and I feel a little frightened.
We found out last Thursday that Angie is pregnant. She woke up feeling nauseous and vomited in the toilet. It was a little suspicious. Nothing dubious had been consumed the previous night.
She dropped me at work and promptly went off to get a home pregnancy kit. I received an energetic phone call soon afterwards. She was bouncy, excited, ecstatic. We’ve been trying for a baby since the end of February and each month is normally met with a great deal of disappointment. The disappointment would hit Angie really hard, but I always found myself less distraught than she appeared to be. The doctor had told her that there was nothing wrong and that there might only be a problem after a year of trying since removing the loop.
My perspective was that everything was still well within normal operating parameters. Angie’s perspective was that having a baby was a goal or a target she had set for herself, and she always achieved goals. Thus no positive sign of pregnancy equalled FAILURE.
Failure no more. My immediate response was more one of flailing alarm, with undertones of excitement and optimism. At the forefront was flailing alarm though.
I suppose it is not surprising that flailing alarm was not the reaction Angie expected of me. I think I came across excited on the phone, but in my gut was an uneasy, unsettled churning.
She came to the office and was all silly grins and overflowing mirth, waving around the home test kit with its double-band indicating a positive result. I struggled to swim in the deluge of her happiness.
It’s not because I wasn’t happy. I was. I am. This has been a completely planned pregnancy. It’s just that I hadn’t properly considered the implications of being a father. Or rather I had, but there was no defined timeframe to performing fathering duties. Now there is and nine months seems a woefully inadequate period of time to get everything in order — and there is a shitload to organise.
Angie told me that she wished the pregnancy would last just two months so the baby would be here faster.
Like I said, I’m a little frightened. Am I capable of bringing up a child competently? Certainly any idiot can raise a child, but idiots don’t do a very good job. I don’t think I’m an idiot, but I fear (hopefully irrationally) that I’ll be an idiot father.
Can I afford all of the child-related expenses? The answers is yes, but I still worry.
Can we afford a bigger house with a garden for the kid to play in? I hope the answer is yes.
I’m worrying about other things too, but they are all related to the child being born. And that’s sort of a worry too. Does the father have a purpose until childbirth? It doesn’t entirely feel like he does. The baby is under construction in Angie, and my part in that construction process was really only in the design phase.
Genetic material provided. Thank you for your interest. You are now excused.
Despite my fear and uncertainty, I’m going to be a daddy. How cool is that? It kicks ass, that’s how cool!
