Surprise? What Surprise?

Last night we got a call from one of TFBIM's pals with the good news she is expecting and has been for some time. TFBIM and her discussed the heartburn, this and that and the other thing; finally the sonogram/ultrasound thing came up. To cut the story short, she said they didn't want to know if the baby would be a boy or a girl. The reason? Get this..."we want to be surprised."

Now, we life in a pluralist society and people ought be free to hold whatever views they wish for whatever reasons they wish to hold them. That's fine. But "to be surprised?"

TFBIM knows me well enough by now not to hand over the phone to me because the conversation would run--as Bob Newhart might say--a little something like this:

Me: Are you going to find out if it's a boy or a girl?
Her: No, we want to be surprised.
Me: What do you mean "surprised?" There's only two things it could be. If you had a boy, would you really be surprised?
Her: Er, no.
Me: If you had a girl, would that be a surprise?
Her: Um...I guess not?
Me: Now, if you were expecting either a boy or a girl, but, instead, you birthed a panda bear, that would be surprise. So how is not knowing "a surprise?" If you were having triplets, you'd want to know, right?
Her: Yeah.
Me: Why wouldn't you want to be surprised then?

As you can see, my wife does well in never handing the phone over to have me discuss things with her friends, especially the ones I consider mentally negligible.

-Joke

Comments

blackbird said…
ahhh Joke.
Methinks you need to be pregnant.
Or at least get your period.
Just once.
Joke said…
BB,

I'm already staring at a future in which my prostate rivals my ego in size.

-Joke, who HATES surprises
Badger said…
You're such a freakin' GUY all the time, man.
BabelBabe said…
Joke, I so disagree with you on this one. I am something like 65 weeks pregnant at this point - ok, 38 - but let me tell you, something has to get me through labor. And if I knew which flavor this child was, I'd be all, "Just get the damn kid out already, forceps, razors, I don't care!" and then I'd have scars and never be able to don a bikini again. Ahem, yeah. Right. Anyhoo...

There are very few real surprises in life, and even though there are only two options, it is still a surprise. And damn you, if I birth a panda bear now, I am holding you responsible.
Joke said…
BabBab,

I hate surprises. I mean I really, really, REALLY totally abhor, hate and despise surprises.

TFBIM got through labor--and to aggravate things further, I'm not one of those "in the room" dads--because there was serious jewelry at the other end of it. Far more serious than if I had actually been there, but that's the price of my being a raving wuss.

-Joke
BabelBabe said…
God, you wonderful man. You left the room? I thought I was going to have to kill my husband to get him to leave me alone. Growling, "Get your hands the fuck off me and leave me alone" while writhing in pain didn't seem to do the trick. Shouting, "Don't TOUCH me!" didn't work. Pretending I was dead didn't work. I am all for the birth model of disappearing into a cave somewhere (albeit with epidural)and emerging only once the child has.

When I *wanted* him around, afterwards, so as to get me sushi and ice cold cokes, he disappeared *then* to make phone calls and go to dinner with his parents.

Childbirth sucks in oh so many ways; I still don't want to know the flavor of the fetus.
Joke said…
BabBab,

It is a poorly kept secret I am so not a modern, progressive sort. There comes a point in which a dating relationship Becomes Something Serious, and it was at just such a point I told my then-GF that, I would not be in the delivery room.

She, being more a product of the times than I am, pressed me on the issue. I admitted there might be some slight possibility I could be in the room, such as if said room 1) was a fucking HUGE room and 2) it had a bar at the other end.

I mentiond I was resolute on the matter and when the time came for NOS to issue forth, I dropped her off at the hospital, made sure she was comfortable and wanted for nothing and then I fucked off. The nurse looked at me as I were some particularly flatulent sort of jackal and asked if I was really not staying in the room. I said that not only would I be away, but I was not to be called in until the boy was cleaned off properly.I left her spluttering in incomprehension. I then went to fulfill my job of playing goalie against her parents.

All of this cost me a tennis bracelet for NOS and a diamond pendant for the second. Now I have to monitor TFBIM's cycle carefully, since she's been admiring some jacketed diamond studs recently.

-Joke
BabelBabe said…
You know, this all makes me think about why women want anyone in the room anyway? My Perfect SIL practically had a family picnic in her room while giving birth, and I know others who have had best friends, boyfriends, in-laws, the entire defensive line of the Pittsburgh Steelers. Are they really that comfortable with their bodies? I know I have body issues, and I know I have bodily function issues - so maybe I am just not normal. But c'mon, who wants their father-in-law to watch them give birth? Isn't *that* just a tad sick?

Anyway, I'd say for some great jewelry and with an understanding spouse, you got off pretty easy. You're lucky the nurses didn't drag you back in.

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