If At First You Don't Conceive...Try Try Again...
I think that's what the nuns used to tell me.
I could be wrong.
One of the joys of having grown kids is watching them go through all the same crap you had to deal with at that age.
Listening to my oldest son talk about how he and his wife wanted to find out if she was pregnant confirmed, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was my son.
He took the pregnancy test with her.
That's right.
He piddled on a stick.
He's definitely my son because midstream he asks her, "Nothing is going to happen to me if I do this right?"
Oh yes... He's my son.
I would have piddled on a stick but we didn't have piddle sticks back then, but then again, I always new when my wife was pregnant.
It was within five minutes (okay it was longer than that... maybe 20 minutes) of deciding we wanted children.
I never got good "let's get pregnant sex".
When we wanted to be pregnant the pregnancy fairy granted that wish the same damn day.
My wife could pretty much just do the laundry and she'd end up pregnant.
My wife never got the pickle and peanut butter sandwich craving. Nope, she wanted Coca Cola.... from Jack in the Box. It had to be from a particular Jack in the Box. Coke everywhere else "tasted funny".
She also wanted Mexican food. But "real" Mexican food, you know... the kind that comes from restaurants with names that end in "bertos".
And she wanted them both at 3:00am.
And she wanted them... in a hurry.
Well I wasn't going to argue.
I was afraid.
They don't tell you about the super powers women have when they are pregnant.
Like the ability to tear the hair off or your body with the flick of a wrist just to get your attention.
It was just wrong to be a twenty three year old Italian male with bald spots on your chest and legs and holes in your sideburns.
After a while she made a game of it.
"Odd or even?"
I hated that game.
Pregnant women are psychotic.
My wife would cry for no reason.
"Babe is something wrong with your enchilada?"
"NO... "(SOB SOB SOB)
"Is it the Coke? I swear I went to the Jack in the Box on Rosecrans St."
"NO... "(SOB SOB SOB)
"Well what is it babe?"
"WHY CAN'T YOU DIE?" (SOB SOB SOB)
It's bad enough when a woman asks how they look when they're not pregnant but when they are....
"I'm fat. I'm so fat. Do you think I look fat?"
"You're not fat."
"Yes I am I'm fat."
"No, you're pregnant."
"You're just saying that to make me feel better."
"Um...I'm pretty sure you're pregnant."
"So you admit that I'm fat."
"I...uh...I never said that you were fat, OUCH!!!"
"Odd or even?"
Both of my sons were born seven weeks premature. Which means the only thing we learned about Lamaze was how to spell it. We went to one class, the first class, for my first son.
I decided right then and there that Lamaze classes were designed to keep your mind off the fact that you're wife is about to squeeze a bowling ball through the eye of a needle.
We never even got to the "breathe" part. All I remembered was something about "ice chips."
Before we went into the delivery room they had me "scrub". I put on a gown and mask and surgical cap.
I was arguing the whole time, "I'm not a doctor."
"I only had one class."
"This is a huge mistake we need people with training. I never took the final."
"Someone tear sheets and boil water!!!"
My wife had an "epidural" for the pain.
They didn't give her enough.
I'm not sure what they mean about the "miracle" of childbirth. By the time I got into the delivery room my wife was slurring her speech and mumbling something about how it was all my fault.
Then I watched her tear the sideburns off of the anesthesiologist.
"Do you want to hold your wife's hand Tony?"
"Who's going to catch the baby?"
"Just hold her hand to comfort her."
"Um... Can't I just throw her some her some ice chips?"
I don't remember a lot of breathing and pushing.
I remember the doctor saying something about "a piece of automy" or something like that then all of a sudden they were talking about the head.
Then he grabbed a spatula or a crow bar.
The next thing you know my son was out.
Um.... You know how they say all babies are beautiful?
They're wrong, very, very wrong.
My son had a cone head.
A CONE HEAD!!!!
Dan Aykroyd was my baby's father!!!!
