Now that it is over….

 Didnt see that C section coming.  I had such a great start to the day and was in the best of moods…this was going to be a great day.

Then I found myself looking into the eyes of my anesthisiologist, in an operating room about to have major surgery.

Recovery was painful, but with enough pain medication, I found out that you look at life a whole lot differantly.

I couldnt wait to hold baby Cole in my arms, to see his face, to meet the one who had grown with me for the last 9 months…..

He was so precious that I was almost sorry for all of the nasty ” stop kicking me” comments.

I got to play the “Mommy” role for 2 whole days and it felt great…..this is what I had wanted, and I knew the parents where so happy and couldnt wait to take him home.

I have to give my husband all the kudos in the world for being so great, so understanding.  He has taken care of not only me and was by myside the whole way through but to add house and home on top of it…is just amazing to me.


Familys of surrogates, take care of the husband too. They work just as hard and are probably looked over for all of thier support, errand running, emotional support and general keeping everything together all the while watching thier wives go through pain and agony.

I can never repay my husband for what he has gone through with me but I will have the rest of my life to keep trying. 

In my last post — a message to the child-to-be — I asked….

No, urged him… Strongly urged.

No, that’s not right. I flat out DEMANDED that he get the hell out of Dodge. Or whatever we’re calling Michelle’s belly these days.

It had no effect. The round mound remains.

And as the days go by, my eternally cheerful, glass-half-full, happy go lucky Michelle has transformed into… Well, I think the picture below spells it out:

So I’m appealing to my readers — both of you — for ideas. How do we move things along?

One of my co-workers suggested some good spicy Pineapple salsa.

I thought maybe placing a speaker on her stomach and blasting some Wayne Newton songs might encourage him to leave.

I’m also guessing that going horseback riding is out of the question. (Poor horse).

Ideas, anyone?

Dear Large Rib Kicking Being Inside Of My Wife,

Look kid: don’t take this personally but: It’s 37 weeks now, so……..

Get. Out.

It’s all over. Finished.

Scram! Hit the road! Take a hike (crawl)!

You’re done, son. Cooked. Baked. Ripe.

The checkered flag is waving. The final buzzer has sounded.

The Fat Lady has sung.. (ah, sorry that wasn’t about you, Michelle).

There is absolutely no reason why you aren’t out here with the rest of us, breathing, eating, pooping, trying to get a job, paying taxes and complaining about Congress.

You have officially overstayed your welcome. Consider this your eviction notice.


The Guy Who Is Not Your Father But Is Married To The Vessel You Are Residing In.

Sent to my co-workers today:

Our 9-month long adventure is just about over. Thank goodness, too, because this devil spawn kid is on the verge of overstaying his welcome. Given the 24/7 demolition derby going on inside Michelle,  I predict his future career choice will be:

A)     Blacksmith

B)      NASCAR driver that likes to swap paint

C)      Crash test dummy

D)     Philly fan who enjoys running onto the field during a game

 So this is a heads up that I’ll be tethered to my cell phone, on alert for the ‘It’s go time’ call. When you hear my new ringtone of the song ‘Having my Baby’, well you’ll know what’s up.

 (Hey: Can I get that song at CD Baby?)

 This afternoon I’m out around 2:15. Going to watch her Doc do one of these amazing 3-D ultrasounds. I understand you can see every nook/cranny/detail of the child-to-be, including his preference for boxers or briefs, Coke or Pepsi, and future political leanings.

Yet another blatant theft generous sampling of passages from the instant classic best seller, What To Expect When You’re Expected, by America’s newest funny man David Javerbaum. It’s already a must-read for every developing fetus out there!


In a little over a month, you will have the monopoly on cuteness in your family. (Older siblings? Their charm mortgage forecloses the second your head pokes through.) But for now, your parents are adorable! You should see them together in your room — painting, planning, arranging itsy-bitsy furniture,  having ‘serious’ talks about ‘budgets’ and ‘sharing the responsibility.’ Just like real grown-ups! And the things they come up with! Just now, Mommy said, “You won’t complain about alternating night feedings, will you?” And then Daddy said, “Of course not. I will relish that bonding time.” Oh, if only they could stay that naive!


Week 32

You are a goddamn lazy-ass. Look at you, sleeping 90 to 93 percent of the time. When are you going to do something with your life? Mommy’s ribs ain’t gonna kick themselves.

