So I forgot the comic relief to our first visit to the doctor. At the point where we ask the first tirade of 372 questions we have prepared in advance, I manage to start my one question I have come up with in the twisted recesses of my mind with "I know that I'm just the father and my work here is done...".
Crap. If only the world outside my mouth were as clear as it is in my mind. The doctor explodes into a loud guffaw, yes a guffaw, a loud "boy you just damned yourself and I wish you all the luck you may not deserve" laugh as my beautiful, glowing, sweetest woman you ever met wife looks at me in disbelief at the words that I so artfully crafted stumble out of my mouth, clearing the way for both my feet and ankles to fill the void in my mouth.
My simple question was, as the father, does the fact that my mother, so many years ago, had a few miscarriages have any genetic bearing on the success of our pregnancy.
Sounds simple. Typical new parent question I would think. I preface it with the most selfish and uncaring sounding, way I could have found to present it. Fortunately Danielle knows me and knows sometimes you just have to say "gotta love him because he's just so dang cute". Yeah right.
I have a feeling I will hear about this for awhile to come.
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