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Wed, Nov 21, 2001 11:33 PM
29 weeks B.C.

We moved into our new house today!

So many emotions…let me try to catch one: nervousness. This is a serious house – it’s huge, and it requires a labor of love to keep it sound. Am I up to it? Can we afford it? Are we locked into it? But, amidst my panic, it also feels good – what a house! What a great place to have for you when you arrive. I long to fill these rooms with your smile, toys and fingerprints.

Saw your cousin Benji tonight…they’re in town for Thanksgiving. We’ll have to see him more often – we never have enough time to really get to know him, and I miss my sister. We all went out for dinner tonight – it’s like a big family, a calming, wonderful feeling that we haven’t had all that often before.

Anyway, I just felt the need to say I love you, even though you’re not even in the world yet.

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Dimple. M: it was good

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Mon, Nov 12, 2001 11:32 PM
30 weeks B.C.

Kind of a big night for your old Dad, because, well, I’m getting old. Tomorrow’s my 31st birthday.

(By the way, I apologize for the “your old Dad” comment, as it immediately gives me the chills as I read it. Why? Because it reminds me of the way older generation, Leave-It-To-Beaver Dads always refer to things, usually in some sort of self-deprecating, pity-me sort of way. “Maybe you can sacrifice just this once for ‘your old Dad’.” “Let’s see if you can keep up with ‘your old Dad’.” I’m not sure how I’ll avoid it, and whether it’s the “your” or the “old” that’s the culprit, but I promise I’ll try. No guilt trips here.)

I always get a bit nostalgic and sad around birthday times…birthdays seem to indicate that time is actually passing, that I am getting older, and a sense of urgency overcomes me to do something radical to really “live”. I get that urge often, and I hope I’ve still got it by the time you’re old enough to do it with me…I can be a freak. I like to do stupid things, pointless things…I’m inherently restless. Although lately, I find myself slowing down, and the 2AM nights or the nights at clubs are replaced by dinner or TV, I still can act completely pointless, and I promise you’ll see that side often.

I promised myself something a long time ago, and it was really important to me. The promise was that I would be cool and hip to whatever you’re going to be into whenever you’re into it. Especially around those early-mid teen years, I’d be listening to the same bands you are, I’d know the brands and TV shows and movies you’re into, and I’d generally not use terms that previous generations dated themselves with “dude, that’s groovy!”. And, for a while, I think I was there. I was in the music business, I knew most of the bands in the Top 10, and I kept my ear to the street. But lately, I’m slacking a bit. Candidly, I don’t know much about rap – I can’t even name a Puff Daddy song – and I’m finding myself tuning into NPR as much as KROQ these days. Far more concerning, I’m finding that loud noise actually irritates me, and I subconsciously turn down the radio. At a club, I’m the first to look for a seat, and I find that it’s just easier to go see jazz or acoustic guitar than some unknown loud band.

Wow, that was inspirational, huh? Bet you can’t wait to hang out with ‘your old Dad’!

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Tue, Nov 6, 2001 11:29 PM
31 weeks B.C.

You really should clean your room. I mean, it’s just a mess. There’s that big yolk sac just lying around, you could use some wallpaper and black is, well, so 1987!

We saw you today.

I call this section “Our First Visit To The Gynocologist’s Office, Or, What’s a Guy Doing In Stirrups?”

Secretly, every guy is intrigued by the idea of a gynecologist’s office. I mean, guys are intrigued by anything that focuses on a woman’s parts, as, well, that’s pretty much what guys are focused on too. I felt this odd camaraderie with these professionals who shared my interests and understood men so well.

As we entered the waiting room, I felt that odd sensation that you get when you accidentally walk into the other sex’s bathroom in a restaurant. One part of me was completely intrigued by this mysterious place – images crept to mind of forbidden kingdoms and Westerner sailors arriving on Eastern shores - and yet another part of me felt danger, as if I was entering some Gloria Steinhem, lesbian power stronghold. Surrounded by magazines like Fit Pregnancy and pamphlets entitled What You Should Know About Your Breasts, I simply knew that I was way out of my element. I was surrounded by young women, old women, and a couple of babies – all united by the common bond of the pooch – but I didn’t have one. Chona was late, so I kept to myself in this crowded room. I feared talking as I felt I would inevitably offend (“So what brings you here?”). I feared grabbing something to read as I knew it would also offend (“Look at that creepy man reading the ‘Signs of PMS’ pamphlet”). So I stared at my shoes and thought about baseball.

Then I saw the equipment.

Chona arrived, they called our name, we were walking back to the doctor’s office, taking the short cut through the lab, when I saw it. Shiny, sterile, looking as if it was about to talk to me, it seemed to be begging me to touch it. It was that cold metal duck-lipped “thing” (I still don’t know what it’s called) that I’d heard in so many female doctor horror stories, and there it was – like a discarded murder weapon. I had purposely avoided doing the math to figure out exactly what it’s role was, and now it was taunting me like a child’s toy. And then, amidst all those thoughts, I realized that it really did look like a duck. How odd. Quack!

I was curiously fascinated by the idea that I was surrounded by equipment, laboratories and trained specialists, all of whom spent their time and effort on the “pooch”. I always considered the pooch a mystery, and here was an entire university dedicated to the study of it. There were pictures on the walls, test tubes, charts, beakers – wow. I tried to picture the male equivalent – an office with medical-looking rulers, sterile vacuum pumps, a pile of porno mags – nah, it just didn’t compute. This is a total chick thing.

