Playing the odds game. Every single one of us does it everday, consciously or not. Some play the lottery, very consciously, and the odds of winning are crazy low, but random people, everyday, do win, and win big.
Everyday I take a gamble, as I approach the stop light, do I change lanes and get behind the one big truck, or sit in my lane behind 5 cars? I gamble which lane is going to get out of the gate faster to get me to work approximately 3.8 seconds faster than if I had chosen wrong. This is a lame example, but I do this, almost subconsciously. Why do I want to get to work faster? I'm worried about being 5 more minutes over the 10 minutes I am already late everyday? Really?
I've been encountering some very different odds lately. It started with my low hCG levels (Remember, folks? The Human gonad hormone?.. I'm obviously paraphrasing...)
Yes, it's going to be a pregnancy post, fellas, stick around...
Low enough for my doctor to order a follow up ultrasound and blood work. Turned out to be nothing.. so far. That happens to precisely 10% of women, 10% are NOT textbook cases and I was one of them. 10% of women just have low hCG levels when they start out (for no apparent reason) and end up with perfectly healthy babies. That's me (again, I say, so far). How lucky is that?
Joseph was born ON his due date, that happens to approximately 5% of pregnant women. I was one of those too. At these odds, I should play the lottery, and I think today I might just waste $5 bucks and do it.
Playing these odds and winning isn't always how it turns out though. This is the reason behind bad odds. Chances are, if you have a 30% chance of living after being diagnosed with some sort of terrible cancer, 70% says you aren't going to make it. Because, that's the history of previous cases. But maybe, just sometimes, the law of averages kicks in for a few lucky people and a few lucky people get to play such devastating odds, only to miraculously beat them, reign champion over them and throw up their middle finger in the face of all 30% chances everywhere. F*$# you, 30%, f**k you.
In pregnancy, everything is played with odds. Unless you married a nuclear physicist, chances are your kid is going to be of relative intelligence. And those chances are really low, because, who's going to jump into bed with a nuclear physicist? Do they even leave their uranium isotopes long enough to consider dating outside of nuclear fusion? Those guys maintain a higher intellectual level than all of us at all times, so how awkward is that silence going to be on that date with that nuclear physicist? This, is why smart guys with loads of money marry hot chicks with no brains. Who needs a hot chick to talk? Just stand there and let me look at you babe. And here's a benjamin for standing there for so long. Go buy yourself something sexy. I bet those guys spend so much time operating their brains at alien space quantum level, that they are a real ambulance stretcher when it comes to the sack. So chances are EVEN LOWER that smart kids are going to be born.
Authors side note: To all Nuclear Physicists, my opinion is meant in no way to diminish your much more important impact on the lives and stability of the future of all human beings everywhere, versus your lack of assumed sparkling grades in between the sheets. I mean, rednecks with half a testicle, little to no brain cells reproduce everyday (sometimes several times a day, they just don't find out about it until the 200th episode of "Who's the baby Daddy? This is my 10th attempt at finding the father" on Maury.) And unfortunately it is THEM who reproduce and NOT the nuclear physicists which is exactly why our society is doomed.
Chances with most pregnancies that you play the odds, exhibit reasonably responsible behaviour while carrying another human that has absolutely no say in what you do or eat or drink. And it will turn out ok. That's always been my approach and really always will be. This goes without saying that I will WebMD any slight suspicion I have of anything going awry with the baby, but I will try to remember my level headed statement and "woosah" myself out of a panic attack and leave my freak out session for a much less reasonable occasion, such as, when Price chooses to take out the garbage and I ignore that very manly and expected task and freak out in ballistic mode because I just dumped a paper towel in the garbage that doesn't IMMEDIATELY have a new liner in it. Yes, I will choose my battles wisely and save my psychotic energy for my undeserving (mostly) husband.
It's all playing the odds as I see it. Don't drink a fifth of tequila, shoot anything into your veins, snort a bunch of coke or really do anything just plain stupid and it'll be ok. If it doesn't turn out exactly how you'd hoped, that's how playing the odds works. So I might over do it on the chocolate mini eggs, I try to be good elsewhere. Now, if my kid turns comes out looking like a chocolate baby, I've got a whole other set of problems I'm sure Price would need to talk to me about.
BECAUSE OF THE MINI EGGS PEOPLE, THE CADBURY MINI EGGS. Not because of anything else. SHEESH.
No comments:
Post a Comment