How am I going to do this? It will be impossible for me to relate everything that has been going on since my last substantial post, so I’ll cut to the chase and give the Reader’s Digest condensed highlight reel of what’s gone down in the last few weeks.
The delivery wasn’t that bad. Of course, all I really did was sit there and watch the show. When that kid was ready to come out there was no fucking around, he came out. When it was go time and my wife was ready to start pushing we were told it could take at least an hour, but the little man slid out in about fifteen minutes.
I still know jack shit about being a parent, but one thing I have learned is that there is no hard rule or consensus about anything. From diapers to breastfeeding to sleeping to whatever you can imagine needing to know about a baby, there is no hard line answer about anything. Even those one would think are authority figures (nurses and doctors) give conflicting advice and opinions on virtually everything. This is a major pain in the ass when you have questions you need answers to and you can’t get a straight one.
I spent the last two weeks alternating with my wife on taking care of the little man while the other tries to nab as much sleep as they can. I watched a lot of movies and Twilight Zone episodes and only left the house to buy groceries and get a hair cut. I never checked my email or got onto the computer. I rarely answered the phone, and I didn’t make the requisite phone calls to friends and family telling them the news. This of course makes me an asshole, but I was just too tired to get on the phone and relate the story over and over again. I left the job for others.
Many have asked, and yes we did have the little man cut. It was something we were deciding up until the final day in the hospital, but it came down to this: a six or seven year old boy has a hard enough time keeping himself clean, let alone having the added burden of cleaning your junk properly. And at that age it’s a little old to be manhandling his bird and cleaning it for him. If he doesn’t clean it properly, they have to go in a roter rooter it out, and if that procedure is done there is an increased risk of cancer of the prick. In the end, while it is more of a social and cosmetic thing, it just seemed more prudent to go this route. One note: the poor kid’s bird looked positively grotesque after the nip and tuck. They said it went perfectly, but the tip ballooned to the size of my thumb nail and it was this sick blood purple color. I instantly felt sorry for him and regretted the decision, but he didn’t cry or fuss about it, so I guess it looked worse than it felt.
The shitty diapers haven’t been a problem. Once I was in the middle of changing him and he let out a rocket spray of mustard like shit that went all over the changing table. This was a bit of a problem (read: I freaked out) and I had to call my wife for help, but other than that lone incident I’ve been hanging with every poopy pant problem. The little man has the innate ability to wait until you’ve just changed him and dressed him in his pajamas to shit yet again. He looks you square in the eyes as if he’s daring you to get mad. We’re still at a point where the farts and the shit are somewhat cute, which I’m sure will change once he’s not shitting breast milk and it actually starts to smell.
Everyone seems generally shocked about how well I’m doing with the baby. I’m not sure how to take this. What the fuck did they think I was going to be?
And what’s there to say about fatherhood? I don’t want to gush and get all over the top about it. I can write that I don’t feel like a father. I’m not sure what that feeling is, but I haven’t had it yet. Having him in our lives now just seems more a fact of life than anything else. I look at this little man and I cannot even fucking fathom that something so cool came partly from me. He’s Daddy’s fastest little swimmer. The feeling of lying on the couch with him asleep on my chest is something that I could not properly articulate and do any justice. And the frustration that comes from it being three o’clock in the morning and I’m on three hours of sleep and he’s not going to sleep any time soon, and he’s fussing and crying and I’m too fucking stupid to figure out what he need, all of this is melted away when he spontaneously smiles and lets out a giggle. He has my wife’s dimples, and he’s just so fucking cute I don’t know what to do. All right, I’ll gush a little bit.
It does feel that my life thus far has been a prelude to this, and that it is only now, at thirty one years of age, that I’ve finally found a meaning and a purpose. A few of life’s bigger questions have been answered.
The delivery wasn’t that bad. Of course, all I really did was sit there and watch the show. When that kid was ready to come out there was no fucking around, he came out. When it was go time and my wife was ready to start pushing we were told it could take at least an hour, but the little man slid out in about fifteen minutes.
I still know jack shit about being a parent, but one thing I have learned is that there is no hard rule or consensus about anything. From diapers to breastfeeding to sleeping to whatever you can imagine needing to know about a baby, there is no hard line answer about anything. Even those one would think are authority figures (nurses and doctors) give conflicting advice and opinions on virtually everything. This is a major pain in the ass when you have questions you need answers to and you can’t get a straight one.
I spent the last two weeks alternating with my wife on taking care of the little man while the other tries to nab as much sleep as they can. I watched a lot of movies and Twilight Zone episodes and only left the house to buy groceries and get a hair cut. I never checked my email or got onto the computer. I rarely answered the phone, and I didn’t make the requisite phone calls to friends and family telling them the news. This of course makes me an asshole, but I was just too tired to get on the phone and relate the story over and over again. I left the job for others.
Many have asked, and yes we did have the little man cut. It was something we were deciding up until the final day in the hospital, but it came down to this: a six or seven year old boy has a hard enough time keeping himself clean, let alone having the added burden of cleaning your junk properly. And at that age it’s a little old to be manhandling his bird and cleaning it for him. If he doesn’t clean it properly, they have to go in a roter rooter it out, and if that procedure is done there is an increased risk of cancer of the prick. In the end, while it is more of a social and cosmetic thing, it just seemed more prudent to go this route. One note: the poor kid’s bird looked positively grotesque after the nip and tuck. They said it went perfectly, but the tip ballooned to the size of my thumb nail and it was this sick blood purple color. I instantly felt sorry for him and regretted the decision, but he didn’t cry or fuss about it, so I guess it looked worse than it felt.
The shitty diapers haven’t been a problem. Once I was in the middle of changing him and he let out a rocket spray of mustard like shit that went all over the changing table. This was a bit of a problem (read: I freaked out) and I had to call my wife for help, but other than that lone incident I’ve been hanging with every poopy pant problem. The little man has the innate ability to wait until you’ve just changed him and dressed him in his pajamas to shit yet again. He looks you square in the eyes as if he’s daring you to get mad. We’re still at a point where the farts and the shit are somewhat cute, which I’m sure will change once he’s not shitting breast milk and it actually starts to smell.
Everyone seems generally shocked about how well I’m doing with the baby. I’m not sure how to take this. What the fuck did they think I was going to be?
And what’s there to say about fatherhood? I don’t want to gush and get all over the top about it. I can write that I don’t feel like a father. I’m not sure what that feeling is, but I haven’t had it yet. Having him in our lives now just seems more a fact of life than anything else. I look at this little man and I cannot even fucking fathom that something so cool came partly from me. He’s Daddy’s fastest little swimmer. The feeling of lying on the couch with him asleep on my chest is something that I could not properly articulate and do any justice. And the frustration that comes from it being three o’clock in the morning and I’m on three hours of sleep and he’s not going to sleep any time soon, and he’s fussing and crying and I’m too fucking stupid to figure out what he need, all of this is melted away when he spontaneously smiles and lets out a giggle. He has my wife’s dimples, and he’s just so fucking cute I don’t know what to do. All right, I’ll gush a little bit.
It does feel that my life thus far has been a prelude to this, and that it is only now, at thirty one years of age, that I’ve finally found a meaning and a purpose. A few of life’s bigger questions have been answered.
