BIOBaby: How Jack Came To Be

Nina: Donny, I’m six months pregnant. He’ll be here in three months. How did that happen?

Donny: Well, back in November, one night you woke me up and…

Nina: Shut up!

I really do have the best marriage. I didn’t always know it. Well, maybe I did and for a time forgot, but eventually I did and then came Jack. But not right away. And I think that’s important.

I’ve written about this before, but for about six months two years ago my marriage was on the rocks. I wrote about it from my perspective, with my feelings, but not from Donny’s. That wasn’t my place to speak for him. And it’s still not. For me, I can say that some of my main problems were that I felt we didn’t talk, I blamed him for the fact that I felt like I wasn’t being the person I thought I was meant to be, I resented him for something that really wasn’t in his control, and resented him for something that was. The latter is what I’m about to talk about today.

We tried for almost a year to get pregnant back in 2004-05. At first it was fun. Sex all the time. A lot of sex. And when the first few months went by without a positive pregnancy test, it got less fun. We were already cramming in sex sessions whenever we could. Usually during the day because Kali was 5-6 years old at the time and prone to late night bedroom visits when she couldn’t sleep.

It started to get stressful. I went in for testing to make sure nothing was wrong with me.  I mean, we all knew I could get pregnant and have a healthy pregnancy, but a lot could have changed in five years. After it turned out that I was fine it was suggested that Donny have his sperm tested. And he never did. I’m not really sure when everything started to go wrong. I wish I could pinpoint a moment and say, “Yup, you did this, and then I did that, and that’s when we fell apart.” But I can’t. And it really doesn’t matter. We each had a laundry list of complaints. Needs we each felt weren’t being met. I know that everytime I saw that brown little paper bag with the empty specimen cup just sitting around the house I got more and more resentful. It never occured to me why he delayed getting tested, but more on that in a bit…

About two years ago I had to make a decision. A committment. To either stay in my marriage and make it work, or not. I chose to make it work. For all the reasons that went into that decision the overriding one was strong: I couldn’t imagine my life with anyone else. Through all the fighting, doubts, feelings of there’s someone/something else out there for me, I couldn’t shake the day to day feeling that this is where I belonged.

It wasn’t easy. A lot had been said and done on both parts that required forgiveness, but it came. And that’s how it’s been for about two years now. Better than ever actually. Then last October I started getting baby fever. All the reasons I had delayed trying again seemed unimportant. I thought about something happening to my parents or my Grandmothers and not having them around to meet my new child. I thought about something happening to Donny. What the hell were we waiting for? So, we decided that after the holidays we would try. And we would try differently than before. No pressure. We’d just do it when we felt like it and let nature take over.

Then one night in November I was ready to go to sleep around 2:30am. Donny had been asleep next to me for hours. As I turned down the light and prepared to snuggle into the covers I thought about waking him up to spoon with me. It was my usual routine. Sometimes when I woke him up he’d pull me close and go back to sleep… sometimes he wanted more. So, that particular night I thought about it.

“If I wake his ass up he’s probably going to want some. Do I feel like giving him some or do I feel like sleeping? If I want to sleep more than have sex I’ll leave him alone.”

I woke him up.

In December, I spent the first two weeks of the month preparing for and taking my finals. Emily was due to visit a few days before Christmas and I refused to even solidify our plans until December 19th after I’d taken my last final. As the weeks progressed I noticed some changes. I remember IMing Richard, “You know, it’s so weird. I keep falling asleep while reading. At like 11am! I can’t even keep my eyes open.”

“Oh, your life is soooo hard.”

But I found that really bizarre. I would get a full nights sleep the night before and wake up at a decent hour, but within three hours or so I was ready to sleep again. I’m talking head in a book, knocked out, drooling sleep. Then we went to Wal-Mart one night after my Spanish final and I had to leave. We were picking out Christmas lights and I got really queasy. As Donny peeled out the parking lot he rolled down my window with the plea, “Please don’t throw up in here. I need those papers for work.”

Gee thanks.

I remember writing a blog after my finals were done listing all the things I was going to concentrate on now that the semester was over and one of the things was, “Find out where the hell my period is!” I was really kidding. My period always came on the same day of the month unless I was in the middle of a cycle change. But usually, if it came the second Friday of every month and that was consistent. If we had a five week month, my period wouldn’t skip a beat and still come the second Friday of every month. And such was the schedule last December.

I went back to my November blogs and found one written on Monday, 11/12 where I spoke about what we did the previous Friday, 11/9. We’d gone out shopping for some Christmas presents for Kali and dropped a grip on dinner at the Japanese restaurant. After reading the blog I remembered that after dinner I got my period. The second Friday of November. So, as we prepared to go out to see I Am Legend on Friday night, 12/14, I just knew that by the end of the evening I’d have my period. I was so convinced by this, and my back pains, sore boobs, and slight cramps, that before the movie I inserted a tampon. By the time we got home: nothing.

Hmmm. So Donny and I talked about it. Could I be pregnant? Nah. Donny’s reasoning?

“We didn’t even have sex in November.”

“Yes we did.”

“Well, maybe once or twice.”

“It only takes one time, Donny.”

November was a busy month. I had schoolwork up the butt and he was working during the day and going in for a few hours at night for the other job. Also, we’d just bought the flat screen for the bedroom and moved the Xbox 360 in the bedroom. When we had free moments we were more likely to be playing Halo 3 in bed than making love. Sad, but true.