The doctor, effectively the captain of your nine-month flight, seems to be great. Your Grandma recommended her, and she knows the drill. We asked her a bunch of questions, and she gave us the scoop – apparently, we’re just “normal”. While in regular life I’d be insulted, in her office being normal was just fine. It sounds like some people freak out about stuff, and she seemed to be going out of her way to tell us that calling her because you stubbed your toe was OK, but not really necessary.

Then we went into the ultrasound room. Being the ever-dutiful husband, I was determined to be there for the whole exam. The ultrasound room was the perfect setup – I sat next to Chona after she put on that gown, she got up on the table with the stirrups, and before I knew it, we were looking at you! A fuzzy, gray picture that I could watch all day…there you were, curled up just like the cats do when it’s cold. I could actually feel you growing – it was as if all of your energy was dedicated to making new cells and building out your organs and stuff. A faint pulsing line indicated your heart – your heart! Not bad for 8 weeks! I bet all the other 8 week olds barely have the pulse! (Witness the first of many, many comparisions of “our child” versus “other children”, which will last well into your late adulthood). There was something about the heart that made it all come together. A blur of greys, black spots and white lines…you may as well have been on the moon, but we would have waved and pointed at the screen all day.

We even saw which ovary was responsible for the crime. How bizarre! If you’re right handed, you’ll know why.

So then we retreated to the exam room for the “internal exam”. Lesson #1 for men in OBGYN offices – the word “internal” is not to be taken lightly. “Internal” means stirrups, holding your wife’s hand, figuring out where to look / not look, and a completely helpless feeling that you are not in control. The spectator’s chair in this room was right behind where the doctor was to sit – it was like I was going to be the umpire, squatting behind the catcher as we peered in – but fortunately, the good doctor told me to take the “support position” next to Chona’s head. Support position = good. We like the support position. Stroke wife’s head, whisper nice thoughts, support. That I can do.

There’s a skill that OB/GYN’s have that I’d like to work on…it’s that innocent chit-chat that they seem to be able to conduct as they do the most invasive and complicated of procedures. Here we are talking about the weather, travel, and traffic on the Westside as she’s doing all that crazy stuff down there! Chona, to her credit, kept up the gossip – I was too overwhelmed to do anything but grunt.

And then, it was over. One Polaroid-sized grainy picture of your cute butt, some pre-natal vitamins, and we’re off for a burger. You’re lookin’ good, kid. I hear you’ll be in town on June 16, 2002. Can’t wait to meet you.

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Sat, Nov 3, 2001 11:28 PM
31 weeks B.C.

It’s me. Back again. A bit frustrated, to be honest. See, your Mom and I are pretty darn excited about your expected entry into our lives, but you’re still a secret to almost everyone but us…and we’re really no good at keeping secrets. Only both sets of your grandparents and Erin know. My Mom was pretty excited – we came into their room late at night, and grabbed a big inflatable workout ball that they keep in their room, and I did my pregnant Chona impression. Only took ‘em about 10 seconds, even though they were a bit groggy.

Chona’s parents reacted in a much more subdued way…your Grandad is a very nice man, but he’s shy and isn’t one to show his feelings publicly. Still, I think they’re pretty excited too. Hopefully you’ll add some much needed height to the Bagsik gene pool (heh heh).

Who’s Erin, you ask? Erin is the one friend that Chona let the secret slip to…so far. Think of it this way – Erin’s your first friend! Well, yeah, OK, she’s your only friend now too, but hey, she’s a good one to have. She’s very hip, trendy New York type of chick – go to the video store and rent an old TV show called “Sex and the City” and you’ll pretty much see what Erin’s all about. She cracks us up.

Mom’s still not feeling great, but it comes and goes. She’s just sleeping a bunch, but honestly, that’s not all that different from normal either. Are you ready for your big debut? Monday morning, we get to peek into your little apartment and see how you’ve decorated the place (“gee…I love what you’ve done with the placenta!”). Feel free to wave, but if you’re not feeling up to it, a heartbeat will do.

Times are kinda strange out here in the non-embryo world. In your history books, you’ll read about the World Trade Center bombing – that was about 2 months ago, just before you came around. Since then, people have been a lot nicer, which is good, and there’s more American flags flying around than I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Amidst tragedy, there always seems to be a silver lining, and in this one it’s a newfound sense of community that I hadn’t ever seen before.

We’re also building a house, in an area called Brentwood. It’s a big house, and it’s calling us to fill it up with you and some brothers or sisters. I think you’ll like it.

Lastly, I’m working for an Internet company called Yahoo. I’ll bet it won’t be around when you’re old enough to read this, but it was a pretty big deal for a while. Your Dad enjoyed working there, but now I spend more time than I should thinking about the next thing I’d like to do, and how to balance my passion for work with our family.

It’s weird to become a Dad and take on the responsibilities. Good, but weird.

Oh, last but not least…we’re starting to think of names for you. Leading the pack is India, but that’s really only for a girl. Chona has expressed her interest in any name with a Z in it. Unfortunately, Zed is our cat’s name, so it’s Zachary or, well, um, I dunno what. Stay tuned!

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