We are in Good Hands at Cincinnati Children's Hospital

I guess the best way to put this is that we now know a lot more about what we might face in the months ahead, but we still don’t know exactly what we will face.

In other words, we still don’t have definitive answers as to what our boy’s situation will be, but we have walked through the many possible scenarios with doctors so we can be prepared.

The biggest news to come out of our echocardiogram and meeting with Children’s Hospital cardiologists is that the muscle growing abnormally under my son’s heart is the most serious of his ailments.

Not the Double Outlet Right Ventricle (DORV). Not the Coarctation of the Aorta. Not the hole in the heart.

This is a fourth problem.

So, something I didn’t even mention in my previous post is now the scariest thing we face. For those who want to go back to the first post on this subject, you will see that I mentioned a problem Brooke and I seemed to hear different verdicts on, in terms of whether it could be fixed or not.

That was this muscle.

The good news is it can be fixed. Like I said before, I am glad to lose this argument to Brooke.

The best thing we heard from the docs was that all of these things can be fixed and our son could ultimately live a normal life. I specifically asked about sports, exercise and other physical activities, and the doctors said all of that is possible.

But it seems like a series of little miracles are going to have to take place for that to happen. And, he will still be monitored by a cardiologist all his life who ultimately could pull the plug on his budding athletic career at any point if he or she sees signs of trouble.

The worst thing we heard is that even if all goes well with the heart, he could still have other problems – brain development issues or genetic disorders – that keep him from being normal. Two of the more common genetic disorders would be DiGeorge Syndrome, which results in a poor immune system, cleft palate and blood and behavior disorders; and heterotaxy, which, as near as I can tell, is a serious problem where the internal organs don’t function properly.

But the chances of these are small. Right now, I am concentrating on the problem at hand, which is the heart. That is a life or death deal, my friends. If his fragile body can survive the operations and surgeons can work their magic, we will take on whatever else is thrown our way with renewed enthusiasm.

Here are some of the scenarios we face on the heart front:

·         He is born, taken to Children’s Hospital, given an echocardiogram, monitored for a few days and it is determined the coarctation has healed and the does not need an immediate operation. Also, the abnormal muscle does not need to be addressed right away. In that case, he is sent home for a few months and comes back for one open-heart surgery, where the muscle, hole and DORV are fixed.

·         He is born, taken to Children’s Hospital, given an echocardiogram, monitored for a few days and it is determined he needs to have the coartation addressed, but they can go in through his side, as opposed to open-heart surgery. In that case, they would fix the coarctation, send him home and bring him back in a few months for open-heart surgery, where the muscle, hole and DORV are fixed.

·         He is born, taken to Children’s Hospital, given an echocardiogram, monitored for a few days and it is determined the coarctation or muscle under the aorta must be addressed immediately with open-heart surgery. In this case, they will likely also fix everything (coarctation, muscle, DORV, hole) at the same time, with one surgery.

While this actually sounds like the best thing, it is not. One, they don’t like to crack open the baby’s chest that early and two, open-heart surgery at that early age has been known to cause brain development problems. Not always, but the risk is higher. They only do open-heart surgery in the first 30 days if it is totally necessary.

Why can’t they tell us what scenario we will face? The echo just couldn’t give enough detail. And as the baby grows, it actually becomes harder to see what they need to see. No further echocardiograms are planned.

So we really won’t know until the May 10 C-section what we are facing. I’ll plan on riding in the ambulance with the baby to Children’s Hospital Medical Center and relaying information to Brooke as she recovers.

Still, meeting with the doctors was very helpful. It is easy to see why this is the third-rated Children’s Hospital in the world – something they are not settling for, mind you. They have a plan in place to jump over Philadelphia and Boston.

They took all the time we needed and explained everything very thoroughly, answering all our questions. We spent more than three hours with them.

Our surgeon – who was recruited out of Texas and is considered one of the best in the country --  was unable to attend due to emergency surgery. This was a complete bummer to me, but, as my wife explained, if it were our baby in need of that emergency surgery, we’d want other parents to understand.  

