The scariest thing that’s ever happened to anyone ever.
Chapter one: Twelve weeks of blissful ignorance.
Ok. This is completely new territory for me as a writer. I am going into this article armed with the knowledge that I’m going to be a father for the first time. At the tender age of twenty seven in this strange year of our Lord, 2009, I will be bringing another life into this sinister place called earth with all the naivety and misplaced arrogance expected from first time parents. Words like excitement, pride and joy describe my feelings perfectly well but they’re also clichéd enough to completely pass by how scared I am and hide my surprise that my reproductive kit actually works (honestly I’ve put my body through the proverbial mangle on more than one occasion).
So, how does the modern man approach first time fatherhood in an objective, sensible, reasonable and mature way?
Admittedly these all sound like the kind of adjectives my mother used to describe the person I wasn’t when I was growing up. Despite my own delusions I’m really not sure I’m any different from that odd excuse for a teenager that suffered all those years of put-downs. The one thing that scares me initially is that my child will turn out like me. Not that I’m a villain, or anything like that but the thought of passing on my insecurities and paranoia fills me with an awful sense of ……..well paranoia.
I suppose the weirdest part of all of this that we found out about the pregnancy at the same time that my father is lying on his death bed after a long battle with Multiple Sclerosis (at the time of writing he’s still hanging on). It’s weird to think that he won’t meet his grandson/daughter. I suppose you could believe that life has some sort of circle based on this evidence but I won’t subscribe to such ‘New Age’ theories based on my violent allergic reaction to bullshit. Honestly, the faintest whiff of a ‘Dream Catcher’ brings me out in a disgusting rash.
I honestly don’t think there is any reasonable way to approach parenting without falling foul of conventionalism. It is more then a trip into the unknown. It’s the ultimate stab in the dark prefixed with a much needed sharpening of my moral sword before any shadow-stabbing can be done. Anyone who knows me and was vicious enough to label themselves ‘politically correct’ would seriously question my moral capabilities. It’s as if there is a blueprint that we all must follow.
So we’re twelve weeks into the mother of all trips. There are scans, baby name books, moving, decorating and arguments to fill the next six months with so we’ll call this chapter one and at the rate my mind is working by the time we get to chapter three hundred I may just have a photo of a baby to show you.
I guess what I’m trying to say is HELP!!!!!!!
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