This is a repost of a July 17th 2006 article I posted. It was the second in a series I began when I found out we were going to have a baby. It seems a few articles have somehow vanished, but I have most of them to repost. HOWEVER...I am missing the first one titled 'The Name Game'. If anyone has it, could you email it to me. It's probably my favorite and for the life of me, I don't know what I did with the file and would like to have it for my daughter.
I have this friend. I have this friend who just found out his wife is expecting. What? It’s a coincidence is all. I was just as surprised as you are. Anyway, my friend is about my age and this will be his first child. What?!?! I don’t have the market on being a first time father at 42.
Anyway, my friend relayed to me this story, with the understanding that his wife would do horrible things to him if it got out. That is why I am referring to him as my friend. Okay?
Anyway, my friend was telling me…
When he first found out his wife was expecting she told him all would be well. “She sat me down and told me what to expect. After all, this is my first baby, her second. She should know. Right?”
I said ‘Right.’ After all, my wife told me the same thing and my wife should know as well. Right?
My friend says to me, “So, I asked my naïve little questions, to which I got chuckles, snorts, looks of astonishment, and one or two “You’re not that dumb, are you?” looks. I think her biggest disappointment was that I had never, not once in my 42-plus years on this planet, ever…ever, ever, changed a poopy diaper. She quickly learned that my experience with baby’s was limited to holding one and then handing it back.”
I had never realized that my friend and I had so much in common.
He asks her, “Will you really get cravings?”
“No.” She laughed. “I didn’t get them with the first one, I won’t this time.”
My friend thought to himself, “Is each pregnancy the same?” He said to me, “She would know. Right? I mean, she has done this before. And she’s a woman. Her mother had two kids. Women talk about this stuff. Mothers and daughters talk about this stuff.”
I nodded and said of course.
He asked her about morning sickness.
“No.” , she replied. “ I didn’t have it with the first one so I won’t…”
“You get the picture.” he says. “My wife is on top of things. She is very seldom wrong. In fact, almost never wrong. Just ask her. Heck, she’ll be the first one to drag out the laptop to show you how not wrong she is. ‘See, just like I told you. It says so right here on www.YourWifeIsRightAgain.com.’ ”
Being extremely familiar with that particular website, I nod again. Many a time I have been proven wrong over who starred in what, when this song was published, or how many angels can you really get on the head of a pin.
My friend then says to me, “Now, if I may sidestep a little. About three months back, before we found out we had one in the incubator, my wife got food poisoning. It was an unbelievable 24 hours, the first 6 of which we spent in the emergency room. Now, I am sticking my neck way out here, cause she would kill me if she knew I was telling anyone this. So you have to promise not to breath a word.”
I nod and cross my heart.
He asks me, “Have you ever had food poisoning?”
“No.”
“Ever no anyone who did?”
“Well, yes as a matter of fact. My wife had it not too long ago.” We must live parallel lives, I think.
“Then you know.” He says. “You know about the puking and all.”
I wince. “Yes.” I still can remember vividly.
“And the other?”
I look at him, not sure, then it hits me. He can see it on my face, in my eyes.
“Ah, you do know. About the smell from the..”
I hold my hand up to stop him. No words are needed after this point, but he continues.
“I mean, I only stepped out of the room to get a cup of coffee. When I walked back in I hit this wall of…of…FUNK. My God! My eyes teared up instantly. But I could still see clearly enough to notice the paint curling and peeling off the walls. The funk just kind of hits you, then grabs you. You want to run, but it pulls you into the room with giant arms that seem to be crushing the breath out of you. But they are really just playing your lungs like an accordion, forcing you to breath…”
“My God, man. Enough!” I plead.
“Sorry. I just don’t get the opportunity to talk about it much, y’know?
I do know. Our wives would kill us if we went around telling people that their bodies are capable of such atrocities.
He says, “The amazing part is she that they drugged her enough that she slept with that funk hanging all around her.
I hold my hand up again.
“Sorry.”
He says that it was some take-out Chinese food that had done this to his wife. After she got out of the hospital, she swore off Chinese food forever. “She put Chinese food and the take-out place on Her List.”
