Baby Daddy to Fatherhood (Part 1)

            I could see my dream of dying childless was coming to an end when my wife was 37 weeks pregnant.  There was no way out of this one.  At this point, we were meeting with our OB doctor weekly because we were considered a high risk pregnancy.  We had the small, hairy baby as discussed previously in UIB.  In addition to those two risk factors, we are both elderly parents at the age of 37.  At 37 weeks in the womb, the baby is considered full term.  The risk of harm to the baby was now lower if we take it out early than the risk of leaving it inside.  In 2013, doctors can give you specific numbers as to the risk of death for the baby.  Our doctor told us, “Based on the weight of the baby, your age, and past medical history,  I can tell you that the chance of your baby dying before delivery is almost 1%.” 

Whoa, That sounds high.  Or does it sound low?  Either way, he is telling me that my dream of dying childless is still alive.  Calm down, Sheera, I told my self.  Don’t you DARE let anyone know that you are excited about this.  How can I play this?  My wife’s parasite was under five pounds.  At this point the doctor sounded to me like a used car salesman.  What do I need to do to get you holding a baby today?  We can put you in the hospital, and perform a c-section.  If not, no big deal, we will wait.  It's just that the chance of your baby dying by the next appointment is about 1%.  Great pitch.

Hmmmm.  That’s a lot to think about.   After all, I love my wife and I don’t know shit about this ugly baby.  He could be a serial killer for all I know.  We did watch a lot of Dexter, Hannibal, The Killing, Game of Thrones, and Law and Order SVU during the pregnancy.  Who knows what kind of sick shit this baby picked up?  The whole basis of the TV show Dexter is that Dexter witnessed the murder of his mom at the age of 2 and became a serial killer.  Well with all the violent shows my wife and I watch, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say I’m not sure how this baby will turn out. 

But after careful deliberation, I decide to have no opinion.  I’m gonna leave this decision to my wife.  After all, it’s her body.  It’s her baby.   I certainly do NOT want her to have surgery.  I love my wife and I don’t know shit about this ugly baby.  Above all else, I do not want to see any harm come to my wife.  I do not want her cut open to retrieve a life form that I already somewhat resent.  Children take away from the parents what I consider to be the two most valuable things in the world: Time and Money.  And I loves me some Time and Money. 

Decision time: my wife decides to let the baby grow inside of her.  The doctor suggests getting ultrasounds of the baby 2 times a week now.  Great Win, Win, Win, Win.  The doctor now gets to bill us twice a week.  My wife is more comforted by the biweekly exam.  The baby gets to grow and hopefully get over 5 pounds.  Most importantly, I get to have a few extra days of freedom. 

So we wait.  For certain, I am NOT rooting for the death of this baby.  There is no way for anyone to prove otherwise.  I have NEVER said anything like that.  Not even my closest friends could possible say I even thought something like that.  What kind of sick, sick person could wish for something like that?  NOT me.  If I were on trial, in a court of law, there would be no evidence that I ever thought something like that.  Great, glad we put that to rest.

Then again, it never hurts to be prepared.  I began to weigh the pros and cons IF this baby doesn’t make it to delivery.  Pros: more golf, more money, more vacations, more movies, more sex, more free time, more sleep, smaller faster car, more drinking, more date nights, more time at the gym, probably look younger, get to hang out more with my cool friends without kids, instead of my loser friends with kids, more energy at work, more energy at home, get to avoid Ivan, play more poker, watch more football…….. (I’ll stop here, this is a blog not an encyclopedia) Cons: My wife will fucking go nuts if something happens to this baby, and I’m gonna have to make her feel better.  

But I couldn’t help thinking about an event that happened to me just a month before.  I was at a poker tournament in Oklahoma at the Chocktaw casino.  I had a pair of Aces.  I raised big pre flop.  Possibly not the right move because I had chased all but one other player out of the hand. The flop came Ace, Jack, Jack.  Now I had a full house.  I raised again.  My opponent took a decent amount of time thinking about calling my raise.  I knew I had won the hand at that point.  The only hand that could beat me was four Jacks and I knew he didn’t have that because he took so much time to decide.  The next card was a 5.  That couldn’t possibly help my opponent.  I went all in.  The idiot called me. He had a jack, 8.  I was crushing him.  I had played this hand perfectly.  I’m about to get all his money.  The chance of me losing the hand is about the same as the chance of my wife losing this baby. 

