When I was a kid, we had this really horrible horse-racing game on one of the computers. You know, mid-90’s freeware horrible. And after every 10 second race that completely failed to reproduce any of the excitement of betting on horse races, a movie announcer voice would say, “The results are official” as the results posted on the screen. I hadn’t thought about that game in at least a decade.
This last Tuesday was a momentous day for the wife and I. We had done a home pregnancy test the previous week and gotten the H.P.T. equivalent of the 8-ball’s “Reply hazy, try again.“. So Tuesday morning, Ami headed over to a local lab, gave a blood sample, and got a ticket to redeem for the results.
At 5 p.m., I was there with the ticket. It was all very quick – I handed her the ticket, she handed me an envelope and we were done. Now came the long part: walking to my wife’s work to open the envelope with her. I had the results in my hand. I could just take a peek…?
Somehow I managed to make it to the restaurant without peeking. She joined me at a table, and we opened it. At first glance, it was a bit difficult to read (hey, it was in a foreign language, ok?). The first word that jumped out at me was NEGATIVE. Then I realized that the rest of that sentence indicated that the results could be interpreted as negative, for a woman Ami’s age, if the hormone levels were less than 50 units. Ok, so let’s find the hormone levels…
…in the 500’s…
We’re pregnant. Ami told everyone in earshot – several of the employees she manages, her co-managers, her boss, and her boss’ boss. Ten minutes later her employees started asking her why her husband was just sitting there still, at the table, staring blankly.
Since then, we’ve made several announcements, both public and private. Strangely, the announcements make me a tiny bit sad. Not because we’re having a baby. Nothing sad about that. But because if I was home, in Denver, there’d be someone to slap me on the back, high-five me, hug me – here, all I get to do is tell people over the phone since I have maybe one actual friend so far. Just not the same effect. No one has high-fived me, no one has slapped me on the back. I’ve gotten a few handshakes, but most of them were about as celebratory as a business handshake.
I don’t really know how to explain – I just felt like I wanted a little more whooping and hollering, huge grins and laughter. Oh well. Not that important.
From the paperwork we got, we’re about three weeks along. It’s not the best time in our lives for it – I just got fired and Ami’s trying to figure out how to go back to school. But I’ve concluded that if we wait until we feel ready, if we wait for a “good time”, we’re never going to have a baby.
We hadn’t really decided officially either way about having one, but there was sort of an unofficial attitude, at least for a couple of weeks, that if it happens, it happens. That’s all it took. First go. Boom. Baby.
So now it’s time for me to drag myself out of my little funk that I’ve been in since getting fired, find a job, get some other things going, just generally time to man up.
And, in the words of the Joker, “Here… we… go!“