The doctor and nurses were all saying how beautiful and perfect he was and how he had ten fingers and toes and HE HAD A CONE HEAD!!! DIDN'T SOMEONE SEE HE HAD A CONE HEAD???
I asked the question.
"Um... Is it just me or is head kind of...you know...cone shaped?"
Have you ever had one of those moments were everyone in a room just pauses and looks at you like you are from another planet before they continue with what they are doing?
That was one of those moments.
They never answered my question. All of a sudden I didn't exist. My wife was holding the baby and the doctor was doing something "down there".
At first I got a little jealous. All I was thinking was hey sport, kids out, what the hell are you doing down there? Shouldn't you be dealing with the cone head problem up top here?
Then they gave me my son.
The fruit of my loins.
With his cone head.
He fit in one hand.
All I could think of is how much I loved him and we would deal with the whole cone head problem.
Maybe with hats.
He could be a cowboy.
A champion bull rider.
Maybe all the champion bull riders were kids that had cone heads.
One of the nurses whispered in my ear, "That's normal. His head will be okay."
Then I looked at my wife. It was at this moment that I knew how truly grateful I was. I looked to the heavens and said, "Thank you God. Thank you for giving me a penis."
HOW IN THE HELL DID SHE DO THAT????
He only weighed around, I don't know, thirty pounds or something at birth, but jeez that had to hurt like hell.
Holy crap we are not going through this again!!
But then one morning I mumble something about giving him a baby brother and by that afternoon I was buying Coke and Mexican food.
Our second son was a Caesarean.
I was hoping for a Catholic.
They didn't tell me what a Caesarean was.
When they brought me into the delivery room his foot was sticking out of her stomach.
It was like watching "Alien."
But at least he had a normal head.
I don't think my wife has ever forgiven me for not picking her up from the hospital until the Charger game was over.
Hey...it was January, 1983, the Chargers were playing the Steelers in the playoffs.
We could have more children.
But how many times would the Chargers be in the playoffs?
Hindsight being 20/20....
I made the right decision.
I could be wrong.
One of the joys of having grown kids is watching them go through all the same crap you had to deal with at that age.
Listening to my oldest son talk about how he and his wife wanted to find out if she was pregnant confirmed, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was my son.
He took the pregnancy test with her.
That's right.
He piddled on a stick.
He's definitely my son because midstream he asks her, "Nothing is going to happen to me if I do this right?"
Oh yes... He's my son.
I would have piddled on a stick but we didn't have piddle sticks back then, but then again, I always new when my wife was pregnant.
It was within five minutes (okay it was longer than that... maybe 20 minutes) of deciding we wanted children.
I never got good "let's get pregnant sex".
When we wanted to be pregnant the pregnancy fairy granted that wish the same damn day.
My wife could pretty much just do the laundry and she'd end up pregnant.
My wife never got the pickle and peanut butter sandwich craving. Nope, she wanted Coca Cola.... from Jack in the Box. It had to be from a particular Jack in the Box. Coke everywhere else "tasted funny".
She also wanted Mexican food. But "real" Mexican food, you know... the kind that comes from restaurants with names that end in "bertos".
And she wanted them both at 3:00am.
And she wanted them... in a hurry.
Well I wasn't going to argue.
I was afraid.
They don't tell you about the super powers women have when they are pregnant.
Like the ability to tear the hair off or your body with the flick of a wrist just to get your attention.
It was just wrong to be a twenty three year old Italian male with bald spots on your chest and legs and holes in your sideburns.
After a while she made a game of it.
"Odd or even?"
I hated that game.
Pregnant women are psychotic.
My wife would cry for no reason.
"Babe is something wrong with your enchilada?"
"NO... "(SOB SOB SOB)
"Is it the Coke? I swear I went to the Jack in the Box on Rosecrans St."
"NO... "(SOB SOB SOB)
"Well what is it babe?"
"WHY CAN'T YOU DIE?" (SOB SOB SOB)
It's bad enough when a woman asks how they look when they're not pregnant but when they are....