River card: Jack.  The Fucker rivered the only card that could beat me.  And that is what I shouted at him in the casino.  Actually, I believe my exact words were “Fuck!, You lucky piece of shit.”  After that I was kicked out of the casino.  There was quite a controversy as to what I said.  He claimed I said, “Fuck You!, Lucky piece of shit.”  There is a big difference between the two statements, and I do not think the former statement requires expulsion.  Fuck (which I said to myself) and Fuck You are quite different.  Obviously there was no debate about him being a lucky piece of shit.  The astute reader with a keen sense of observation and deduction may have concluded that I am an asshole.   True, but I’m really an asshole when I have twice as many chips as my opponents early in a poker tournament.  It means that I get to bully people around.  And I never got to enjoy being that asshole.

I was so upset by what I went through that I still wake up with nightmares of that poker hand.  Math had failed me miserably.  I can imagine how my wife would be similarly upset if math failed her.  If losing the baby upset my wife even half as much as losing that poker hand upset me, I knew I didn’t want her to suffer through it. I finally had some sort of idea what she might be feeling.   Fuck golf and fancy vacations.  I had to root for the safety of this hairy baby.

            

Renin “Dexter” Sheera  

I have a code.  I only kill those that play with my toys without asking, and those that look at my mom’s boob.  That boob is only for me.  Careful dad, I saw you sneaking a peek.

Renin “Hannibal” Sheera

I ate his liver with fava beans and a nice chianti. For large parties, refrigeration for up to no more than 4 days Is recommended.  When I do throw a party I like to use the whole baby so I can serve several courses and have a wide variety of flavors. Of course, nothing I serve is vegetarian so my mom never shows up.  Anything longer than 4 day storage and I recommend deep freeze. Now I am enjoying the upper arm with a chili pan reduction sauce marinated with my victim’s own blood. It's divine. My doctor says the chili is not good for my spit up problem, but who follows, all of their doctor’s advice?  I usually wash it down with a light European beer like Amstel. I AM watching my figure. 

"What,  I didn't see anything"

Nothing makes me happier than good baby food.  That's food made of babies, not food for babies.  Hmmmmm.  Yum.  

Part 2  Hopefully out before week one of NFL.  This is more work that I thought.  Thanks for your patience.

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Ivan the Terrible

Ivan is this jerk who works with me.  From the first time I met him, I knew I was not going to like this guy.  He has long flowing hair that sometimes covers his face, and he has to frequently flip his hair back so it doesn’t cover his eyes.  Doing this in front of a nearly bald man with a large porcelain ego is insensitive.  Basically he is saying, “Not only do I have all this hair that completely covers my scalp, it’s also so much it gets in the way.”   I find this kind of bravado unpleasant.  This kind of behavior would be akin to me walking around work with my 9.777 inch penis hanging out at all times.  I would make all those men that are self conscious about the size of their penis very uncomfortable.  And that is the ONLY reason I do not do this.  I care about my fellow coworkers.  I don’t brag about my god given gifts. You shouldn’t brag about yours.  Ivan you need to cut your hair or at least keep it out of your face.  Or cover it up the way I do with my penis.  And if I see you flipping your hair in front of me again I will punch you in the face.

I know what you're thinking, 9.777 inches!!!  We just don’t believe that.  Well I’m a doctor.  I think I know how to measure my own penis.  Take a tape measure. Start at the base of the scrotum and measure around the scrotum to the base of the penis and then to the tip.  This is the only way to ensure that you are getting a proper estimation of the penis that is inside your body.  I have a diagram to demonstrate.

Blue Line shows where the tape measure should go.

The Red circle: That's still your penis!

See guys, your penis is a lot longer than you think.  It’s just that you have been measuring it wrong the whole time.  Next time you tell a woman how long your penis is you can say, “A doctor told me my penis is ___ inches long.”  Remember we are talking about your penis not your dick or your cock.  There will be a blog in the future that explains the difference between each of these, and it will go into more detail about proper measuring techniques.