I discovered a pregnancy test in the bathroom left over from our “really” trying days. Donny convinced me to wait till Monday, 12/17 to use it. The next night, Saturday 12/15, my parents came over for dinner and margaritas and I had some. I remember saying to Donny, “I shouldn’t drink this.”

“You’ll be fine.”

That morning we were at IHOP and I really wanted the Strawberry Banana French Toast… and I hate french toast. And I could only eat a few bites of the breakfast I did order before feeling like I had to throw up. Sunday morning, I couldn’t take it anymore. I tippy-toed out of bed before Donny woke. I went into the master bath and locked the door. I ran some water so he wouldn’t hear me opening the drawer and taking out the test. Then I went further into the water closet, and closed THAT door just to take the test. I just didn’t want to get his hopes up.

We all know now it was positive and even still I was in shock. Two lines? What does that mean? I grabbed the instructions and immediately my eyes went to the part where it explained that one line meant not pregnant. Well, if one line means not pregnant then two lines must mean really not pregnant, right? I mean, I just had margaritas last night! I couldn’t be pregnant! That seems like so long ago. Like years, really.

I hate bringing up painful things. Especially if they involve wrongdoing on my part. I have no problem apologizing, but it has to be when I’m ready. I have to feel it and mean it. But once I do, I hate revisiting. But this was too important and I couldn’t worry that what I had to say to him might make him think about the not so good times when things were oh so right currently.

So, while lying in bed the other night and watching him watch TV I tapped his shoulder, looked in dead in the eyes with tears in my own and told him that I was exactly where I wanted to be, having this child with the man I wanted to be with, and that I loved him.. even when I didn’t act like I did, I always loved him and always would. He simply replied, “I know.”

I don’t agree with people who decide to have a baby to try and save a struggling marriage. I think that if it works it’s because they were lucky and most likely able to work through their issues had they not had a child. I think that to try and conceive simply to save a marriage is incredibly unfair to the child considering the consequences should it not work out. That’s why I feel extremely blessed that we had almost two years of solid reconciliation behind us before we got pregnant. That’s why I’m glad he was conceived from a night of nothing more than his two parents wanting each other.  I feel like he’s our reward and not a tool to fix something broken.

And I finally understand what he must have been feeling back when there was some concern with us not conceiving. I feel so honored to give him this little boy, and really that’s the best word to describe it, that I can just imagine that he must have been feeling the exact opposite of that… or feelings that equal the absence of that. How devastating would it be to learn you are incapable of giving that gift to your wife?  No wonder he delayed and ignored it. And should I have just put my own frustrations aside for one moment and talked to him about it, instead of isolating myself in resentment, maybe that would have been one less wall between us.

We really are a mess. Probably quite sickening to be around. And not just the two of us, but Kali too. We’re sooo excited about this baby.  We talk to him and Donny and Kali are constantly touching my belly and kissing it. I’m sure Jack is sick of us already. Especially since he can now hear outside noises. And I yell a lot.

I was yelling at Donny for something the other day and shouted at his retreating back, “This is your fault! I bet today is Jack’s first day of hearing and all he can hear is me screaming like a maniac.”

“He better get used to it,” Donny called over his shoulder. Smartass.

This morning I woke Donny up around 6:30am to feel Jack kicking. Then around 7am I decided I was hungry.

“What do you want?”

Now, ladies… the fact that he asked means he’s willing to fulfill the request, right?

“Scrambled egg whites, toast, juice, and coffee.”

He releases a deep sigh.

“Well, you asked.”

A short while later he brings me a plate of food and a glass of juice. He says, “You owe me big time.” I didn’t respond because I was too busy laughing at Jon Stewart asking Barack Obama if his master plan as President would be to enslave the white race. When Donny returned with my coffee I asked him, “Why do I owe you big time?”

“Because you woke me up to make you breakfast.”

“Noooo, I woke you up to feel your son kick, but you know, if that’s not important to you than I won’t do it again.”

“No. No. No. Don’t twist my words.”

“No, whatever. Too late. Jack already heard you. He knows who loves him more.”

“Shut up. I don’t mind that you woke me up for that… you just got breakfast out of the deal which was probably your main reason…”

“How dare you!”

Our voices are getting increasingly louder, and we’re talking over each other, but the whole conversation is taking place with smiles on our faces.

“Well, whatever. One day I’m going to wake up and push your baby out of my vagina, so breakfast is the least you can do!,” I shouted.

And just then Kali comes in the bedroom asking, “What’s wrong with you two?”

I really have the best family ever. If I didn’t know/appreciate it before, I do now.

BIOBaby: Videotaping the Big Event

I had the weirdest dream last night. I was at the doctor’s office getting an exam and the doctor was this older Asian lady. She called for a second opinion and this young, dopey, doctor came in. Like, Ryan Seacrest dopey. So, he sticks one of those vaginal cameras in me so we can see what’s going on with the baby. Every few minutes he would stop to snap Polariods of himself doing things like giving the thumbs up. And my vagina would be in each shot!
Then he removes the camera, lowers his surgical mask, and as he’s talking he bends his face closer and closer to my vagina until finally he has his mouth on it! Then he puts his lips next to it with his face resting against my thigh and starts humming, blowing against my skin, and giving me raspberries. THEN, he takes one of those small, skinny, straws they give you to stir coffee and inserts it into my vagina and begins to blow. At one point he blows so hard I feel a little jump in my tummy and you can see my tummy move. He does it again and just as I’m about to say, “Ummm, isn’t this kinda dangerous?,” it happens again but this time it’s so jolting I actually wake up.

