My day began at 2 a.m. I surely hope it will end early too.
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| Jen checks out the equipment. | The ultrasound tech does her stuff. | |
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| Side view of our second child. | A little hand makes a little fist. | |
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| Little feet (seen from below). | And now we know: it's a boy. |
I slept for most of Friday. Jen and mom were kind enough to keep things in order enough for me to try and sleep for much of the weekend as well. I returned to work on Monday, though, despite feeling like I was only running at 80 percent. And I felt worse on Tuesday, coughing and sniffling my way through meetings and projects and staggering out at 5 p.m. sharp.
Desperate for relief, I sucked down an extra large dose of some off-brand NyQuil™ syrup after dinner. By the time I got in the shower I felt like I was moving in slow motion. I was unconscious and in a very deep, very strange-dream heavy sleep by 7 p.m.
Well. I found myself sitting up in bed, wide awake, at 2 a.m. So I wandered out of the bedroom (as Katie simultaneously wandered in), grabbed a Gatorade, and sat at the computer, where I've been ever since. The sun's coming up soon. I feel pretty good, actually, but I'm sure that'll change by lunchtime when everything catches up with me again.
Fortunately, I'm not going in to work today. But that's because it's Wednesday and I'm still in "burn vacation time" mode. And I'm not staying home and sleeping.
Katie has to go back to the dentist today for the second half of her oral overhaul. And suffice it to say she's not quite as excited about seeing Dr. Moriguchi this time.
How did it go last week? It was no picnic, but overall, it went well. Much better than expected. Katie was unhappy, to be sure, but she was still cooperative, and — more notably — right out of the office she wanted to (and did) eat a cheeseburger from McDonald's, and after a nap, she was acting as if it was any other day. She went right back to school on Thursday, and simply had a new story to tell.
Thank the gods for the incredible resiliency of youth.
She no longer smiles when you mention the dentist, of course, but she also knows her teeth were "fixed," and will proudly show off her metal molar caps to anyone who asks. "No more sugarbugs," she chirps, proudly.
Today's scheduled dental work is less extensive than what was done last week, so I hope that it again ends up a mere speed-bump in an otherwise good day. Katie won't be skipping up the hall to the dentist office, I know. But I'm hoping, desperately, that we were indeed successful in conveying the "it's for your own good" thing. She knows what to expect now, that's for sure.
That same day, Jen and I went down to Kapi`olani Medical Center for the ultrasound. (Katie even came with us, and of all things she was disappointed that she wasn't the patient.) Now, either Kapi`olani schedules all its ultrasounds on the same days, or Jen is indeed in the middle of a May-June baby boom, because the waiting room was filled with bulging women. While we waited, we filled out forms, flipped through magazines, and whispered comments about the seemingly universal grouchiness of all five women behind the reception counter.
Eventually Jen's name was called, Katie cheered, and we all filed into a dark room. The technician — I think her name was Linda — shared the sour countenance as her colleagues out front, but to her credit she knew what she was doing. She got all the angles and measurements she needed, and (briefly) answered any questions we came up with. Except, actually, The Question, to which she replied, "The doctor will find that out for you."
Sure enough, when Linda walked out, Dr. Silva walked in, and basically repeated the ultrasound tour of our baby — just more slowly, and with much appreciated commentary. (Perhaps Linda was frustrated because she knew the doctor would re-do everything anyway.) Dr. Silva had a noticeably more polished, mom-centric bedside manner. And she was more than happy to answer The Question.
"It's a boy," she said without hesitation, then showed us how she knew.
Now, I don't know if it was because the technology improved in the last three years, or because Dr. Silva handled the probe better, but compared to when we got Katie's ultrasounds — when I felt like I was looking at Rorschach inkblots — this time I had no problem figuring out what I was seeing on the screen, be it a hand, foot, leg, or ... other. There was no doubt about it, we were going to have a son.
So, we no longer had to continue the debate over a girl's name — Elizabeth versus Lauren — and now only had to worry about our families' dislike of our agreed-upon boy's name: Iain.
Well... We'll also have to build an entirely new kids wardrobe. (Unless Iain demonstrates an early personal preference for pink.)
And... I'm going to have to get used to the idea of raising a male child.
Don't get me wrong. I know I've often said I wanted a family with four daughters, and I've even joked that any son born would just be eaten. But I would not, could not, love a son any less than I love a daughter. And as far as dry demographics is concerned, I've always seen the appeal of "one of each." (Which would also mean having only two kids, which has its appeal at times as well.)
But the reason I've been so shameless about wanting a girl is, simply, because having a son intimidates me.
Being Katie's dad just feels natural to me. The same way I always thought it would feel, before I had kids, to raise a daughter. By contrast, I've always suspected, always feared, that I just wouldn't how to raise a son.
I'm sure psychologists would have a lot to say about statements like that. I'm sure the fact that my parents are divorced (and the fact that I was mostly raised by my mother) would factor heavily in their theories. And I'm sure there's something to all that, because I can't otherwise rationally explain it. I can say for certain that it's not some Freudian, machismo, jealousy thing, though. It's the opposite. It's insecurity.
I think my friends and enemies would both agree that I'm not much of a man. Or at least, I like to think so. It's just that when I think of sons and boys I think of sports and competition and aggression other "guy stuff" and the fact of the matter is, I failed all those courses growing up. I was a sissy. And while I think sissies can still grow up to be happy people, I'd rather not start my son on the early path to sissiness if I don't have to. I'd like him to have the choice between jock and nerd, or somewhere in between. But I'm afraid the odds of becoming a race car driver or tennis champion are pretty slim under my parenting.
And the thing is, if you're a loser parent and you cheat your daughter out of some important nugget of wisdom, she just goes to a shrink, grows up, and never returns your calls. When your son realizes you suck, he flunks out of school, joins a punk band, and goes on a shooting rampage or something.
Yes, I know this is all hypocritical, because I have no problem saying I don't want Katie to be a "girly girl," that I hope she is phyisical as well as intellectual, and that she could kick some guy's ass someday if she had to... but that's how it is everywhere, isn't it? Parents are lining up to give their daughters non-traditional, male-dominated experiences and opportunities. But you're not going to find many books on raising an artistic, sensitive son. At best you've got little league or martial arts. At worst you've got the WWF.
I know, I know. I'll just do my absolute best. It'll all come to me naturally. I'll have to pretend to like ninja turtles, just like I have to pretend to like playing with dolls. What matters is that they're happy, not that they're "normal." Right?
I better start watching ESPN Sportscenter. Just in case.
And now everyone's awake and ready to start their day.
Strangely, now I feel like I could use a nap.
Obviously, I still haven't gotten a firm grip on this new year. Can we start over?
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