The second reason I don’t like Ivan is that he is always cracking hilarious jokes under his breath.  Which is fine, but he does it at the most inappropriate times.  Usually when I’m seeing a patient.  I have to grind my teeth so I don’t open my mouth and laugh.  After years of grinding my mouth closed at work, I have stopped laughing all together.  Then I lost my sense of humor.  And now everyone at work thinks Ivan’s so fucking funny and Mitul is such a grumpy jerk.  Ivan, if one more person comes up to me and tells me how funny you are, I will punch you in the face.

After years of knowing this clown, I finally meet his wife.  She turns out to be a beautiful, kind-hearted woman.  Even though this specific fact did not make me jealous, it heightened my displeasure for Ivan.  Why does this guy have everything? The Hair. The Laughs. And The Girl.  Oh and I just remembered, he fucking plays the guitar while beautifully singing. That was the final nail in the coffin.  My fragile ego couldn’t handle this.  Our friendship was done. 

Then I got the terrible news that Ivan’s wife and my wife were pregnant at the same time. Our due dates 3 days apart.  I knew this would be a problem because I would be forced to hang out with him for the sake of my child.  I would have to make this sacrifice.   Ivan and his wife Kelsey were so nice to us.  They came to our baby shower.  They gave us advice on how to help induce labor.  They visited us in the hospital.  They had their baby two weeks before us.  They have given us invaluable information about what to expect. 

My wife had some emotional ups and down after the pregnancy.  She was just realizing how much work breastfeeding requires.  Almost at that exact moment Ivan texted me: “You want to have a breast feeding party?”  My wife cried tears of joy. “How did he know that that is exactly what I needed?”  We had the party and everyone got along great.   The wives got to discuss the emotional times that occur after giving birth.  They discussed breastfeeding techniques and how to put up with their annoying husbands.  Ivan and I worked out together; and we discussed how we could be less annoying to our wives.  The party went well, BUT Ivan, if you give my wife exactly what she needs one more time, I will DEFINITELY punch you right in the face.

Ivan and I are competitive.  We compete with each other when we work out and play poker.  Now we can have our babies compete.  And I want to win.  Ivan has already beat me at everything else.

At the second breast feeding party,  we had a competition. Hendrix vs. Renin on the Fisher Price Rainforest gym. 

Even though we are competitive.  We are not crazy with our kids.  The kids are being scored on a participation only basis.  They either get a score of 1 if they try or 0 if they don’t. 

The categories are:

1. Look at something. 

2. Touch Something. 

3. Look Crazy. 

4. Look Cute. 

We are not going to compete and figure out which kid looked at the gym better or which kid is cuter.  We just want our kids to go out there and have fun. 

Tale of the Tape

Hendrix:

Age: 31 Days old
Birth Wt: 7lb 3 oz
Fight Wt.: 8lb 9 oz

Birth Length: 21 inches 

Fight Length: 22 inches

Renin:
Age: 14days
Birth Wt: 5 lb 15 oz
Fight Wt: 6 lb 6 oz.
Birth Length: 19 inches
Fight Lenghth: 19.75 inches

Body/Age: Advantage Hendrix 

Odds makers gave Hendrix a -1 handicap for his physical prowess

Home Field: Advantage Renin

Odds makers gave Renin a -.5 handicap for home field advantage

Making the total line for this matchup as Hendrix favored by half a point. 

Ivan felt good about his kid’s chances and placed a $50 bet.  Meaning Hendrix would have to win by one point for his dad to win money.  If the match ended as a tie, I would win money.

Category 1 Look at something:

Hendrix looks at mirror: 1 point

Renin looks at leaf

 Renin 1 point.  

Category 2 Touch something:

Hendrix 1 point

Renin 0 points. 

After 5 minutes of lying in the gym, Renin refused to touch anything.  Then he started crying like a god damn baby, and he couldn’t even run to his mom.  Mom had to pick him up.  That’s fine I’ll get over it.  He is only 14 days old and I’m sure when he is older like 30 or 40 days he’ll start touching the gym.  I’m not going to put pressure on him like some parents do when their children play sports.  I’m just going to let Renin decide on his own when he is going to take this competition seriously.  And I want him to know that I am not mad at him.  I may be disappointed but definitely not mad.

