Peter: As I’ve remarked on several recent occasions, I know the due date must be fast approaching, because the panic attacks are coming closer and closer together. And I don’t even have to push the thing out of my body! This, my friends, is why men don’t get pregnant.
I will turn 40 on June 17 (a mere three weeks beyond our projected due date), and I sometimes wonder exactly what I was thinking, waiting until this relatively advanced age to get “in a family way.” To be honest, had I gone this route ten years ago, I’d be paying alimony and child support while renting a roach-infested apartment above a bowling alley or strip club, in the final approach path for a major international airport, so I guess I shouldn’t complain. Furthermore, I should consider myself lucky that Ms. Right came along in the second half of my thirties, rather than ten years later, or (gasp!) not at all.
In these modern times, however, I suppose I’m not all that much of a freak. Some of my contemporaries are packing their kids off to college, while others are still getting the hang of changing feces- and urine-fouled disposable undergarments. Their childrens’, not their own. As far as I know. These true blue friends will undoubtedly provide a shoulder to lean on, and later laugh a maniacal laugh (behind my back, of course – they’re polite, if anything) at just how far in over my head I’ve gotten myself.
Yes, yes, yes, you all tell me. I will figure it all out. I will be a GREAT father. Yes, and the cop on last night’s rerun of “Dateline NBC: To Catch a Predator” told the would-be statutory rapist “You have nothing to be afraid of.” So, just allow me my panic attacks, OK?
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