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        Depending on who is speaking, there are all sorts of reasons to have a baby. You will hear everything from how fulfilled a child makes your life to ‘God wants me to make babies’ to the fallacy that it will make the marriage stronger. So here is another reason to have kids. They make you smarter. Well, first, they make you stupid then they make you smart.


                Paul says: I didn’t know this but they actually have something that they call ‘baby brain’. This is the poor memory, loss of focus and general ditziness that a woman experiences during pregnancy. Like PMS and growing pains, baby brain was one of those things that the medical field discounted as imaginary for years. According to a story in Monitor on Psychology, an American Psychological Association publication, not only does baby brain exist but it is grounded in millions of years of evolution.


                 Neuroradiologists have found that a woman’s brain shrinks by 4% during their pregnancy with a large volume decrease in the hippocampus. For those of you who are not up on their brain anatomy, the hippocampus is located in the center rear of the brain and is associated with memory and navigation. In Alzheimer’s patients, the hippocampus is the first part to go. So a decrease in that area of the brain explains the ‘where was I going?’ breakdown in the day-to-day of a pregnant woman.


                  The reason why a woman cannot remember where she was going is because nature has programmed her to sit down and stay put. If you compare us to our ancient cave people ancestors or to our modern day mammal cousins, as the female becomes more vulnerable to attack in her childbearing state, her mind makes it a little bit harder to leave the nest. Luckily, or by design, the male physiology is changing also. One of several studies that explored changes in the mated male looked at marmosets, which co parent their offspring like humans do. During the course of the pregnancy, the testosterone level of the males increased and spiked around birth. In other words, on a hormonal level, men are built to be the most protectively aggressive when the woman is most vulnerable.


                The good news is that, after they give birth, women get smarter and these new brains last throughout their lives. Generally speaking, the female mammal gets more efficient in their thought process. Rats that have given birth catch crickets five times faster than virgin rats. Human females wiz through tests to gauge how quickly they can perform day-to-day tasks.   Specifically, females report a decrease in fear and anxiety as it relates to taking on the challenges of daily life. For wild primates, that means backing a predator out of their territory. For humans, we can see it in the rapid-fire juggling act that is motherhood.


                Happily, daddies get brain benefits from childbirth also. This comes in the form of increased dendritic spine density. The dendritic spine is the part of the nerve that receives information from other nerve cells. Having more of them means that we can receive more information.  Increasing dendritic spine density is what is found during intense training sessions, like what an astronaut or an assassin might go through. By the way, a decrease in dendritic spine density is associated with schizophrenia. So, where mommies are becoming machines in their efficiency and fearlessness, daddies are training-up in a way that would rival the Matrix.


                Lee says: As a woman who remembers everything to the tiniest detail, it was a little disconcerting standing in the middle of my bedroom holding a spatula.

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         It’s Monday of what is shaping up to be a weird week. We were, and still are, doing aging this week but somewhere between last week’s theme of pregnancy and this week’s celebration of birthdays we took a hard turn into this week’s real theme of life, death and acceptance. After some thought and a little movie inspiration, we realized pregnancy week was not over yet but aging week started long ago. Yes we talked about all the wonderful things about being pregnant and having kids and how the kids adjusted to the new kids. However, we missed the most emotional experience we had when we were pregnant several years ago. That baby did not make it. We hate to start the week on a bummer but we promise if you read this all the way through, it will give even the saddest of you a little hope and that is what getting older is all about. Now, the miscarriage post.


           Lee says: In December of 2004, we found out my brother and sister-in-law, were pregnant with their third baby. A week later on our anniversary in January, we found out we were pregnant again. We were elated. Sure, Bobby had just had his first birthday, but we weren’t getting any younger and the thought of Bobby being alone when Jeannie went off to college when he was only 7 was depressing. Paul had been less willing to have another child but the two blue lines changed his mind. And the added bonus was that my sister-in-law and I would basically be delivering almost at the same time.


          Towards the end of January, my mother called me to tell me that Mari, my sister-in-law, was spotting. By the end of that day, she had miscarried. We were saddened by the loss. There was the typical questions of ‘what had gone wrong’ or   ‘what did she do wrong’ which never help a situation. We chocked it up to fate who is a fickle bitch and hoped that the next time was the right time.


          My first ultra-sound was scheduled for February 9th which also happened to be the anniversary of when I started walking. I realize that most people would not understand why this is significant but I promise it will make sense in the end. Paul and I were eagerly aniticpating seeing our little peanut for the first time. I had a feeling it was a girl but knew she would be too small to confirm the sex. The ultra-sound started like all others; dark room, nervous laughter and Paul cracking the inappropriate jokes. Within the first few minutes, the laughter died out and our hopes and expectations of a complete family were dashed. The baby had no heart beat. The technician brought in the radiologist who looked for a moment and came to the same conclusion. There were no condolences and what was left of the happy couple were two people in shock at the loss of a baby that was just in our imagination.


          The subsequent OB visit for the D and C is a surrealistic mash up of sensations and images. What I recall is the cold. I remember holding a pillow and crying. I remember my sister, sister-in-law and Paul crying with me. My wonderful doctor, Dr. Randy Fink (if you live in Miami you have to look him up-he is the best), was the doctor I needed on that day. He reassured. He hugged me and told me he was sorry this happened.


          I was feeling a pain that can only be described as hollow. I would imagine that this is what a broken heart feels like. I experienced a melancholy that, at the time, required gnashing of the teeth and wailing but all I could do was sit still while the tears ran down my face.


