First off, let's properly eradicate any misconceptions right off the bat. Just because I have fathered two children does not mean I assume an "expert" title. Fornication does not equal maturation. People who live in Seattle might have more experience with rain, but that doesn't mean they can tell you with any degree of accuracy whether or not it'll downpour on your precious wedding day. So if you're looking for answers, I can assure you I have none. But what I do have is an unmatched ability to find humor in even the most serious situations (I once got thrown out of my fourth grade class for laughing at my teacher as she loudly lectured the class on the importance of being quiet). And trust me when I tell you that when my children, Antonio (2 years) and Nathaniel (7 weeks) entered my life, I found myself faced with a whole new world of serious. I found joy, too, mind you, but much like any musician worth his weight in record sales, I intend to share with you my struggles up front (then, just when I've got you where I want you, put out something cheery and poppy to make you wonder if I'm selling out). So, with that out of the way, I hope this blog becomes somewhat of an open forum for parents (and even people who observe parents) to share the absurdities and even the common every day happenings that they find extraordinary. That said, here's where my parenthood started, for people who need a back story (don't worry, I'll skip past the sex and get right to the delivery)...
It was April 21, 2009 at 9:55 pm. I know this because I flipped my phone open to check if I'd received any early congratulatory text messages. A common theme in my life is feeling under-appreciated and unnoticed, so it was with that overly self-absorbed thinking in mind that I winced when I was greeted with just the time. I sat uneasily in a rigid chair, waiting to be called into the operating room where my wife, Sonia was to give birth to our first son, Antonio via c-section. We knew his name would be Antonio. We'd known for months. It was surprisingly easy and juxtaposed perfectly by the naming of our second son, which we nearly pulled in a jury to help with (will get to that in a later edition). So I sat in this ungodly waiting room, tables and machines surrounding me. Then, the inevitable occurred. My head slung down to my knees and I conjured up that scene from "She's Having a Baby" where Kevin Bacon is left to wonder if his wife and unborn child were safe after having "complications." The emotive Kate Bush song "This Woman's Work" served as the backdrop. That was the last thought I had before my son was born. Imagining myself as Kevin Bacon, hoping my fictional family wasn't dying. If it isn't already abundantly clear, I'm a tad dramatic.
The nurse, doctor, (or janitor, for all I know) called me into the OR. The scrubs I had to wear over my feet made cute little squishy sounds with each step (what they really were squishing were my last good nights of sleep). I might as well have worn a beekeeper's mask with all the gear I was made to armor myself with. Before I could even breathe, I was positioned in a new chair, this time inches away from Sonia's prone head, a sheet separating us from her exposed guts. She asked me nervously to distract her. I said the first thing that came to mind. "I had a real hard time putting this mask on." Seriously, Joe? Not, "You are doing wonderfully, honey!" I complained about my God damn mouth guard. To a woman who was in labor 24 hours and was currently closer to me than to her own organs. Self absorption strikes again. And at the perfect time! Thankfully, she truly meant it when she asked me to talk about anything. She took the bait and started in with questions about the mask."Is the string in the back not long enough? Is it irritating your chin skin?" Man, she was desperate. It reminded me of dancing with my mother at my wedding. I knew she was about to lose it, and she asked me to tell her a joke."Ha, I can't think of one," I said, voice shaking. Can't think of one? I suck. Anyway, Antonio was born a little after 10:00 pm that night. My initial thought was, "Holy shit, I'm a father." And my immediate second thought was, "He looks fucking Chinese." Not that either of these things were a problem, but I had not envisioned myself fathering a Chinese baby. I just didn't think I was smart enough. As I went to snap a picture of him, I noticed Sonia's organs lying ominously on the operating table. One of them looked like a filet mignon. I briefly related to Jeffrey Dahmer. Then I was promptly escorted to the nursery, my poor wife still drugged and babbling in my rear view.
I won't soon forget the moment when the nurse wheeled Antonio past my parents and in-laws as I walked close behind, proudly. I hugged them one by one, which was odd since my father is not a hugger, but he's smart enough to follow a pattern when he sees one. My mother, amidst the congratulations, asked how Sonia was feeling. Dammit! I'd been hoping no one would ask me a direct question. "Good, she's good," I answered, my voice noticeably cracking from tears. I never cried in front of people. This was the one exception. This, and when I got kicked in the balls during gym class in high school. The nurse gave me an ice pack to hold there for the rest of the day. Talk about shining a spotlight on something. But anyway, over the next several days, I camped out in Sonia's hospital room while family stopped by and asked things like, "Do you feel any different?" What a filler question. When I got kicked in the balls I felt different. Sonia, she felt different from having her internal organs rearranged recklessly like the pillows on a futon. Me? I felt the same. It's like asking someone whose birthday it is if they feel any older. Ignoramuses.
Four days later, after the hospital passive aggressively showed us the door (we figured labeling our dinner the night before our "farewell meal" spelled the end of our stay), we came home to start our new life. And that, my friends, is where this blog will take us. You'll learn (as will my wife) my little tricks to get out of bottle feedings and diaper changes, the impossibly frustrating nights out at restaurants and how I inappropriately handle it, and of course, how I maintain my sanity while intermittently weeping in the bathroom with the faucet running.
I highly encourage fellow parents to contribute as "guest bloggers" here. I hope to someday have this blog transformed into this generation's next "What to Expect When You're Expecting" for dudes. So, if that's to happen, I'd like it to be collaborative! Kind of like a parental orgy, of sorts.
Till next time, be strong and stay sane.
-jdp
My Podcast: http://www.courtesyflush.podomatic.com/
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