.plan

I had a dream the other day. It included a child, more specifically my future child, at about 2 or 3 years of age. It was a quick glimpse of the future, the child and I were together and, if I’m not mistaken, on the front step of a house (I’ll guess my own). The biggest thing I remember is looking at his or her little shoes. At that moment, I awoke and thought, “Oh my God. We’re going to have a child”.

It’s not like I didn’t know. I’ve mentioned it a couple of times here and these days, more often than not, the concept twists around in my brain. However, it is starting to settle in. Our recent OB visit went well. Jenn’s belly is getting a bit harder and bit larger every week and with it, reality is beginning to take hold. For the record, her cute little belly is a sexy little thing.

After all, you only get a couple major events in your life. Graduation, marriage, and children are easily the biggest three that I can think of and, now, the last of those is just around the corner. It will change everything.

I’m still coming to grips with the idea of the wife and I being trusted with such a tiny, precious life. Isn’t there a test we need to take? Ah, yes, the answer is A, isn’t it, no B? Where are our references? The dog and the cat may vouch for us, but it isn’t like they are anxious to voice their opinion. I’d like to see your qualifications, sir.

What a challenge ahead. It’s not a stretch to say that his or her first little steps in those little shoes will be a huge leap in both my life and that of my wife. I only need to temper my anxiety with my impatience. I can’t wait. I just can’t wait.

You know, there is something about spending some time pondering the
location of poop, especially when that poop doesn’t actually exist yet.
However, that is just what my wife and I have been doing on and off for the past
couple of days.

See, we have a bit of a quandry. It involves our cat, our upcoming

bundle of joy, and, well, the cat’s pooper.

At the moment, the cat’s little box of presents rests in what Jenn and I
affectionately call the baby’s room. Why do we call it that? There are two reasons.
First, on our first visit to the house, the little old lady who owned it
had a beautiful crib in it as well as (if I remember correctly) a rocking
chair and other assorted baby furniture. Given the fact that we had baby on the
brain even then (2 1/2 years ago), I can’t help but think that the room
subconsiously factored into our eventual buying decision. Second, because
of reason one, we had always earmarked the room for our first child. After
all, I quickly stole the other (and larger) bedroom for my computer
equipment.

Why would we place the cat’s little sand dune into a room slated for our first
offspring? It was mostly out of convenience. The wife and I haven’t used the room
for much of anything since we moved in. My mom gave me my old bed and the
soon to be baby’s room was transformed into a guest room, a room that was
rarely, if ever, used. That still doesn’t quite explain it. After all, there
were other rooms available. What about the laundry room in the basement? Enter
the dog. Our cuddly, but hyperactive, little (or not so little) mutt. He can
also be labeled the cat’s worst nightmare.

Believe it or not, the cat doesn’t really like the dog (unless that hissing
noise she makes is a sign of affection). The dog needed a home for his crate
and, given its size, it was an easy decision to put it in the laundry room. The
cat quickly, and in no uncertain terms, let us know that she would rarely visit
that room again. The wife and I, being good, honest, poo-fearing people, promptly
moved the box upstairs to its current resting place.

Now the smelly box has to move but where to? The computer room is a good candidate.
It actually housed the box for a while before. However, the smell of urine while
I type just doesn’t quite agree with me (Hmm, what about the closet in the computer
room?). Our bedroom, the whole first floor, and the living room are out for
obvious reasons (too well visited, too visible). The laundry room may be
reinstated. It is still the most desirable area and we are crating the dog less and
less every day. The problem is that we are scared to make the transition. We
don’t want to give the cat a reason to make a new sandbox of her own.

We may try a gradual transition, placing the box closer and closer to its desired
location until the kitty submits to our will. I may consider placing it on the roof.
In any case, we could use your prayers. Here’s hoping that my next present is
placed in wrapping paper, not presented to me on my pillow.

Wow! That’s all I can say is wow. After over two and a half years of trying,
we finally did it. Jenn is pregnant. Pregnant I tell you (whoever you is).
All the surgeries, all the waiting, all the emotions, and, finally, bam.
I still can’t believe it. Heck, I may not believe it until the kid is 10.

What a rollercoaster this last week has been. It’s been all about our
pending bundle of joy. We’ve been letting this new found knowledge settle
in (no, it hasn’t), sharing this bit of knowledge with those who we love and
trust (to Jenn’s family – do we have a surprise for you), and learning all about
the road ahead.

Shew and what a road it will be. Twists and turns, ups and downs, worries and joys.
I’m as happy as I am nervous, as scared as I am excited.

Now come the tests. The first, an initial visit with the fertility doctor, went
by just this Friday. The relief we felt when an actual doctor confirmed the
pregnancy can only be imagined and guess what? We still don’t really believe it.
The second, an initial sonogram, comes up just next week. This one will check to
make sure the baby isn’t in the tube but in the uterus where it should be.
We hit the OB doctor in a couple of weeks, she has several rounds of blood
tests, and then … well and then we’ll take it one step at a time. The first three months
are the most risky and you better believe we are nervous.

And there is more to come. Much more. Morning sickness, emotional turmoil,
painting, shopping for baby clothes, shopping for baby toys,
shopping for clothes for her, building baby furniture, visiting the doctor,
tests upon tests, the baby shower, and tons of stuff I left out.

But you know what? We’ve been waiting for this for more than two years. Strap me in.
Put down the lap bar. Let’s go.