They did take us to the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit and show us around, displaying what our room would look like and detailing what our life will be like. You can sleep there, shower there, eat family dinners there…pretty amazing and very nice for families who have to travel much further than the 20 minutes it takes us.

If he has that immediate major surgery, he is expected to be in the CICU for up to three weeks. If they go in through the side, he should recover more quickly. I’m not sure how long he will be in if/when we go back for the other surgery.

I did learn that our child has a form of DORV that is defined by aortic obstruction. This is the rarest form, so I would assume it is the worst form to have. The doctor said they see about 20 cases of DORV a year in the three-state area (Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana), but he has only seen about six in his four-year career that are the same type as our son’s.

The coarctation isn’t quite as rare, but it still is not a common thing. He said they see about 15 a year where there is no other type of defect. We, of course, have another type of defect, so I would assume the rates of those are a little more common.  

Not sure how rare the muscle problem is, but since it is the most serious, I have to believe they don’t see a lot of those, either.

 While they did tell us everything is fixable and he can ultimately lead a normal life, they also cautioned that even if some of these things are fixed, they could ultimately become problems again that require follow-up surgeries. The muscle could grow back. Re-coarctations do occur. The patch used on the ventricles might need replaced.  

“We’ll be watching him like a hawk,” one doctor said.

Me too, my friend.

Talking Specifics About My Boy's Heart

Many people have asked what specifically is wrong with our son. I’ve avoided the medical mumbo jumbo until now, but I’ll give a quick rundown for reference. You probably have to be related to us to really care about the specifics, but for those who are, here’s the scoop:

In addition to the hole in the heart, he has two known problems: a Double Outlet Right Ventricle and a Coarctation of the Aorta. Here are some links as to what that means:

http://my.clevelandclinic.org/childrens-hospital/health-info/diseases-conditions/heart/hic-double-outlet-right-ventricle.aspx

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coarctation_of_the_aorta

In layman’s terms, I believe (yeah, I am not sure even I fully understand) he has two arteries that are coming from the same place and performing the same function (DORV). And, he has a narrowing of the aorta (Coarctation). Both of these things, along with the hole, will require surgery. There may be some other narrowings, too. There is also the possibility of other chromosomal defects.

The good thing is everything is fixable. The bad thing is he will have heart/blood pressure/infection/virus issues all his life. Not only do we have to worry about him surviving the surgeries, but then we’ll worry all his life about something else happening to him. He’ll be monitored by a cardiologist all his life.

One percent of babies are born with heart defects. If I understand correctly, one to three percent of those babies have DORV. It is really rare. Six to eight percent of children born with heart defects have coarctation of the aorta.

Brooke and I are hoping they can fix everything with one surgery. That may be wishful thinking, but it is obviously the best thing. The coarctation surgery is likely needed on the day he is born. But he may not be big or strong enough at that point for the DORV surgery, so that may have to wait for a couple of months.  

We should learn more during our March 26 meeting with the team of doctors from Cincinnati Children's Hospital Medical Center.

We are learning what to expect. A friend of a friend’s baby went through heart surgery this week after birth and we have been following her blog to learn what to expect. The baby has a different problem, but it will be a similar circumstance. Check out the pictures of the scar and all the tubes and such. Heartbreaking.  

http://journeyofjackson.blogspot.com/

We’ve been buoyed by all the success stories people are sending us. And we have been getting support from around the globe. If prayers and good thoughts mean anything, our boy is going to be just fine.

This Will Hurt Me Much More than it Hurts You

Watching your kid deal with a sickness or an injury has to be one of the toughest parts of parenting.

Sydney has had a cold for three weeks. It comes with a nasty cough, and she sounds like a lifetime three-pack-a-day smoker. I have the same cold and I personally know it is accompanied by – warning: too much information coming – a particularly thick, nasty phlegm. The poor girl doesn’t have the ability to blow her nose or clear her throat, so I know she is suffering. It is particularly bad when you lay down to sleep and I cringe every time I hear her coughing jag through the baby monitor.

