Originally published at Puck Eater. Please leave any comments there.
I havent written much, or at all, about the pregnancy, birth, and boy to this point. This should not be misunderstood as disinterest, quite the contrary in fact. If there is one (well, there are many) things that will truly keep me from ever being a “real” writer it is that I prefer to immerse myself in events as they happen, contemplate them after and then write. Sometimes that last part happens much later, more often than not it never happens at all.
But as my son ( who shall hereafter be referred to as “the dude” since that what I call him half the time anyways. “Dude, time for a diaper. Dude, into your carseat.” etc) sleeps beside me I feel compelled to put something onto “paper” lest I lose those thoughts for good.
The first and overarching feeling about the pregnancy, birth, and short time we have had “the dude” home with us is a profound respect for my wife. During the pregnancy she handled discomfort, hormones and an amazing shapeshifting body with grace and a smile. I kept hearing how she was going to go insane, how she was going to get mad at me, how the mere mention of my crotch was going to send her into a cascading whirlwhind of castration. You know what? None of that happened. Sure she had bad days, sure she got upset but through all of it we remained a team and dealt with it all together and there was no crotch punting to be found.
Then there is the birth. Holy shit the birth…49 freaking hours of labor. Take a second and think if there was anything that you enjoy that you could do for 49 hours. Your favorite movies? Eating a great meal? Video Games? Sex? Nope not for 49 unadulterated hours you wouldn’t. But there she was breathing, moaning, and handling her pain until it became counterproductive to getting “the dude” to make an appearance. She was true to her desires and flexible in her plans. Function ruled over dogma and in the end amidst blood, tears, smiles and triumph she pushed our son into the world. At the time I twittered that she was a superhero and I was only kind of kidding. A superhero does something that I will never, ever be able to achieve no matter how much I train, spend or hope. Watching her literally change the shape of her body to birth “the dude” and feed him after is a better trick than Batman ever pulled off.
Lastly we come to “the dude” himself. Tall, heavy, and completely fantastic. Ok, sure, he only has a couple of tricks right now (eat, sleep, poop) but he pulls them off with aplomb. He is everything we could have hoped for and I while I am still checking constantly to make sure he is breathing, I am excited about what the future holds. I look forward to showing him the people and things I love, learning new things with him, and trying to keep my parental fauxpas to a minimum. Yeah, I worry alot about the things to come. Its just my nature, there is no changing that about me. But I look at him and I look at GA and all I can think is that this is going to be great.
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