Hey, Klutz? Thanks for last night - SUCH a great time. I really enjoyed falling halfway down the stairs. Couldn't you just feel my excitement? I think I'm gonna grow up to be a thrill seeker of some sort: roller coasters, Bungee jumping, starring in the 2030 revival of "Jackass?" Bring it ON!!!
What I DIDN'T much care for was the three-plus hours we spent in the hospital last night, so you could get your, how do you say, "broken wrist" tended to. You see, I've been in here a reeeeeally long time, and I've just about had it. While it's still quite dark in here, I was able to sense...freedom last night. I could just about taste it, I wanted it so bad. Still, I stayed put, realizing that I'm perhaps not quite as ready as I should be. Also, I couldn't help but overhear that we walked by some place called "Level III Neonatal Intensive Care Unit," on our way to make sure I was OK. I don't know exactly what that means, but I sensed that I probably would not like it there. Neither would you or the old man, I figured, so I decided to stay put. So yeah, you got a free pass from me last night. Enjoy it; it's probably your last one.
Long story short: Next time you take me to the hospital, I'm coming out. Whether you want me to, or not. That is all.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
While We Still Know Everything: Parental Position Paper #1
Hippie Diapers!!!
Peter: If I must pick one thing we’re enjoying most about this pregnancy (aside from Sara always being Designated Driver), it’s all of the unsolicited advice we get from family, friends and complete strangers. Coming in a close second would be the ridicule we sometimes get when telling folks of our intentions for our future progeny. Here’s our first installment; have a nice laugh on us!
Sara: So, we’ve decided to go with cloth diapers versus disposable diapers. Gasp! That’s right, no disposables; Pampers, Huggies, Luvs…nope, nada. We’re going old-school (which, not unike vinyl records, seems to have become new-school): cloth! Interestingly enough, the people with whom I’ve discussed this have opinions on the matter - go figure! I’ve heard enough about on the subject that I feel the need to justify this decision.
When people find out about this, I hear a lot of doubt and skepticism in their voices, or perhaps a “she’s-just-nuts” look. But honestly, I don’t quite understand why. I get that for some, disposables seem “easy,” but disposables are really quite gross, if you stop to think about it. Mmmm… human excrement, wrapped up in gel (yes, there’s a tasty absorbent gel in those lovely diappies). Later, the paper and plastic is tossed into your garbage, where it festers until it’s collected by the local waste management syndicate, trucked to a landfill and dumped. Quickly covered over by tons of other trash, it never sees the light of day or gets any air…which means it doesn’t biodegrade. Why? Because decomposition doesn’t happen in a vacuum; it requires air and sunlight as well as micro-organisms. And there your precious crap-filled plastic nuggets sit, for hundreds of years.
Now think of how many diapers your precious little angel goes through in a day, a week, a year. Yuck. That’s quite a crap mountain, no? And guess what? Before you wrap up those lovely “easy” diapers, you’re actually supposed to flush those delightful deuces down the toilet…didja know that?! How many parents actually do that? And think of this: how is OK dump baby’s boom-boom in the trash, while all others must flush theirs down the toilet? I mean why not just poop in a bucket, wrap it in a plastic bag and put it in the trash? Cuz it’s gross, right? Also, isn’t that how they do it in faraway lands where dysentery and cholera carry the day? I thought so.
Anyway, in case you didn’t figure it out, I don’t really like that idea. So we’re going with cloth. Peter seems ok with it—at least that what he says!*** So, we’re going to give it a try. Several friends have gone this route and liked it****. On the advice of one of these cloth-diapering friends, we’re going to try a couple of different brands to see which one we like and works best for us. Can’t hurt to try, right?! And if we do use a disposable, it’ll probably be an “earth-friendly” variety.
Also, keep in mind that cloth diapers have come a long way since the foldable, pinned, rubber-pants variety that swaddled my behind. Those still exist, but there are also cloth one-pieces that Velcro or snap; they’re fitted with elastic at the waist and legs—flush down the brown, place it in a diaper pail and wash the entire load (heh heh, load…) when it’s full. There are also pocket diapers with a fitted cloth outer-pieces and an absorbable inner liner. When it gets dirty, just remove the liner, toss it in the diaper pail and if outer cover is clean, insert clean liner and voila! New clean diaper on baby! They’re pretty much as easy as disposables!
