till the breaka dawn!

and so as part of the whole end-of-first-trimester ritual mrs nice guy and i returned to the OBGYN to have a little more love practiced upon us. herr doktor was, blissfully, actually a little alarmed that mrs nice guy has a touch of the hyperemesis gravidarum. but this being the end of the first trimester, her expert opinion was consigned to "you'll feel much better this week; i just know it." for this they give out medical degrees?

so we heard the tiny freak's heartbeat today. the doc greased up mrs nice guy's belly, stuck a little mic up to it and the baby's heart went whooshwhooshwhoosh. as mrs nice guy and i held hands, gazing into each other's eyes, we did not speak, so profoundly were we moved. still, i know we were both thinking exactly the same thing: "god DAMN that kid's laying down one sweaty-ass groove. UNH!" we're talking clyde stubblefield here, peoples. that fetus is so deep in the pocket, it needs a passport to make change. i swear, mrs nice guy even busted a little free-style lyrical smackdown on our whack OB. and ya don't stop!

actually, to tell the truth, if you really want to know what the beat sounded like, mr nice guy would describe it thusly: the heartbeat was not quite that typical lubdub techno beat sound. no. it sounded, actually, more like a--how shall i put this?--dishwasher. not just any dishwasher, mind you. we're talking an asko D3530 (with stainless steel interior and hidden controls) kickin' it live on the pots'n'pans cycle. BOOM! or i should say wickywhooshwhoosh! ... someone get me some fred wesley up in this muthafucka! damn!