Going to the Doc (CTL 3)

Countdown to Laughter

Issue 3

Nancy went to the doctor’s office on Thursday. I’ve been a couple of times, and been witness to some strange old man violating my wife. (This is called a cervical exam.) The office’s waiting room has about 500 copies of “American Baby” and “Pregnancy” magazines. These magazines are chock full of pregnant supermodels. These women represent a typical pregnancy the same way Goldie Hawn represents the normal 50 year old woman.

I didn’t go with her on the last visit, but it was a quick one, and pretty much everything is going fine. “Fine” is a word we’ve used time and again to describe this pregnancy, because there really hasn’t been anything too unusual. Then on the way out the door, it happened.

She started crying. For no particular reason. There was no bad news, no sad songs on the radio, nothing wrong per se, but the tears came none the less. After telling me about her unexplained crying jag, I kissed her gently on the forehead, and assured her that I would see the real Nancy again in about six months.

She used to cry at normal things: movies, talking about dead relatives, the episodes of Survivor where the people at home send in video tapes. Now she cries at Pepsi commercials.

As a guy, my first instinct is to fix this problem. My train of thought is “If only I think of the right thing to say, she’ll stop crying and I can go back to playing X-Box.” This usually just makes her mad, but at least she stops crying.

In other news, I’ve received a lot of positive feedback about the first newsletter. Mike Kirkman sent a long e-mail chock full of advice. One thing I found alarming was his assurance that I would become “very interested” in Isaac’s stool.

I say this now, “Unless Isaac is shitting gold coins, I won’t ramble on about his feces.” Copy this statement down, and use it to taunt me later when I inevitably become the guy who talks about the frequency and composition of the diaper changes. It’s only a matter of time, as 85% of a father’s interaction with a newborn is wiping off human waste with an electrically warmed moist towelette.

My folks are coming up this weekend, so I’m sure I will have plenty of material for the next letter.

Big Matt