Much has happened in the past few days. Whether it’s Donald Trump reopening the can of worms that is President Obama’s birthplace, the rigmarole surrounding the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton, or even the shocking news that The Paul Reiser Show was canceled after only two episodes, America is up to its eyeballs in interesting events. However, all that pales in comparison to my own recently-announced news:
I will be a father in about six months.
Even typing that last sentence gave me pause. I’ve believed myself to be an overgrown child for so long that the idea of actually raising one of my own throws me. Now, keep in mind, I’m not afraid, at least no more than any other new parent is, nor do I have any regrets about welcoming new life into the world. I’m fully on board the baby train. I’m still just settling into the idea that a child will call me “Dad.” Or “Daddy.” Or “Pop.” Not “Father,” though. Too formal and full of subtext. “Sir” is even worse. Stop trying to make “Sir” happen.
I imagine we’ll get all sorts of advice about how to raise the baby. Nurture the child as much as possible. Let him/her cry it out. Cloth diapers. Disposable. Gerber’s baby food. Natural, organic strained vegetables. Throw a turkey slider into the blender. Vaccinate. Don’t vaccinate. Vaccinate twice as much for good luck. Private school. Public school. Charters. Vouchers. Leave the child in a snow cave and train him/her to fight and shoot guns.
Look, I have simple goals. I just want our child to be happy, be fulfilled, and to succeed in whatever he/she wants to do. If the kid’s good at a sport, then I want him/her to pursue that. If it’s schoolwork, then I want him/her to study as much as possible and find that dream career. I don’t care if he/she owns a donut shop, but if it’s successful and he/she manages to make a good life for him/herself from it, mazel tov. Be the best damn donut salesman around. Invent new donuts. Push the donut envelope.
I know it’s not going to be easy. I know it’s going to take not only the both of us, but also the assistance of all who can, and are willing to, help. But we’re going to take it on, headfirst. I hate to say something as clichéd as, “As long as we have love, it’ll be OK,” but I think it’s true. Our hearts are in the right place, and we trust our instincts.
We’re gonna raise the shit out of that kid. Everyone with me? OK, let’s have a Whoa Bundy.