The first reaction

Normally, when you envision being told about a pregnancy – a pregnancy of which you, the man, were an integral part – you picture that the conversation will be one-on-one, perhaps in a nice restaurant or at your own dinner table because your wife wanted to make it special. I say, “normally.” There's never been anything normal about Carmen and I, so I don't know why I would have thought things would be any different. Other than that, unless you're Jim Bob Duggar, is there anything normal about being told you're about to father a child?

I was at work, typing away about why a veteran was entitled to a 0 percent evaluation for his erectile dysfunction due to his hypertension medication when I got the following text:

O.k... please don't freak out, but I think I might be pregnant... I was reading at work during lunch about the effects of alcohol on the fetus, and given my period was weird, I just got worried because I had a huge class of wine at dinner the other night. I bolted home because I remembered that we have those two pregnancy tests. I took them both, and they both came out the same... two lines (one dark, one light). I called Dr. Wilcox and scheduled an appointment for tomorrow at 10:30 am. Would you mind going with me? Sorry for the long text...I'm just really worried.

Disregarding the artistic merits of this text message (helluva opening line – way more attention grabbing than “Call me Ishmael”) and the part about the period, I decided to respond back with the most natural thing that came to mind, “Sure, i'll go with you. What do the lines mean?” I guess this is just the times we live in.

Here's the thing, folks. When I'm in denial, I tend to be a little dense. In case you're wondering, I'll save you the time of the next novel-length text to clue you into this... If the First Response pee stick has two lines, no matter how pink or red, she's pregnant. If there are two lines, you'd better start making plans to decorate a nursery or making plans to make the fall down the stairs look like an accident. I chose neither. I automatically assumed that my Carmen, though genius in matters of the soft sciences, was far too intellectual to accurately pee on the test. I, however, can figure out how to pee on anything. “She may be worried now, however, when the man comes home, I shall give a tutorial on how to appropriately do this.” She soon put this idea to bed when she informed me that she actually peed into a cup in order to completely submerge the contact end – I told you, she's too smart for me.

I couldn't help but feel 46% responsible for this. I also , I couldn't help but think that the guy who has ED because of his meds was now the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in America.

I always thought that if I was told I was going to be a father, I would immediately throw up. However, there was an obvious urgency/worry/concern in the texts that I was calm and reserved, just like I usually am. Here's the thing... she was so concerned about the state of the zygote from the wine, that her instinct to care for this thing she knew a grand total of 45 seconds totally calmed me. Though this thing (baby) wasn't a part of our plan, it's all going to be okay. There was still a part of me, however that didn't really believe it was happening.

Three more pregnancy tests later (two of them being digital and screaming “PREGNANT”), I was pretty sure it was happening.