Watch Your Junk and Other Advice for Expectant Fathers

by Benjamin Wallace

That’s not to say that you won’t have things to complain about. Over the course of her pregnancy you’ll be doing the bulk of the work and the deeper into it she gets, the heavier things seem to get.

  You’ll have to lift everything. You’ll have to assemble everything that a kid needs. You’ll even be expected to paint a mural. Maybe you have mural painting skills already. Perhaps you’re known throughout the land as an excellent muralist. Maybe it’s been your lifelong dream to quit your job and paint vistas on old brick walls or the beds of pickup trucks. Or maybe the only thing you ever painted was that crappy five-fingered turkey in second grade. No matter your muralist experience, you’ll be expected to execute some artistic work on the wall of a nursery that will stir the imagination of a child without giving it nightmares. It will be elaborate. There may be squirrels. And you’ll have no doubt that you can’t pull it off. But you will have to try and then fail. All without complaining.

  Lifting things and painting murals isn’t the half of it. There’s plenty of crap to do around the house and even more to do outside of it. And the shopping. Holy crap, the shopping. This baby hasn’t even developed eyes yet and it already has more clothes than you. And, some of them are already being returned. There’s going to be a ton of parties that you have to go to. And there’s a doctor’s appointment about every two to three minutes. Between all of this and the rest of it, there is absolutely no one back at the house painting the damn mural. And those squirrels aren’t going to paint themselves.

  But, you don’t get to complain.

  I don’t care if you’re feeling neglected, had a bad day at work or been shot in the ass with an errant crossbow bolt. If you say anything, it will be considered insensitive. She’s having your baby. She’s sacrificing her body to bring life into this world and you’re bitching about being shot? What’s wrong with you?

  I’m assuming you already knew this and planned to keep quiet, but I just thought I’d mention it just in case. After all, you’ve somehow put yourself in a situation where you got shot with a crossbow so you’ve already demonstrated poor decision making skills. I thought the reminder couldn’t hurt.

  YOUR FIRST SONOGRAM

  This is where the magic becomes real. This is where all theories are confirmed, all doubts are removed and you will no longer be able to fool yourself into thinking that maybe your wife is just getting fat. You’ll hear heartbeats and you’ll see cell growth all through the magic of television. Your friend, television.

  The machine is really quite amazing. Your wife will be asked to lift up her shirt, they’ll squirt sonogram helping liquid on her belly and wave a little device that looks something like a CB receiver across her cute and growing tummy until they find little baby you in there. The technician will take some measurements and let you listen to the heartbeat. Don’t worry, it’s supposed to sound exactly like you swishing mouthwash around.

  They’ll even print you out a picture—the first ever picture of your baby. Your wife will show it to family, friends and anyone willing to listen. And, you’ll look at the picture and you’ll …

  Look, it’s important here that you at least pretend to see what everyone is talking about in the picture. You may not have a clue to what is in the grainy little photo—just fake it. It’s easier for everyone. Besides, you’ll have more sonograms along the way. In later trips, the baby will even look like a baby. This magic screen will even tell you what kind of baby you’re having. There is nothing TV can’t do.

  One last thing: if they don’t use the wand, don’t ask about the wand. Just pretend it isn’t there. Ignore the wand.

  YOUR FIRST SONOGRAM - THE TWIN VERSION

  a.k.a. The Scariest Thing I’ve Ever Seen on TV

  When you go in for your first sonogram, the last thing you’re expecting is to discover that you are so awesome you were able to knock up your wife twice with just one try. But being awesome and being prepared for shocking news are two different things. Here’s what happened when we had our sonogram:

  The woman with the wand didn’t see it. (Don’t ask about the wand). My wife had suffered a miscarriage a few months before. So when the sonogram tech saw my son, she zoomed in to assure us that every thing was okay.

  She measured everything she could at that age and turned to enter the information. The wand moved.

  “What’s that? That’s not ...”

  She turned back to the screen.

  “That’s a kidney, right, I mean it’s her bladder or something.” It was small and bean shaped. I knew that kidneys were bean shaped.

  “Oh, we have twins.”

  The miscarriage had resulted in a rush to the hospital and a quick surgery. So naturally we had really hoped that everything would be fine with this early sonogram. Apparently we had hoped really hard.

  We were both shocked. We both just kept saying “twins” to each other over and over and smiling out of fear, excitement and fear.

  Once the panic stops, the first step is to assign blame. Start with family histories and work your way down to the individual. We had fraternal twins so we knew that it was not my fault. I’m not the one that went dropping two eggs. Once blame has been assigned, you move on to the next step which is resume panicking. This lasts a while.

  The shock lasted weeks. It was only then that we could say it without laughing nervously. It was our own fault. We had walked in to having a second child thinking we had it all figured out. We knew what we really needed to get from the baby store and what was bull. We had a crib and a swing. We were covered. We were wrong.

  We had gotten cocky. And now we had to pay for it.