I would gladly take on this cold for three months if it would save her a week from it.

I feel completely helpless when my daughter is sick. My wife and I fret over her, wonder when to take her to the doctor and generally feel every sneeze, sniffle or cough as a piercing arrow to our heart. The old saying “this is going to hurt me much more than it does you” certainly applies to parents when their children are sick.

This all makes me dread the upcoming heart surgeries Baby Gregg #2 is facing. (Still have not settled on a name. Tyson is now the clubhouse leader.) I can’t even watch Sydney get a shot – yes, I really do walk to the other side of the room, turn my head and then immediately swoop back in afterward to comfort her – so how am I going to handle doctors carving up my tiny son’s chest like a Thanksgiving turkey?

Moreover, how does one deal with all the pain a child will be in after major surgery? All the medicines being pumped into them? The sight of their fragile bodies surrounded by the constant hum and whirr of medical equipment working to keep them alive?

I always thought I was a tough guy. Then I became a parent. When it is happening to you, it is manageable. When it is happening to your kid, it is agony.

Don’t get me wrong. I know this is going to be needed if my son is to have a chance, so I am 1000 percent in support of the surgeries. But I dread the whole situation.

My wife said the other night she just wishes she could keep him in her belly because she knows he is safe. Once he comes out, he faces life or death.

I have no doubt she’d be willing to carry that boy for years if it meant he’d be safe.

I once heard someone say you spend the first 18 years of our child’s life just hoping you can get them safely to adulthood. That is your main responsibility – keeping them safe. You’d think that would be fairly easy. But it is amazing how much they can get into.

I turned my back for a second one day and Sydney was nine steps up the stairway. If she had fallen back, she could have killed herself. I can’t imagine when she is 4 and I take my eyes off her while in the yard and she darts into oncoming traffic.  

We’ve been trying to do more walking with Sydney. She needs the exercise and the doctor said it is a good way to break up the gunk in her chest. This weekend, we had her walking our long driveway. She fell and got a nasty scratch on her head. This was after she had fallen into a wooden chair leg and got a bump in just about the same spot. Before that, she had rolled off the couch at a friend’s house and hit the edge of the coffee table, giving herself a bruised cheek.

If my old co-workers at Job and Family Services saw her, I might be the subject of a 241-KIDS call.

Every time she falls, it cuts right to my heart. You feel like the worst parent on earth for letting it happen. We keep telling ourselves that kids will fall or get hurt and we have to get used to it, but I doubt we ever will.

I guess, in a way, I don’t want to. Having a child has awakened emotions in me that I long thought were gone. I don’t ever want to lose those again.

We should know more on March 26 what the plan of care is for our son. We’ll have another echocardiogram and meet with a cardiologist, high-risk obstetrician and some other doctors to get a sense of how many operations, how long in the hospital, whether we can care for him at home or not, etc. It is amazing to me that they can take a picture of my son’s heart through my wife’s belly – it can’t be any larger than a thumbnail right now – and know exactly what is wrong with it and what it will take to fix it.

I’ll be glad to have some answers, no matter how painful.

Parenting can bring you to your knees.

Life Knocks You on Your Ass

My son won’t have a normal start to life.

Minutes after leaving the womb, he’ll be whisked away to a waiting ambulance that will transport his tiny, fragile body several blocks away to one of the best children’s hospitals in the world. A spot in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit will be waiting.

There is a 70 percent chance he will need surgery immediately. There is a 100 percent chance he will need a second surgery within months.

And that is the best we can hope for.

I still am not to the point where I can say or write this without tears welling up.

I won’t glaze your eyes with the medical jargon that even I don’t understand. He is among the one percent of children who are born with heart defects. In fact, the odds are much smaller than one percent on some his defects: hole in his heart, two valves coming from the same spot and performing the same function, and narrowed arteries in two places.

My son is broken.

I ache for him to be fixed.

Doctors say it is possible. The surgery that is likely upon the day he arrives in this world can fix the narrowed artery at the top of his heart. The second surgery, which will definitely take place, will fix the hole and the two valves.