The list of reasons why we decided to go with cloth is actually much longer, but I won’t bore you with it all-I’m sure I’ve been preachy enough! Suffice it to say, I’ve done as much research on the topic I can, short of actually having my own child in them. I’ve read the info (see below for some of it if you’re curious!), I’ve looked at different types and styles of cloth, and I’ve talked with friends who have used cloth diapers. So, I feel pretty confident this is the right decision for us and our baby. If not, we’ll mix it up…and I’m sure we’ll hear a few “I-told-you-so’s,” or get those “mmm-hmm’s,” combined with the “crazy-first-time-parents-don’t know-what-they’re-doing” looks!! It’s all good!
***Peter says: What’s a “diaper,” and what on Earth will I be expected to do with one?
****Peter also says: “Liked” it?
http://www.realdiaperassociation.org/diaperfacts.php
http://www.sustainabilityinstitute.org/dhm_archive/index.php?display_article=vn321diapersed
http://www.webmd.com/parenting/baby/diapering-a-baby-9/diaper-choices
http://www.copperwiki.org/index.php/Disposable_Diapers
Older article, but still relevant: http://libaware.economads.com/ddiapermyth.php
Peter: If I must pick one thing we’re enjoying most about this pregnancy (aside from Sara always being Designated Driver), it’s all of the unsolicited advice we get from family, friends and complete strangers. Coming in a close second would be the ridicule we sometimes get when telling folks of our intentions for our future progeny. Here’s our first installment; have a nice laugh on us!
Sara: So, we’ve decided to go with cloth diapers versus disposable diapers. Gasp! That’s right, no disposables; Pampers, Huggies, Luvs…nope, nada. We’re going old-school (which, not unike vinyl records, seems to have become new-school): cloth! Interestingly enough, the people with whom I’ve discussed this have opinions on the matter - go figure! I’ve heard enough about on the subject that I feel the need to justify this decision.
When people find out about this, I hear a lot of doubt and skepticism in their voices, or perhaps a “she’s-just-nuts” look. But honestly, I don’t quite understand why. I get that for some, disposables seem “easy,” but disposables are really quite gross, if you stop to think about it. Mmmm… human excrement, wrapped up in gel (yes, there’s a tasty absorbent gel in those lovely diappies). Later, the paper and plastic is tossed into your garbage, where it festers until it’s collected by the local waste management syndicate, trucked to a landfill and dumped. Quickly covered over by tons of other trash, it never sees the light of day or gets any air…which means it doesn’t biodegrade. Why? Because decomposition doesn’t happen in a vacuum; it requires air and sunlight as well as micro-organisms. And there your precious crap-filled plastic nuggets sit, for hundreds of years.
Now think of how many diapers your precious little angel goes through in a day, a week, a year. Yuck. That’s quite a crap mountain, no? And guess what? Before you wrap up those lovely “easy” diapers, you’re actually supposed to flush those delightful deuces down the toilet…didja know that?! How many parents actually do that? And think of this: how is OK dump baby’s boom-boom in the trash, while all others must flush theirs down the toilet? I mean why not just poop in a bucket, wrap it in a plastic bag and put it in the trash? Cuz it’s gross, right? Also, isn’t that how they do it in faraway lands where dysentery and cholera carry the day? I thought so.
Anyway, in case you didn’t figure it out, I don’t really like that idea. So we’re going with cloth. Peter seems ok with it—at least that what he says!*** So, we’re going to give it a try. Several friends have gone this route and liked it****. On the advice of one of these cloth-diapering friends, we’re going to try a couple of different brands to see which one we like and works best for us. Can’t hurt to try, right?! And if we do use a disposable, it’ll probably be an “earth-friendly” variety.