"I'm fat. I'm so fat. Do you think I look fat?"
"You're not fat."
"Yes I am I'm fat."
"No, you're pregnant."
"You're just saying that to make me feel better."
"Um...I'm pretty sure you're pregnant."
"So you admit that I'm fat."
"I...uh...I never said that you were fat, OUCH!!!"
"Odd or even?"
Both of my sons were born seven weeks premature. Which means the only thing we learned about Lamaze was how to spell it. We went to one class, the first class, for my first son.
I decided right then and there that Lamaze classes were designed to keep your mind off the fact that you're wife is about to squeeze a bowling ball through the eye of a needle.
We never even got to the "breathe" part. All I remembered was something about "ice chips."
Before we went into the delivery room they had me "scrub". I put on a gown and mask and surgical cap.
I was arguing the whole time, "I'm not a doctor."
"I only had one class."
"This is a huge mistake we need people with training. I never took the final."
"Someone tear sheets and boil water!!!"
My wife had an "epidural" for the pain.
They didn't give her enough.
I'm not sure what they mean about the "miracle" of childbirth. By the time I got into the delivery room my wife was slurring her speech and mumbling something about how it was all my fault.
Then I watched her tear the sideburns off of the anesthesiologist.
"Do you want to hold your wife's hand Tony?"
"Who's going to catch the baby?"
"Just hold her hand to comfort her."
"Um... Can't I just throw her some her some ice chips?"
I don't remember a lot of breathing and pushing.
I remember the doctor saying something about "a piece of automy" or something like that then all of a sudden they were talking about the head.
Then he grabbed a spatula or a crow bar.
The next thing you know my son was out.
Um.... You know how they say all babies are beautiful?
They're wrong, very, very wrong.
My son had a cone head.
A CONE HEAD!!!!
Dan Aykroyd was my baby's father!!!!
The doctor and nurses were all saying how beautiful and perfect he was and how he had ten fingers and toes and HE HAD A CONE HEAD!!! DIDN'T SOMEONE SEE HE HAD A CONE HEAD???
I asked the question.
"Um... Is it just me or is head kind of...you know...cone shaped?"
Have you ever had one of those moments were everyone in a room just pauses and looks at you like you are from another planet before they continue with what they are doing?
That was one of those moments.
They never answered my question. All of a sudden I didn't exist. My wife was holding the baby and the doctor was doing something "down there".
At first I got a little jealous. All I was thinking was hey sport, kids out, what the hell are you doing down there? Shouldn't you be dealing with the cone head problem up top here?
Then they gave me my son.
The fruit of my loins.
With his cone head.
He fit in one hand.
All I could think of is how much I loved him and we would deal with the whole cone head problem.
Maybe with hats.
He could be a cowboy.
A champion bull rider.
Maybe all the champion bull riders were kids that had cone heads.
One of the nurses whispered in my ear, "That's normal. His head will be okay."
Then I looked at my wife. It was at this moment that I knew how truly grateful I was. I looked to the heavens and said, "Thank you God. Thank you for giving me a penis."
HOW IN THE HELL DID SHE DO THAT????
He only weighed around, I don't know, thirty pounds or something at birth, but jeez that had to hurt like hell.
Holy crap we are not going through this again!!
But then one morning I mumble something about giving him a baby brother and by that afternoon I was buying Coke and Mexican food.
Our second son was a Caesarean.
I was hoping for a Catholic.
They didn't tell me what a Caesarean was.
When they brought me into the delivery room his foot was sticking out of her stomach.
It was like watching "Alien."
But at least he had a normal head.
I don't think my wife has ever forgiven me for not picking her up from the hospital until the Charger game was over.
Hey...it was January, 1983, the Chargers were playing the Steelers in the playoffs.
We could have more children.
But how many times would the Chargers be in the playoffs?
Hindsight being 20/20....
I made the right decision.
posted by Shrinking Wop at 7:02 PM
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