Look Crazy:

 Hendrix 1 point

Renin 1 point.

Look Cute:

Hendrix 1 point

Renin 1 point.

Final score:

Hendrix 4, Renin 3 

Winner was Hendrix.
And more important than that, as Ivan and I know is that he covered the spread.

After the contest Winners eat first:

 Food from Thai Jasmine.

Nidhi and Renin both exhausted from a long, hard day of competing:

 Time to rest up for next week. 

Is Thursday good for you guys?  I promise to have your $50 by then.

Written by Mitul Sheera.  Edited by Dave Smith.  Executive Producer Nidhi Garg.  My Muse Renin Sheera.  Photography Mitul Sheera.  Thanks to Ivan, Kelsey, and Hendrix for tolerating us.

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Living Vicariously

You know how they say people try to relive their youth through their kids. Well, I got to use a comb for the first time in 15 years. Mowhawks are still in style right?

My wife is beautiful but with short eyelashes. Now she finally gets to use an eye lash curler.  What's a good brand for babies?

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Ugly Indian Baby

Ugly Indian baby.  
This is the one thing that all soon to be Indian parents fear.  As many of you know.  Many babies are hideous.

Especially the pure bred Indian.  This can occur even if both parents are marginally doable like in our situation.

This was the constant fear that my lovely wife and I had during our pregnancy.  It was on our week 20 ultrasound when we heard the terrible news. 

The doctor said,  “Wow, Your baby has hair.  He said, “Oh, Yes he has hair from front to back.”  
Front to back of what? I thought. What are you talking about?  The rest of the doctor's visit was a blur.  I stopped listening.

I was driving home with this fear of a super hairy baby. My baby has hair already and it’s only week 20.  How much worse could this get.  I could tell the doctor was shocked. It was in his tone.  Tone is everything.  My wife taught me that.  The way he said the word “WOW”  I knew something was wrong.  

During the drive home I received some other bad news.  Apperently our baby was very small.  Something about the head or the abdomen or some other measurement the doctor made.  I wasn’t listening at that point. But my wife was, and she said that was the whole reason we were at the doctors.  And apparently my baby was smaller than most, and he wanted to see us back sooner than originally scheduled.  My wife was super concerned about the size of our baby.  He wasn’t growing as fast as he was earlier in the pregnancy. Anxiety ensued.

Next doctors appointment: The news gets worse.  This time our sonogram was performed not by the doctor but by a sonography tech.  Clearly, their skills can’t be the same as the doctors.  She starts off telling us the heart, kidneys etc. look OK.  And now she is checking the spine when she says, “Oh wow your baby has hair on his back.” WHAT!?!?!?  My baby has hair on his back at 24 weeks are you kidding me.  I knew it. I was in for a UIB. Nothing could change that now.

During that drive home my wife is crying.  I have to comfort her. I said don’t worry we will love the baby the same no matter what it looks like.  She sceams “you weren’t you even listening.”  I said I was.  The baby has a hairy back.  I heard everything.  NO, NO she screams the baby is not growing as fast as it should.  It was 50 percentile before and now it’s dropping to 25%.  The doctor didn’t seem that worried about the size he just wanted to see us in 4 weeks.

28 weeks. It gets worse.  This was the most upsetting of all appointments.  The disease was spreading.  While checking the babies arms, the sonographer comments the baby has hair on his shoulders. Fuck. Say it ain’t so.  I started to cry. The doctor came in and did his thing. My wife and him had a discussion about something.  The baby I guess.  Then I finally got to ask my question.  Do you think the baby is too hairy?  He laughed and said “Is that what you are worried about?”  It wasn’t what he said.  It was the way he said it.  The tone it was so evil and smug.  I was in for a UIB.  Nothing could change that now.

The drive home was déjà vu for me.  It will also be for the readers if I describe what happened. 

Next sono, hair on the face.  BTW sonography technology is amazing.  Even I as a doctor didn't know you could see hair on a sonogram.