Also, keep in mind that cloth diapers have come a long way since the foldable, pinned, rubber-pants variety that swaddled my behind. Those still exist, but there are also cloth one-pieces that Velcro or snap; they’re fitted with elastic at the waist and legs—flush down the brown, place it in a diaper pail and wash the entire load (heh heh, load…) when it’s full. There are also pocket diapers with a fitted cloth outer-pieces and an absorbable inner liner. When it gets dirty, just remove the liner, toss it in the diaper pail and if outer cover is clean, insert clean liner and voila! New clean diaper on baby! They’re pretty much as easy as disposables!
The list of reasons why we decided to go with cloth is actually much longer, but I won’t bore you with it all-I’m sure I’ve been preachy enough! Suffice it to say, I’ve done as much research on the topic I can, short of actually having my own child in them. I’ve read the info (see below for some of it if you’re curious!), I’ve looked at different types and styles of cloth, and I’ve talked with friends who have used cloth diapers. So, I feel pretty confident this is the right decision for us and our baby. If not, we’ll mix it up…and I’m sure we’ll hear a few “I-told-you-so’s,” or get those “mmm-hmm’s,” combined with the “crazy-first-time-parents-don’t know-what-they’re-doing” looks!! It’s all good!
***Peter says: What’s a “diaper,” and what on Earth will I be expected to do with one?
****Peter also says: “Liked” it?
http://www.realdiaperassociation.org/diaperfacts.php
http://www.sustainabilityinstitute.org/dhm_archive/index.php?display_article=vn321diapersed
http://www.webmd.com/parenting/baby/diapering-a-baby-9/diaper-choices
http://www.copperwiki.org/index.php/Disposable_Diapers
Older article, but still relevant: http://libaware.economads.com/ddiapermyth.php
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
What ARE We Thinking?!?
Because our first pregnancy didn’t seem like enough of a challenge by itself, we decided to put our house on the market, back in November. Intelligent, huh? We figured we’d put it out there for six months, and if it doesn’t move by May, just hold tight for a while.
This decision is to the relief of the hand-wringers within our circle, who seem convinced that our child is forever doomed, should he/she so much as breathe the air in our Trenton neighborhood. When sharing our glorious news back in the Fall, one of the first questions we’d hear from people was “So, you’re leaving Trenton, right?” People confuse Trenton with Sierra Leone on a regular basis. While that’s a discussion for a blog that I may one day start, suffice it to say they’re generally wrong, though there is a grain of accuracy in their perceptions.
Nonetheless, our neighborhood can get…how do I say this politely…vibrant, in the spring and summer months. In a nutshell, what you’re dealing with is many people who are driven outside by a lack of air conditioning, for whom most every night is Saturday night, and who prefer the front stoop to the back yard, for revelry purposes. I mean, if passersby can’t see you drinking that bottle of Hennessy out on the sidewalk, you’re just wasting your money, right? Therefore, it can get annoyingly loud outside, at an hour where members of productive society prefer to sleep.
I hear that babies frequently wake up at all hours of night. Am I close on that one? So, how do you think another summer in Chambersburg will work out for us?
Baby or no baby, we’d recently decided that this house, purchased by me in 2003, and made into a home by Sara three years later, has served its purpose. Built-up equity in the current domicile – combined with a silly buyer’s market for real estate – makes this probably the best time in human history to upgrade the living quarters.
As you probably know, a buyer’s market is great, as long as you’re not a seller at the same time.
Bad! A grand total of three (3) prospective buyers have traipsed through our urban paradise in the past three months.
Good! One of them made an offer.
Bad! The offer, if you could call it that, was just slightly north of “insulting.” Our counter-offer will probably not be well-received.
Good! Our Realtor thinks, with some concessions on our part, we can “make a buyer out of them.”
Bad! Our attempt to meet the other party halfway was scoffed at.
Good! Our Realtor concocts a counter-counter offer, which he believes should be good enough to bring the two parties together.
As of press time, Bad! And Good! are tied, 3-3. Stay tuned.
