Please, Don't Feed the Beans

I have not felt sympathy for an inanimate object since I read the Velveteen Rabbit as a small boy. I did feel some brief pangs of pity for some of the characters on the Island of the Misfit Toys in Rudolph the Red-nose Reindeer, but it was fleeting, as claymation tends to freak me out.

Yet, the other day I found myself feeling sorry for the holiday cupcake that Mrs. Beans demolished in about 2.3 seconds. It is difficult to find an appropriate metaphor for the combination of pure efficiency and animal instinct that Mrs. Beans employed when she devoured that cupcake. Has anyone ever seen a calf-roping contest? They release the poor calf and it runs like crazy for about 10 feet until it is lassoed and hog-tied by the pursuing cowboy in about 3 seconds. You feel awful for the poor little calf, but at the same time a small part of you thinks, "Holy shit! I can't believe how fast that was!" I think this might best describe the experience and I literally stood there slack-jawed.


In any event, I found myself feeling sorry for the poor little cupcake. What did it do to deserve a fate like that? I know, I know, its the circle of life, and perhaps if the cupcake wasn't so darned delectable with its buttery frosted goodness and sassy holiday funfetti topping it could have lived a longer and fuller life, but it just seems wrong. I am strongly considering the purchase of one of those hand held catapults that you use to throw tennis balls for your dog. I mean doesn't the cupcake deserve a fighting chance?

I think part of the problem is the realization that I am now living with a full-blown predator. I am left to pick over the remains of whatever Mrs. Beans has devoured and I have taken to stashing a small package of Saltines in my dresser door. I break out in the chills when the packaging crinkles and makes a noise as I attempt to open it in the confines of my closet.

crinkle, crinkle

"What are you eating!?!?"

"Mmmm.... uh, N-n-nuthing." As I frantically wipe crumbs off of my chest.

Frankly, keeping the cupboards stocked has become a major priority for me. I've seen the way she eyes me when she thinks that I'm not looking. I'm just one false move from becoming an appetizer.

Man Seeking Minivan... Wood paneling a plus.

There is an old proverb that goes something like, "A spoonful of honey will catch more flies than a gallon of vinegar."

And that old proverb is dead wrong.

Today was our final appointment at the fertility clinic and it could not have gone any better. Mrs. Beans and I were expecting some scowling faces, especially after we reiterated our desire that the doctor from our previous examine not be present. However, it was all kittens and rainbows down at the baby factory. Sure, the nurses and doctors were probably pointing and whispering behind our backs, but who cares!? Our face-to-face interactions were easily an 11 out of 10. The doctors couldn't have been any nicer and walked us through the exam in great detail. It is too bad that you basically have to raise hell to get what you need. But I digress. The results are in...

And....

TWINS!!!!The wand doctor had no more said, "Let's play a little game called 'just the tip,' see how it feels" when the babies floated into view. Yes, two healthy little Beans were spotted "spooning" in the upper reaches of Mrs. Beans uterus. They are both the same size (7 weeks, 2 days) and have heartbeats of 165 and 147 (I will assume that this is a resting heart rate since they didn't seem to be doing too much). Mrs. Beans is technically 7 weeks and 5 days, but according to the doctor the "size lag" is no big deal. One of the babies has a much larger gestational sac/apartment, but again we were assured that "size doesn't matter." I am feeling excited and Mrs. Beans is feeling tired and hungry! She is snacking for 3!

Bean Wolf!

Over the past few days I have been trying to catch up on my blog reading and I have noticed that some bloggers have transferred me over to the "expecting" category on their blog rolls. This is totally fine (and accurate), but this came as a bit of a shock. Mrs. Beans and I still "knock on wood" about about every ten minutes. As previously mentioned, we are very nervous and continue to worry incessantly about the status of Mary-Kate and Ashley. I know that at week 12 the chances of "that which shall not be named" decrease significantly, but I think that I might continue to work over the ol' worry dolls until the birth... or maybe even high school graduation (side note: In 3rd grade I "shop-lifted" a worry doll on a field trip to an international fair in Minneapolis, and then in a fit of irony proceeded to use the worry doll to lament my crime and inevitable capture/incarceration).

It is a little awkward to shift identities. One day I am "Infertile Frank" and the next I am "Fertile Frank" (with 14,000 dollars worth of assistance). Strange as it seems, I had grown accustomed to the label of "infertile." It is a label that has brought so much pain to our lives, but at the same time it has become a part of my identity. Now I need some time to learn a new role, that of an "expecting father," but I am hesitant to try it on for fear that it might be stripped away. Okay, this is getting pretty deep, pretty fast... hmmm, I need an inappropriate and light hearted analogy.... Got it!