And not just wake up, but jump up making a startled sound.

It was Jack kicking me. Harder than he’s ever kicked before. I was laying on my back and Jack really, really, doesn’t like it when I do that. So, I roll on my left side, fall back asleep and dream about the same thing! Except this time the dopey-Seacrest doctor is telling me I have some sort of complication and when I ask is it possible to carry Jack to term he just has this grim look on his face and won’t answer me. Of course I freakin’ lose it crying and then I make myself wake up.

That’s what I get for watching Idol and a special on the Green River Killer before bed.

- One of my projects, that I’ve yet to begin, is to take all of our VHS home movies and burn them on DVD. There’s our wedding, Kali’s birth, our honeymoon, parties, etc.

This led to Donny and I deciding the other day that we’re going to purchase a really nice DVD camcorder before Jack is born so we can film the birth and the rest of his and Kali’s lives.

I told Donny that we need to decide who the second person in the delivery room is going to be. We need a reliable camera operator. Donny said he can be both coach and film crew, but I don’t want him to miss anything… from either perspective. Ideally, it should be my Mom, but there’s no guarantee she’d be here when I go into labor so I need someone locally and I don’t think my Dad and I are ready to, nor do we need to, be that close.

When Kali was born they wouldn’t let us film the actually delivery. Just me in labor and the moment she came out. So there’s a cut from me being all loopy because of the drugs to a little pink baby girl screaming on a table butt naked. Off camera you hear me ask the nurses, “Is it true you don’t let people film the delivery because a nurse here once accidentally cut a baby’s finger off while cutting the cord?”

What?! Don’t look at me like that. It’s what I heard!

Donny and I are in disagreement over what should be recorded. I want the delivery, but from the waist up. Donny thinks we should get EVERYTHING.

“No, I don’t want you filming down there. All up in my vagina.”

“I’ve already been up in there.”

“What?!”

“What did you think I said?”

I repeated what I heard.

“No, jackass. I said, ‘I’m going to be all up in there’… you know, filming.”

“Well, fine. We’ll just have to edit the film later for family that wants to see it.”

“I’ll edit it alright. I’ll add nice gushy sound effects.”

I knew how to shut his ass up though.

“What if I poop on myself?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if I poop while pushing?”

“That happens?”

Such a noob.

“Yup. It happens a lot actually.”

Suddenly Spielberg was having second thoughts as to what approach he should take. I thought so. Then he laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“I can just see you now… pushing out a log.”

“You are so. damn. nasty.”

Hormones Suck!

I’ve been miserable all day.

My tummy is just so…so….full! It’s just this big ball that I can’t navigate the same as I used to.

The place closest to my house that does 3D/4D ultrasounds was closed today, fuckers, so I couldn’t make an appointment which just pissed me off. I want to see my baby, damnit! I can’t wait two weeks!

To appease me Donny came home from work just now and asked, “Want to listen to the hearbeat?” I nodded like a petulant child. The baby used to spend a lot of time on the left now he/she is always dead center… or maybe he/she is just bigger. Anyway, it’s cool because now not only do we hear the heart beating, but we can hear when he/she moves around. I jiggle the little wand to get a reaction and sure enough the baby reacts.

I’m in one of those restless moods where nothing seems to please me. You know those times. Those are the same times that when you sit back and act like a grown-up you realize that you really don’t have shit to complain about, but yet you still just want to pout and eat cherry italian ices and watch Oprah.

It doesn’t help that Donny and I got into a psuedo-argument about pink socks. Yes, I said pink socks.

BIOBaby: It Wuddn’t The Hormones!

Everyone who knows me well knows that I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. If you ask me to do something and I agree know that I must either a. really like you and/or b. really want to do it. This kind of attitude is often times called bitchiness… even by my own Mama and I suppose sometimes it is, but overall I just think it’s knowing myself and not wasting anymore time with that disease that plagued me from my late teens to mid-20′s. That disease to please.

I found that more often than not when I was in a situation where I was unhappy I’d put myself there in an effort to please someone else. And almost always that person was not negatively affected at all. This was particularly true when it came to my first marriage where I’d find myself crying over “why does he treat me like this?” and “how can I get him to…” My father had to finally break it down (and my mother too now that I think about it), “You need to stop crying and start getting mad.”  It was right around getting pregnant with Kali that I stopped living for other people and started living for what was best for me and my child.

Some people may call it bitchy, I calling it knowing myself. You’re not gonna tell me something I know to be wrong and expect me to quietly lap it up and I’m not going to do things I don’t want to do. I know some people feel that men are allowed to be assertive and are even respected for it whereas women are negatively labeled. I’m kind of on the fence with that one. I think that if you’re the type of person turned off or intimidated by aggresive, confident, no nonsense people then it doesn’t matter if it’s a man or a woman displaying those traits. Maybe it’s the labels that women object to? We get bitchy, men get assertive. *shrugs*

Anyway, nothing annoys me more than someone trying to tell me what my feelings and motives are and I find that people are particularly insistent on doing that when you’re pregnant. Kind of like when a guy says, “Why are you acting like this? Is it that time of the month?” Fellas, if you’re over 16 and find yourself about to say some dumb shit like that, don’t. It’s not original or clever. And most times it’s not even true. It’s like it’s easier to blame a woman being fed up with your idiotic behavior on her hormones than to recognize that… you’re an idiot.

