About the Size of a Lemon

A couple of months ago, I posted this cryptic and mysterious photo:

About the size of one grain of rice

At least it was meant to be mysterious, but in fact about seven seconds passed before someone figured out its meaning and so I quickly and quietly deleted.

When we were married more than a decade ago, my sometimes-popular wife and I made the decision to put plans to start a family on hold while we pursued our academic goals.  I'm not going to lie; ten years of abstinence isn't easy. Those biological urges are pretty persuasive, even with a steady regimen of yoga, prayer and meditation keeping them at bay. When a friend suggested we try a prophylactic, I told him what he could do with his big words and fancy liberal education.  Others recommended some form of birth control, which seemed reasonable, but I don't do anything without the Vatican's approval so we shitcanned that idea as well.  All I can say is, thank heavens for the chastity belt!

Well, with my learnin' days far behind me and my SPW nearing the end of the coursework required for her doctorate, it seemed that time and our reproductive organs were ripe for the challenge.  All that stood between me and fatherhood was that goddam belt and an epic and perilous quest for the key!  But since I'd already used my vacation time at work, she waived that part of the deal and we called up Pop-A-Lock instead.

I'll spare you the gruesome details, but something must have clicked because about midway through February her body started going positively haywire.  Suddenly, things that once smelled good smelled bad.  Nausea could only be cured by eating.  When her urine stream splashed down on the little plastic stick and a second red line confirmed our suspicions, we knew our lives would be changing, utterly and forevermore.

We were told this was supposed the be the Year of Shaft & Son.  Then we heard about Scenic Byways and Kid Shay's sprawling mansion in the Pacific Northwest.  That's all well and good, but in the name of keeping up with my partner bloggers (I don't suppose we'll ever catch up to our prolific Poet Laureate), my sometimes-pregnant wife and I are pleased to introduce Arrocito, now much larger than a grain of rice and currently doing laps in a warm pool of amniotic fluid.

Foxy wife + child

Boy?  Girl?  Neither?  Both?  We don't care.  Arrocito, I can't believe how much I already love you.  I can't wait to meet you, kid, but no hurry.  Take it easy.  There's a crazy-ass world waiting for you and we're going to have a hell of a time together, but for now kick back with your transparent skin and a head that's 50 times too big for its body and enjoy the womb for another six months or so.

Oh, and don't forget to wish your mom a happy mother's day.  She's doing all she can to make sure you slide out of there healthy and happy.  I know she can't hear you and your language skills probably suck at this point, but you might give her a little kick when you get a sec.

To mothers everywhere!  Thanks for doing all the work and sparing us men the unspeakable weirdness that is pregnancy.

Mom!  You birthed and raised me.  An especial thanks to you, jlb.

nwb