          Meanwhile, Paul became angry. He decided that the culprit of all this pain was God. Our brother-in-law, the therapist, had Paul come in to do a hypnotherapy session to release these emotions. What resulted was an uncensored indictment of our Heavenly Father. Paul was very proud of how he told the Big Guy off. When hearing of his escapades, I quickly reprimanded my husband. I actually said to him, ‘If you get angry with God, He’ll punish us again!’


          My pain transitioned into fear and before I knew it, Lee was lost and I was doomed machinations of everything she loved. I was afraid of everything. Every time Paul mentioned his feelings towards God I would cringe and wait for the lightening bolt. I was no longer the Lee who laughed at danger and sought out adventure. I was scared of everything.


          Five months after the miscarriage, I started a new journey. I agreed to go to a weekend retreat where we would do some therapy and hypnosis. I could begin to see that I had lost myself in my fears and all of them were sown on the day I lost that baby. By the end of the year, I was participating in a monthly group that helped me dive deeper into the fear. Where was it from? Why now? But the answer was simple. I no longer trusted life and in turn had lost my trust in God. This revelation was like removing my blinders. I could see that my immature reaction’s to Paul’s anger towards God was really that I questioned His love.


          As I began to experience a newfound hope in life and rebuilding my relationship with God, I lost my best friend. One day she was alive and kicking, the next day, gone. This should have sent me into a complete fear spiral again but this time, since I had a better foundation, I understood the loss. Don’t get me wrong. It hurt. A lot. But Suzy, my friend, taught me a great lesson of the beauty of the human spirit that I knew was another gift from the Big Guy himself.


          Four months after Suzy passed, in Spring of 2006, I was given another gift. The two blue lines introduced me to the hope of a new life. I knew from the moment I saw them that it was a boy. I knew at that moment that everything I had gone through, the miscarriage and fear and subsequent enlightenment was needed to get me to this point. I was blessed with a miscarriage to appreciate my life and the lives of all my loved ones. That little baby gave me more in her tiny life than I could have ever imagined. I had learned to walk again and this time on a path to self improvement and acceptance. And with the two new blue lines, I was given another gift; a knowing that I was loved and embraced by the Universe itself. 
  

          Paul says: More to come.

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That uterus is mine!

          Our boys have learned how to pretend like they are vomiting on each other. That is what Thursday looks like in our CoupleDumb. So welcome to pregnancy week where we talk about having kids, from wanting them to making them to trying to give them back. (No matter how hard you push, you can’t put them back. Trust us.)


          Paul says: The male perspective on pregnancy is that of a general contractor adding a wing to a house. It is matter-of-fact, faux casual, never as scheduled and completely under someone else’s control no matter how much we want to think otherwise. For nine months, the man is filled with a sense of fear, confusing, helplessness and hope, assuming that he is not a Neanderthal type who drops his sperm without caring where it lands. Pregnancy is a very exclusive club to which no man has entered. (Not that we want to be. It looks painful.) We are the infamous third wheel that the mom-to-be will soon learn is the spare and will be very, very useful.


          It is also a time of great love and bonding (and some amazing sex) if you can elevate your collective minds out of the pool of stupid that created our society and really enjoy that time together. Men are socialized to fix things with short term, rapid solutions. When the caveman got hungry, he hit something and ate it.  We fill holes. Yes, use the double entendre because it applies here. From where we put our penises to how we use spackle, we fill holes and hope that that fixes it.


          Unfortunately, a pregnant mom is not broken. There is nothing to fix. She may be hot, cranky, horny, emotional, sore, or asleep at all the wrong times but she is not something to fix. Trust me gentlemen, the worst thing that you can do is make an attempt to repair your pregnant partner’s busted emotional compass. And, even if you should, you are not qualified. Unless you are the Buddha of broken condoms, you are going through the same fears, doubts and excitements that she is.


          I think that for Lee and me, the turning point came with the acceptance that there was nothing to do. Yes, rooms needed to be painted and the crib needed to go up but the actual act of baby making was done. I had nothing to fix and, no disrespect meant to the miracle of child birth or to Lee, she wasn’t doing much to create a baby outside of staying healthy and suffering the consequences of a parasite growing inside her. Truth be told, it was not like she was bent over her whoo whoo every night tinkering with the embryo and my job was to hold the flashlight. This child was going to be borne by divine grace and not what Lee and I did or did not do. (Please don’t get all stupid on me and misconstrue what I am saying. Prenatal care is important. See your doctor.)


           Once we figured that part out, life became smooth. With Bobby, Lee and I walked, made monkey love daily (or more), and ate Mexican food almost as much as we had sex. It was ideal. Then the little poop came out and…well…see the first paragraph of this post.


          Lee says: Have I mentioned before how much I love my husband? Thursdays are dedicated to couples and what we do to screw things up. Paul, who writes so-matter-of-factly about sending our kids back and using his penis to fill holes, is the perfect example of a man who loves. He is willing to do whatever is needed and neither his intelligence nor ego gets in the way. This means that if he needs to look stupid or mean or weak or brutish he does. He is affectionate and caring and our boys have the best example of manhood in their dad.


          Now that all the gushy stuff is out, Paul speaks of the pregnancies so nonchalantly but I recall the man squealing like a little girl the first time he held his daughter (repeating ‘My baby, my baby…’) to the first time he saw his son (‘He’s here, he’s here!). Ricky was met with a different reaction since he was not breathing. He simply followed the doctor and encouraged him to start breathing. No fear, just gentle support. He needed to be a life coach and he was the perfect combo of encouragement and welcoming love that that boy could meet the moment he took his first breath. True, his participation consisted of a grunt at the very beginning but his participation when they were out has been well worth the wait.

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