This transition from "infertile" to "expecting father" is not unlike the character transformation detailed in the 80s hit film Teen Wolf! As you may recall, the protagonist is Scott Howard (played by Michael J. Fox), an average Midwestern teen, who starts to undergo a series of mysterious changes (to him anyway, not so mysterious if you saw the movie poster). Initially the signs of the transformation are subtle, a long chest hair, rapidly growing fingernails, glowing red eyes, etc., but eventually he loses control and completely morphs into his werewolf alter ego.

Thanks to the help of his best friend "Stiles" and his prodigious basketball skills, he is embraced by the students and the town-at-large. Unfortunately, the rapid transformation triggers a minor identity crisis in Scott and he struggles to adapt to his new powers. Eventually, he comes to learn that the old Scott wasn't so bad and that the "wolf," while a significant part of him, does not define him as an individual. Perhaps it is the same way with my transformation. Certainly fatherhood will change me in some fundamental ways, but "Infertile Frank" is still an important part of who I am and always will be.

Also, some lingering Teen Wolf questions/observations:

The antagonist in the film is Mick, who competes with Scott for the girl Pamela Wells and on the basketball court (he plays for the Dragons). Yet, somehow they also attend the same high school? Can someone please explain to me how they can attend the same small Midwestern high school and yet play for different high school teams?

Next, is dribbling really an obvious "wolf" skill? If anything, I would think that the elongated hind legs would be a hindrance to an individual's hoop skills. Furthermore, I think that the immediate acceptance of Scott by the rest of the student body was a little too quick. I don't know about the rest of you, but "different" didn't exactly fly at my high school.

Finally, what kind of nickname is Boof? I looked it up on IMDB and the character's name is "Lisa 'Boof' Marconi," so it is not like Boof is short for Boofinski or something. "7th Grade Frank" always thought that Boof sounded dirty, but my 7th grade body also found algebra vaguely erotic (I also giggled that the team mascot in the movie was the "Beaver"). "Modern Frank" still thinks that Boof is a little suspect and frankly, it didn't seem like that was her first time "in the closet" if you know what I mean. I would be willing to bet that Boof's name is carved into quite a few bathroom stalls in Beacontown High School.

Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving everyone... and to our Canadian friends, well Boxing Day is just around the corner.

Revenge of the Beans!

"Oh We're Not Gonna Take It!

No, We Ain't Gonna Take It!
Oh We're Not Gonna Take It, Anymoooooore!"

Ah, the harmonious sounds of Twisted Sister, now serving as the official Beans family anthem. In general the Beans are a peaceful clan. Our preferred form of aggression is "passive" (hence, my penchant for blogging). We are the type of family that leaves nasty notes when people steal our newspaper, rather than risk face to face confrontation.

But after our last doctor's appoint something strange happened to Mrs. Beans. I don't know if it is the hormones or if she is morphing into a mama bear before my eyes, but before I knew it she called up the doctor's office and went all Ethan Hunt on their ass!

Doctor: I can understand that you are very upset.

Mrs. Beans: Doctor, You've never seen me very upset.


Woo-hoo! I was very proud of her. She explained to the head of the clinic that she was very disappointed with her last appointment and that we left with more questions than answers. She explained that in the future we needed to have the appointment addressed to us and not to the supervising doctor. That it was important for us to have the ultrasound explained in detail. Very calmly she pointed out that she repeatedly had to take the initiative during the appointment to ask for clarification as medical jargon rained down on our heads.

To the credit of the doctor who runs the clinic (and who we like a great deal), he was very responsive and apologetic. While he was supportive of his own staff, he validated Mrs. Beans feelings and assured her that she would not have to see the same physicians for our final visit.

Overall, I think that it was a very productive conversation and that Mrs. Beans felt better afterwards. Now that we have had a few days to reflect, I think that what is bothering us is that the doctor seemed to be pointing out a number of "problems" (or at least we perceived them as problems since there was no explanation). Between the HUGE cysts, a seemingly empty gestational sac, and the large amounts of free fluid in the uterine chamber, we were left feeling that there was a lot of crazy stuff going on down below and this raised some alarms for us concerning miscarriage. We now know that these symptoms are common, but because of the nonchalant attitude of the doctors, e.g. "everything looks okay for now", we were sent into a bit of a downward spiral. I must say that even now that we know better, we are still feeling quite a bit of nervous tension. We want our innocence back! Or at the very least some reassuring statements following a lengthy, invasive, and expensive journey.