I’ve noticed that over the past few weeks everyone wants to tell me why they think I feel the way I do, make the decisions I’ve made, or behaved a certain way. It’s always hormones. Ladies, when you’re pregnant and this happens to you feel free to tell people to shut the fuck up. Seriously. It’s your fucking body and mind. You know when your hormones have taken over and when they haven’t. Don’t let people get themselves off the hook by blaming it on your hormone levels.  For instance:

1. I wrote what I wrote about my “fall-out” with Frogger not because of my hormones, but because it was weeks and weeks of me getting annoyed with her limited and condescending point of view.  It wasn’t hormones or Myspace drama. Myspace drama is when people actually scour the rankings and blog about why so and so shouldn’t be up top and how they just bet they used some kind of cheating refreshing tool and then writing about it ad nauseum. I would have written about what happened had it been Frogger, Tralfaz, El Supremo, Tara, or my Mama. That’s how I roll.

2. When I sat here and cried like a baby at the end of the commercial where the teacher is baking cupcakes with her students and they decorate the cupcakes to spell out LOOK OUTSIDE, and she does only to find her boyfriend there with flowers and an engagement ring.. that’s hormones!

3. Last night when I had heartburn and indigestion so bad that I thought everything in my chest was going to exit through my mouth and I couldn’t sleep because of it so I tossed and turned for hours until finally breaking down and crying for 20 minutes… that’s hormones!

4. When I cried this morning because Chris Cuomo on Good Morning America completed his I Dare You challenge of free falling from a 34-story building despite his massive fear of heights, and raised his arms triumphantly at the end… that was hormones!… and a little bit of me being the type of pussy that cries at shit like that and when Oprah gives away money and houses to people that really need it. Oh, and when I cried a few weeks ago because Robin Roberts completed her challenge of walking the runway in a fashion show during Fashion Week in NY and she did so bald (she just completed chemo)… that was fucking hormones!

5. When Kali ate the rest of my Heath Bar Crunch Ben & Jerry’s ice cream after I told her she could have it yet I still wanted to lock her little ass in the closet when I realized I couldn’t satisfy my ice cream craving later that night… that was hormones! Not to mention that the little hoochie ate all the ice cream and left chunks of heath bar in the container… grrrrr!

And for the record, this wasn’t written fueled by hormones. This was a pre-emptive strike against all the people who may feel the desire to leave a blog comment like, “Girl, that’s just your hormones” in the next few months and therefore forcing me to cuss their asses out and maybe lose some friends.

I think they should make a maternity shirt that reads, “It’s not the hormones. You’re just fucking annoying.”

BIOBaby: I Tried, I Really Did

I had my 14 week check-up today. Donny had an important meeting this morning that he couldn’t miss so my Dad came to take me. Kali came along because there isn’t any school today.

When it got to the how are you feeling part I tried to play up the minor cramps I’ve been having hoping I’d get a peek at the baby, but the doctor wasn’t having it. He measured my uterus (15 weeks!), pressed around on my tummy (which hurt!), and we listened to the baby’s heartbeat (sounds great!) We go back in mid-March for my 20-week ultrasound and we’ll find out the sex then. *pouts*

We stopped at Wendy’s for lunch and as my father’s GPS system informed us  we were approaching “Nine-ah’s” house I noticed my front door was open! My Dad pulls into the driveway and instructs, “I’ll be right back. Nobody go anywhere.” As he exits the car he reaches behind him into his sweatshirt and pulls out his Glock 9mm.  And it was just like on TV! The way he held his gun and entered the house. Just like you see on TV when the cops enter an apartment they suspect might have bad guys in it. I’d never seen my Dad like that. It was kinda cool.

As he’s inside Kali goes, “I’m so glad my Grandpa used to be a cop and still carries his gun.”

“Me too, honey. Me too.”

“It’s kinda exciting and scary at the same time, isn’t it?”

“Kinda.”

I watched the front door anxious for my Dad to come back out and it hit me that I would totally shit my pants if someone else came running out. I wondered how fast I could get my pregnant ass into the driver’s seat (the car was still running.) I sat the drink carrier and bag of food on the passenger side floor and scooted into the driver’s seat and then I locked the doors. I watched my father walk past the gallery window on the second floor and enter the master bedroom, gun still drawn.

He came out a few minutes later to let us know it was all clear. How my pregnant, forgetful, dumb, ass forgot to lock the door is beyond me. It’s very windy and we assume that the wind blew it open. (Just to tell you how badly my brain is fried, I originally typed “we awesome that the wind blew it open” in the previous sentence.) *sigh*

Anyway, I just checked my mail a little while ago to find that after our insurance company covers their portion, it will cost us $1,240 to have this baby. Oh, after we meet our $750 deductible or course. Life costs.

So now I’m home and cramping even more because the doctors always push and poke on your belly like it’s Play Dough and neither the baby nor your uterus appreciates it.

