Day to day, as the baby grows inside the uterus, things happen pretty slowly. For example, "Week 3: your baby is now the size of a lentil." "Week 4: your baby is now the size of...uh...an ever-so-slightly LARGER lentil. Congrats, Dad."
What will make this all seem real is when we start announcing the news to friends and family. Especially friends. I can just hear D and M now: "You're going to be someone's FATHER, man! That's crazy! Hey, want a shot?!?" You bet I do.
I think a lot of men wrestle with the following notion: once the baby is born and I am officially a father, will I still be "cool?" The answer, of course, is "no." But in my case, there is a saving grace. I was NEVER cool. It's not like I have far to fall. After all, I like jazz and Bach and aikido and reading and not being a giant asshole. So it's not like I'm Fonzie over here. As my wife says, "You're ALREADY Richie." Thanks, babe.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Warming Up
Can you imagine if the gestation period for a human baby wasn't 9 months? What if, say, 1 week after a woman gets pregnant she uncorks a baby? Can you imagine how crazy that would be? All the decisions and thinking and preparations would have to be made within 84 hours.
However, new parents-to-be have 30-something weeks to ponder and muse, to transform their homes into a baby-friendly place, to essentially reinvent the way in which their lives are lived. I really appreciate Mother Nature for allowing me the time to get used to this new idea.
I have a tendency to think way beyond the immediate concerns of a new problem. I actually pride myself on being a "big picture" kind of person, but I think I'm getting carried away. Instead of thinking about how I can convince my daughter that she doesn't have to dress up like a whore for Halloween in order to feel like an attractive female or about how I can convince my son that he doesn't have to be some stoic mesomorphic jag-off in order to feel like a man, I should probably limit my thoughts to those of the let's-just-try-to-keep-it-alive variety. I'll have years to convince my daughter that it's OK for her NOT to dress up as Slutty Condoleeza Rice for Halloween.
However, new parents-to-be have 30-something weeks to ponder and muse, to transform their homes into a baby-friendly place, to essentially reinvent the way in which their lives are lived. I really appreciate Mother Nature for allowing me the time to get used to this new idea.
I have a tendency to think way beyond the immediate concerns of a new problem. I actually pride myself on being a "big picture" kind of person, but I think I'm getting carried away. Instead of thinking about how I can convince my daughter that she doesn't have to dress up like a whore for Halloween in order to feel like an attractive female or about how I can convince my son that he doesn't have to be some stoic mesomorphic jag-off in order to feel like a man, I should probably limit my thoughts to those of the let's-just-try-to-keep-it-alive variety. I'll have years to convince my daughter that it's OK for her NOT to dress up as Slutty Condoleeza Rice for Halloween.
Monday, October 29, 2007
The first 2 "congratulations"
So, for the first time, my wife informed a very good friend of ours about our news. Despite warnings of bad baby juju, it just made sense to do it. I swear, there was probably more hemming and hawing about whether or not to tell this individual the news that there was about having a baby in the first place! I was not actually present for this transferring of information, but I did get a phone call later on in the afternoon:
"Congratulations!"
My first thought at a response was: "Oh, thanks! For what, now?" But then I remembered. Oh, yeah. Holy shit, that's right.
So first person to know the news outside of my wife and me was our good friend. The second? Our bartender. Again:
"Congratulations!"
And then life went on as it always has and will. Surreal, for certain.
Oh, and all the histrionics my wife and I endured to devise an appropriate and sensible ruse to explain why she didn't imbibe at the Halloween party? For naught. Why? No one even noticed. Our friends are a bunch of drinkin' fools. Had my wife been drinking out of a emptied human skull, perhaps that would have raised a flag or two. Other than that...not a blip.
"Congratulations!"
My first thought at a response was: "Oh, thanks! For what, now?" But then I remembered. Oh, yeah. Holy shit, that's right.
So first person to know the news outside of my wife and me was our good friend. The second? Our bartender. Again:
"Congratulations!"
