Baby's first restraining order

Wanna see what has been giving me nightmares the past three nights?

My bachelor buddy, Mr. Harrison Parker gave our yet to be born little girl this present. I'm using "mister" because it'll just look more official when I go to the courthouse and apply for an "in utero" restraining order.

As a public service, I'm releasing his picture to make sure your children stay as far away as possible from "the dude who gives bikinis to infants".

Beware of this smiling asshole:

He's constantly drinking, he doesn't even have a job, and he still lives with his parents. There's no way he's dating my daughter.

"awesome.....just what I wanted"

Sonogram says.....

HAMBURGER

(During the "potty shot" instead of a "turtle head" they found a "hamburger")

In other words, we're having a girl!

So it's settled: Carrie will be the disciplinarian and I'll be the push over. Although I'm preparing myself to resist our little girl's charms and lay down the law. I periodically whisper "you're grounded" into Carrie's belly. So far she's listening.

Upper Deck or Topps

My brother tried to convince me to wait until after the kid was born to find out the gender. He said It would be the "greatest surprise of my life". And he's right. It would have been. But to be honest, I need to find out as soon as possible whether our kid's turkey timer pops up or stays in forever.

You see I have a horrible poker face.

And I'll let you in on a little secret: 9 times out to 10 if you tell me something and in response I raise my eyebrows and softly yell "awesome", whatever you're talking about is in fact "not awesome". You'll know cause I'll have the same look on my face as a 4 year when told to smile for the camera.

I'm generally a nice guy, but if I'm the slightest bit disappointed, you'll know it. I can't hide it. When I was eleven I begged my Mom for a 1989 "Upper Deck" Complete Baseball Card Set. Anyways, a few days before Christmas, I noticed a present underneath the tree that looked eerily like a baseball card set and my excitement grew. So you can imagine my disappointment when I tear open the wrapping paper and f-ing Jose Canseco is staring straight into my face. And he's mocking me from the box of a 1989 "Topps" Baseball Card Set. Muther F-ing TOPPS? Not Donruss. Not Fleer. Certainly not Upper Deck. But Muther F-ing Topps? For a split second I thought there were only two logical explanations for this: 1) my Mom has no idea who the f-ck she gave birth to in 1977; or 2) my Mom knowingly wanted to break my little heart, she in fact knows me better than I know myself, so she hatches a plan using the ol' Upper Deck Trojan Horse and releases the Topps soldiers in order to break my spirits forever. Which is funny cause my Mom's super nice. Anyways, eventually I realize that my Mom made an honest mistake out of love, and that my spoiled ass should be happy regardless (at least she got "baseball card complete set" right), so I tried to play down my displeasure. I raised my eyebrows and fake yelled, "awesome.....baseball cards.....just what I wanted". Unfortunately, my poker face said "Dad's my favorite parent now, lady". What's worse is I could actually see the air deflate from my Mom's face. At the time, that was the worst I had ever felt in my whole life.

But there's a silver lining: after a few months of saving and doing extra chores, I was able to purchase the magical 1989 Upper Deck set. Hoorraayyy!

Its funny cause when Carrie and I first started dating in college, I was so broke but I wanted to impress her by taking her out to a fancy weekend getaway. I saved up some money from my job but I needed a little extra to make sure I could cover the cost of the "jacket required" restaurant that I booked. Looking for some fast cash I went to a baseball card convention and sold the magical 1989 Upper Deck set as well as the rest of my childhood baseball cards and sets I brought that day.

So why am I telling you about my inability to hide my 1989 Christmas disappointment from my Mom?

Because I know (if I don't know the sex of our kid going in) when the baby pops out and the Doc asks me to announce the gender, I'm going to raise my eyebrows and I'm going to fake yell, "awesome.....a girl.....just what I wanted", while the rest of my poker face shows absolute terror. And everyone will know at that moment that my wife gave birth to a bubbly, bouncing 1989 Topps Baseball Card Set.

I know I'm a horrible person for thinking that. But it's true.

While I'm scared shitless about having a baby, I'm more scared shitless about the possibility of raising a girl. Now don't get me wrong, whatever gender our kid turns out to be I'll be happy. It's just yelling "it's a boy" feels more natural to me then yelling "it's a girl".

First of all, if we have a girl, that little chick is going to have me wrapped around her chubby little fingers.

Carrie already jokes that she's going to have to be the disciplinarian if she pops out a chick. Cause let's face it, if we have a girl, she's going to be pretty darn cute. I can say "no" to a little boy. I don't know if I have the willpower to say "no" to a cute little girl.