BIOBaby: Baby Poop and Color

We are at the “now what?” stage of my pregnancy. The sickness is almost completely gone, if I wake up in the middle of the night I can usually make myself go back to sleep fairly quickly, and I’m no longer THAT afraid of miscarriage (though I still do a tissue check every time I go to the bathroom.) I think every woman checks the tissue after she wipes her whole pregnancy from the moment she finds out she’s expecting.

Now we’re all kinda like chillin’ out waiting for the next big thing to happen. Kicking! Oh, there’s movement alright. But only I can feel it and it’s very fleeting. It’s only because I’ve been pregnant before that I can even recognize it for what it is. Come on little Jackabelle! Kick me, hit me, anything! Remind Mama that you’re in there!

Oh, I do have one reminder though. And this may fall into TMI so if you’re easily grossed out just skip this paragraph. Remember how a few weeks ago we all learned that the baby is now urinating into the amniotic fluid, swallowing it, and urinating it back out and that he/she is now pooping as well but the poop comes out in my poop? I can totally tell! My poop is just like baby poop. I swear to God! The consistency, the smell, everything. It’s very baby poop-like. It’s kinda awesome.

Since we’re in the “now what?” stage Donny and I find ourselves just imagining what the baby will look like. Will it be a little bald baby? Lot of hair? Straight or curly? My eyes or yours? My lips or yours? And the big question? Brown or white!?

“Did you ever think, when you were a little boy, that you’d grow up to have little brown babies?”

“I never really thought about it.”

“Does it bother you that your child could possibly be brown like me?”

“No. Of course not.”

I suck my teeth. “You just saying that ’cause you know this baby is going to be a pink little thing like Kali!”

So, now my family is taking bets. Brown or white? Here’s the standings so far:

Brown: Me, my mom, and Grandma
White: Donny, my sister

And to be difficult Kali speculates, “The baby will be peachy-gold like me!”

BIOBaby: Baby Talk

This whole deal with the baby’s sex yesterday has me kinda anxious. Do you know how weird it is to feel in your heart for months you’re going to have a son, have it confirmed, and then for like ten minutes start imagining your little boy’s life only to have someone else come in and tell you you’re having a girl? Sucks. Not that I don’t want a girl, I want a healthy baby. Period. It just takes some time to get your emotions, thoughts, and plans readjusted. Apparently, it doesn’t take that long because by the end of the night we were cooing over the ultrasound pics saying things like,

“Aww, look at her little nose. You can totally see it. It’s the biggest thing on her face. She’s going to have your nose. Poor thing.”

“What’s wrong with my nose?”

“It’s big.”

“No it’s not!”

“It’s bigger than mine and I’m black.”

“It’s bigger than yours, but it’s not big. I think I have a good nose.” (This morning my mother called and agreed. Donny has a nice nose. Whatever.)

Then we talked about the name. We had come to settle on, and quite love, Jack Ian so much we now had to prepare ourselves for Isabelle Sophia… and allow it to roll off our tongues a bit.

“I miss Jack already! Maybe we can name her Jacklyn Sophia?”

He thinks about this for a moment and kind of nods. “That’s not bad.”

“Good. But I’m going to call her Jack.”

And he just laughs.

We had all these “things” tied up emotionally in having a boy. Donny lost his father as a kid and when we were going through our marriage problems two years ago he confessed that all he’s ever wanted was a family. And he really wants a son so he can do with him all the things he shared with his father: baseball, golf, fishing, etc.

“Well, you better hope she’s a lesbian then, ’cause if this is a girl, I’m not having anymore.”

Which is probably a lie. I’m not a supporter of people having children just to have a particular sex. But we’d always planned on having two more but then work, lay-offs, finances, school, marriage trouble, and basically life in general always got in the way. Then one day (last October) I woke up and thought, “What the fuck am I waiting for? I’m 33. I keep coming up with excuses and what am I going to do when I’m ready and the doctor tells me it’s too late? Then what?” So we made plans to start trying after the holidays. A month later I was pregnant. We called ourselves “practicing” stupidly forgetting that ejaculation into vagina isn’t really how you practice. It’s how you get the job done.

Anyway, since I always swore I wouldn’t have kids past 35 I really wanted this to be a boy so I wouldn’t be tempted to do that third one. And really this came to me during that awful month of throwing up everything I consumed and being sick all day/everyday.  Now, after a few weeks of clarity and limited illness I’m open to the possibility. But it damn sure won’t be before I’m 35. This baby is due a week before I turn 34.

“I can always just knock you up again right after.”

“You must be out of your fucking mind.”

But waiting a year or two won’t be so bad. Hell, I read this morning that J-Lo’s having twins and her big ass is 38. We’ll see.

Last night we started wondering how this baby, this new personality, would fit into our lives. We’re such a kooky bunch. For instance, I’m convinced that whatever Kali does in life it will involve her wearing as minimal amount of clothes as possible. The girl just likes walking around in panties and t-shirts. In fact, when she comes home from school she always has to pee so she rushes into the powder room downstairs and always exits with just her panties on. We don’t even question anymore. In fact, if you go in that bathroom right now I bet the jeans she wore to school yesterday are on the floor. And if she wasn’t home sick on Monday, those pants would be there too. Usually after two days or so Donny yells for her to come get her stuff and reminds her she has her own bathroom upstairs to mess up.