He quickly covers his mouth and stares at me, realizing his error. I tell him to relax, my wife has a List, as well. I think that our wives must be related.
He says , “Now, months later, a little more than halfway through the first trimester, she has no morning sickness but something new. Something she says she didn’t go through with the first one. She has 24/7 nausea. She has barely been able to find relief from it. The doctors gave her something mild, recommended Raspberry and Peppermint Tea, and some over the counter stuff that tastes so bad, she won’t take it., even though, the first time she did, it worked.”
He continues, “Then, last week, she woke up and was sick. However, I have been informed that this was not morning sickness. She would know, right? This was a “bad reaction to the spicy food I ate last night.” Knowing it would be pointless to argue it with her, and I would only be silenced by the laptop if I did, I let it go. “
I nod, acknowledging he did the right thing.
“Then I go by work to take her to lunch. I ask her ‘What are you in the mood for?’
‘Well, there is this new Chinese Buffet across town…’
‘Uh-huh’
‘And I have been dying for some Teriyaki Chicken…’ “
He looks at me as he pauses and says, “This is the first time she has ever taken something off the List.” My thoughts drift as I try to imagine what it would be like to eat at Waffle House again.
“Are you listening to me?”
I snap back. “Sorry.” I said.
He says, “Now, this was not a craving. I was informed that this was a dietary need and the body of a pregnant woman requiring what may or may not be certain ingredients that can only be found at all and/or in the necessary quantities in Teriyaki Chicken. Not to mention the fact that the Doctor said chicken was healthier than red meats and such. And she does need her protein. And she will only get the laptop out if I argue it, so….”
“Right.” I said.
“But then last night..” he pauses, “Last night, something happened.”
“What?”
He looks at me, and for the first time I see fear in his eyes. “It can’t be that bad.” I said.
He blurts out, “What if she is wrong? What if she doesn’t know what to expect this time. What if every pregnancy is not the same?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” I said. “Are you trying to scare me?! Our wives would know. They know, man! Do you hear me? Stop talking such nonsense!”
He calms down a little, then looks at me and says, “Let me tell you first. Let me tell you what happened.”
I don’t want to hear this, but I can’t move away. The possibility that he may be right has me so frightened I seem to rooted to the very spot on which I stand, helpless like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck.
“Yesterday as I am driving all over God’s creation on a wild goose chase my boss sent me on, I call my wife for better directions. Because she knows. She knows where everything is, all the best shortcuts. She even knows the speed limits for each road. I tell her that I can find my way from the Krispy Kreme if she can get me that far.
‘Krispy Kreme?’ she asks.
‘Yeah, that’s where I have to turn.’
I hear what sounds like a soft gurgle.
‘Get a dozen chocolate iced, custard filled.’
‘Huh?’
‘A DOZEN CHOCOLATE ICED CUSTARD FILLED. Not that white crème crap you like. I hate that. Custard.’
‘A dozen?’
‘Yeah, a box. A dozen. But make it half chocolate iced custard filled and half glazed.’
‘A dozen…’
‘NO! “ Then something that sounds like ..’stupid ass Yankee ‘ (*my friend is a Yankee, too)
‘I want half a dozen, six..chocolate iced custard filled…NOT the crème filled, I hate them, they make me gag…and six glazed donuts. Got it?’
‘Uh..yeah. Got it.’
To which she repeats the whole order, just in case. Cause I am a Yankee. And this is my first baby. Right?”
I nod, weakly, not liking where this is going.
“Now, we don’t get to meet at home till after 9 P.M., because of work, picking the boy up at Bible School, etc. As soon as she gets in and kisses me hello, I get…
‘You get em. Good. What do you want for dinner, since it’s late. I want Taco’s. I want Taco Bell Taco’s. Do you feel like Taco’s? I could go for a Taco Bell Taco. How about Taco’s? Do you want to go and get them. I can go. I’ll take Janie (our niece who is visiting for the night) Janie, do you want to go get Taco’s with me? You do? Okay honey. We’re gonna get Taco’s.”
Door slam.
Car starts.
Vroooom.”
