The Beginning

We found out that we would be having a baby right after returning from a vacation to Oregon. My wife had been suspecting, but it wasn't until we got back home that she could take the pregnancy test and know for sure. So she went in the bathroom and peed on the stick. She came out and showed me the stick which bore the double line of fertility. We hugged and celebrated and then she headed for the trash can. She wanted to throw away the Symbol of Conception! I chased after her:

“What are you doing?”

 “I peed on this! I’m throwing it away,” she responds in disgust (side note: My wife is a germaphobe. I feel like this could be a good bit of foreshadowing for later when we get to things like changing diapers and dealing with spit up).

“You can’t throw it away! That’s an important relic!”

“No! I peed on it! We are not keeping something I urinated on!”

“But what are we supposed to show the baby later on?”

“Not something I peed on!”

She at least let me take a picture. She would not, however, let me post the picture here.

Pictured: A stick my wife did not pee on. Not Pictured: The stick my wife actually did pee on.

Then it began to hit me. It went a little like this:

It was rather late, so we crawled into bed. As I lay there trying to fall asleep, the paranoia struck. Every possible concern one could have concerning a new baby came flooding into my mind: What if it’s a boy? What if it’s a girl? What if it’s both? What are the odds of it coming out a different race? What if there’s more than one in there? What if, heaven forbid, it wants to play sports? The wife reassured me that the odds of two white people giving birth to an Asian are incredibly low and eventually I fell asleep.