  It’s difficult to explain what it’s like finding out that you’re having twins. You get that panic coldness in your stomach like when you get caught doing something wrong and there is no one else around to blame. It is such an unbelievable moment that you begin to question all of reality. Even gravity seems affected as everything seems to float. You can’t even do math anymore as any attempt is now doubled. People speak to you, but you don’t hear them. You just nod along.

  Simply put, you’re terrified. And you’re right to be.

  YOU BECOME NOBODY

  Something else happens during the sonogram that may not be as evident. Once that child is visible on the screen, you cease to exist. It’s not a slow fade like your existence has been undone due to some tampering with the space-time continuum; it’s very sudden. The doctor will know it. Your wife will know it. Recent studies show that the fetus, who is only a few cells at this point, knows it. It just may not be very evident to you.

  You’ll try to speak and no one will hear you. You’ll have thoughts and no one will care. If you start to mess with the equipment in the room, like say picking up the sonogram wand and making ray gun noises, they will notice and tell you to quit. But as soon as you put the wand down, you’ll go back to not existing.

  It’s nothing you did. The doctor’s primary concern from here on out is your wife and baby’s safety and health. Your wife’s concern is for the baby. You’ve done your part. And, as far as making a baby goes, it’s out of your hands at this point.

  You will start to notice your new non-role slowly. Your wife and the doctor will begin to talk in a language that you don’t understand. You’ll notice that they never really turn to you anymore. No one will ask how you’re feeling. No one cares if you’ve been eating right. No one cares if you’re doing your Kegels.

  It’s okay, really. Let the code-talkers have their secret language. All you have to do is be supportive and nod when you think it’s expected. If you’ve been married for any length of time, this should be second nature by now anyway.

  FINE, ABOUT THE WAND

  There’s two ways the sonogram tech can make the magic TV show you your baby. The first, as I said, is to squirt some jelly on your wife’s belly and move what looks like a circa 1972 Radio Shack mouse over it.

  Sometimes the baby is harder to find. Sometimes a closer look is needed. So they grab the wand and “lift
up your shirt” becomes “take off your pants.” They slip a condom over the thing and in they go to look for the baby. They don’t even have a fancy term for the condom so you can’t even pretend it’s something else. It would be easier if it was called a latex barrier or wand cover or a Wankle sock or something. Any of these would be better. But, no, they’re individually wrapped and come together on a strip.

  This is also when you become very aware whether your wife’s doctor is a man or a woman. I’m not saying you didn’t notice before, I’m just saying that at that moment there is a voice in the back of your head that is saying, “that dude/chick just ...”

  The important thing is don’t forget to smile. This is still a “special moment” no matter what’s up your wife.

  Told you not to ask about the wand. Kind of wishing you hadn’t picked it up and made ray gun noises now, aren’t you?

  THE ADVANCED SONOGRAM

  The advancements that have been made in modern medicine are amazing. And while most of them are used for good instead of evil, there is also the 3D sonogram. This horrific upgrade is usually optional and costs extra.

  I’m no doctor. I don’t know if the image is helpful to the baby doctor, but I do know this: the people with the machine will try to sell you on it by telling you that you will get a picture of what your baby really looks like. You’ll see facial features, ears, eyes etcetera ...

  Imagine, a real picture of how your pride and joy will actually look. How could you resist?

  Resist. Don’t do it. Please don’t do it. Because you’ll think your baby is going to look just like a Garbage Pail Kid. I’ve never seen one 3D sonogram that didn’t give me nightmares. You’ll see it that way too. But you won’t be able to admit it. You just spent money on this thing and you were told that the lumpy clay-looking monstrosity is what your child will look like. You’ll hold it up proudly and creep people out and force them to lie and say it’s cute too.

  You’ll know that they’re lying and deep down you’ll be afraid of the image, too. You should fear the birth of your child but only because of the crushing weight of being responsible for the life of another human being. Not because you think it’s going to look like Sloth from The Goonies.

  Look, do it if you must but don’t expose others to it. And, if you have done it already, rest assured your son or daughter will look nothing like Stabby Abbie or Puke Luke when it emerges. Not at all. It will be much more gross than that. If I had to give the look a name, I’d go with After Bertha.

  THE BABY CLASS

  Baby class is nothing at all like what we saw on sitcoms. It’s way longer and you learn about way more than how to tell your wife to breathe.

  The baby class is a great place to learn about babies. In fact, you’ll learn so much about how to clean, test water for, rock, hold and feed babies, that you won’t remember one bit of it. A lot of information will be flying at you, but this is the only thing you need to get—how to swaddle a baby. Some call it the baby burrito. I don’t care what you call it, that shit will save your sanity. Pay attention to that and you’ll be okay.

  Aside from swaddling, there are a couple of other things you’ll learn in baby class. First of all, cats will try to murder your baby. It’s true. They asked who had dogs; my wife and I raised our hands. The baby teacher said that was great; dogs are very protective of the baby and may even sleep underneath the crib to stay close and guard them.