The other narrowing, which they are monitoring, may not be fixable. Brooke and I heard different things from the doctor. We were both so stunned at the news, I’m not sure either of us heard anything completely right. Brooke thinks it is fixable. This is one argument I hope she wins.

What I know for certain is he will spend many days in the hospital and undergo at least one open-heart surgery. More days in the hospital to recover, and possible follow-up surgeries. Then he will spend the rest of his life being monitored by a cardiologist.

But, if everything goes right, if the fixes take and the other narrowed artery heals, he could be a fairly normal kid.

I’ll take it. I’d love if he is able to play competitive sports and run freely, without a care, with his dog and neighborhood friends.

But mostly, I want him to be alive and healthy enough to have a decent quality of life.

I was angry when we got the news. I’ve spent many days since telling myself what a good life I have.

I grew up poor, but loved. And being poor was a positive. It sharpened me, made me a fighter. I would not be the person I am, or achieved what I have, without that foundation.

I had more fun in my 20s and 30s than the law should permit. In my 40s, I met and married a beautiful woman with a heart so tender saints move aside for her. Seventeen months ago, I was blessed with the best thing to ever happen to me, a beautiful daughter who is smarter than her age and as fun-loving as they come.

No one I have ever been close to has been murdered or died tragically young.  I’ve lost grandparents to debilitating diseases, but only after they’d lived long lives and showered me with love. I lost my dad to leukemia, but I had him with me into his 60s.

As a poker player, I understand skill is trumped by luck. Sometimes the odds are against you. This is simply my time for bad luck. I’ve had my good streak; now I have a challenge to overcome.

Or it could be karma. Lord knows I have done enough bad things and hurt more than a few people in my life.

But what about my wife, a special education teacher who takes care of the world’s most vulnerable? A selfless woman who lifts up everyone around her?

She doesn’t deserve this bullshit.

Neither does my innocent little son, who will be only minutes into this world when faced with life-or-death situations.

Fuck you, karma.

I don’t know if I am a good dad. I try my best, but without my wife to prop me up, I’d probably be lost. I’m better than my dad, but I am nowhere near the super dads I know, like my brother or a stay-at-home friend, Rory Glynn.  

But I know I am a LOVING dad. If love were water, a titanic swell would swallow Sydney daily.

If love can get us through, that little boy has a really good chance.

I’m glad Sydney is not old enough to know what is going on. A time that should be joyous and full of anticipation has turned to depression and nervousness.

I’m not an optimist or a pessimist. I am a realist. That means I study the situation, understand the odds and outcomes, hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

We all know what the worst is here. I’ll be prepared.

My wife is another story. Being prepared is cheating on the notion that our little boy will be anything but fine. Mothers don’t cheat their kids.

I’m worried about her. Her heart will break when they whisk that boy blocks away to Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Medical Center. She has to stay behind for three days, recovering from a C-section. She won’t be there for that first surgery, if needed. Normal breast feeding and bonding will be difficult.

There will be two people in this family with broken hearts.

No, make that three.

No Adam or Mark or John for Us

Picking a name for our son has been excruciatingly difficult. We just can’t agree on anything.

Really, we can agree. But then Brooke runs it by her family or her friends and if she gets any negative reaction, it is back to the drawing board. Essentially, she is crowdsourcing our name to her family and friends. When can you ever get agreement like that?

(Since she is going that route, I think I will, too. Read to the end to learn our current list of finalists and then cast your vote.)

Picking a name for Sydney was rather easy. Once we got passed the whole stripper argument, we settled on a few final candidates, talked it out and came to fairly quick agreement. With this one, we have narrowed it to a few candidates, talked it out, came to blows, slept in different rooms, threatened divorce and are still trying to come to agreement.

Names are important. We are the type who like something a bit different than the norm, but not weird. I don’t want something so unique they make fun of him, yet I don’t want say, the traditional Biblical names either.

I have friends who name their kids Jack and Mary and Charlie and Sally and I am OK with that. I also have friends who name their kids Sundance and Petunia (not really, but I don’t want to give an actual name here to avoid breaking up a friendship). I’m not ok with that.

