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.
Please hit +1 below if you like. Comments Welcome.
