One might even consider him a Dad-A-Saurus Rex. And, naturally, he once again feels excluded in some areas … he’s feeling ovulate-shunned (I came up with that one. Pretty good, eh? EH???)

Throughout pregnancy we’re constantly reminded that “it’s all about mom.” And, while GAR was frequently known to exclaim “It’s NOT all about the bride! What about me?” during our wedding planning, he has less room to argue, at least during these 9 months, that it’s not all about me. Because it is. It IS about me. Me doing all the right things to grow this baby inside me, to keep him safe, to prepare to bring him into this world … and not being able to be more involved in this stage of baby development is driving GAR (or should I say DAR?) nuts. Oh sure, he’s reading up on how to care for baby, on how to assist me during these times, how to assemble baby gear for the nursery, etc. But it’s not enough. He wants more.

And, let’s face it, he’s going to need more. And certainly, the world is going to have to expect a little more out of him than just the standard “show up and try not to break the kid” minimum standards that we put on dads in today’s still not nearly as progressive as it should be about this sort of thing world. Because GAR is soon going to be spending every waking hour (and most of them WILL be awake) with our little one. He’s going to be the primary caregiver to our rugrat and, whether society is designed for it or not, he’s the one who really needs to know how to play “mom” AFTER the baby is here.

This isn’t to say that I won’t still be a kick-ass mom because, of course, I will be. But after 12 weeks I’m going back to work, whereas GAR, with his fancy professorial job, is able to take the entire first year off on sabbatical. It’s an amazing opportunity for him and our child, and I am constantly overjoyed at the thought our baby spending all that time with his father during these early stages of growth and development. And, naturally, GAR is really (and I mean reealllyy) embracing the idea of being a stay-at-home dad. So he’s doing all he can at this point – testing out our Baby Bjorn carrier, suiting up with his super “manly” diaper bag (called the “diaper bro”), seeking out “daddy and me” playgroups (which will likely end up being him joining a “mommy and me” playgroup, because those actually seem to exist. But I’m sure he’ll fit right in, gossiping with all the other “moms”), practicing his swaddling (a.k.a. “baby burrito” techniques) and, of course, starting his very own blog about his adventures in preparing for (and, before long, being knee-deep in) fatherhood.

His blog is full of humor, insight and ramblings of a “sophisticated” soon-to-be stay-at-home father (mixed with the delusion that, somehow, he won’t be too sleep deprived to keep up with his writing once the baby is actually here). I highly encourage you to check it out: http://ovulate-shunned.blogspot.com/