In the meantime, I am cooking up a storm for the ladies. Last night they devoured some bow-tie pasta with a lovely sauce consisting of sausage, onions, sage and cannelli beans. Tonight it is homemade potato and corn chowder (with some bacon bits for good measure). Bon appetit lil' Beans!

Poor Stirrup-Side Manner

Today was our first ultrasound (5 weeks, 5 days), the great news is that there is a nice healthy sac/yolk in there and an additional gestational sac that was very difficult to see (so there is the potential that there is another, but he/she is just hiding at the moment).

Of course we are grateful, but at the same time feeling a little frustrated by our appointment. Let's just say that the "stirrup-side manner" left something to be desired.

The wand was being operated by a "fellow" (inexperienced rookie) and her rotund supervisor was hovering behind her.

We got off to a rough start when the rookie's first words were, "WHOA! You have a HUGE cyst on your ovary!" "Did you know that?"

I was very proud of Mrs. Beans who calmly replied, "Well, I have been feeling some pressure, but obviously there would be no way for me to know that it was a cyst."

This is where Mrs. Beans is a good balance for my acidic sarcasm. I was ready to jump down her throat, "Yes, we purchased a home ultra sound a' la Tom Cruise and Katie Holme's and we have been monitoring the growth of the cyst. She's a real beauty, eh?"

Next, she moved over to the uterus and saw "a pregnancy." We were happy to hear that the measurements were on track when she exclaimed, "OH! WAIT, there is something else in here? Is that a... what is that!?!?" Based on her tone, visions of an Alien bursting out of Mrs. Beans chest danced through my head. Mental note: As we begin the search for an OB/GYN "really panicky" is not a characteristic that we enjoy among medical professionals.

"Is that another pregnancy? How many embryos did you transfer?" she asked incredulously.

Mrs. Beans, "2"

ME: TRY READING THE FUCKING CHART YOU IDIOT!!!

"I don't know about this one. I can't see a yolk. Chuck can you see a yolk?" (Chuck being the attending who is hovering behind).

Chuck (not looking at the screen) replies, "Nope."

"Let's me try a different angle," says the rookie as she mounts Mrs. Beans. "Nah, nothing. Can't get a good shot."

Keep in mind that no one in the room is directing any conversation toward us.

She moves down the wand, "Oh wow! There is A LOT of free fluid down here! See all that free fluid Chuck?"

Chuck replies, "Yes."

Mrs. Beans, "Umm, and what is free fluid?"

The doctor looks up, startled to see Mrs. Beans on the table.

"Free fluid is... uh... Chuck, you tell her."

Chuck (exasperated with our stupidity), "Free fluid is just blood and left over medicine that has pooled together, nothing to worry about."

Right. We feel much better. Unfortunately, I can go on and on with more examples. I will simply leave you with this. After Chuck and the nurses left the room I asked about the chances for twins based on what they saw on the ultrasound.

Dr. Sunshine replied, "Well, hard to say since they were behind one another, but I would say very slim. I can't really give odds, but if I was a gambler, I wouldn't put any money on it."

Funny, but if I wanted a gambler's opinion, my wife would be splayed out naked on a craps table in Vegas. As it is, we decided to see a medical doctor instead. So how 'bout you just tell stick to what you saw and tells in scientific terms.

Arrghh! I apologize for complaining, but we have been looking forward to this day for a long time and the dehumanizing nature of our 15 minute appointment, literally drained all of the energy out of the both of us. Sadly they didn't even know that they were being complete assholes.

Okay, I had to vent. We are putting this behind us (and apparently on the blog for posterity) and focusing on how happy we are to have one and possibly two, healthy and beautiful sacs! I will try to write something lucid and less angry soon.

(Less)Fertile Frank Report

Mrs. Beans had another beta yesterday, 1,307 so she seems to be doubling down appropriately.

Our pregnancy scan (Yikes! Why can't they just call it a regular old ultrasound) is scheduled for next Monday. The nurse said, "Schedule it for Monday or Tuesday, whatever you feel like."

Are you serious? I want to camp out in the hospital lobby on Sunday night and tailgate with mocktails and BBQ. Unfortunately, we had to settle for an afternoon appointment.

Finally, I just wanted to pass on a word of thanks from the both of us for your support and excitement. I know that thus far we have been very fortunate. I also wanted to give a special thanks to those who shared our cycle and were not as lucky, but still took the time to congratulate us. I thought this was exceptionally generous and want you to know that our hearts go out to you.

And the beta is.....

674!

Holy SHIT!

We know that it is still early, but we are tremendously excited!

More later!