ME: My pregnancy app says we need to talk about circumcision tonight. Presumably for the baby, but they didn’t really specify.
HUSBAND: OK. What do you want to say about it?
ME: (Googling) It appears to be a controversial topic with many pros and cons.
HUSBAND: How do you feel?
ME: I actually have no strong feelings about it one way or another. None. Zero.
HUSBAND: Neither do I.
ME: This is really your territory. All I can contribute is the story of the first time I saw an uncircumcised penis.
HUSBAND: Nope. Don’t want to hear it.
ME: Wait, I’ve got something. What do you call a cheap circumcision?
HUSBAND: What?
ME: A rip off.
HUSBAND: Alright, we’re done talking about this now.
Times like these I feel like I’m still pretending to be an adult. There are very important decisions to be made here — such as, do I want to cut off the tip of my son’s penis? — and I have never even considered these things before. Not once. How am I qualified for this? My business card doesn’t say “foreskin expert.” (Maybe someday. Fingers crossed!)
More importantly, how do other people do it? Did everyone go to a special parenting school when I was out at a bar? If so, you guys are bastards for not inviting me. Is there some way I can obtain a spare baby, so I can try again after I irrevocably screw up this one?
All I know is that I have a lot more research to do before I make any organ-altering decisions. Back to the Google I go.
Here’s what else has been going on this week — the very tip of the third trimester!
Week 27: This is supposedly the beginning of the end, according to people who give me unsolicited advice: “Oh sure, you feel great now. But just wait. That third trimester is terrible.” So … yay?
Baby: As big as a head of cauliflower.
Me: Looks like I’m shoplifting a head of cauliflower.
Seriously, every week I look more and more like the pregnant dude in the “Been Caught Stealing” video, and it cracks me up. If only Halloween were closer, I could totally rock that look, no foam padding necessary.
Exercise: Not so great — only a couple long walks and one yoga class — and I’ve definitely noticed a difference. I feel far chunkier and more lethargic this week. Next week will be better.
On a good note, I did some cool stuff instead of working out.
For instance, I had a couple hours before work on Tuesday. Instead of going for a bike ride like usual, I watched a bunch of guys disassemble the Forever Marilyn statue in downtown Palm Springs.
And on Saturday, which is typically my hiking day, The Husband and I drove to San Diego and took a falconry class. The Husband was initially wary about us doing the class during pregnancy, because he was afraid a bird might peck the baby out of my womb.
I’m pleased to report we both enjoyed the class and had zero Hitchcockian incidents.
I still think most birds are weird and could really use some arms, but I’m starting to warm up to raptors.
Health: I had my glucose tolerance test this week, and I should get the results early next week. I’ve done a fair amount of research on the test, and I feel like it’s flawed — and because of that, too many pregnant women are incorrectly diagnosed with gestational diabetes. But I’m going to save that rant for another day. Also I’m not a doctor, just a lady with a lot of opinions.
Books: Baby received his first set of books this week, a gift from my dear friend Tracy. They’re some of my favorite children’s books too: “Where the Wild Things Are,” “Pat the Bunny” and “Goodnight Moon.”
I’ve already started reading to the baby, which seems to inspire a whole taekwondo performance in my belly. So the baby either looooves books, or he hates them and wants me to shut up about rabbits and mittens already.
Cravings: Peanut butter on all the things. Peanut butter on apples. Peanut butter with celery. Peanut butter crackers. Peanut butter and rice cakes. Peanut butter on a moldy rooftop shingle. I don’t care! Slather me in peanut butter and let me nom myself to death.