Can fat babies do somersaults?

Fine, then this is my urologist.

Fine, then this is my urologist.

I overheard the midwives talking with another patient when I was at our last appointment.

“Oh, you’ll just love him. First of all, he’s gorgeous – tall, with these smoky eyes. And he’s got this gentle voice,” one cooed.

“Yeah, he’s the sexiest one I’ve seen,” agreed the other. “And he’s like, Italian or something, so he has this wonderful accent – he’s so damn sexy.”

I got confused near the end there because I don’t have an Italian accent. After I gathered a bit more context I realized that they were talking about the practice’s perinatologist.

I’d met the man before. He really was quite charming. I know this because by the time he was done talking with us the first time, I didn’t mind at all when he smiled pleasantly at me as he slipped a six-inch phallus inside my wife.

Anyway, she liked it enough that we went back this week to see him again. Actually, we had to check on a few early concerns (that have since alleviated) and we needed a recommendation on what to do about our breech baby.

I have to admit that when he walked into the room this time, I wanted to dislike him again, just because the ladies seemed to like him so much. My dislike was initially validated by his choice of the no-socks and light brown loafers look. But that just made him look more authentically Italian. And then he started in with his lilting and understanding tone and his highly informed medical vocabulary, and soon even I was charmed again. Plus, I wanted to get to the bottom of this breech baby thing.

Ironically, that was one thing we learned early in the appointment – I have been spending the last three weeks talking to my baby’s ass. The kid was sitting the opposite way we imagined.

The baby’s head has been at 10 o’clock and the butt has been at 2 o’clock the whole time (s)he has been breech. Meanwhile, I’ve been cooing to 2 o’clock, massaging 2 o’clock, even promising toys to 2 o’clock if it moves to 6 o’clock.

I now can understand my child’s reluctance to cooperate with the birth process. (S)he thinks Dad’s a moron.

Long and short of it is that we’re going to do external cephalic version to manually try to move the baby into place, as a last ditch effort to avoid a Caesarean section. A C-section wouldn’t be the end of the world, but we’d like to avoid surgery if we can. So Roberto Benigni is going to give it a try next week. We have a 50-50 shot.

One thing that seems like some kind of relief to my wife as far as delivery is that our baby is a bit on the small side of average. This is not a relief to me. I do not want a puny baby.

“If it’s a girl, she’ll be petite,” said the sonogram technician. “If a boy…”

“…he’ll be a wrestler,” finished my wife, her tone curving upward at the end, seeming to realize mid-word it was a poor sales job.

I wrinkled my brow and looked down at my glorious 6’3″ physique. I decided what needed to be done.

On the way home I told my wife something I never thought I’d say aloud. I instructed her it was time for her to eat. And eat like the wind.

She giggled. And then the giggle kind of turned into a bit of a cackle. And I was a bit scared momentarily.

This is a difficult topic for me to discuss honestly without women hating me. But I think many women out there take the positive pregnancy test as a signal that they are now free to eat entire aisles of grocery stores. They’re told they’re eating for two, so they round up to like… five. Really, they’re eating for 1.1 or so, but no matter. Don’t put yourself between the woman and the Munchos. I’ve seen it first hand.

My wife, on the other hand, has been wonderfully responsible and careful with her diet, without much prodding from me. She’s done yoga, kept active and generally stayed in great shape. And I was proud to be married to one of the only wives in the birth class who didn’t look like she was carrying an extra baby in her ass as well as her belly. Again, I realize this is unfair and mean. But I got the hot kind of pregnant wife, so I’m going to brag about it.

Chocolate chips = birthin hips

Ice cream is health food now.

But now, it is time to fatten up our baby. Not merely for my own ego, but because fatter newborns sleep better. Babies gain an average of a half pound per week in the last few, but I want to do better than that. So when we got home I encouraged her to enjoy a milkshake, in order to maybe bring our boy to the yard. At dinner time, I stripped the crispy wonderful-looking skin off my chicken and threw it on her plate. And at dessert I pushed the Cherry Garcia even as I ate my granola. I considered doing that thing they do with geese to make foie gras, but I thought that might be slightly cruel.

The mother’s own birth weight is pretty predictive of her child’s, anyway, so there’s actually probably not that much we can or need to do. My wife was under 7 pounds. And there’s probably not that strong of a correlation between birth size and adult size, right?

Damn it. I really don’t know anything about wrestling.


One Response to “Can fat babies do somersaults?”

  1. “I have been spending the last three weeks talking to my baby’s ass.” – One of the funniest thing’s I’ve read all week.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s