Today I’m typing from a 15-year-old, wired, white manual keyboard. I just couldn’t type for any length of time on the pancake bluetooth keyboard without some discomfort. Plus, it always sucks when the thing’s batteries would die. Really kills the flow.
Ah, the Apple A1048. Seems a bit stickier than I remember, but hopefully it breaks up a bit after awhile:
At any rate, I’ve had a lot of thoughts lately that I’ve wanted to write about, but whenever I try to figure out a way to put them into words, I have a lot of trouble. So maybe I’ve been over thinking them and I should just keep them simple.
We are now less than 2 weeks out from our baby’s due date. In the last couple of weeks, we’ve had two sets of friends have their babies and that has helped to make things more real.
I mean, it’s really just a construct for us guys until the little person is out anyway, right? We’re not the ones going through all of it. We’re not feeling it inside ourselves.
And I guess the thing that is smacking me in the face is that this little human will be half of me. That is so banal that I almost passed out from boredom typing it. But that is really what I am gobsmacked about. That a person whom I love very much who is sitting in the other room is carrying a living being that is half me and half her.
This probably happens to everybody, but maybe I’m feeling it amplified because it’s been so difficult in seeing my own father in me given that he wasn’t in my life. It’s as though I’ve viewed myself as the child of my mother via asexual reproduction. Any lack of resemblance was merely a mutation or due to some environmental factor.
So today when I got home from work I found Shar lying on the bed in our room, exhausted from the day. She’s been a real trouper, working up until her due date and taking barre classes and such. So I crawl into bed with her and start rubbing her belly and I can feel this child’s outline. I can feel its bottom and along the side of its leg. I mean, it’s not too distinct, but you can sort of tell that this isn’t just a belly with a weird notch in it. And I’m just sitting in the relative quiet that is my life, the relative lack of responsibility for anything more than our dog, and realize. I just realize the reality. It’s slowly been creeping up on me, but it’s gonna hit me so hard when the little he or she is actually here.
I know, it’s dumb. But that’s how I feel right now. Dumb.
The other thing that has been sitting in the back of my mind is the hope that I’m not a failure. Throughout this pregnancy, everybody offers unsolicited advice. I know most mean well, but it can really shake you up if you let it. And it got me thinking about what if I’m not a great parent? All my life I’ve thought about how my father wasn’t there for me and that I’d be this wonderful father in spite of that. But what if I’m NOT? I know my shortcomings in life and I know the dreams I have in my head that I sometimes accomplish and sometimes don’t. I think of the goals I have and the ones I’ve gone after and the ones that collect dust. I guess I just hope I can provide the type of environment that my child or children can thrive. And that they not only love me but they like me and are proud of me someday.
I’m also thinking about my own life and my own risks in different ways. I’m thinking about safety and security and looking both ways when I cross through a busy intersection. I peed at the urinal today and thought about saving for the future and life insurance and college. There’s been a lot of thoughts in this head.
The past few weekends, Shar and I have been sort of go-go-go. I felt a bit of panic that the house wasn’t looking that great and that we don’t have as much as so-and-so or that our house isn’t as nice as this-and-that. And in my way of anxiety, I took it out on Shar. I tend to compare and I really am trying to work on that, but there was no excuse to act mean to her especially at this time. We got through it, but I need to recognize that I need to recognize my feelings for what they are, accept them, and either do something to change it myself or express them and ask for help.
And it was so silly. About making our house a home and just wanting more help in making it look like a home. In the same ways Shar needs help around the house with logistical things. I guess I focus more on the art of it while she’s more practical in a lot of ways. I think we’ll rub off on each other through time.
Finally, I know my time is about to be eaten up to a great degree. I’m taking a month off when the baby is born and I’m so grateful I get to do that, but I know once they’re here that some things will be put on pause. Perhaps this writing, perhaps my playing music almost every night. Maybe our lazy nights on the couch. I guess I can’t really fathom how it’s going to be at the moment. Hell, the next time I write, I could very well have a baby and 2019 is halfway done. But I hope I can retain a bit of myself along the way.
This feels like it’s been one big ramble, but I’m just so filled with a deep well of love and gratitude that I’m here right now and able to experience this. At least until I’m running on no sleep and elbow deep in shitty diapers. Until next time.