Music can dictates more than man can control.

Well, Baby Fritz, you’re baking in mama’s tummy in some crazy times.  The first ever black man is president; and a movie star from a really awesome movie called Shawshank Redemption, (which you aren’t allowed to watch until your in High School, claims that America is racist.  Meanwhile, the People are in an unending argument claiming they want less Government, but they seem very confused as to what that even means.

It is my sincere hope that by the time you develop cognitive skills of your own, the world somehow becomes a better place.  I hope you learn from the mistakes you mama’s and my generation are making, and somehow come out of it fine.  If not just to live a life of success so you can become a proud parent like me, but at least to the point that you aren’t annoyed by every mislead asshole (you can’t say that word until at least 3^rd grade) on Facebook.  Oh and Facebook this website where ever posted meaningless one-liners.  I know, we all thought it was dumb too.

            Love,

                        Fritz

P.S. I know you call me Daddy, but this was so the folks at home know who the letter.

Lauren and I went into the Doctor’s to get some of her blood taken.  I guess it’s standard procedure; unless their just vampires… I’ll look a little further into that.

But it went really fast, surprisingly fast.  When we got there Guns n’ Roses – November Rain was playing on the radio, and when we left the song was just ending.  Granted that is a long song, but not for an entire visit to the Doctor’s including the time in the waiting room.

This sparked a conversation between Lauren and I about what song we wanted to play to the baby on our way home from the Hospital.  The first song to me seems critically important (though it probably isn’t and what I’m about to say is likely not true).  Imagine if we played Dashboard Confessional.  Our baby would grow up not trusting women and whining about it in a monotone voice with an acoustic guitar.  But if we play Imagine – John Lennon, our baby would grow up to become a pretentious douche that Daddy just can’t stand to be near, though Mama, would love it.

In addition it’s got to be something with some staying power.  Using the examples from above; no one listens to Dashboard anymore.  John Lennon on the other hand will likely still be on the radio when our child is grown and maybe he’ll (or she’ll) have that moment somewhere in his (or her) subconscious so when that song is played, Baby Fritz will think back to a time when things were as perfect as can be.

So far the only song we agreed on is Fortunate Son – C.C.R.  it’s got staying power, and some of it’s lyrics work well;

“Some folks are born silver spoon in hand
Lord, don't they help themselves, oh
But when the tax men come to the door
Lord, the house look a like a rummage sale, yes


It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no millionaire's son, no, no
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate one, no”.

Though, that being said, some of the lyrics go against what I believe to be the duty of an American, but we’ll see.

My secret plan however, which Lauren is figuring out as she reads this sentence, is to sing a song when I’m holding Baby Fritz before he comes home.  That song will be Modest Mouse – 5-4-3-2-1 Lisp off.  If you haven’t heard the song before, I’ll put the lyrics below; I always thought it’d be the perfect song to sing to a kid when they are almost developing an understand of what words mean and maybe spark some imagination and an admiration for Science or specifically space;

            “Wha’cha do, wha’cha do, wha’cha do with your eyes,

            wha’cha see, wha’cha see, wha’cha see as an Astronaut? o-k.

            Wha’cha eat, wha’cha eat, wha’cha eat as an alien?

            Wha’cha want, wha’cha want from outer space?”

No meaning whatsoever, and entirely too short for a car ride home.  But if Baby Fritz takes after me at all, he’ll (or she’ll) love this song.

Bad Boy in a Good Boy Suit.

Lauren and I went to a wedding tonight.  Funny how it was just over a year ago we stood on the altar. Now we've taken the next logical step in a Catholic’s life.

During the ceremony, all I could think about was our eventual child. At a time like this he'd be wearing a little suit, or she’d be wearing a pretty little dress. Probably complaining about the food, cause that's what Daddy's doing. My trips to the open bar will soon be replaced with changing dirty diapers in country club bathrooms. Photo shoots with my son climbing a tree or a fountain in his rented tux, or the same of me dancing with my little daughter.

So far, what they say about women being moody during their pregnancy has been untrue. In fact, Lauren has been so easy going, she's even coasted around my mood fluctuations with ease, not to mention class. She seems to smile more, laugh a lot, and be funnier than ever.
I asked her to text a friend for me while I drive and dictate a message. Instead, she texted "Jeremy is gay". I don't know what more I can say about that.