Picking a really unique name can lead to a lot of teasing on the playground. Sure, your kid can turn it into a positive and become resilient and tough and a leader and literally turn the name into a synonym for “cool.” But he could also crumble like stale bread and spend the rest of his life on a psychiatrist’s couch wondering why his mom and dad thought Arsehole Gregg had a nice ring to it.

I’m also not necessarily enamored with names that can be shortened to something that I don’t consider equal to the given name. For example, Brooke likes Jackson. I think Jackson is cool, but I have a feeling everyone will call him Jack. Then he is just another of 22 million Jacks in this country. (Actually, according to howmanyofme.com, there are 498,107 Jacks in this country. It is only the 115^th most popular name. But John -- the name from which Jack is often derived -- is #2 with more than 5 million!)

And, of course, on the playground, he will be Jack Off, or, worse, Jack MeOff.

I also don’t want my kid named after me or anyone in our families. I want him to have his own identity and not have the burden of carrying any legacy. Brian is a cool name (the 29^th most popular in the U.S.!) as far as I am concerned, but one is enough.

Brooke likes a lot of sissy names. I won’t repeat them here, in case your kid has one of those names. But some names just conjure up prep school wimps more than others. Names like Chauncey and Kip and Grayson. I don’t want my kid to carry that burden.

Being a teacher, Brooke rules out a lot of cool names because she has encountered a student at some time whom carried that name and pissed her off in some way. Yeah, elementary school teachers can carry a grudge, too. Somewhere out there is a teacher who hates you because you put a tack on her seat as a devious little sixth grader. 

So let me run through our latest list of candidates. I will give you the pros and cons, but try not to bias you in any way. Nor will I release which is my favorite or which is Brooke’s favorite. The truth is, we are still entertaining new names; this is just the current list.

You can cast your vote in the comments section. Of course, it will hold no sway in our decision whatsoever (unless you pick my favorite – then I am marching the results right to Brooke!) But it will be fun.

Here they are, in no particular order:

Braeden: Pro: I like the “Br” sound, as in Brian and Brooke. Con: Sydney would be left out of the “Br” game.

Tyson: Pro: Even the shortened Ty is cool. Con: Tyson’s chicken.

Kellen: Pro: Rather unique, without being crazy. Con: Keenan and Kel?

Tate: Pro: Sounds manly. Tate Gregg. Con: It is rather unique, but is it crazy?

Max: Pro: Manly. And has an X, which is just cool. Con: Certainly the most common name on our list.

Jax: Pro: Again, it has an X. Con: Will it be mistaken for Jack? Is it too prep-schoolish? Is it crazy?

That’s it for now. I am interested in your opinion. Crowd sourcing is always a good idea, right?

I'm a Hit in Romania

If you are one of the half dozen or so regular readers of this blog, you are probably wondering where I have been for the past month and a half. Certainly something exciting must be happening in the world of Sydney that I have neglected to tell you.

You would be wrong.

I don’t really like to write unless there is something funny to write about. Have you read some of these blogs where people just post braggy stuff about their kids every week? “Johnny got straight A’s this week.” “Millicent was chosen to be the lead in the school play this week.”  “Billy scored two goals in last night’s soccer game.”

Yawn.

I’d much rather read a blow-by-blow account of how Johnny tried to stuff a whole McDonald’s cheeseburger in his mouth at once and ended up puking in the back seat of the mini van. Or how Millicent got in a cat fight with the school bully and dad scolded her in the principal’s office, but high-fived her once they got in the car. Or how Billy scored two goals in a soccer game, but is so directionally clueless he scored them in the other team’s goals.

Those stories, I can laugh at.

Sydney has been quite the joy lately. At 17 months, she’s getting a touch of the Terrible Twos. We will have a melt down every now and then. But nothing major. Just regular kid stuff. Not really any blog stuff.

