Better Late Than Never

Is waiting until the 22nd week too late to start a pregnancy blog?

Well, looking back onto that fateful summer night my memory is a little hazy, but here is what really happened on June 26, 2009:

It was early evening and I was cruising home from the gym -- rollin' the jag. My slick Schwinn Jaguar, that is. It was my main mode of transportation at the time, as a slight misunderstanding had left me temporarily without a driver's license while my attorney straightened things out. I was cruising. I was back on track. I was feeling good. I had gotten back into my regular routine and I would have my license back in roughly a week. I felt like things were getting back to normal for me and all the pieces were falling into place.

I turned the corner and came into the final 2 miles of the 4-mile ride. It was down a path along a canal, littered with trees and picnic benches, lovers, lizards and old men fishing on that humid summer night. I was actually kind of enjoying not driving. It seemed less stressful and things generally slowed down.

When you're in a car with the outside world whizzing by, you don't take much time to notice things. You see red lights flashing; hear horns honking and you must constantly watch for the other drivers who seem to make it their objective to kill you. This is driving in South Florida -- a Mad Max style road race of doom. While there is no prize awarded to the winner, no finish line, there is a constant struggle to best the car next to you. Profanity laced tirades are yelled through rolled up windows.

You don't really notice your surroundings, so I had enjoyed my rush hour respite. I rode the train, rode my bike and Melinda was kind enough to drive me around the rest of the time. So, I was making the most of the situation. Riding my bike was good exercise and it gave me a chance to enjoy life at a slower pace. I was enjoying the ride at a leisurely pace.

My iPod was keeping the beat for my peddling and I was cruising. I would be home to my girlfriend in a few minutes. I would shower, we would eat, go to bed and start the next day fresh. We were settling into a happy little routine.

The song changed and the Kings of Leon's guitars hissed and the lead singer opened up the chorus of "Knocked-up" with:

"I don't care what nobody say, we gonna have a bay-bee!"

I sang along as I opened the gate -- having no clue the extremely coincidental foreshadowing that was taking place at that very moment. I rode up to see Melinda standing with her arms crossed in front of my studio apartment. I hopped off my bike as we walked inside.

"We need to talk," she said.

This phrase never meant anything good. Ever. That's when things started running through my mind. I knew this opening line and it always meant trouble. It usually was followed by an accusation -- justified or not -- that would end in screaming and her slamming my door on her way out. I began running through all the possible scenarios.

After racking my brain for what seemed like an eternity, I could come up with nothing. I had not always been the perfect boyfriend, but for the past several months I had been pretty damn good.

This was one of those instances where life slows down dramatically, and what in earth time is about 20 seconds, feels more like a week and a half of prison isolation. Like the warden is letting you sweat it out in the box until you're ready to admit your crime. But I was innocent! An innocent man wrongly accused of a crime he did not commit. I had been blindsided by accusations that I would have to refute in a battle for my very soul. Was I being a little dramatic? Perhaps, but I felt good that I was clean on this one -- I was ready, or so I thought…

This is when she broke the news that would ultimately change my life in the most profound way possible.

"We need to talk."

Maybe she said it twice or maybe it just echoed in my skull. Like a deer in the headlights, I froze and blurted out my natural reaction: "What's up?"

That's when she handed me a positive pregnancy test. I'm pretty sure the look I gave her said it all, but if there were subtitles they would have read something like:

"Duh…er…huh? I…uh…wuh?"

She replied with another handful of positive pregnancy tests. There was one with a blue line, one with a blue cross, one that very legibly read "pregnant" and one that you had to shake like a magic eight ball that read: "You gonna be a daddy!"

I looked up from my armload of testing supplies and Melinda looked as shocked as I was. She threw herself into my arms and started crying.

"What are we going to do?"

"Well, I think we are going to have a baby," I replied, trying to play it cool. "It will be ok…" I was saying it to her, but I was saying it for both of us.

This was another one of those time-machine moments where I traveled through the parallel universes to see visions of the future. I thought about how vital the next few moments would be, about how a decision right now would alter the course of our lives forever.

I squeezed Melinda tightly so she couldn't get her face out of my chest to ask any more questions. I needed as much time as possible to think. As I returned from the multiple future dimensions, the theme song of the evening replayed in my brain and I realized:

"I don't care what nobody say, we gonna have a bay-bee!"