I start to shake a little.
He says, ‘Let’s jump to 40 minutes later. At the dinner table. Me, the step-son, niece, and wife are sitting at the table eating Taco’s and Nacho’s and I’m kidding around with the kids. As we are eating, I see my wife get up from the table and go to the counter….” He pauses. “She goes to the box of Krispy Kremes..” Another pause. “And she is carrying her soft-shell taco with her.”
I feel my knees go weak.
“The kids must have seen me watching and they look over. As they do, she opens the box and stares into it. Then she looks at her taco. She reaches for a paper towel, tears one off and lays it on the counter.”
I lean back against my car.
“She then proceeds to scrape out half the taco..”
“How much of it?” I can’t help but ask.
“I couldn’t tell. A good bit. Then she reaches in and grabs a donut.”
“Not the…”
“Yeah. The chocolate iced custard filled.”
“please…”
“She takes it..”
“The kids. The kids are seeing all of this?”
“Uh-huh.” He continues on, like Alfred Hitchcock, relishing the discomfort he now has me in. “She takes the chocolate iced custard filled donut and puts it in the soft taco shell.”
I gurgle out something incomprehensible.
“Then she hold it up, over the counter and starts to eat it.”
“Lord.”
“She devoured it in three bites. Then…”
‘There’s more?’ I think.
She casually grabs a glazed donut, holds it up and turns to us and asks ‘Anyone want a donut?’ She has the tiniest dab of custard on the right corner of her mouth. I look at her and the kids who are looking from her to me to each other.”
“Uh-huh.” I weakly say.
“In complete unison, we all said ‘No, thanks’. She then grabs another one and comes back to the table and eats them.”
“Uh-huh.”
He stares at me.
I stare back.
“Dude.” He says.
“Huh?” I can barely stand, let alone speak.
“you know what this means. She said she never has morning sickness and then….”
“Uh-huh”
“She says she never has cravings and then…”
“Uh-huh”
“Dude. Every pregnancy is NOT the same. They don’t have a clue. Neither do we. Do you know what this means? DO you?!?!?!’
I quickly grab him by the shoulders as panic begins to take hold of him. “Stop it! Listen to me. Just stop!”
He stares at me, helpless, afraid. I feel the way he looks, but I can’t let him see this. “We can never…” I pause for emphasis. “We can NEVER let them know we know.”
“Huh?”
“We can never let them know we know. You realize as soon as we do, what will happen?”
“I don’t think so..I”
“First, they will get out the laptop.”
“Yeah, but..”
“SShh! Second, they will call the mother-in-law.”
“Oh…oh..Oh God.”
“Right. Then you have 2 of them. And if the mother-in-law knows about www.yourmotherinalwisneverwrong.com…”
“Oh, God…”
“Finally, you know what will happen if all else fails them.”
“Wha..”
“The tears. The ‘You don’t know what it’s like for me with a baby in my stomach and all these hormones and having to pee all the time…”
“Not that. I went through that once already over a disagreement on a girl’s name she picked.”
I just stared at him, hard.
He looked down at his feet. “You’re right.” Then he looked up at me. “What do we do then? I mean, if they don’t know what to expect and we have no experience at all…”
I put my arm over his shoulder and start to guide him towards the garage. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
“What?”
“First, you promise never tell your wife or mine. “
“Sure. You promised not to tell anyone about this, so I can promise you.”
“Right.”
When we get in the garage, I close the door. I pull out a box from under the workbench, and dig to the bottom. I pull out the zipper lock bag that holds the item and hand it to him.
“What is it?”
“It’s a book, you dumb ass.”
”I can see that, but what kind of book?”
“This book can get you in more trouble than you will ever know, my friend. Because…” I whisper, “It‘s the Anti-Laptop book.”
He gasps and throws it back at me. I shove it back in his hands.
“No. You need to see it. It’s called ‘What To Expect When You're Expecting’.”
He looks at it through the baggie and looks at me. “But it’s written by women.”
I look at him and lean in. “Uh-huh”
He stares at me for a minute, then clutches the book to his chest, smiling. “Ohhhhh. Right.”