Parenthood: The second trimester

That blob in the photo is my baby. (You have to squint your eyes and turn your head to see it.) He’s still forming in his mother’s uterus. In fact, he has three months to go before he joins the world. I hope he’s making the most of his time in there because he’s going to be disappointed when he does finally enter the world. He’ll be born into poverty, with a father who ridicules him on a daily basis.

Here’s some shit that happened during the second trimester.

Harmony test

During the fourth month of pregnancy, we paid £275 for a ‘Harmony test’. It tells you whether the baby has Down’s syndrome or not. And the test revealed that….

*drum roll of suspense*

…the baby doesn’t have Down’s syndrome. Frankly, I’m disappointed. I was hoping to have a Down’s baby so I could live off the Carer’s Allowance. Plus I hear that Down’s kids make great slaves.

The Harmony test also told us the gender of the baby: male. I was disappointed at this news too because I was hoping for a girl. Girls are peaceful and say things like “I love you, Daddy” whereas boys punch you in the testicles and karate chop each other. I suggested to my girlfriend that we just get an abortion and try again for a Down’s girl but she didn’t seem to like that idea for some reason.

Names

Now that my girlfriend and I know it’s a boy, we can start thinking seriously about names. Here’s some names I’ve thought of:

  • Twat
  • Leech
  • Scum
  • Crying McCryface
  • Arsehole

Kicking

At the 21st week of pregnancy, I felt the baby kick for the first time. It was night, and my girlfriend and I were in bed. She told me the baby was kicking so I put my hand on her stomach. I waited and waited, and then I felt a little kick. The kick seemed to say, “Here I come, ready or not!”

Since then, the baby has been kicking more often and harder. I’ve heard that foetuses sometimes kick so hard they break their mother’s ribs. I wish I hadn’t told my girlfriend that.

Money

The baby’s not even born yet and he’s already cost us around £500. Expenses so far are the aforementioned Harmony test, taxis to and from the hospital, pregnancy medication, pregnancy clothes and organic food. And how does he show his appreciation? By kicking his mom in the stomach.

By the way, my father-in-law says that when he dies, he wants all his savings to go towards the education of his grandchildren. I mean, Jesus Christ – no so money for my girlfriend then? And more to the point, no money for me? It’s not fair. When people die in my family, I get nothing because a) they were poor and b) their other relatives steal any little money there is.

Also, how much money can you throw at a child’s education before the diminishing returns make it pointless? Better to just give me the money instead.

Parenting

In advance of the baby being born, I’ve been thinking about parenting styles. Here’s what I’ve decided on so far:

  1. I want to give the kid pocket money. I think pocket money has several benefits:
    • It teaches the kid about money. How to save it, how much things cost. Hopefully that way the kid won’t grow up to be a broke bastard like my extended family members.
    • The kid can practise arithmetic – “Do I have enough money to buy a knife and drugs?”
    • It stops the kid from whining “I want this. Daddy, buy me this.” The kid can simply buy what he wants himself instead.
    • It teaches the kid negotiation skills because he will have to negotiate with me for a pocket money raise, like a weird version of The Apprentice where I’m Alan Sugar and the contestant is a baby.
  2. I want to use a sling. No, not a slingshot. (At least, not yet. If the baby cries too much then I might consider buying a slingshot so I can fling the little bastard off the balcony). I’m talking about a sling. That way the baby can lie next to me all the time and smell my sweat and BO. Apparently, those smells are reassuring to babies which means they cry less often.
  3. I also want the kid to be independent. He’ll scan his own boarding pass at the airport and have his own tiny kid suitcase. I’m not going to protect him from the world. He’s going to face the world like a man, albeit a tiny man who shits his own pants. If he does get lost in the airport then it’s his fault and he’ll have to face the consequences, whether that’s getting cavity searched by Mexican border agents or whether it’s living in the airport for the rest of his life like Tom Hanks in that shit film where I think he might have been a terrorist or something.

Morning sickness

My girlfriend says the morning sickness was “almost unbearable” in the first trimester. It was almost unbearable for me too because I had to hear her complain about it. But thankfully for both of us, the morning sickness subsided a little into the second trimester. Plus, the doctor prescribed her with a medication called Ranitec, which really helped reduce the acidity in her throat. She still gets nausea from time to time, but you can’t have everything now, can you?

Urinary tract infection

My girlfriend had a urinary tract infection this trimester. We spent eight hours at the hospital waiting to see a doctor. All we needed was a prescription for antibiotics. But the nurse couldn’t write a prescription, possibly because she thought we were going to chug the antibiotics like Maltesers and give rise to an army of superbugs. So we had to wait for the doctor instead.

I spent the time reading Stephen King on my phone while my girlfriend complained about how long the wait was. Complain, complain, complain. At one point I got up out the seat to beat her up because that’s what men do to their wives in Ireland, but then I remembered the baby was already hitting her for me, so I relaxed back into my seat again.

Children’s books

This trimester, we moved from Ireland to Spain. My girlfriend wanted to travel light, so she told me not to buy any new possessions. I ignored her and bought twelve children’s books. Here’s some of them:

I hid the books so my girlfriend wouldn’t see them. But she saw them anyway, and as I expected, she got angry. Oh well.

Coming up next

Coming up next, unsurprisingly, is the final trimester, the birth and then the actual job of parenting. I’m going to be poor, tired and depressed. So, no change from my usual life then.

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