  Then she asked who had cats. My wife raised her hand; I pointed to my wife. The baby teacher said those with cats would have to be really careful because cats are attracted to the soft breath of an infant and will climb into the crib and smother them. To death. Until they die. (If you can spin it, this is probably the best time to try for a cat free home—bonus, you won’t have to change the litter anymore.) If you could possibly need any more proof that cats are evil, just look into their eyes. You see that look they have? They’re not looking at you with admiration. They’re wondering what your eyes taste like.

  After they expose the evil nature of cats, the folks at the baby class make you watch a video to prepare you for being in the delivery room. I asked them, since it was supposed to be like in the delivery room, why not turn the TV around and hang up a sheet? The baby teacher smiled. I thought it was because she thought it was funny. It was because she knew something that they don’t tell you. There is no sheet!

  TV and movies have lied to us again. There is not some pristine blue sheet draped between you and the graphic and vicious act that is childbirth. You’ll see everything. Everything!

  So you have to watch the video. First off, no woman has been filmed giving birth since 1974. There’s one video in the world and you’re going to watch it. If it sounds terrible, don’t worry. You probably already watched it in high school. You remember? They showed you the miracle of life and the only question anyone could think to ask was, “Why is it so hairy?” Yep, it’s that same gal. Educating/grossing folks out since public school.

  You’ll leave the class with a touch of knowledge, a free diaper bag and a crap-ton of coupons that you’ll never use. But, you were there and you were supportive and that’s what really matters.

  They’ll tell you to take the Baby Class for Multiples. They’ll tell you it’s different than the regular baby class. The hospital gets paid for both. How different do you think it really is?

  I’ll tell you. It’s not different at all. There are no secret juggling techniques. There are no magic tricks. The don’t even tell you how to craft a medallion that you can split between two identical twins just in case they’re separated and must later find one another to end a family curse.

  Here’s what you learn after wasting a day in the class—you got two babies instead of one. That’s it.

  Make sure you learn how to swaddle and practice not doing anything ever again. Here’s your diploma.

  SHOPPING: YOUR FIRST BABY FIGHT

  When you leave the baby class you’ll get a shopping checklist for newborns.

  Your first fight will occur in Babies R Us, somewhere between the baby proofing section and the diaper rags. (Not the diapers. The diaper rags. Big difference. There is no sound reasoning behind the similar names.)

  This fight will not be your fault. It won’t be hers. And, there is no way around it. You will fight. And, you will most likely leave the store with nothing and be forced to come back and shop again. All you can do is blame the list that you’ll see on the next page.

  We already established that we don’t know jack going into this baby thing. Honestly, did you know that cats were fur-bearing murder machines made of an evil so foul that even their shit carried fetus-killing poison? Of course not. We always assumed, but we never knew for certain. So, how are we really supposed to react to this:

  Turn the page for THE LIST

  THE LIST

  2 pages actually. Sorry.

  That is the shopping list you’re handed. It is so overwhelming that you have little choice but to trust it. After all, no one would try and bilk you when you’re having a baby, right?

  And what kind of parent would you be if you didn’t get the best of every item? Don’t you want the best for your child? Don’t you want them to be safe? Don’t you love them?

  Of course you do. You must need absolutely everything on that list.

  You’ll go through the store and start filling up the cart. You’ll think nothing of it at first, but the part of your brain that wasn’t asleep during math class will eventually start to scream at you. With every new thing you put in the cart, the pit in your stomach/wallet will grow. You’ll start to wonder if you really need all that stuff and even though you know nothing, you’ll begin to figure out what you don’t need. You’ll start to voice your opinion and this is where the argument will start.

  Frustration will build as you try to grapple with the different items, their purpose and their cost. The swearing will probably start when you find out that there are diapers (for butts) and diaper rags (for faces) and you
begin to scream to no one that they shouldn’t be given such similar names. The entire situation will collapse when you start looking at that thing that keeps the toilet seat locked down. You swear louder and storm out together leaving behind a cart full of baby crap, doomed to repeat the process because you’re really going to need that crap.

  Again, it’s no one’s fault. Your wife doesn’t understand this any more than you do. And there is no one involved with the list that doesn’t have a vested interest in you buying everything on it.

  Here’s the real list:

  We had a singleton first. That’s what they call one normal baby. You won’t find this out unless you’re having twins. You’ll think you’re just having a baby, but it’s really a singleton.

  When we discovered my wife was pregnant again, we figured we were set. We still had all the crap from the first baby. We had kept the crib, the swing, the car seat and even a good deal of his clothes. Then we heard the “t” word. And we said the “f” word.

  Twice the babies, twice the crap, right?

  Thankfully, that’s not the case. First off, you don’t need two nurseries. You don’t even really need two cribs to start. Remember these kids have shared close quarters since the day they were. They may even get a little freaked out if they can’t poke each other. As they get older they’ll need their own cribs, but it is not an immediate need.

  The same goes for the pack’n’play—kind of a play pen mixed with a portable crib.