So the deed is done. What happens now?
Well, chances are, you found out from your wife. Unless you're into some kinky stuff, you weren't any closer than earshot while your lady-friend whizzed on that overpriced litmus paper. When she does tell you, the proper response is to say "YAY!". Then make an excuse to leave, and sob quietly in your car. I, personally, took it like a man, and began stress eating immediately. It's hard to cry when your mouth is full of Little Caesar's.
Of course, after you know, you have to pretend to be excited. Jump up and down. Stomp your feet. Scream at the top of your lungs. Just don't you dare tell anyone else. Not a soul. The general consensus is that the child should be at least 9 years-old before you tell the immediate family.
I'm not sure Hungry was a dwarf.
After the state mandated amount of time has past, and you are given your Impending Pregnancy Announcement Permit, you have to decide how to tell the ones you love. At some point you'll also have to decide how to tell your family. If you're anything like me, your first thought was to just send people a postcard of the conception. It's quick, clean, and it gets the point across. Unfortunately, I get mistaken for a Yeti when I have my shirt off, and I didn't want my picture ending up on the Discovery Channel.
A good alternative is to use a holiday as a reason to get together and reveal. Every month has one, and they've all got traditions that can be useful. For instance, on Thanksgiving you could get together with friends and family and say you're thankful for expecting a child. On Christmas you could send out cards of your wife sitting on Santa's lap with his hand over her uterus. On Secretary's Day you could say something like, "Happy Secretary's Day. We're pregnant." OK, I'm not sure about that last one. You might not want to ruin the majesty of Secretary's Day by making it about you and your poor life choices.
Nope, definitely not Hungry. I think maybe it was Doc.
There is one thing more important than telling the people closest to you: Telling the people whose faces your want to rub it in. That's right, I'm talking about Facebook friends. "Oh, another picture of your dinner huh? Well guess what, guy I rode the bus with in 4th grade and haven't talked to since, I impregnated my wife! Bet that makes your lonely man's individual serving of turkey pot pie taste like shit!" You can't say that though. Bus guy would delete you as a friend, and your total would go down. Then how would you win Facebook?
They say the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. I think the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing his Facebook friends that he wasn't a total ass. One way to accomplish this: Don't...say...a..........word. Post a picture, like an empty onesie. Let about 6 people post comments speculating about what it means. After a few days, comment with just a "........". This will further the speculation. Continue periodically posting vague pictures, maybe some Georgia O'keeffe style vagina-flowers, or pictures of the face-hugger from "Alien". Let this go on until your kid is old enough to tell you Facebook is lame, which should be when they're about 8 months old.
I know, it wasn't Doc, it was Klepto. The 7th dwarf was named Klepto.
Ok, so it's not rocket surgery. You just have to open your mouth and say it. But, like everything in life, there are strings attached. And there is a big fat gym climbing rope attached to this: People now know you've had sex. Not only do they know, they want to know about it. Your friend wants to know if it was morning or night, because your morning sickness will be much worse if the conception happened at night. Your great aunt wants to know the position because that's what determines the baby's sex. And, some relative you've never met, wants to know if you kept your socks on (like there's a reason to take them off). Apparently it's good luck.
The point is, be ready. You want to talk about cute baby stuff, everyone else just wants to pry into your sex life. Perverts.
Sleepy
Happy
Dopey
Grumpy
Klepto
Kegel
Marty McFly
Yeah, that's all 7. I knew I'd remember.
Next time....
The Gyno for Guys
P.S. When the ball really gets going with this I will probably be posting once a week or so. Currently, I'll probably post until I've run out of things to discuss, then go to a more scheduled format. But who the hell cares? If you're reading this your name is Andy and your only half paying attention and half watching football.
No comments:
Post a Comment