Anyway, it doesn’t bother me. I know she’s intelligent and whatever she wants to do in life is fine with me. I’m not one of those people that think what you do for a living defines your intelligence. There are plenty of stupid assholes operating on people and trying criminal cases and acting as heads of states. I graduated valedictorian and a few years later was draped around some white boy, on a beach, half naked and greased up, with sand up my hoo-ha, for a photo shoot. No one on that beach knew, or cared, that I read on a 12th grade reading level in the 5th grade or that I skipped the 8th grade. I hope my kids know that they don’t have to walk around proving how smart they are just to prove it. And I want them to follow their dreams. So, if in 13 years there’s some mocha colored supermodel named Kali on the cover on Sports Illustrated for their bajillionith anniversary  swimsuit issue wearing nothing but rose petals and brown string, know that her Mama is very proud.

But back to Jackabelle… I asked Donny, “Do you think the baby will like us?”

“The baby will love us.”

“I hope the baby likes our house.”

“The shit you think about.”

“I just meant that I hope it likes the foundation we’ve started. Nice house, nice area, great schools, you know… I hope he’s happy.”

At that point Kali comes in the room and sees the ultrasound pic on the computer with the caption, “Sucking his thumb.”

“Don’t you mean, his slash her thumb?”

“Well, we still don’t know. The nurse said it’s a boy, but the doctor said girl.”

“Well, you should listen to the doctor because the nurse is just the assistant.”

And I was too stunned to even defend the nurses of the world. After she left the room, and before bed, I was able to comfort myself with the thought that it could still be a boy by reasoning,

“That doctor was obviously gay so you know he don’t know what a pussy look like no way.”

I know it was wrong. But it made Donny laugh. And I like to make him laugh.

BIOBaby: Boy or Girl?

Today has been the greatest day! I woke up at 3:30am and couldn’t go back to sleep till around 5-something. When the alarm went off after 7am Donny told me to stay in bed and he’d get Kali ready for school. Awwww. After her bus left at 8 we had two hours before we needed to leave for the doctor. I laid in bed, blogged, and watched the morning news. Donny played World of Warcraft. Now this next part may not be funny to anyone… even World of Warcraft players, but it made me laugh so hard and seriously, laughter is really the best medicine.

In the game, it’s recommended that you log out after placing your character in an inn. You rest faster that way when logged out and when you return, if you’re well rested, your character gets 200 percent experience points for kills for a short time. I’d been playing the game for about a week before I encouraged Donny to play for himself. He’s been playing for a few days. So, this morning he’s playing  and at one point I mention we should probably start getting ready to go.

“Ok, ok.”

Neither of us move for awhile. Then I say, “Donny!” I guess he thought I was going to bug him to turn off the game and get ready because he snapped at me, “OK! Let me just get in a building so I can log off.”

“Damn, that’s not what I was going to say. Whatever. I’m not talking to you for the rest of the day ’cause you obviously have an attitude.”

So I’m lying there watching him play and damn if he doesn’t walk his character into the inn, but instead of just turning the game off he continues to walk upstairs to an actual room with a bed in it.

“Um, jackass you do realize that you can’t actually get in that bed, right?”

“Shut up, I know.”

And I don’t know why but I busted out laughing. I couldn’t stop.

“You’re so retarded.”

“Shut up.”

He’s trying not to laugh and maintain his little stick up the butt attitude. He grabs his coffee mug from the bedside table and storms out the room. I realize he’s probably going downstairs for more coffee and that I need my blow dryer from down there.

“Donny!” I call out.

“NO!” He calls back from the stairs.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“Doesn’t matter. NO!”

Which just made me laugh harder. I love that man.

Anyway we get to the doctor’s office and the nurse tells Donny he can wait in the ultrasound room while I’m weighed and they take my blood pressure. Again, they want me to pee in a cup, but I don’t have to pee so she suggests before I leave… and again, I left before remembering to pee. I lost six pounds during weeks five to eight of my pregnancy and I’ve since gained back the six, plus two. Once again, I thank God I lost 20lbs before getting pregnant.

The nurse explains that she will do the ultrasound first, then the doctor will come in and do it again, then I’ll have the finger-stick blood test. I ask her if she notices anything abnormal (not just Down Syndrome indicators) will she tell me and she said yes. Then I asked if she can tell the sex of the baby (even though it’s three weeks early) will she tell me and she said she won’t, but the doctor will. She doesn’t like to speculate and be wrong. So we begin.

First of all, it totally looks like a baby. And a cute one at that! But I’m biased. He wouldn’t lift his chin from his chest long enough for her to get the measurement she needed. They measure the skin behind the neck for thickness because apparently babies with DS have a lot of swelling in that area. The first thing she pointed out which caused me to breathe a sigh of relief was that the nasal bone was present which is good because apparently it’s not with DS babies. We heard the heartbeat and got to see the baby moving around and stretching his little legs. And the funniest part of all, almost the whole time we were looking (and it took forever because he just wouldn’t cooperate) the baby was sucking his thumb!

“Just like his Mama.”

Yes, Donny called me out as a 33 year old thumb sucker in front of a perfect stranger.  She finally went to look between the legs and totally forgot that she doesn’t like to speculate… I think she really liked us because the whole time the three of us were chatting like old friends… “I think you’re having a boy. See that? It looks like a penis.”

