We haven’t left our path to our baby bird’s conception a mystery, not at all. We’ve both written (here and here) about the trials and tribulations of infertility, quite openly. It took us almost two years, forgotten sums of money, and a team of dedicated medical professionals to turn our baby girl from a specimen container into a reality.
Which is why I was dumbfounded when, without all of the fanfare, planning, and preparation that she invested into breaking the news the first time, my wife woke me up by poking me in the chest with a positive pregnancy test. I’m pretty sure we high-fived and then I went back to sleep.
One of our doctors had even remarked once that “pregnancy is the best cure for infertility,” which I had mistakenly written off as OB-GYN humor… like an optometrist saying that “seeing is the best cure for blindness” or a dentist saying “permanently holding your breath is the best cure for halitosis.”
Turns out there was way more to that saying than humor. Turns out it was a warning. Turns out I shouldn’t have laughed.
Pregnancy did, in fact, turn out to be much like a shock to the system, a defibrillator for ovarian-fibrillation. She got pregnant once, and now I can’t even think about her in the shower without making another baby. My wife is now a hot Cuban Pez dispenser, spitting out little humans like candy.
On that note, we are absolutely thrilled to announce our next addition: baby Jude Patrick. ETA January 14.