This whole prospect of becoming a father has affected me in ways that I hadn’t really planned on. It’s made me want to double / triple / quadruple check the oncoming traffic when pulling out onto the highway. I’ve become a little obsessed with learning about mutual funds, IRA’s and other financial security issues that used to just make me glaze over. And most disturbingly, I am becoming increasingly aware of my own mortality, and am assessing how I eat and exercise. I think the whole notion of bringing another human into the world and having to be responsible for him and provide for him for the next 18 or so years has been a serious “gut check” for me. It’s not that I don’t think we can do it, I guess its just the reality of having to do it.
But all that doesn’t get me down. I am so looking forward to meeting Davis. I’ve tried several times to send morse code messages to him by tapping on Michelle’s belly, but all I ever get back is an elbow roll or a kick/punch. While I am not fluent in the uteran dialect of the rolling fetus language, I believe he is saying “Mommy, please tell him to stop tapping me in the face.” Oh well, I guess we’ll speak after he arrives.
We’ve finally finished packing the hospital bags. That has been my responsibility.
- Blankie? Check!
- Diapers? Check!
- Snacks for daddy? Check!
- Rocketship onesie with matching space boots for Davis to wear home? Check!
So I think we’re finally ready or as ready as we can be.