We have had some milestones. She can count to 20, with a little help. She has about half of the alphabet down. She had a nice first Christmas, where she delicately opened each gift with one hand and one hand only, thereby making Christmas morning a three-hour affair.

We had our first haircut this week. She wasn’t scared. She didn’t throw a tantrum. Cute, but boring.

It is nice that she now can communicate with us, even if it isn’t in words. She can call out for Daddy when Mommy is annoying her and vice versa. I can always count on a “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” when Sydney gets out of the bath tub because she hates when Brooke dries her off. She wants daddy to come to the rescue.

She smiles and laughs a lot, now. She likes to go to the park and swing and slide, shouting “Whee!” as she glides down. Her favorite show is Caillou and she will stop all playing when it comes on, sitting still and watching intently. She likes pizza, hot dogs, yogurt, cottage cheese and cheese and pretty much spits out everything else.

She’s been sick a couple of times, but recovered quickly. She seems to like child care and gets along with the other kids. She can climb a flight of stairs in record time, ensuring mommy and daddy have to be alert at all times. (I once put the gate down and then went to get her glass of milk that sat in the refrigerator. In the time it took me to retrieve it, she was nine steps up and daddy almost had a heart attack.)

None of this makes for real funny blog fodder.  

As I have said before in this blog, we have settled into parenthood. I am sure there will be upheaval in May when Baby Gregg 2 comes along, but, for now, our lives are blissfully unbloggable.

But I realize I have regular readers who may want me to check in every once in a while, so I will try to pick it up.

For the six of you.

(I actually just checked the stats.) I have more than 14,000 page views all time. While the majority of those views are in the U.S., I have nearly 700 from Russia, more than 400 in the United Kingdom and almost 200 in Romania.

Russia? Romania? Apparently my comedy plays well in the Eastern European bloc. I’m glad the Iron Curtain no longer exists.

I’m not sure how my blogging translates in any of the dozen or so foreign countries that have registered more than ten views on my blog. Perhaps I am viewed as an obnoxious father in France. Maybe I’m laugh-out-loud, Benny Hill funny in the UK. I have to believe I am a little scary to the Taiwanese.

But they are reading. So I need to be writing. Sydney needs to start doing more funny things. The pressure is on, child. You might as well learn to deal with it at a young age. Deliver.

Your Romanian fan base is waiting.

Finding Out the Gender

We know what the gender of our baby will be.

We think.

Let me explain…

I am a reporter by nature, so I like to know everything before anyone else does. Obviously, given a choice, I am going to want to know if it is a boy or a girl. Plus it makes the planning much easier. I admire people who can wait nine months, but it is not me. If I am taking a trip, I want to know the train schedule ahead of time.

Who is worse than me with surprises? My wife. This is a woman who introduced me to the concept of telling people what you want for Christmas. I always assumed everyone tried to surprise their family and friends with a gift that was just right for them. (Although I will admit to at times shopping on Christmas Eve in I-71 gas stations as I traveled north for my family Christmas.) Her family takes all the surprise out by simply saying, “Buy me a Ke$ha CD for Christmas.”

Heck, she even wanted to shop for her own engagement ring. Being the highly romantic guy that I am, I wanted the whole “Will you marry me?” thing to be a surprise.

(By the way, I not only bought the perfect engagement ring myself, but my popping of the question was indeed a grand affair I am quite proud of. Feel free to ask her to tell the story sometime.)

So, between the two of us, there was never any argument as to whether we would find out the gender. But, my wife somehow cooked up a way to learn it even earlier than we planned.

There is a spa-like place in the community of Mason, just outside Cincinnati, that specializes in moms-to-be. Becoming Mom offers maternity clothes, massages, skin care, nail services, the ever popular “waxing,” and, finally, ultrasounds to determine the gender of your child.

A friend of Brooke’s told her about it and from that minute on, she was working me for a visit.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to know before Christmas? What a gift that would be.” Or, “Your mom is coming down in December and it would be great to take her so she can be a part of the experience.”

Yeah, she played the mom card on me.  

While we could wait another month and get this info from the doctor for free, I agreed to pay $70 – we had a coupon. My wife has a coupon for EVERYTHING! – and get it early.