On the other end, we’ve looked at maybe one half-dozen houses so far, neither of which both of us fell in love with. Our desired geographic area would be a crude triangle, the points of which are Ewing, Hightstown and Burlington City, but you may be interested to know that Trenton is not “off the table,” as far as the search is concerned. That’s the sound of my mother having a heart attack. We’re definitely looking for a less “urban” living experience, which eliminates all but three Trenton neighborhoods, but the architecture and price values in Capital City are very hard to ignore.
“But but but…what about schools?!?!?” come the cries from the hand-wringers. Yes, Trenton Public Schools are a fetid cesspool, and with New Jersey property taxes being what they are, you should be able to live in a town where sending your kids to the public schools is not a dereliction of parental responsibility.
Thankfully, Beloved Reader, that’s not your problem.
As our Realtor pointed out, buying a home “for the schools” is a decision that often leads to disappointment. This, from a guy who has every motivation to steer us away from Trenton, and into its (more expensive) surrounding suburbs! Also, we don’t especially want to live among people who decided to put down roots in a particular town just “for the schools.” We just don’t. Rest assured, we will find a way to turn our children into well-mannered, non-violent, educated young adults, no matter where we happen to raise them.
At any rate, our immediate future in real estate is just so much conjecture at this point, so just relax.
What I do know, is that Sara will probably go into labor in the moving van. I don’t see myself living that down, well…ever.
This decision is to the relief of the hand-wringers within our circle, who seem convinced that our child is forever doomed, should he/she so much as breathe the air in our Trenton neighborhood. When sharing our glorious news back in the Fall, one of the first questions we’d hear from people was “So, you’re leaving Trenton, right?” People confuse Trenton with Sierra Leone on a regular basis. While that’s a discussion for a blog that I may one day start, suffice it to say they’re generally wrong, though there is a grain of accuracy in their perceptions.
Nonetheless, our neighborhood can get…how do I say this politely…vibrant, in the spring and summer months. In a nutshell, what you’re dealing with is many people who are driven outside by a lack of air conditioning, for whom most every night is Saturday night, and who prefer the front stoop to the back yard, for revelry purposes. I mean, if passersby can’t see you drinking that bottle of Hennessy out on the sidewalk, you’re just wasting your money, right? Therefore, it can get annoyingly loud outside, at an hour where members of productive society prefer to sleep.
I hear that babies frequently wake up at all hours of night. Am I close on that one? So, how do you think another summer in Chambersburg will work out for us?
Baby or no baby, we’d recently decided that this house, purchased by me in 2003, and made into a home by Sara three years later, has served its purpose. Built-up equity in the current domicile – combined with a silly buyer’s market for real estate – makes this probably the best time in human history to upgrade the living quarters.
As you probably know, a buyer’s market is great, as long as you’re not a seller at the same time.
Bad! A grand total of three (3) prospective buyers have traipsed through our urban paradise in the past three months.
Good! One of them made an offer.
Bad! The offer, if you could call it that, was just slightly north of “insulting.” Our counter-offer will probably not be well-received.
Good! Our Realtor thinks, with some concessions on our part, we can “make a buyer out of them.”
Bad! Our attempt to meet the other party halfway was scoffed at.
Good! Our Realtor concocts a counter-counter offer, which he believes should be good enough to bring the two parties together.
As of press time, Bad! And Good! are tied, 3-3. Stay tuned.
On the other end, we’ve looked at maybe one half-dozen houses so far, neither of which both of us fell in love with. Our desired geographic area would be a crude triangle, the points of which are Ewing, Hightstown and Burlington City, but you may be interested to know that Trenton is not “off the table,” as far as the search is concerned. That’s the sound of my mother having a heart attack. We’re definitely looking for a less “urban” living experience, which eliminates all but three Trenton neighborhoods, but the architecture and price values in Capital City are very hard to ignore.
“But but but…what about schools?!?!?” come the cries from the hand-wringers. Yes, Trenton Public Schools are a fetid cesspool, and with New Jersey property taxes being what they are, you should be able to live in a town where sending your kids to the public schools is not a dereliction of parental responsibility.
Thankfully, Beloved Reader, that’s not your problem.