Week 35

You’re feeling cramped in there, and no wonder. You’re five pounds of carne in a three-pound empanada. And a lot that meat ain’t exactly lean. You’re up to 15% body fat, and you’re getting chubbier by the hour. But your brain is developing at an astonishing rate. Putting all your energy into your mind and not your body, huh? All right, Poindexter. Just don’t come crying to us when the jocks release greased pigs in the Tri-Lam frat! NERRRRRRRRRRRRRD!


The internet is a miraculous parallel universe in which every conceivable fact or opinion is simultaneously true, false, and related to Katie Holmes. This is certainly true in the field of obstetrics. A few short centuries ago, women’s understanding of pregnancy derived largely from what little alarmist, contradictory, spiteful hearsay they painstakingly pieced together over the course of their lives. Now, thanks to the miracle that is the World Wide Web, all that hearsay can be found at the click of a button.

Here are some common  Pregnancy Chat-Room Abbreviations:

IVF                 In vitro fertilization
OMG               Oh My gynecologist
TTC                 Trying to conceive
TTCHSB         Trying to conceive, husband shooting blanks
SHJWIDTHWTSF     Shit, he just walked in; don’t tell him what that stood for
SAHM           Stay at home mom
WAHM         Work at home mom
RAHM          Obama’s chief of staff
LOL               Lots of lactating
LMAO          Lactating my ass off
ORTFLMAO   Rolling on the floor, lactating my ass off
IMHO          I miss having orgasms
2wp             2 weeks pregnant
2mp            2 months pregnant
2yp              I am an African elephant
TWDB          Typing while delivering baby

Three places I never ever EVER expected to be in this lifetime:

A) Sharing a bag of pork rinds with Queen Elizabeth in Buckingham Palace.

B) On the pitchers mound of Citizen’s Bank Park, World Series Game 7, Bottom of the ninth, two out….

C) Touring a maternity ward as a 50 year old guy with my pregnant wife.

And yet there we were last weekend at our local hospital, St. Mary’s, getting the lay of the land. Preggo Land, that is. I can report that not a whole lot has changed in baby-delivering technology or aesthetics in the past 14 years, or so it appears to me.

(A long aside:  I was about to refer to myself in the sentence above as…this expectant Dad. But that’s not right. That’s not my title here. I’m neither the Dad. Nor am I expectant.

So as I’m typing this, I ask Michelle across the room: What the hell am I. Her response.

“You’re my… Labor Coach. My Number One Supporter. My Number One Cheerleader,” she said. Obviously she’s having a hard time coming up with my role.

“You are….making sure the job gets done. You’re seeing this to the end! You’re…..” She gave up. Gotta come up with something. And soon!)

Back to the tour: Michelle and I inspected the place on a recent Saturday afternoon. St Mary’s is about 5 minutes down the road from us and was the obvious choice for the big event. The hospital gives tours only once a week, so we were herded through the rooms with two other Moms-to-be and their entourage. All of us looked a bit weary, especially the rotund females. All of them, including Michelle, looked like they were ready to drop their loads right then and there.

While the facility itself seems a little dated, the attentive staff members we met more than compensated for a less than state-of the-art feel of the place. They happily answered every question tossed their way, including my wife’s one and only question:

“Is alcohol allowed in the delivery room?” 

For the past few weeks, Michelle has been focusing on getting through the rigors of labor by visualizing having a glass of very good champaign after the deed is done. “None of the cheap crap,” she’s told me. “No ‘Andre’ or ‘Cold Duck'”.

If that’s how she keeps her eye on the prize….so be it.

For the record, Michelle got the anwer she was looking for.  The nurses on duty said champaign would be fine….”as long as you share with us.”

It was a pretty brief tour — the materity ward was almost full up that weekend. Everything seemed ultra organized and arranged in logical way, with the birthing rooms just steps away from the NICU, C-Section Operating Rooms, and just a short walk to the Post Delivery rooms and, finally, the  nursery.

It was at that final stop that I’ll remember most about this Saturday afternoon. The nursery was almost empty — all the babies had been taken to be with their Moms. But there was one tiny little child still in the unit, and the nurse on duty rolled her over to the windows for the group to view.

I looked over to see Michelle’s eyes welling up with tears.

Uh oh.

Our wedding anniversary is coming up — on April 4 to be exact. Ah, 18 continually blissful, calm, placid, stress-free years together as a family..

OK, even I had to roll my eyes over that one.

Despite our ups and downs — with a few loop-de-loops thrown in for good measure — we’ve beaten the odds and made it almost two decades as man and wife. Which begs the age old question:

What’s the perfect anniversary gift for the woman who was made pregnant by another man? (And another woman too, if you’re keeping score at home)

Anyone have a suggestion?