So now we’re both crying and Donny is squeezing my arm and I just want to stay there all day looking at my baby boy. She finally gets the measurements and tells me that everything looks perfectly normal. The sizes are exactly as they should be. And of course, I’m supposed to be about 12 weeks and 3 days and I’m measuring 13 weeks and a few days. I have no idea what’s up with that. I’m blaming Donny. He implanted me with a super sized baby. The nurse printed out SEVEN pics for us and left the room.

The doctor comes in and begins his examination and explains that because everything looks so normal I can opt out of the blood test, which I did. It really doesn’t matter. We’re keeping whatever God gives us. So then I ask him, “Can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?” He goes between the legs and I immediately think, “Hey, that don’t look like what it looked like before.” But I don’t say anything.

“It looks like a girl to me.”

I wanted to punch him in his damn head. He then explains that the babies at this stage are still kind of unisex and it is hard to tell because the clitoris is really large and the penis is really small so it’s easy to not be sure. He said he’s usually right 9 times out of 10. In fact, he said that just yesterday a woman who he examined a few weeks ago called to tell him that he was wrong. She just had her 20 week ultrasound and she’s having a girl and he told her boy.

“But… but… the nurse said it’s a boy.”

“Well, I’ll bet her a Diet Coke and you be sure to call us in a few weeks and tell us who was right.”

So, basically… we still don’t know. Back to where we started. 50/50. Donny said in the car, “I don’t know what he was looking at but I thought I saw testicles with that clitoris.”

BIOBaby: Preparation

I realized this morning that I have to start preparing myself for the very real possibility that this baby is a girl. I’ve been calling this baby he/him/Jack/your son/my son/our son/your brother for weeks.

It’s not that I’d be let down. Well, I guess disappointed doesn’t sound right either. It’s just we really want a boy. Really want one. And then the other night I was watching Donny sleep and I started thinking about what an amazing father he is and he’s going to be with this baby. I realized how much our lives have already improved just loving this baby now, and that it’s only going to get better. Then I knew that it really doesn’t matter. As long as he/she makes it here, we’ll be okay.

And really when I had this revelation, I was thinking about the Down’s Syndrome test. A really wonderful woman posted a comment in one of my other BIOBaby blogs about her son born with it and I remember thinking, “I couldn’t be that strong.” And even as Donny told me that if the test was positive he’d still want to have the baby and love the baby, I admit there was a part of me thinking, “You’re a better person than me.” But that night, I realized that it was about the love. That’s what we’ve been given. This opportunity to increase the amount of love going on in this house. All I have to do is take care of myself for this baby for the next six months and put the rest in God’s hands.

Where some people may think of having children in terms of inconveniece, lifestyle changes, and financial burden, I know the real truth. Some women can’t find a decent man, much less a great one. I got one. Some women can’t have children, or again find a man they’d want to procreate with, and I have Kali. And on top of it all God decided that our hearts and home are ready for another person to love and love us. And I am damn lucky. And grateful.

So, sorry Frogger, but I have to disagree. I could cure cancer tomorrow, but at the end of my life, the best thing I could have ever done FOR ME, was have this love in my life. Because at the end of your life, who the hell cares how many degrees you have, how much you’ve traveled, who you dated, how many shoes you owned, how you made your money, etc.? Those things are nice, but I have to believe that there’s something more. And I think there is. And I’ve got a taste of it already.

I’m looking forward to all the laughter this baby is going to bring. Those of you that have had children in your life know what I mean. Babies discovering the world … a wonderful thing to witness. I’m looking forward to watching Donny be a Dad to a baby. He wants this so much. A few nights ago we were talking about it and he admitted that he’s never held a newborn baby or really been around one. Huh?

“Oh, Donny then you don’t know about newborn baby smell?!”

“Nope.”

“It’s the best thing in the world! It’s like… like… cake! Yes, like a baby cakey goodness. Except you don’t want to eat them. You just want to kiss them and hold them and nuzzle them all the time.”

He didn’t make fun of me like he usually does. He just smiled and looked straight ahead and I could tell he was imagining holding and nuzzling our baby. So, yeah, I don’t care what anyone says, this is awesome. Boy or girl, we are lucky and blessed. And I say this after being hit with a wave of nausea last night that would have knocked an elephant on it’s ass.

P.S. My boobs hurt. They are big and round and full. Saturday night, we had just gotten into bed, and  I asked Donny to reach under my shirt and unhook my bra.

“Ok, now pull it off.” He does.

“Now, just cup my breasts please.”

And we laid like that for awhile. Him spooning me with his hands reached around cupping my boobies.Why did I ask him to do that? Because the moment I remove my bra it’s like they just radiate energy. They get all tingly and stuff. It’s like the bra is confining the flow of whatever is going on in there and when it’s removed, the girls just sing. Having them held felt nice.

“You can let them go now. Thanks.”

“Anytime. Any. Time.”

BIOBaby: Week 12 and Baby Etiquette

Week 12 a.k.a second trimester. Holla!

I haven’t felt kicking yet, still too early, but definitely movement. They are usually really quick flutters. This morning I was lying on my back, rubbing my belly with both hands, and as soon as I stopped I felt a little jump in that lower left side. Either he was just waking up or telling me he liked the rubbing. Or maybe he was thanking me for stopping? Either way it was sudden, a surprise, and a little scary.  Donny is a little jealous that it’s not movement he can feel… yet.

