The kids were all quietly enjoying their snacks when the silence was broken by a tiny voice. A little boy named Benny said, “apple.” Benny’s father replied, “that’s right, apple.” Benny was looking at the juice box, which had a picture of an apple on it. I thought, “good for you, Benny.” The boy was smaller than Stevie and looked like he might be a couple/three months younger as well. Being that Stevie basically only vocalizes “hi” and “bye bye,” I couldn’t help but think that it was pretty advanced for Benny to recognize and say “apple.” I was genuinely impressed with young Benny. Then it happened. Like wildfire it spread. Benny said “apple” again. Then another little kid said “apple. Then another and another and another, until almost all of the children at the table were saying “apple.” One of the little tykes even went so far as to say, “red apple.”

Suddenly, I had that bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I looked over at Stevie, who was showing little to no interest in the apple conversation. I caught eyes with Jani. I looked at her and she at me and our minds seemed to be connected, like those creepy blond kids in “Escape from Witch Mountain.” With a single glance I could tell that Jani and I were thinking the same thing; our son, who is without a doubt far ahead of other kids his age in most, if not all of the physical categories, is behind the curve when it comes to speech. I’ve suspected as much for a little while now, but I’ve told myself that all kids develop differently, at their own pace. Stupidly, I continually ask other parents with children Stevie’s age, how much their child is speaking. I don’t usually like the answer I get. But, today was different. They all said “apple,” every stinking one of them.

So, now comes the self-doubt… the what ifs… the blaming one’s self… the baseless wild speculations… the fretting… the sadness… the tension… the complete and utter feeling of helplessness.

My son is why I get out of bed in the morning. He really has given reason to my life. I’ll do anything, and I mean anything for him. Joe Rogan, of all people, summed it up best on a podcast I was listening to a while back. He said, and I paraphrase: I’ve got two bananas. One is perfect and the other is all black and shitty. I really want that perfect banana, but I look at my child and I’m totally going to eat that shitty banana.

So, tomorrow at 10:00 AM we’re taking Stevie to his doctor and we’re going to start the process of getting him tested for his slow speech development. I’m really hoping that he’s just being stubborn and simply doesn’t feel like talking yet. But, no matter what the outcome, I’m totally going to eat that shitty banana.

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I’m not keeping a physical list of my rational and irrational fears. It’s mostly all in my head, as it were. If I was keeping a list, however, I’d have a new one to throw on the pile. Today, Jani sent me a link to an article. The headline said: “New Mom Leaves N.D. Hospital with Wrong Baby.” Awesome! So, now I don’t just have to worry about the health and well being of my own child, I have to do the same for all the children being born in the same hospital at the same time. You know, in case we get the wrong one. Sure, there’s a remote chance we could get one who’s parents were both professional athletes, but that’s highly unlikely. No, I want my Ginker to be MY Ginker. That’s not hoping for too much, is it?

I had a thought, which I mentioned to Jani. Someone should make a product that lets you mark your baby as soon as soon as it comes out. Nothing crass, like a bar code, or some hot wax seal, or one of those ear tags they use on cows. I’m thinking maybe a vegetable dye, family crest sort of thing, right there on the forehead. Of course we probably won’t have to worry, as our baby will no doubt have the traditional family birthmark, 999. Jani didn’t find that funny either.

Cheers!

Papi

Well, the title of this post pretty much says it all. Jani had her sonogram yesterday and it revealed that contrary to my overwhelming feeling we were going to have a girl, Jani is in fact carrying a boy. Of course, the technician gave us the usual disclaimer that she could not be one hundred percent certain that our Ginker is a boy. In her words, “we won’t be completely certain until delivery. Mistakes happen all the time…..” Etc…. All disclaimers aside, I saw what I saw, and it looks pretty clear to me. See for yourself below:

That's my Boy - 17 Weeks Sonogram

OK, I confess. I photoshoped that one a bit. Here’s the real picture:

Ginker - 17 Weeks Sonogram

I’ve got to say, seeing that sonogram and hearing the heartbeat (we bought a monitor) is just about the coolest thing I’ve ever experienced. It’s getting real. It’s getting exciting. Holy shit! I’m going to be a father. Wish me luck.

Cheers!

Papi

Will my Ginker, A.K.A. Player to be Named Later, A.K.A. unborn child, be born with fish genitalia? I was watching the Colbert Report last night and his guest was NY Times Columnist, Nicholas D. Kristof. The subject of his appearance was  Endocrine disruptors, which apparently are causing kids to be born with fish junk. At least that’s what I think he was talking about. It was late and I was on Vicodin. Anyway, you can see for yourself below:

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OK, I just watched the clip again. I really should lay off the Vicodin. But, still there’s a lot to worry about. The world is a dirty, dangerous place. We all laughed at Blinky the three-eyed fish from “The Simpsons,” way back in the 20th century.

Blinky

Suddenly, it’s not so funny. The Potomac river is full of mutant fish….mmmmmmm mutantlicious….. Who knows what’s developing in the world’s oceans.

I recently read that there’s a mass of garbage (the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, A.K.A the Eastern Garbage Patch, A.K.A the Pacific Trash Vortex) that is twice the size of Texas, floating somewhere in the Pacific ocean. TWICE THE SIZE OF FUCKING TEXAS! Wait a minute…. maybe it is Texas. They wanted to secede from the US. Maybe they’ve broken away and made themselves an island. So that’s what GWB was working on all that time he spent in Crawford, on “vacation.” Quick, somebody go see if Texas is still where we left it.

All seriousness aside, a mass of garbage twice the size of Texas? I just can’t wrap my brain around that. You know it’s only a matter of time before all that garbage gets struck by lightning, or a comet passes too close to the Earth, and the garbage vortex comes to life and destroys Tokyo. Save us, Shia! Oh well, I guess I’m left with no choice but to raise my Ginker to fight this garbage monster. Sort of  like how Linda Hamilton raised Jon Conner to fight the machines. What a world… what a world….

I leave you with this parting thought:

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Cheers!

Papi