Rachel has painted a fairly rosy picture of how things are going thus far. I'm here to present the flip side of the proverbial coin. Life isn't all dragonflies and pretty pictures in the Lee house. There is some serious pre-baby angst in Lee Land. I get clammy hands almost every time I look at the nursery --- which, by the way, used to be my OFFICE. That's right, what used to be a room of deep thought and musty law texts is now overrun with cartoon dragonflies, soft fabrics, and powdery oily aromas. Rachel even took down my framed Barry Goldwater For President campaign poster (but don't worry, my kids will be thoroughly indoctrinated in conservatism/Reaganism/truth by the time they hit school-age, with or without propaganda being hung in their room --- look forward to many posts on this topic down the line).
I'm presently going through something that I'm sure every parent-to-be has gone through: the thought of being responsible for another life --- and for the next 18 years --- is simply terrifying. I haven't the slightest clue what needs to be done between now and the Birth, let alone everything that comes after that. I feel totally unprepared to address the needs and wants of a baby, a toddler, a pre-teen, a teenager. When they get to college, you send them money and buy them beer when you come into town. That is literally the extent of what I know about parenting.
Case in point. We went to the grocery store yesterday. I went to the toiletries aisle to get some shampoo. A pleasant thirty-something woman was in the aisle with her two blonde children: a boy, 5ish, and a girl, obviously 2 given the events that unfolded. Each kid had one of those midget shopping carts and appeared to be pushing actual groceries --- these are of course nothing but trip hazards and, given that they are pushed by people too young to gauge speed and anticipate moving roadblocks, are occasionally weapons.
So I'm trying to navigate past the trip hazards down the aisle to the shampoo, and the little girl is clutching a red object and screaming ever louder at her mother, insisting that she be allowed to take the red object home. Her mother calmly and rationally asked her to put it back. This was met with tears and a series of high-pitched shrieks. Her mother attempted bribery, threats, niceties, everything. In the end, the 2-year-old had the last word, taking off running down the aisle away from her mother, around me, past her brother's trip hazard, and around the corner, out of sight, the red object finally hers forever. Her mother just stared at the aisle, its population diminished by one. It appeared as if, for just a split second, she contemplated how serene her future would be if she just didn't chase after her daughter. When common sense and unconditional love finally evaporated that fantasy, she took off in the general direction of the little girl's screams, sweetly giving me the following aside: "If that's not birth control I don't know what is." Little did she know that she was a few months too late.
And you know what the red object was that this little girl wanted? It was a stick of Old Spice deodorant. For men. She didn't even know what it was! A product that she will never use or need.
Now, does this sound like a situation that, when its my kid wanting the deodorant, I am going to handle well? I work in an field where compromise depends on appealing to a person's rationality. I don't have a chance against such unabashed unilateralism.
I suppose I could just try to copy my parents. They raised two ostensibly normal, hygenic, intelligent and driven children, neither of whom have done prison time or been excommunicated. So whatever they did obviously worked. Then again, people of vastly greater intelligence than me have done everything they could to do right by their kids and in the end it turned their kids were still totally screwed up (see, e.g., the Hilton's, the Kennedy's, the Spears's).
But I think my panic over my impending fatherhood is misplaced by focusing on long-term concerns. I have plenty to panic about right here and now: diapers, feedings, diapers, burping, naptime, diapers, 2:00 a.m. human alarm clocks, diapers, and, of course, SpongeBob SquarePants. I think our readers are really going to enjoy hearing about my response to these demands. See, my life has been pretty comfortable up to now in large part because I have been able to complete projects largely on my own schedule. This is totally impossible with an infant: when it fills its diaper, you have to change the diaper NOW. Not at the commercial break or after you cut the grass or as soon as you get home from work. Now.
Fortunately, I plan to impose a very strict alcohol regimen to ease the transition into this new phase of life, and will be taking a lot of advice from my experienced and sage advisors:
So anyway, this is the longest post in the world, I know, but its my debut on the blogosphere, and I wanted to make it count. Plus this is Matt Lee we're talking about, and I don't know what the word "concise" means.
I hope you enjoy reading about Matt and Rachel's adventures in Pregnancy and Parenthood. I know we will enjoy sharing them with you.
All the best,
Matt Lee
2 comments:
Lee, one word...awesome. All of it, from the heart and true to form. I admire your honesty and your literary prowess.
By the way, what they say about the terrible twos is all BS. Three is much worse. My son now understands and practices defiance in its purest form. I can literally say "yes" to which he will say "no," and when I say "no" in the next breath he will say "yes." Rationalism has no place in parenthood. Drink heavily.
As someone who shares your inability for brevity, I loved the post. Don't underestimate yourself though...I would hardly classily the Spears's as being more intelligent. Point taken on screwing up the kid though. They had that part down.
Soon the day will come where the baby may urinate on a valued rug, and you'll revel in the opportunity to quote Lebowski while cringing at the prospect of the cleanup effort. Until that day comes, take 'er easy for all us sinners.
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