And then life went on as it always has and will. Surreal, for certain.
Oh, and all the histrionics my wife and I endured to devise an appropriate and sensible ruse to explain why she didn't imbibe at the Halloween party? For naught. Why? No one even noticed. Our friends are a bunch of drinkin' fools. Had my wife been drinking out of a emptied human skull, perhaps that would have raised a flag or two. Other than that...not a blip.
Friday, October 26, 2007
The Ruse Begins
So you can't tell anyone you're pregnant until weeks after you discover you actually are. Makes sense. Not only is it just bad baby juju, but you have to allow for the horrific possibility that the baby will not be carried to term and save yourself the pained or confused reactions of peripheral friends and work associates. Fine with me. I don't need Tucker, the crazy receptionist in my office upon whom I SWEAR TO GOD the crazy-ass receptionist from "Splash" was based (you know, the one who shows up to work wearing her bra on the outside of her blouse) talking to me about losing the baby. Which won't happen anyway. Bad juju! Bad!
As a result, my wife and I have discussed what we are going to be telling our friends until we're ready to announce to everyone that we're pregnant. Why isn't my wife drinking at the Halloween party? Why is she having juice or pop or something at Poker Night instead of the usual Mohito-in-a-bottle or hard cider? Uh...medication? Illness? Medication for an illness? Er...protesting the liquor distribtuion industry?
We have elected to say, "We're TRYING to get pregnant, so she can't drink." Fair enough.
So to all of those friends and associates who eventually discovered that yes, we have been LYING to you all this time: it's nothing personal. Avoiding bad baby juju is of utmost concern; I'm sure you understand.
As a result, my wife and I have discussed what we are going to be telling our friends until we're ready to announce to everyone that we're pregnant. Why isn't my wife drinking at the Halloween party? Why is she having juice or pop or something at Poker Night instead of the usual Mohito-in-a-bottle or hard cider? Uh...medication? Illness? Medication for an illness? Er...protesting the liquor distribtuion industry?
We have elected to say, "We're TRYING to get pregnant, so she can't drink." Fair enough.
So to all of those friends and associates who eventually discovered that yes, we have been LYING to you all this time: it's nothing personal. Avoiding bad baby juju is of utmost concern; I'm sure you understand.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Oh. My. God.
So "we" are pregnant. (I have always found the "we" in that sentence ["you know...the royal 'we'...the editorial"] to be a bit odd because, unless I need to retake 4th grade health class, I myself am not pregnant. In fact, just the other day one of the guys in the shop remarked about how much weight I have lost. So my healthful glow is the result of NOT having something growing inside me, which is a good thing.)
Tangent. Sorry. I do that.
Anyway, yes, my wife is the one pregnant, which is a wonderful thing. We have been trying to conceive for a couple months (my wife, bless her heart, could probably tell you exactly how many nanoseconds it actually took) and we finally did it. I have to admit I am kind of impressed with myself. I impregnated someone! Part of me thought it would never happen; I couldn't say why, exactly. "Men's intitution," which turned out to be WRONG, which perhaps tells you something about men.
My wife came back into bed on a Saturday morning, literally shaking, after having gotten up to use the facilities. I was still half asleep, roused only by the vibrations of her excitement. "Honey?" She said. I honestly thought she was going to ask me if we could engage in a little morning delight. Man, was I wrong. "I'm pregnant." I will never forget her face. You know those hacky expressions: "the whites of their eyes" and "eyes big as saucers?" Well, I think whoever the individual was who coined those phrases must have been refering in some part to his newly pregnant wife or girlfriend, because my wife looked as though she could have blasted off into space.
I hugged her, held her and then laid on my back for about 20 minutes, just staring at the ceiling. I don't believe I blinked once. "Holy shit. I'm going to be some snotty little kid's FATHER. Christ."
For about 48 hours, I was pretty much a total wreck. You see, I posit myself as this supremely logical being. I realize I'm not from planet Vulcan or something, but I have learned the hard way that when things happen, the best possible solution or course of action is more often than not to take a step or two back, view the larger picture, and make reasonable and decisive decisions based on objective observations.
