Unexpected worries

When I found out we were having a child, I thought the thing that would worry me the most would be our child being a bowl of fingers or having a debilitating genetic disease. Something awful. And, of course, that’s still a worry. But it’s the kind of thing you have to put in the back of your mind a bit. Just to survive. So, no, what I’ve found is that the worries that preoccupy me, that I can’t set aside, that strike unexpectedly while we’re dusting … It’s things like: “I hope our child doesn’t have an asshole...

Pint half full

I may be generously stealing from Mr. Forty’s delicious beer at the Gasparilla Music Festival. Judge away. But I think I just saved us the financial burden of an Ivy League education. Win?

Dreams

During my two brief snippets of sleep last night (I call them “practice”), I had two dreams: 1. A friend came to visit unexpectedly and, as it turned out, our back fence had mysteriously disappeared. Also, we had a third person living in the house. Aha!, you say, but no: the third person living in the house was a friendly 25-year-old woman who had essentially broken into my previous house and befriended my neighbor and hadn’t left since. 2. Ms and I stopped off to visit a friend at an enormous Ikea built on top of a major international airport terminal on a Swedish island “on the way to England.” Our friend was the general manager, and he would torment his employees by taking two bags of ice (?) to the register, asking them to bring three more, and turn deciding to buy only four. I think the symbolism in both is “OH GODS PLEASE LET ME...

Unexpected Pain

This isn’t about the physical pain. Not directly anyway. It’s hard to watch Ms wince and squirm with Critter’s every kick and punch, sure. I wish I could take that away, or some part of it. Share in the experience. Lift the burden. Anything, really.  But I can’t.  It’s a recurring theme, isn’t it? Gestation is exciting! We’re having a baby! It’s magical! But at this point … it’s really not. I’m not growing unexpectedly (much to Ms’ dismay, I appear to be shrinking a bit, which is both good and overdue). I’m not suffering mystifying pains and tweaks and cramps. I’m not dependent on a bizarrely (and hilariously) shaped pillow just to get a little bit of comfort at night. I don’t have something punching me in the bladder. I’m not confronted at every turn by conflicting pregnancy advice. Nobody is finding slots in my calendar to schedule a shower (and, please, don’t).  I mean, I’m not doing nothing. I’m working like I always do, maybe a bit more lately. I clean up animal crap. I try in my limited and unskilled way to do as much as I can around the house. I nuke heating pads. I prepare snacks and try to cook dinner, even if it’s just shells and cheese.  I’m not patting myself on the back here, but I think I’m doing more or less what I’m supposed to be doing.  But here I am wide awake at 1:30 in the morning in a state of something like shock because … I don’t even know how to say it.  A few days ago, we were at the doctor getting an ultrasound. Critter was there, actually looking a bit human (a positive development!). Ms and I had driven separately, because we’d each come from work. After the appointment, she headed back to the office. I headed to a gas station to fill up, and then headed in the same direction she’d gone. I hopped on the Interstate and immediately was caught in horrible, bumper to bumper traffic. Checked the map, and there was an accident several exits ahead.  I texted Ms (don’t worry, I was sitting still): “Fucking traffic.” Ms didn’t respond. And didn’t respond.  I was suddenly overwhelmed with this horrible, clenching fear that she’d been in the accident. I pulled up a traffic camera (still not moving), and right at the accident was a small patch of pixels in the shape of a car the same color as Ms’ car.  It wasn’t. She called me a minute later to let me know she’d gotten off the Interstate and was headed home because of the traffic. I’d never been so relieved to hear my wife’s irritated voice.  That’s where I am right now. My life is almost mundane. It’s busy. I’m doing all the stuff I’m supposed to be doing, but there’s nothing particularly extraordinary about it. And Ms … she’s doing all the things she’s supposed to be doing, a few more things she wants to be doing, and ohbytheway growing a baby, with all the stress and pain that involves.  And I’m on conference calls.  Intellectually I know that’s ok. I’m not the one with the plumbing to grow a baby. There’s no physical way for me to share the hardest part of this process. She’s built for it. Her body is the end result of billions of years of evolution to create this bizarre, inconvenient way of making more of us.  But...

The Important Stuff

One of my best friends just texted me: How’s that invite list coming? She means for the shower she is throwing for me.  Which is amazing and I am so blessed and I feel actually a little awkward about it, because I’m actually really crap about being the center of attention (people find that hard to believe since I’ve been an actor for so long – but that’s a role – stuff like this is me). My response: Ha! Between a huge press conference with the Governor and my show opening on Friday? It’s not. Don’t worry – we haven’t even fucking registered – or gotten boxes out of the nursery, or bought properly fitting underwear to accommodate my rapidly growing ass. I haven’t eaten a meal that hasn’t come out of a wrapper in four days… And I realize – my life is insane. I’ve written about fearing this time several posts ago. I knew that my life was gonna suck for the month of February and the beginning of March. I knew it. But I keep my word and I honor my obligations and so I taught my MBA course, I directed a professional theatrical production, and at work I organized and staged a press conference that will take place in about two hours. Saturday will mark the beginning of the end of the my 100 hour work weeks. The last 8 weeks would have been damn near impossible under normal circumstances, but have been truly overwhelming for me.  That said, looking back – I wouldn’t say I dropped a single ball, made any epic mistakes, or used Critter as an excuse for anything. I got shit done. Except for the guest list to my shower. Nobody’s...