As our Realtor pointed out, buying a home “for the schools” is a decision that often leads to disappointment. This, from a guy who has every motivation to steer us away from Trenton, and into its (more expensive) surrounding suburbs! Also, we don’t especially want to live among people who decided to put down roots in a particular town just “for the schools.” We just don’t. Rest assured, we will find a way to turn our children into well-mannered, non-violent, educated young adults, no matter where we happen to raise them.
At any rate, our immediate future in real estate is just so much conjecture at this point, so just relax.
What I do know, is that Sara will probably go into labor in the moving van. I don’t see myself living that down, well…ever.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Fetal Thought Monitor - #2
I'm enjoying the accommodations in here, but it's starting to get a wee bit cramped. So, I enjoy punching and kicking the crap out of the walls of my current digs, but only when Mom is trying to sleep or something like that, cuz that's how I roll...swim, float, whatever.
And under no circumstances will the old man ever be allowed to feel it. I can hear when Mom grabs his hand and presses it up against the wall. That's when I go into hiding, until it's time to bug Mom again. Because I'm already a smartass! I heard I got that from something called "DNA." But don't worry, old man, I have plans for you...just you wait.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Things I Don’t Like About Pregnancy
Sara (well, DUH!): I’ve been pretty lucky so far; I’ve had a relatively easy pregnancy. I know, I still have three months to go, but I still think I’ve been pretty lucky. Didn’t have serious, spend-all-day-hovering-around-the-toilet-waiting-for-the-next-explosion-of-morning-sickness, haven’t had nose bleeds, haven’t had bowel issues. So not bad, right? Until last night. Apparently, leg cramps at night can be a side effect/symptom of pregnancy. Something to do with the increased amount of blood that pregnancy creates, and then potential decreased blood flow while lying down.
Yeah, not fun. It happened at 5:30am. Sound asleep enjoying my dreams. Not sure what triggered it-perhaps I dared to attempt a stretch. All I know was it was like someone was ripping my left calf-muscle to shreds. I shot upright and immediately began yelling Peter’s name over and over. I was rewarded with a very panicked “What! WHAT!!!” So I’m in pain, Peter’s probably thinking I’m in early labor* and meanwhile, my calf is a massive knot, so much so that my foot has contorted so completely it now looks like a Barbie foot. You know, Barbie’s permanent toe-point – like she’s some crazy ballerina.
He attempted to rub it but that just hurt even more. I tried to stand up, but a Barbie foot does not allow one to stand upright (I now have much more sympathy for my childhood friend). I was practically whimpering in pain and trying to balance on one good leg. Eventually it loosened up enough that I could hobble around the room. Walk it out, just walk it out. And I eventually did manage another 25 minutes of sleep; not very good sleep, but something. But the remainder of the day—that stupid calf muscle has been soooo sore. Ought to be fun walking 2 miles tomorrow.
One word. Ouch.
*So, it turns out Peter did think I was going into labor. I’m writhing in pain and turns out he’s relieved. After the initial shock, he definitely got the better end of that deal. [Peter Note: I did note, in my previous post, that “paybacks are a bitch,” right? I don’t yet know the half of it, do I?]
Yeah, not fun. It happened at 5:30am. Sound asleep enjoying my dreams. Not sure what triggered it-perhaps I dared to attempt a stretch. All I know was it was like someone was ripping my left calf-muscle to shreds. I shot upright and immediately began yelling Peter’s name over and over. I was rewarded with a very panicked “What! WHAT!!!” So I’m in pain, Peter’s probably thinking I’m in early labor* and meanwhile, my calf is a massive knot, so much so that my foot has contorted so completely it now looks like a Barbie foot. You know, Barbie’s permanent toe-point – like she’s some crazy ballerina.
He attempted to rub it but that just hurt even more. I tried to stand up, but a Barbie foot does not allow one to stand upright (I now have much more sympathy for my childhood friend). I was practically whimpering in pain and trying to balance on one good leg. Eventually it loosened up enough that I could hobble around the room. Walk it out, just walk it out. And I eventually did manage another 25 minutes of sleep; not very good sleep, but something. But the remainder of the day—that stupid calf muscle has been soooo sore. Ought to be fun walking 2 miles tomorrow.