My main concern was that we would get the wrong information. Brooke assured me they would get it right – after all, they guarantee to give you your money back if they are wrong.

Well, of course.

How’s that for a business model? I don’t know what an ultrasound machine costs, but I could buy one, charge parents $100 a pop, guess at the gender and make some dough. Even if I am wrong half the time, it is all profit.

(Forget what I said. As I am writing this, I looked up the price of an ultrasound machine. $135,000 freaking dollars! We wonder why health insurance is so expensive – medical equipment companies, doctors, hospitals – they are all marking things up thousands of percent and lining their pockets.

It would be easier for me to pass myself off as some sort of supernatural belly reader. No upfront investment and all profit. You pay me $100. I rub my hands over your belly and a gender pops into my head. If I am wrong, I give you your money back. If I am right, I am one Ben Franklin richer.)

Despite my concern about accuracy, we forged ahead. We showed up on a Saturday morning -- mom, dad and Sydney -- eagerly anticipating word of whether Sydney would have a little brother or sister.

Now, despite my declaration pre-Sydney that I 51% wanted a boy, this time around I really did not have a preference. My experience with Sydney has been so positive I would happily welcome another daughter into the fold. In fact, I feel a little like “I’ve got this,” when it comes to raising a girl, while a boy would be a whole new world to me. I’m especially worried about whether it would require more energy than an old geezer like me – two months away from my 47^th birthday when the baby is born – has to give. 

At the same time, I like the symmetry of a son. And there are things a son brings to your life that are different from a daughter. Part of me wants to experience those, too.

So, I really, truly had no preference as we passed through the “waxing” department and made our way to the ultrasound room of Becoming Mom.   

The place was nice. They escort you into a little room that is very clean and family friendly. Toys for Sydney, lounge chairs for daddy and a comfortable table for mommy. They dimmed the lights for a calming effect. It felt warm.

It did not calm Sydney, however, as she roamed around the room Gangnam Style while the technician lubed up her mother’s belly in preparation. In fact, the whole time the supernatural belly reader, I mean, ultrasound technician, was rubbing the magic wand over mom’s belly, daddy was chasing Sydney around the room, trying to get her to stay away from breakable items.

In the middle of my quest, we heard the heartbeat. Always a nice moment, even if Sydney was babbling over it. 

A few minutes later, the technician pointed to a tiny spot on the screen and said we were having…

A boy.

Yes.

A boy.

Now, this is where the “we think” part comes in. To be completely assured I am having a boy, I would have to wholeheartedly trust that this ultrasound technician is indeed an ultrasound technician – I didn’t see any license hanging on the wall – and that she really knows what she is doing. That little spot she pointed to was not distinguishable to me. These ultrasounds are all Rorschach blots to me. That spot could have been an elbow or a nose and I would not have been able to tell the difference.

Plus, I have a Fantasy Football team called the Big Anacondas after a nickname I have acquired over the years. So I was expecting the “spot” to be a bit larger than it was.

Ok, maybe it is a self-given nickname.

My wife, however, was sure. She said she knew before the technician knew.

I trust my wife more than I trust the technician. She had a gut feeling going in that it was a boy. She accurately predicted a girl with Sydney. She is the real-life supernatural belly reader.

So, I am having a boy. The perfect family gets more perfect.

I am one lucky man. I get to experience the joy of bringing up both a son and a daughter. I am blessed beyond anything I ever expected in my life.

Am I worried? Sure. There are more sleepless nights ahead. I have no idea how I will afford the bigger house. When it’s time to teach him how to turn the double play or post someone up under the basket or throw the perfect spiral, I’ll be in my late 50s, with a bad back and creaky knees.

But I now will have two children who give me a reason to get up in the morning. I’ll have laughter echoing through my home. I’ll have tea parties to attend and football games to watch. I’ll have double the hugs and kisses.

Being a dad has been the greatest experience of my life. Now, I get the pleasure of doing it again.

I can’t wait to meet my son.