OhBoy!GYN

It was time to set the appointment.

The wife made the call to the doctor’s office that resulted in the type of interrogation one gets anytime they try and do anything medical related. After asking her questions that I don’t think anybody really wants to know the answer to came this little exchange:

Nurse: Are you married?

Wife: Yes.

Nurse: Is your husband the father?

Wife (taken aback): Yes…

Despite this test of morals, the nurse in subsequent questions kept referring to me as “the child’s father.”  I feel extremely confident in saying that this is the closest either of us will ever get to being on Springer.

When we get to the appointment the wife is handed a stack of paperwork to fill out, including a medical history sheet asking the exact same questions posed to her over the phone a few days previous.

After completing the pile of “sign here” “initial here” “this is your copy” “this form is just to let you know…” we get called back. Well, technically, just she gets called back. I follow because I’m a rebel like that. The nurse sits us down and proceeds to ask the same questions a third time.

After the nurse leaves and we wait awkwardly, the doctor arrives.

Pictured: The Doctor Not Pictured: The Doctor we Actually Saw

Fortunately for the Wife, the first thing he asked was how her morning sickness was. As mentioned previously, it had not been going well. The doctor immediately prescribed some anti-nausea meds and for at least a brief moment everything felt right with the world.

At this point in our narrative, I would like to pause and ask a very serious, very important question: why do men become this kind of doctor? I really don’t know. I mean, on one hand, babies are super cute. That’s just a science fact. But most of the time the doctor isn’t looking at a baby. I honestly wonder if there’s a bit of leftover frat boy mentality from medical school. I think this is just one of those unsolvable mysteries, like who killed Kennedy, who is “You’re So Vain” about, or why One Direction is allowed to put out "music."

After the doctor did his thing, we got to go in and have an ultrasound. I watched on the monitor and saw basically what the TV looks like when the cable goes out. The ultrasound tech lady pointed out a small little protuberance at the bottom of the screen. That little nugget was our baby. And even though it pretty much looked like a peanut, I could definitely tell it took more after its father. 

You can definitely see the resemblance.

After we finished gushing, the Wife had to get blood drawn. Here’s the deal, me and needles do not get along. Even just writing this now is making me start to hyperventilate and get super tense and sick to my stomach. So fortunately, I was not the one get poked, but I still had to be there. I plopped down in the corner as far away from the action as possible. The nurse tried to make small talk, but I just buried my head in an old issue of People magazine. And you know what? I made it without puking or passing out. I deserve a cookie or something. Oh, the Wife did just fine. Needles don’t bother her. Oh and by the way, did you know that Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston are breaking up?