We’re going in for the early Down’s Syndrome test on February 5th. It has to be done between now and Feb. 13th, and I tried scheduling it for the 13th since Kali has early release day then and would get to come with us and see the baby (it’s a regular, not vaginal ultrasound), but they didn’t want to schedule it at the cut-off date.  So, it looks like she’ll be taking off a day of school to go with us to our 20 week ultrasound. At about that same time we’re going to schedule the 3D/4D ultrasound. If I can, I’m going to try and find out the sex on the 5th. I’ll only be 13 1/2 weeks then, but maybe, just maybe, they’ll be able to tell.

The other night Donny and I were settling in for bed and I asked him if he thought about the baby that day. He said of course, and that he was in Walmart and noticed a young father with a small newborn and thought, “That will be me soon.” And I thought about this…

“You ain’t taking my baby to no Walmart. This baby ain’t got no reason to be up in Walmart.”

Then I shared with Donny yet another stereotype black people believed of white people when I was growing up: white women will take their newborns out entirely too early. I remember whenever my Mom had a baby, or anyone in our neighborhood or family, the baby didn’t leave the house (save doctor visits) for the first six weeks. If that. If you were family, and wanted to see the baby, you knew to wait at least a week to give the family privacy and then you came to see the baby. Don’t even ask the new Mom to come and visit you.

My mother, and others, would talk about white girls at work bringing their two and three weeks old babies into the office to show everyone. As I got older, and started working myself, I noticed this was true!  And white women, let me tell you now, if you’ve done it the black women on your job talked about your ass as soon as you left. Anytime I’ve worked with a black woman that’s had a baby you won’t see that baby until her maternity leave is up… and then it’s a picture. But the white women? They could have their baby on Sunday the 1st and be in the office on Monday the 16th passing that baby around like a joint. At this point Donny is laughing his ass off because a white girl that works for him is on maternity leave now and he said she came bopping into Home Depot two weeks after having the baby showing it off.

So, it seemed like a good time to fill him in on some Nina (as raised by black women) baby rules.

1. I don’t want the whole (my last name/his last name) family at the hospital. There’s no need. I don’t want to see people and the baby will look the same on day one as it will on day four… at home. And that’s only for immediate folk.  The only people I want in the room are Donny and one other person (preferably my Mommy) because we plan on videotaping the birth. Emotionally, I would love for Kali to be there (just because she’s part of our little family of four and I think it would be special), but I don’t know how she would feel about it and I don’t want to freak her out or scar her for life from having children… then again, if it scares a few years onto her holding on to her virginity…

2. I don’t want people touching my baby’s face and hands. Why do people do that?! Germs, people, germs. New immune system. Babies love to put their hands in their mouths and faces. I don’t want whatever the fuck is growing under your nails on my baby’s face or in his mouth. Neck nuzzling and hugging, however, are fine.

As an extension, God help the first person that rubs my belly. Why do women do that? Just walk up to women they don’t know and start rubbing their belly? “When are you due?” “Who are you and why are you touching me?” I hurt many feelings when pregnant with Kali and I will do it again.  Just because I’m having a baby, my baby, doesn’t give you an open invitation to grope me. You don’t go up to women with breast cancer and start massaging their tits asking, “How’s it going? You feeling okay?”

3) Inappropriate comments will be met with scorn and humiliation. It’s kinda like the name thing. I never cringe or make fucked up comments when I hear what people are naming their soon-to-be born babies. Never. It’s fucking rude. You’re talking about someone’s child. The next person that says something negative about Jack is getting cussed out. Period. Then I want to know, “Why the fuck did your Mama name you (insert name here)?”  Here are some appropriate responses if you don’t like a person’s baby name choices.

If it’s unusual/weird/ugly…

“Oh, that’s unique? Why (insert name)?”

Listen to explanation.

“Cool” or “Nice.”

And then leave it alone.

If it’s common, but maybe not YOUR first choice then I suggest you have your own fucking children and name them whatever the hell YOU like. OR you could respond…

“Jack? I don’t know many of those. Why Jack?”

Listen to explanation.

“Cool” or “Nice.”

And leave that shit alone.

The same goes for comments about the baby after he’s born. I think because people expect babies to be all wrinkly and old-man like, that they think it’s okay to say the rudest shit. Uh, no. If it wasn’t your sperm or your uterus doing all the work, shut the fuck up! When Kali was born, she was perfect. And I’m not just saying that. I’d post the video if I could. She was pink and non-wrinkly with my upturned top lip and dark blue eyes and jet black hair that cradled her head like a thick cap. She was a few hours old when Sophie said, “She’s so beautiful and I mean it. You know how all newborns kinda look alike? She doesn’t even look like a newborn. She’s beautiful”

Now, I’m not saying you have to gush, but don’t say shit like (and these are actual things I’ve witnessed said about a baby),

“Oh, look at his funny little face.”

“I thought she’d have more hair.”

“Aww, his nose is the biggest thing on him.”

If anyone says anything remotely inappropriate about my baby I’m going to promptly turn to them, and starting from their head and going all the way down to their shoes, I’m going to point out every unfortunate feature and flaw. Then I’ll ask, “You had years to grow into your looks, so what happened?” I don’t play that shit. And if I’m feeling particularly nasty, I’ll then point out everything wrong in their life and ask that they worry about fixing that shit before they start passing judgment on an innocent baby.

4) Needless to say the first person to kiss my newborn in the mouth, that’s not me or Donny or Kali, is getting punched in the mouth.

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