Killing the Rabbit


Baby Ricky - 1971

There was a time in the world when Doctors would shove a needle full of a woman’s fluidly stuff into a rabbit.  If the rabbit died, the woman was pregnant. If not, then the rabbit turned into an exotic human/rabbit half-breed that was ultimately killed before it could go on a sexual head biting rampage….


I don’t know if that last parts true, but the first part is.  I think.  Anyway, as time progressed doctors decided to use peeing sticks to decide the pregnancy.  You, being the female, pee on a stick and it lights up with flashing neon if its positive.   Then you go to the doctor and get it done again, because in the end, you just peed on a sick and it didn’t really prove anything.

The whole point I’m trying to make is, Irma is pregnant.

Our relationship has successfully evolved from,  flirty-dating-marriage-baby.   I’m almost 40 and Irma (don’t tell her I told you) isn’t far behind that either.  So, pregnancy becomes a scary concept.  Pregnancy is always a scary concept though.  The idea of bringing an entirely new human being into the world and being responsible for teaching that human being how to interact and survive in a world of other human beings, is overwhelming.  The idea of doing it at our age makes for a bit more thoughtful consideration into how to go about it.

When this child is 20, I will be 60 years old.  60.   Not that 60 is old.  All my understanding as far as aging goes, 60 is the new 40. 40 is the new 20.  20 is the new… well, you’ve met the 20 year olds walking around these days……   Still.  Jorge will be swimming up-stream in his 30’s and Karen will be a few laps away from 40.  not to mention the grandchildren.   Karens daughter will be older than our child.  Insert internet sigh.   It happens all the time I’m told.   God knows what he’s doing and will give us what we need to do our best. He will.  Whether or not we pay attention is the scary part.

I am excited.  I am stoked.  I am scared out of my pants.  Which is what got us here in the first place.  Not the scared part, just the out of my pants part. Its good news. Its great news.

I now have the possibility of passing on my genetic information to thousands of generations.   God help the future of the world.

Our very modern family just became more-so.

– Ricky

Categories: baby, children, love, marriage, pregnant | 2 Comments

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2 thoughts on “Killing the Rabbit

  1. Thanks. I will use the information wisely.


  2. Don’t worry. My both my sisters are married to 50+ year olds. My twin sister (age 36) just had her third kid, which means her husband is going to be 72 when the last of the kids is 20 (and he’ll be 65 when the first is 20). I don’t envy him, but when you say 60 it doesn’t sound all that bad by comparison 🙂

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