The drive home déjà vu.  The baby was 5% but still growing. 

Next sono I was afraid to ask if the hair had moved to the hands and if I was having a Werebaby.  That’s a combination of a werewolf and a baby for those of you that don’t watch bad movies or read comics.

So lets just skip to 7-11-13 Disaster Day.

7-11 is India’s 9-11.  When terrorist attacked Mumbai and killed millions, or thousand. I’m not sure. Suffice it to say a very small percent of Indians.

Now 7-11 had become My Disaster day.  The day I’ve been dreading my whole life.  Not just becoming a father but a father to a UIB who is probably also a werebaby.  

And……….

Ugliest baby I have ever seen

So this is the first thing he says to me.

Fuck You Dad. How dare you call me ugly.

Then a few short hours later. I realized my wife had not give birth to an alien baby but something wonderful.

 

Shortly after that.  I was soooo damn happy my family and friends in Dallas thought I was manic.  Well how else would you react going from a werebaby to the cutest F'ing baby I had ever seen.

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Disclaimer Read First.

Disclaimer Read First:

I do have the approval of my wife to do this blog.  She does not find every sentence I write funny, but she thinks I’m a funny person.  I embarrass both myself  and my wife regularly.  Now it’ll be more public.  We have been together for over 18 years married for almost 11.  We will be together for the rest of our lives.  I have not had a comedic outlet for my thoughts in over 15 years.  With the birth of our child I decided I need to change that because in the first 10 days of his life he has given so much more than I ever thought possible.  I had dreams of dying childless and happy.  Now I realize how dumb I was.  Having a child is the greatest thing that one can do for themselves.  I’m sorry for the relatives whom I have offended.  Please feel free to post your negative comments on the blog.  No need to send me angry texts.  This blog will have a level of honesty that may be uncomfortable for some that are close to me.  Hopefully others will like it. 

What is the goal of this blog.  

#1  I wanted to share the experience of a reluctant dad.  To be honest (which is the whole point of this thing), I did not want my child 11 days ago.  Now that he has turned 10 days today I realize I love him more and more each day.  How can this be? Well that’s one of the points of this blog.  You’ll have to check in weekly to find out.

#2. I wanted a place to share my photos.  I have a hobby of photography and FB seemed to always degrade my photos.  I’d like to share them here.

#3 I used to think I was funny.  When I was in high school I could make so many people laugh.  That continued through medschool, but now being a doctor it is very inappropriate for me to say any of the funny things that I’m thinking.  I’ve been about to laugh at work and I have to hold it in.  I’m not saying I’m a Jerry Seinfeld or a Chris Rock, I’m not even a Margeret Choo, or Carrot top.  I’m just someone that wants to be honest.  Disclaimer: I may exaggerate some stories for effect

Renin This Morning. I love you Renin.

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First Baby Bath Family Tradition (original)

I will soon post pictures of the Sheera family tradition of the baby’s first bath.  This has been a long standing tradition since the days of July 18, 2013 when I invited it.  I can invent traditions can’t I?  Sure I can says the voice inside my head, and I have to agree with him.  Well that’s two people that say I can.  So YES WE CAN.  Especially since there are only 5 Sheera’s living in America and Renin is the second one born in America.  

I will write about each step of this sacred tradition in excruciating detail with photographic accompaniment so as to preserve it on Facebook for generations of Sheera’s to come.  Someone once told me once you put something on The Facebook it can never be erased from The internets which is really just a series of tubes as the late great computer genius Ted Stevens described.

This tradition may move from one tube to another in another part of the world the way my bowel movement moves from the toilet to some sewer line but it will never go away and will be around to cause a stink.

Anyway lets get on to step one of this tradition. #1 MAKE A BABY.   As my wife’s mom (by the way greatest mother in law ever) told us, have sex everyday.  Sorry no photographic or video accompaniment.   Unless TMZ or someone else leaks it.  But trust me in that you do not want to see it.   Anyway this sex must be vaginal no matter how tempting the other options maybe.  You will have to do this until the birth of a child or until you die the happiest man on the planet.  Well I’m alive and still happy so win win.  Whoops gotta go family duties call.

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