Everything could be something great and everything could be something terrible. That is the best description of my outlook through the first trimester of Lindsay’s pregnancy. The great and terrible are the two sides of the coin and parenthood is one big coin toss. However, I believe that my child will be great and I myself will be terrible. I’m not joking. I’m already failing at an alarming rate. I dropped our neighbor’s kid just the other night and it bonked his tiny head right off our hardwood floors. You know the shame you feel when you break a glass, have a car wreck? All of those pale in comparison to the immense guilt you have when you think you’ve broken a small human that doesn’t belong to you. If it’s your own kid you can write it off and say, “Well, we’ll just make a new one.” I felt as if I’d collected all of their family heirlooms and set them on fire in front of them. And the entire reason I let the kid fall is because I was worried about getting drool on my television remote control. Great decision making Jay! Possibly have to buy a new remote, or kill a baby?
I’m already very worried about changing diapers. Shit terrifies me. There is a reason that animals (humans included) shit themselves out of fear. It’s because it keeps people/predators at safe distant. I hold that same believe. I’ve already told Lindsay that if she’ll take the bulk (no pun intended) of diaper duty, that I will start to do more house work. “Oh, Lil’ Junior has filled their pants up with crap? Well, I do believe that the gutters need to be cleaned. Here you go, honey.” I know that’s not how I will handle it, but it’s how I want to. At least vomit doesn’t scare me. I mean I don’t love it. I don’t have a Japanese-porn-level of love for vomit but it doesn’t make me dry heave either. Can you buy those Ebola safety suits for a diaper changing outfit? At least a gasmask or emphysema breathing thing to help curtail the poo smell? Bandanas are what I’m investing in. I’m going to look like an 1800’s train robber when come in for a fanny cleaning. “Put your arms in the air and you legs over your head! This here is an ass cleanin’ lil’ baby. If you don’t cry or piss on me, no one gets hurt!”
I have noticed my priorities changing. We just refinanced our house and dropped our mortgage payment by $200 a month. My first words were, “Oh, we can start a college fund for Lil’ Junior!” Where did that come from? Pre-parenthood my first thought would have gone to how much alcohol, weed, golf, or concert tickets I could buy. But my first thought was about the well-being of my unborn child. I have started thinking so much more about how everything will impact this kid. I currently work in a cube farm selling software all day. Outside of the paycheck and health insurance, it isn’t remotely rewarding and it takes up the majority of my day. Out the door at 8:30am and home at 6:30pm. Only having a couple of hours in the morning and evening isn’t much time at all. How do people make it work? How do you not miss out on their lives? I worry about that. Can I work from home? Are there sales jobs that would allow me to have a flexible schedule? I haven’t even met this person yet, but I already know I don’t want to miss a thing of this kid’s life.
People say that women are an emotional, hormonal mess during pregnancy but Lindsay has been very even keel. It’s not been that bad at all. Except for when I mention that she MAY be a bit hormonal. I’ve been told that her hormones actually have nothing to do with her attitude, but rather the fact that I can be a raging, inconsiderate asshole at times. And I should try to do a better job of keeping my mouth shut and not validating her point with, “No, it’s you that is being a Sensitive Susan about this. Why are you crying?” Ugh, I am an asshole. Assholiness (real word), is unfortunately best measured in hindsight and I really measure up well. Thankfully, Lindsay has a therapy degree and easily recognizes the fact that she married a former comedian that would rather make a joke then take her seriously. I wear thin real quick.
We have a little less than a month until we find out the gender of this kid. It will start to solidify a bit more once we know what this human is going to be. It just makes it real. We still need all of the big baby room stuff, which I guess we’ll design around. Thank god we’re not one of those people that says, “My son will not be in a pink room! That’ll turn him gay!” I’m a real big fan of free and used baby gear. It could have rainbows, pink triangles, and unicorns having sex on it and I’d be totally cool with it. We live in the South and there are plenty of narrow-minded folks (we’ll call them Southern Baptists) around, and I would love to walk through the mall as a family with our baby in a onesie that says, “I’m Not Gay, But My Mom and Dad Are”.
Great or Terrible? That is the question. It’s going to be great to be a parent and to do it with Lindsay. It’s going to be terribly difficult to manage it all. It’s going to be great to raise a quality human being. It’s going to be terrible to change a diarrhea bomb diaper. It’s going to be great to laugh if Lindsay has a diarrhea bomb go off in her face. Bottom line is that this kid is going to be a great addition, no matter what the cost…even if it is our sanity.