Tales from the 2nd Timester: Part II

As continued from Part I

The second trimester is by far the best trimester. Granted, there are only three to choose from so if the first trimester is reading this blog, don’t be too down on yourself.

Your wife has hopefully kissed morning sickness goodbye, the mass confusion and denial has receded to a slow trickle of anxiety, and now that you’re closer to the due date, you get to find out the sex of your baby.

A bonus of finding out is being able to finally quiet your friends, who have been telling you the sex of your baby for the last three months – as if they are Nostradamus baby prognosticators.

There was always some sort of outlandish explanation as to how they came to their unwavering hypothesis, such as how the pregnancy belly had formed, how much morning sickness was occurring or what type of bird their cat had left on the doorstep that morning.

“How do you know it will be a girl?” I’d inquisitively ask.

“Four of my friends are having boys so this one’s going to be a girl,” they’d respond.

Oh, well, that makes perfect sense.

“What day of the week did you guys conceive?” they’d ask looking to ensure validity to their prediction.

“I can assure you with 14% certainty that we conceived on a Tuesday. Does that mean Barbies and  training bras in my future?” I’d reply.

The more ridiculous the theories were the more I believed them.  In my defense, they were explained with steadfast conviction and backed up with cutting-edge discoveries of modern science.

“My Aunt has three cats, therefore, you’re going to have a girl.”

“Of course. That’s brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Why did I believe them?

Because I’m stupid. That’s why.

I was about as dumb as a box of bachelor pad rocks when it came to pregnancy information so I basically believed everything I heard. If someone told me the baby was male, female, or the size of an adolescent Cornish game hen I would have believed them.

So, wait, is a Cornish game hen bigger than a bread box?

Sidenote: I actually did a google search for the dumbest animal before settling in on bachelor rocks and these were the posts on a bulletin board: domestic turkey, possum, Britney Spears, humans, Rush Limbaugh, and my favorite: my ex. Also a quote that pertains to this blog – “My husband says cats, but he is an idiot.” (I’ve got to find this lady for a guest  blog post, lots of bitterness that needs to be put down on paper!)

Once we went to the doctor and were told it was a boy, disproving the aforementioned theories, I was about as excited as Anthony Weiner at a pants-optional cell phone camera convention.

I went back out into the wild equipped with this new information ready to put the prognosticators in their place. I subtly provoked, and like I expected, they took the bait.

“Do you know what you’re having because I can totally determine the sex of your baby.”

“Really?  How do you do that?” I eagerly respond as if they’re about to disclose the greatest secret  of mankind, like revealing the three wise men weren’t so wise after all.

Sidenote: This photo was found in the attic of a well known baby prognosticator in Benecia, California in May 2005

“Well if you just give me your wife’s birthday, your uncle’s next-door neighbor’s cat’s name, and your favorite type of cheesecake, I’ll be able to determine with extreme accuracy your baby’s sex.”

An imaginary baby abacus emerges.

“Ok let me do some quick calculating… carry the one, add the… You’re definitely having a girl.”

“We’re having a boy.”

“Right, that was my next guess.”

By this point in the pregnancy your friends have also told you every horror story that happened to their cousin’s friend who was experiencing the same symptoms. They never end well.

These tales of demise never go like this:

“I’ve got something really important to tell you. You remember Jim and Betsy? Well, she was noticing the same pains, and they had the baby and he is amazing. He can play Chopsticks on the piano with his toes, paint an exact replica of the Mona Lisa, and lift palates of stone right up over his head. He actually birthed himself while Betsy was asleep. When they awoke in the morning there he was pouring himself a bowl of Frosted Flakes.”

Nope… its always about some ghastly complication where the baby was birthed and then actually dove back in when the doctor turned around for a sip of Yoo-hoo and had to be delivered again. Or  the child came out a scarecrow that actually attracts, not detracts birds and now they have a family of crows living in their den.

“I mean, I think it would be best if we talked to our doctor about these symptoms before coming to a final conclusion right?” I’d ask. “Or should I start building a bird bath and aviary in the extra bedroom now?”

I’ve heard of Italians taking advice from their shoe shine guy as if the diagnosis came directly out of the New England Journal of Medicine, but even they wouldn’t dare accept baby advice from someone who knows the delivering mother of a scarecrow baby.

