People (and by people I mean guys) like to joke around about some hilarious tropes and cliches regarding women in general, and pregnancy specifically. When I was engaged I got all sorts of helpful advice such as, "Every time you have sex during your first year of marriage put a coin in a jar. After your one year anniversary take a coin out of the jar every time you have sex. You'll never run out of coins for the rest of your marriage!" (for the record, I don't carry cash). As soon as, "the fellas" discovered my wife was knocked up they got very excited about the misery I would soon be enduring (by proxy) - the hysteria, the bizarre cravings, the lack of sleep, the lack of sex, etc. Well, we all know that all stereotypes have a basis in reality (especially the racist ones) and let me tell you something - pregnant women are crazy. I know being pregnant must suck for the girl, but, as I've said many times through my always objective mouth, it's even worse for the guy. See, the girl has tons of stuff to put up with, but you know what they get in return? Unlimited amounts of sympathy and a free pass for whatever they do. A guy may only have one thing to put up with (the woman) but he gets no sympathy whatsoever.
Margaret and I have had some of the greatest fights of our eight year history during the past week. In complete honesty, I don't remember what a single one of them was about, but trust me, they were amazing. Several times during the week the arguments have taken a turn for the truly strange to the point that I almost thought that I was being punked or something. It's difficult to argue while restraining a smile. Mag got her wisdom teeth out earlier this year and I was super excited about how crazy I expected her to act while dealing with the after-effects of the anesthesia . She acted completely normal and I was severely disappointed, but thankfully she's making up for it now in spades. Ya know I love ya honey (if you're reading this) but you have been pretty damn crazy a few days this week.
I'm beginning to realize something about fatherhood that is terrifying me already. See, one criticism I've often leveled at parents (usually my own, since I don't spend a great deal of time criticizing other people's parents, except the parents of every single child I see at Wal-mart) is that after they have a child they become more connected to the child than to the person they had the child with. This makes sense on a lot of different levels but it isn't something that I want for myself. Let's face it, Margaret is a girl I fell in love with back in 2002 and remain in love with today - she's someone with her own family and past and life and loves who chose me, and was chosen by me. This is a great and beautiful thing of course, but this little ball of cells growing in her belly is me. It shares DNA with me, and with Margaret, and I'll experience this life from the very beginning. Of course I'm going to have a connection with him or her that is very different than my connection with Mag.
Different is okay, of course, but the danger is using my new connection with my child to replace my connection with my wife as a source of emotional fulfillment. Why would I do this? Because having a relationship with an innocent little fat creature that can't talk and depends entirely on me for protection, guidance, and provision is a hell of a lot easier than having a relationship with an adult with their own desires, fears, and opinions. This is the coward's way out, and something I'm determined to avoid, but I think an easy trap to fall into. I'm not saying this is what all parents do, but I think it's something I could do and something that I don't want to do. There's no love hierarchy, where love of my wife comes first, and then love of my firstborn, and then love of my second born, and then love of my half-Lithuanian lovechild, and then love of my cats, and then love of booze, and then love of my other half-Lithuanian lovechild. My heart is huge and ever-expanding - there's no danger that I'm not going to fall deeply in love with this kid, but there is a possibility that I use it to replace the connection I have with my wife.
Beyond this, it isn't fair for the kid either. He/she didn't ask to be conceived, or to be born, or to have such a good looking father. This world and this life is something that I'm pushing on the child, not something that they specifically requested when they visited me in a dream from their little cloud in stork pre-heaven. It isn't fair for me to already be burdening the ornery cherub with my issues, or with my hopes and dreams. I spend a lot of time driving on my own, and as you can tell this child occupies my thoughts about 85% of the time (also known as the percentage of dance scenes in which Natalie Portman did her own dancing in Black Swan).
A quick update on the dirty physical stuff: the baby is going to double in size this week, and can now hiccup as well as do somersaults. The somersaults will probably grow more difficult to perform shortly, as it's little fish fins are turning into arms and legs and growing finger and toenails. Most importantly, this little peanut now has balls or ovaries. Why it needs them so early I don't know, but ya got 'em kid. Use them wisely.
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| Latest sonogram image. |
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