I could blog about the Super Bowl, but ESPN has at least 50 people writing about it right now. The commercials are being covered also. So I decided to type a few words about the biggest thing in my life, my son. At the time of me typing this, we are (probably) 48 hours away from having the heir to my Coen name. Sorry, buddy. At least you aren’t being born under another stupid Pats championship.
The first pregnancy for my wife was in the summer – hot, with swollen feet and we didn’t know nothing for nothing no how. I even took a breastfeeding class (I sat in, taking notes aka drawing pictures of boobs) to support my wife. Number two, not so bad…for me. I felt OK, you know? (Any guy that says “we” are pregnant should be kicked in the ass). My wife had horrendous acid reflux where she was either dehydrated or choking back stomach acid puke the whole time. Her back is shot – I have to use a massager on her almost every night. Oh and there’s a little girl that still asks for momma no matter what she feels like even as croop somehow ran up the chain to her a couple weeks ago. It’s a coughy, snot-filled mess in here.
So, through all this, my wife has made it to the finish line. At 6 months, she was putting in tile to finish our house project on the old house to sell it, on her hands and knees. We sold my condo and her house, plus moved into a new house and bought a new car since she’s been pregnant. Her father also passed away suddenly early on in the pregnancy, which was just crushing. Being a mom meant there really wasn’t a chance to slow down or grieve. Despite all this, she has persevered. I am in awe of the capacity of women to have children, but my wife deserves a purple heart, especially if he’s anywhere close to our 9 lb., 3 oz. first child. Luckily, he’s a boy, so I think I am supposed to let him be raised by wolves for the first six months. Does anyone know where there are any wolves? Damn urbanization.