Don’t Ask

I was going through my old e-mails today looking for one message in particular: the one announcing that Ann and I would be proud parents in 7 months.

Unfortunately, I was unable to find it. But I bring this up for a reason.

When we found out we were excited, scared, dumbfounded, anxious. You see, we had been trying to conceive pretty much for the duration of our marriage which, up to that point, was 10 years. At one point we had decided that we would never able to have one and stopped trying (but kept practicing). Visiting a fertility clinic never entered our minds; it was all or nothing for us.

But once it happened, things began to change immediately. I catered to everything Ann needed as she was on bedrest for the duration of her pregnancy. That’s what husbands and expectant fathers are supposed to do. This included visiting Del Taco at least three times a week for her favorite meal: a Macho Combo Burrito.

We also took all necessary step to ensure that our new arrival would have everything they needed. And despite being confined to the shackles of bedrest, Ann continued her studies online and earned her Bachelor of Science in Information Technology degree. And to make sure that we would never have to rely on the state or government assistance to put food in our long-awaited son’s mouth, Daddy took it upon himself to look into getting a better-paying job with better benefits. In less than a year later, I had one.

Any parent will tell you that the job is not easy, even with two parents in the picture and only one child. Feeding, clothing, changing diapers, discipline…the list goes on and on. But it’s what is required from Mommy and Daddy, especially me and Ann, two people that never expected to have a child but swore once we did, we would do things the right way.

All that said, don’t even think of asking my opinion about that living-with-her-parents, unemployed-and-asking-Oprah-for-2-million-dollars, unmarried woman that just had 8 kids and already had 6, all conceived via IVF.