Lauren who has been experiencing morning sickness more and more frequently, and with more and more magnitude (and I'll point out, at the complete opposite time of day than it's moniker would have one think), caused us to skip out on the reception early, which under normal circumstances I would love, but I’ll admit I was having a lot fun, (surprising) watching Baby Fritz’s Grandpa Joe commit Social Assassination.

We went to bed, I kissed Lauren goodnight, and kissed my baby through her belly. If you told me, with my ears ringing on my way out of a show where I stage dove, and moshed it up, that someday I wouldn't be going to bed with my blood pumping and sweat drying, but instead listening to my wife breathing; I'd say, “No way man, I’m going to be young until I die”.

Hieroglyphics on Pregnancy tests

I'll never forget the moment we found out our life would change. My wife, Lauren, called. She told me, despite having gotten her period the day before, that she already no longer had it. Not knowing anything about periods, or their correlation to pregnancy, I suggested a baby might be the culprit.  We laughed at the preposterousness of it. Lauren was on her way home from the pharmacy with an ovulation test, and a 2 pack pregnancy test. We sat and ate lunch together, which was a rare event in our busy dual-income life. She even couldn't make it through her meal. She grab the E. P. T. ran to the bathroom and did her best to aim.  I'm yelling from the kitchen table, things like, "Your belly is gonna get soooo big". "You're gonna go to pregnancy Yoga".

Meanwhile Lauren, impatiently reads the stick that's processing the information the urine's spilling. She says in a defeated and stubborn voice, "I'm not pregnant".

Battling my banter, "Yes you are".

She brings the stick down stairs hands it to me and all I see is a big fat negative line...

We've been trying for a couple of months now. The decision to go for it came suddenly. I'm pretty sure I told Lauren there was no way we would try this early in our marriage, then within 4 hours I said, "Alright, let's make a baby".
Lauren didn't bother to clarify if I was serious. She put me on a stiff routine of vitamins and sex. I never felt so used... or so happy for it.

Every month the period came, we fought, and the glimmer in mommy's and daddy's eye never converted itself. Some of my friends and family offered to step in. This included my dad, who wouldn't let me visit without questioning if I actually knew what sex was. And my brothers offered to explain the process pretty often. Lauren and I just kept on keeping on. (That part continued to be awesome).

Staring at the bold negative symbol on a stick I could feel the sense of defeat in the air. Part of me was excited to continue trying, but a lot of me was worried our bodies just couldn't complete the process. Then I see an extremely faint blue line running vertically, cross-sectioning the negative line, stabbing directly through it, making that line sorry it ever fooled us. Before I could get the words out, I looked at Lauren who said, "There’s a faint blue line, right?!?!" Attempting to respond I open my mouth, she says, "Like it's positive, right?!?"
Not being able to wait for her to finish thinking out loud, I yell, "I think your pregnant dude".

We begin furiously ripping through the packaging searching for directions for the pregnancy test trying to find out if it is in fact giving us the news we think.


Laurens calls the Doctor.
I leave the house, to go back to work, knowing full well that I just cannot handle that type of waiting.
Sitting in the office, with two of my buddies working with me, I can barely concentrate on a single thing. Lauren calls me.
The Doctor, who had just had the story of the faint line explained to her in detail says, "You're pregnant dude", (I'm not positive that that was a direct quote).
I could sense Lauren’s skepticism in her voice; she explained that after talking to the Doctor she took another test that came up Negative.
But me, I was oddly hopeful, I couldn't keep still. I hung up the phone, walked inside sat down, with a wall partition separating me from my friends. I'm biting my tongue to hold back my screams which would have rivaled that of preteen girls who just met Greysen Chance.

All Lauren and I could do was wait for the morning to come so we could take a test again.
And we waited... and waited.
The longest night of lives.
 
Lauren went to bed, and I followed shortly thereafter. I grabbed the remaining pregnancy tests and lined them up in the bathroom; sort of a shooting gallery for women. When the morning came, Lauren woke up, went straight to the bathroom. I quietly and patiently waited. I heard nothing but silence.
Silence continued.
And continued to continue...
Finally the bathroom door opens.  I hear Lauren’s footsteps pounding down the hallway.  She comes in the room takes a flying leap into the bed holding a stick in her hand.  I try to focus my groggy eyes on the little window; it says…