Once your baby hits a stage in the womb when he or she looks more like a human and less like a turkey leg rolled up into an oval, your pockets begin to empty.  All of a sudden there are more worthless items to buy than at a city of Detroit lawn sale.

There are magnets, glass boxes, pictures, pencils, shirts, hats, and all types of trinkets to purchase all with 3-D, or 4-D imagery of your little one. For $40 you can even send a text message to your baby.

They even have 5-D imagery.

5-D imagery?

Does the human body even have the capability to see 5-D imagery, like how only dogs can hear certain high pitched sounds? Wouldn’t 5-D mean you’re literally seeing right through to the other side?

“Doctor we can’t see anything.”

“Well folks, our technology is so good now we can actually see right through the baby, which hence means, we uh…are looking at the baby now.  You see that blank space of nothing? Well, that’ll be $72.”

“For another $86 you can have 6-D which is when you can take your baby out of the womb for the day and watch football as long as you return him by midnight. Whatta ya say?”

When we found out we were having a boy, my wife shockingly exclaimed, “Oh my god, we’re going to have a penis!”

“We’re not just having a penis – we actually get whole baby nowadays,” I responded.

“Yeah but we’ll have to deal with a penis,” she retorted.

“It sounds very transaction-like,” I replied thinking is that what you’ve been doing this whole time we’ve been together? “Dealing” with a penis? As if a penis is your upstairs neighbor who does jazzercise while blasting death metal every morning at 6am.

So what are we going to name him she asks?

I like {insert any name Steve came up with here}.

{re-insert name here}?! Are you kidding me? That’s terrible…

Coming up with a baby name is not easy and six out of seven drinkers who were sober enough to remember their own first name agree that a cold beer is the best way to get the creative juices flowing.

If you’re reading for the first time and wondering why beer is involved in a dad blog, it’s simple. You get some baby info, then some beer. This is part of every entry. Something for everyone.

Whether you’re a dad still hitting the town attempting to relive old glories after mom and baby are asleep (your days are numbered), sneaking a cold one in your side yard while taking out the trash, or just enjoying a pint or two within the safe confines of your own home, a beer takes the parenting edge off.  And there you have it.

So what’s in Steve’s fridge at the moment?

Guinness Black Lager

Brewed by: Guinness Brewery Dublin, Ireland

Style:  Euro Lager

ABV:  4.5%

This younger sister of the iconic Irish dry stout is a refreshing beer, but is never going to be as pretty as her older sister. It’s nice, but it’s not sexy. If you drink enough of them, however, you’d take either one. (Wait is he still talking about beer or sisters? I don’t feel comfortable reading anymore).

A classic Guinness stout is known for its creamy composition and roasted barley flavor. It has become one of the most successful beers produced worldwide. Black Lager lacks creaminess, but still has that classic Guinness flavor; it just feels weird. It sort of feels like you’re getting a prostate exam from your doctor but he failed to ask how your weekend was or buy you a drink first. He just slaps on a rubber glove and gets right to it.

If you’re not a big fan of the stout then actually you should give this a try because the experience won’t be ruined for you. This is essentially a classic Guinness gone light. Despite my Irish roots I don’t drink the black stuff too often so luckily I didn’t leave the pub feeling like I was inappropriately touched by my doctor.

Despite this write-up being about inappropriate analogies, I do really like this beer.  I just don’t know if it will be a choice for legit Guinness drinkers.  They’ll probably feel like they’re cheating on the hot sister with the uglier, lighter sister. And in this specific case… lighter is bad.

It’s great for a warm day and you can still somewhat gain acceptance from your Irish pals. With very few warm days in Ireland, one can assume this new concoction is an attempt to capture the U.S. market.

Why didn’t this beer come out sooner? The Guinness Brewery was started in 1759 and you’re telling me the idea never occurred to anyone to make a lighter version of the dark stuff? Well if you’ve ever tried to invent anything while intoxicated most of the day, you can certainly understand.

Fun Fact: Arthur Guinness started this beer at St. James’s Gate in Dublin Ireland. It is brewed in almost 60 countries and available in over 100. Guinness ran an advertising campaign in the 1920’s stating that this tasty treat was actually good for your health and even was promoted as healthy for pregnant women.

Now that’s some good marketing!