If we have a girl, I know that I'll be a walking ATM for the next 30 years. Her ATM code will be a voice activated "I love you Dad". What's horrible is that I know it's going to happen, but there is nothing I can do to stop it. I already see it with my friends who have little girls. Those little rugrats are so manipulative. They'll purposely walk around their mothers to get a hug from their fathers. They'll say shit like "daddy....will you marry me?" How can you resist that?

And it's not because I think boys are better or some sexist BS. Its just that for my whole life when I imagined playing with my kid, it always involved doing dude stuff. Not just playing catch and lighting shit on fire, but things like prepping the kid for their first dance or helping the kid get over their first real heartbreak. Cause let's face it, for girls, that's Mommy Territory. If we have a girl, Carrie will be the one who shops with her for her prom dress. Carrie will be the one who helps her plan her wedding. I guess I'd be jealous that our kid and Carrie will have this natural secret society that I can't (and probably shouldn't) be a part of.

Like the first time our kid "reboots her ovarian operating system", Carrie will be the one who takes her to Gunne Sax in San Francisco on a school day to talk about cute boys, traveling pants, and monthly visits from Aunt Flo. I'll be the dude eating top ramen in front of my laptop as my two girls bond over the wonders of woman hood while sharing an ice cream. Let's face it, shit would get real awkward when "Dad" butts in to a conversation about panty shields and tampons with the phrase, "so I hear its game time for the Crimson Tide".

So long story short, I want to learn the gender of our kid early so I can process everything in my own time, boy or girl. This whole post might be about girls but believe me, I could write a whole post dedicated to being scared shitless about having a boy. Cause I do like having nice things. And boys are definitely nature's wrecking ball for nice things. Regardless of gender, at least I know what I'm giving the kid for their eleventh birthday: my most cherished childhood possession, my 1989 Topps Baseball Card Set.

Disclaimer: I started writing this post before we went in for Carrie's ultrasound. I finished this post knowing the gender of out kid. Wanna know what we're having? What type or "scared shitless" am I right now? Stay tuned.

Swings

The other night I slept on the couch. Carrie and I got into a fight and she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me.

I really don’t blame her. You see, I did the most messed up thing a husband can do.

I kissed another woman.

In Las Vegas.

At Richie’s Bachelor Party.

Which is interesting because the bachelor party is three months in the future.

If you’re doing the math that means I slept on the sofa the other night for something she IMAGINED might happen in three months. And for the record I actually traveled to the future to make sure Future Dan didn’t make a mistake and to warn him of the consequences that his actions will have on his past (I know, it didn’t make sense to him either). Anyways, he just spent the whole weekend playing blackjack and drunkenly repeating, “Roads, Marty? Where we’re going we don’t need roads”.

So I’m slowly learning that to a pregnant woman on the downslope of a mood swing, the “guy who gave her morning sickness” should be held accountable for shit he does in her imagination, for shit he does in her dreams, and for shit that his friends do both real and imagined. And frankly, after what I’ve been through, I’m in no position to disagree.

Now, I’ve been through the swings before. We’ve been together for 10 years and I’ve never slept on the sofa. So this was no premenstrual swing. This was a different breed. It was wearing a cape, had a trusty side kick, and when it wasn’t kicking my ass, it had a secret identity.

But you know, they call them mood swings for a reason.

On the good side of the swings Carrie is like super gay for me.

She’s way clingy and it’s kinda scary. I’ll be on the laptop and get startled cause I suddenly notice that she’s one foot away just staring at me. And she’s smiling. Or I’ll be taking a shower and notice she’s waving “hi” to me from the other side of the glass door.

She’ll constantly call me on the phone to ask how I’m doing or when I’m coming home. And it’s not the, “I want to keep track of your whereabouts” type of call, but rather it’s the, “I genuinely miss you” type of call. That’s pretty scary. If we’re driving in the car she’ll randomly say stuff like “I love you so much”. What’s funny is it sounds like she REALLY means it. Again, scary. She’s a love struck thirteen year old without the self-conscious filter that comes with being thirteen.

But at the end of the day I know not to take anything too personally. Commander Carrie’s forced me to read enough prenatal books for me to realize that. I have to admit that being borderline stalked by your wife is pretty nice. As such, I’ve learned to keep my Clingy Carrie memories in my Swing-bank for retrieval in case she gets upset at me for “sweeping the floor wrong”. However I have to be careful. Having a smile on my face while she’s yelling at me will most likely piss her off.