Pregnant Ladies

It's funny how I seem to be noticing pregnant women more these days. They're everywhere. Maybe it's my keen sense of what's to come. Maybe it's my keen sense of not knowing what's to come. At any rate, each time I see a woman expecting child, I'm reminded of my own. I'm also reminded how much younger these women seem than me. I think a lot about being 40 when I'll have these child. I try to comfort myself with the fact that Jimmy Stewart, Hugh Hefner, and the like were great-grandfather age when they helped conceive. I try to forget that they are/were very rich men. I don't know what kind of father Jimmy Stewart was, but I'll compare myself to Heff anyday, although I'm sure his sons aren't complaining of their lineage. I can't offer my child, if he is a son, the same kind of visual perks flooding my house (if you dare call women "visual perks"), but I'll offer him better. If my child is a girl, I'll offer her protection to my death, without question or hestitation. My daughters now could probably verify as much. I'm too involved. Too protective. But I'm not bothered by that. It's my job, and I take it seriously. Too much? As long as they are alive, laughing, and thinking for themselves, I don't really care. Label me an idiot, meddler, overbearing, or extreme. I'll take all of the above for their happiness and well being. I'm sure in hell not handing them over to just any moron without a stitch of character. Won't happen. My girls have too much to offer.

Integers

Tonight, I helped my 13-year-old prepare for her end-of-the-year math test by doing far too many review problems. Good Lord, what am I getting myself into with having another baby? Before, during, and after integers, I read my nine-year-old 50 pages of "Matilda." After that it was on to help my significant other fill out online applications. Am I insane for adding another chick to the nest? How am I ever going to find enough worms to feed the birds? Speaking of birds, my 110-pound dog started the evening by terrorizing two sparrows in our backyard into such fear, I'm sure they'll never squawk again. Squawkless birds are a site no man should ever envision.

Running With The Dogs

I've been out of the game of parenting a baby for more than 10 years. It's a whole different ballgame. My children now are at the age where they think for themselves (very ably, I'll add). They reason on their own. They make judgments and decisions on their own (not always ably, I'll add), and they take credit on their own, deservingly. They know their likes and dislikes, and they experiment and face new days on their own because they want to. Babies do none of those things. It's been quite awhile since another human being has been totally dependent on me, and that's scary. I've had a lot of years of (semi) freedom, and I have to be honest that I'll miss that. I know there are great trade-offs I'll get in return, and I plan on taking them in as completely as possible each and every time one surfaces. I can't wait, in fact. But I'll miss heading out the door day or night and walking around the block without worry. Sitting on the steps at midnight watching the moon pass through the sky without worrying about getting up because someone else needs me to. I'll miss hoping on the bike with my daughter and heading down to the gas station to get a soda. I'll miss sitting up late at night watching movies with my increasingly insightful 14-year-old. I'll miss running with the dogs in the early morning, catching the day's first breaths deep in the lungs.

But for each thing I'll miss, I can't wait to adapt my life in new ways. I can't wait to buckle the little guy/girl into the car seat and head out for a ride. To strap him/her in the stroller and let him/her experience the sun. Feel the wind on the face. See snowflakes falling from the sky above. To hear thunder and watch lightening. To take in fireworks for the first time. To feel cold water on the toes. I can't wait to play him/her songs on the guitar and sing him/her to sleep. To take naps together. To draw and paint and buy hot wheels or dolls. To experience the library and ballgames and going to the movies for the first of many times. I can't wait to hear him/her say "puppy" and come to love running with the dogs on his/her own.

I'm starting to think life is a lot about trade-offs and what you're willing to give up to get something in return. I don't know really what I need to get these days. That confuses me more than I can probably comprehend. Even if I knew what I wanted, I'm not sure I'd know how to go about getting it. My job these days seems to be helping other people get what they need and want. And that's OK. There comes a point, however, where that's not satisfying any longer, and when I reach that point, I'll adapt and move on to where I need to go and go with who I need to. I'm smart enough to remember how difficult it is having a baby, emotionally and physically. I'm smart enough to know that the worrying and stress and responsibility are going to feel like bricks falling on my head some days. I also know that I've felt nothing in life that begins to approach the true unselfishness and unconditional love as a baby invokes. I'm also smart enough to know that a very big part of having a baby is helping that baby grow to discover what trade-offs he or she is going to be willing to make.

Expectations

Today I told most of my friends that I am going to be a father again. The reception was mostly good. In a couple of cases, the reactions definitely weren't what I expected, primarily in unpleasant ways. By unpleasant I mean disappointing. There wasn't a specific tone or words or gestures I was looking for. Just happiness, I guess. In a few cases, what was returned was strange, and I'm still trying to put my finger on exactly what it all means. Am I misinterpreting matters? Did I get something wrong? It's difficult to say. It's difficult to know. It's certainly not something I'm going to ask clarification for. I don't think you should have to. And ultimately I'm not concerned enough to really want clarification. I don't need it. My mind is clear and able, and I'm confident in my position. I know the task at hand, and it's a good one. And the relationship I really want to foster remains ahead of me with this child. That's the bond that matters most, because that's my responsibility. That's mine to get right or wrong. And that's the clarity I'm in pursuit of. I've surrounded myself with good people. The people I've chosen to keep in my life are in my life for a reason. Good and bad. And lord knows I'm a demanding son of a bitch some days, and I accept that. And I think they accept that about me. But expectations work both ways, and those who expect something from me, I try not to disappoint if it means enough to me and to them. I know what's important. What's important right now isn't the scenario under which I'm welcoming this child into the world. What's important is the scenario for the child when he or she enters the world. Maintaining that atmosphere will always be what's most important, just as it has been for my children now.

Musing on becoming a father again . . .

I'm sitting here listening to Elliott Smith while contemplating recent news that I'm going to become a father again. ES probably isn't the best soundtrack for such thoughts, but he's calm, and I'm not. He's even-keeled, and I'm not. I'm amped, revved, and juiced. Fatherhood at 40 will be a mission. A terrifying, enlightening, rapturous mission.

How bizarre to share news about something so personal and life-changing with strangers, with non-faces. But this is the world he/she belongs to. This is the state of matters. This is the score. I'll be prepared. I'll be locked in. Honed. Dedicated and in all the way. Never been a doubt about that. But as I listen to ES, I realize pain and discomfort and uncertainty is always a step away, waiting to pounce. So be it. Make your move. I'm ready. Committed. Fierce. Certainly battle-worthy and experienced. Frightened? Maybe. Weak. No.

Welcome, little one. I can't wait to meet you.