With Hija Numero Dos due on the 25^th and with Megan showing signs that this little chunky monkey could arrive before that time, we’re in that holding pattern where you simply want the kid to be born and to show signs they are healthy.  I don’t care what anyone says, the actual day a child is born is not “magical” and “beautiful” and “life-affirming”.  It’s a day full of screams, grunts, administered drugs, fevers, blood, assorted other internal fluids, placentas and anything else that can gross you out and/or concern you.  The only thing “magical” about that day is that the mother actually survives such an ordeal without needing a blood transfusion.  The human body truly is a resilient thing.

On an entirely selfish note, I’m hoping this kid has the courtesy, much like Ally did, to be born in the daytime.  I have found myself the past few weeks, as I put my head on my pillow to retire for the night, trying to telepathically tell Daughter Number Two “Hey, please wait until daylight to come out if you’re going to do it soon”.  Imagine falling asleep after a long day and then having to rush to the hospital around 2 or 3 in the morning to being the long process of childbirth.  With a kid already in the mix, the logistics of a middle of the night birth presents some problems too.

Ally came out with perfect timing.  Megan’s water broke around 7 AM and while labor took the better part of the day, she was born in time for dinner.  I, on the other hand, was born at 2:40 AM which meant no sleep for my mom that evening.  And with a newborn demanding feedings every 2-3 hours, you start your sleepiness off on the wrong foot.

Now let’s not confuse my tiredness with actually having to give birth.  It’s yet another reason why it rules being a guy.  I try not to complain about being tired since I also didn’t have hours of labor before the child’s birth and all the other assorted ookiness associated with childbirth.  Like a comedian said one time, “If men had to give birth, abortion would be a God-given right.”  Moms get the shaft (no pun intended) from day one.  And it’s not like the good old days where it was expected that you smoke and drank during your pregnancy too.  Now you’re expected to be a saint and do all this while being uncomfortable and unable to sleep.

Anyway, we’re in a waiting pattern and right now are anxiously anticipating when it’s time to go to the hospital.  In the meantime, especially in this heat wave that closely resembles what it must be like near the Gates of Hell, Megan continues to give me the “You did this to me” line, which I then reply “It better have been me!”  She’s been a trooper with this second pregnancy, as this baby seems to be much bigger than Ally was and Megan gets the added bonus of an additional summer month of being pregnant.  I’m so happy she hasn’t squeezed the life out of my neck while I’m asleep…yet.  If the baby winds up deciding to stay in the womb after her due date, I fear for my life.