One word. Ouch.
*So, it turns out Peter did think I was going into labor. I’m writhing in pain and turns out he’s relieved. After the initial shock, he definitely got the better end of that deal. [Peter Note: I did note, in my previous post, that “paybacks are a bitch,” right? I don’t yet know the half of it, do I?]
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The First of the Lasts
Peter: In case you were wondering, the panic attacks continue. Whatever groovy, mind-altering substances Sara will be treated to in the delivery room, they had better hook me up with some. I mean, Sara works for our State government, which means we have that “Cadillac” health insurance. So, I’m sure they can at least sort me out with 20 mg of Valium. Hell, I’ll even take its generic equivalent.
This past weekend, Sara and I took what would be our final “vacation” as non-parents*. Ignoring any advice to the contrary from her mother-in-law (which is what I suppose you do with a mother-in-law, even though mine is AWESOME…and may well be reading this), Sara drove out of a snowbound Trenton to meet me in Chapel Hill, NC, where I was wrapping up a three-day business trip.
My travels occasionally take me to big university towns, and I generally despise them all. It’s probably just jealousy, as I received my post-secondary education at a smaller school that was a whopping 40 miles from home and competed in NCAA Division III athletics. So, it was a welcome treat, to not have to spend another night alone in that town of powder blue-clad, middle-aged frat boys.
We enjoyed a fantastic Turkish dinner on Franklin Street, and called it a night. The next morning, we headed up to Richmond, VA, which would be our jumping-off point for visits to the Museum of the Confederacy, the Edgar Allan Poe Museum, and the wonders of Colonial Williamsburg. I learned that:
· Richmond has come a long way since I’d last traveled there on business, some 15 years ago. Definitely not a horrible city.
· Jefferson Davis was an awesome, misunderstood Renaissance Man.
· There are striking parallels between “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” and the Civil War-era debate over whether blacks were capable of becoming decent soldiers.
· Millions of miles of cheesy, unwatchable celluloid have exploited the legacy of Edgar Allan Poe over the years.
· There are things to do in Williamsburg that do not involve roller coasters and beer.
From Richmond, we headed out toward Hampton Roads, for my first ever trip on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. That was groovy. This was followed by what seemed like a five hour trek up the Delmarva Peninsula, which went a little something like this: poultry confinement facility, vacant storefront, church, church, vacant storefront, church, poultry confinement facility, church, poultry confinement facility. Repeat.
We eventually made Ocean City, MD, and enjoyed a long walk on a boardwalk that was desolate, even by winter-at-the-shore standards. Dinner was a ridiculous orgy of crab meat, enjoyed through a haze of martini and chardonnay.
Monday morning, we packed up fifty pounds of dirty clothes and pointed the car northward. I’d never taken the Cape May Lewes Ferry before. It was a lot of fun, until I realized the travel was wearing on me, and remarked to no one in particular “Ya know, this is neat and all, but had we instead just driven through Delaware, we’d be home by now.” Following the 80-minute crossing, the drive home from Cape May was definitely not the highlight of the weekend.
Why did I just bore you with the details of our weekend getaway? Because it will never happen again. Not like that. No figuring the whole mess out a mere ten days in advance and just Getting Away. As much as I’m looking forward the next chapter in our life, it would be dishonest of me not to admit that I found the whole trip bittersweet, in that way.
Thus went the first notable “last” I experienced, as we hurtle toward the blessed day that will change our life forever, and in the best way imaginable. More “lasts” are sure to follow, as I go through the upcoming weeks and months, doing heretofore mundane things that I take for granted.
You will be able to read about them here, because I am a sadist at heart.
*Actually, let’s get real for a minute: for all practical purposes, Sara already IS a parent, I reminded myself, as she watched me consume copious amounts of craft beers, fine wines and distilled spirits while she “enjoyed” her cranberry & club soda cocktails. I’m sure the paybacks will be a bitch.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Panic Attacks at 0 cm
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?
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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