Lies, all lies.
I'm an extremely emotional person, certainly more so than most men and perhaps even more so than some women, which may explain why I have always felt more comfortable around women than men. This contrived machine of logic through which I extrude every quandary, problem or issue is a stop-gap. Up to my own natural devices, I would probably just maniacally vacillate between laughing and crying for the rest of my life.
I am also pretty much a pessimist and manage to always focus on the bad or difficult facets of a given issue rather than the joy. Reading the paper the Sunday morning after my wife informed me of this change in our lives, I literally wanted to cry at all the sadness, suffering and misery in this world, into which I was so SELFISHLY ushering this new life.
This state of mind soon past.
Now, I'm excited, yet still--ahem--PREGNANT with doubts. I'm slowly allowing this new joy to permeate my being. It's not going to be all puppy dogs and ice cream, but my wife's and my motto for this is: "We are going to do the best we can with what we have." I think that's a good start.
The thought that pricked me out of my dejected stupor/funk? The fact that even though this baby is not even a month old, barely the size of a peanut inside my lovely wife's uterus...I already love Baby Peanut more than anything or anyone I could possibly fathom in ten thousand lifetimes.
Weird, huh?
Tangent. Sorry. I do that.
Anyway, yes, my wife is the one pregnant, which is a wonderful thing. We have been trying to conceive for a couple months (my wife, bless her heart, could probably tell you exactly how many nanoseconds it actually took) and we finally did it. I have to admit I am kind of impressed with myself. I impregnated someone! Part of me thought it would never happen; I couldn't say why, exactly. "Men's intitution," which turned out to be WRONG, which perhaps tells you something about men.
My wife came back into bed on a Saturday morning, literally shaking, after having gotten up to use the facilities. I was still half asleep, roused only by the vibrations of her excitement. "Honey?" She said. I honestly thought she was going to ask me if we could engage in a little morning delight. Man, was I wrong. "I'm pregnant." I will never forget her face. You know those hacky expressions: "the whites of their eyes" and "eyes big as saucers?" Well, I think whoever the individual was who coined those phrases must have been refering in some part to his newly pregnant wife or girlfriend, because my wife looked as though she could have blasted off into space.
I hugged her, held her and then laid on my back for about 20 minutes, just staring at the ceiling. I don't believe I blinked once. "Holy shit. I'm going to be some snotty little kid's FATHER. Christ."
For about 48 hours, I was pretty much a total wreck. You see, I posit myself as this supremely logical being. I realize I'm not from planet Vulcan or something, but I have learned the hard way that when things happen, the best possible solution or course of action is more often than not to take a step or two back, view the larger picture, and make reasonable and decisive decisions based on objective observations.
Lies, all lies.
I'm an extremely emotional person, certainly more so than most men and perhaps even more so than some women, which may explain why I have always felt more comfortable around women than men. This contrived machine of logic through which I extrude every quandary, problem or issue is a stop-gap. Up to my own natural devices, I would probably just maniacally vacillate between laughing and crying for the rest of my life.
I am also pretty much a pessimist and manage to always focus on the bad or difficult facets of a given issue rather than the joy. Reading the paper the Sunday morning after my wife informed me of this change in our lives, I literally wanted to cry at all the sadness, suffering and misery in this world, into which I was so SELFISHLY ushering this new life.
This state of mind soon past.
Now, I'm excited, yet still--ahem--PREGNANT with doubts. I'm slowly allowing this new joy to permeate my being. It's not going to be all puppy dogs and ice cream, but my wife's and my motto for this is: "We are going to do the best we can with what we have." I think that's a good start.
The thought that pricked me out of my dejected stupor/funk? The fact that even though this baby is not even a month old, barely the size of a peanut inside my lovely wife's uterus...I already love Baby Peanut more than anything or anyone I could possibly fathom in ten thousand lifetimes.
Weird, huh?
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