"A false positive is really, really rare." she explained.
I nodded and slowly took off my Finn hat.
"I see." I said.
Delma went back into the bathroom, took off her black wig and sat on the toilet.
"Shit." she said. "Shitshitshit."
"This is good news!" I told her, smiling, but the way I said it, it came out as "This is good news?"
But it was good news. Great news, really. We weren't trying to conceive, but we also weren't not trying. We hadn't been not trying for a couple of years and nothing had happened so I just assumed I had a low sperm count or something. We both wanted kids. We just didn't expect to have one so soon.
"This is good news," I repeated.
I calmly walked to the kitchen, opened a bottle of wine and chugged half of it before sitting down. I was still smiling.
The next morning, I was not smiling. Partly from the hangover, but also partly from the "Oh shit, Delma's pregnant..." realization.
The news rocked me so hard I couldn't see straight, my mind buzzing incessantly with internal chatter. I couldn't finish a thought without immediately jumping to another. Worries, anxiety, elation, fear. A hot mess would be the best way to describe it. That or fugue state. I'd walk into a room, forget why I walked into that room, then walk into another room, only to forget why I had left the previous room. I forgot how to perform basic tasks. In the middle of washing dishes, I'd stop and ask myself "Wait... How do I sponge?" I'm surprised Delma even let me drive, but her mind was probably in a similar condition.
I was overcome with joy, of course, but there was this nagging fear eating away at me and I couldn't quite place where it was coming from. There were the normal fears. I was scared for the baby's health, I questioned whether I'd make a good father, I was worried about the finances of raising a child. But this was something else, something I couldn't pin down.
It's been nearly five months since we found out and things have settled down some. We've seen the baby. He's a he. We know because we've seen his penis. He's healthy and he's moving around a lot and his heart beat sounds like the thumping bass line from a dubstep song. "Everything's great," the doctor said. A+. I snapped out of the fugue state after a few days. Also, Delma's boobs are now crazy huge which is awesome, except I can't squeeze them because they're very sensitive, but daaaaaamn girrrrrl. I just keep staring. Very nice.
A few of those fears have been lessened over these past few months. They're still there. They've just chilled a bit. Baby seems to be healthy. We're slowly making a dent in our debt and making a financial plan for the future. I'm still worried I might not make the greatest dad, but I also won't be the worst dad, right? Maybe? Guys? Half the battle is showing up or whatever? Whatever.
And while those fears have died down (a little bit), our excitement is growing. We're having a baby. A child. A little person who we're going to raise and take care of and watch grow into a productive member of society with his own personality and quirks and hobbies and interests. The miracle of life. We're having a baby (annnnd the fear just came back again oh-god-I'm-dry-heaving).
It alternates. Some days I'm scared shitless. Most days though, I'm elated.
A month after that Halloween party, we went and bought his 2016 Halloween costume.
Please ignore those creepy disembodied baby heads.
It's fun thinking about the future. We're making so many plans. My sisters have already started showering him with gifts. Baby clothes, baby toys, baby bottles, Baby Bash. Our moms can't stop talking about him (they're practicing saying his name which we're thinking is going to be 'Joshua,' but since both of our moms have thick accents, it comes out as 'Yoshwa'). Delma's dad is already talking about taking him to Disneyland.
This baby is going to be very loved, and that is something I am happy and thankful for.
But that one gnawing fear is still there, rising above the usual ones. A couple weekends ago, I realized what it was.
I'm scared I'll go from 'Alf' to 'Dad Alf.'
Look, I know I'm going to be a dad. That's kinda what happens when you have a kid. You become a parent. I understand this and I am ok with it.
What I don't want is for that to be my identity. I don't want 'being a dad' to be my sole purpose in life. I mean, I want to be a good dad. I just don't want that to be the only thing I be.
Call me selfish. Fine. I'm selfish.
I'm selfish and there are a lot of things I still want to do in life and I'm scared that having a baby will prevent me from doing those things.
I still want to travel. Before I knocked up Delma, we were planning a trip to Patagonia. It's on hold now. For how long? Who knows. I'm scared that it's postponed indefinitely.
I still want to go to the movies and read books and go to nice restaurants and order charcuterie boards. I've never actually ordered one, but I'm worried I won't be able to once that baby pops out. Kids can't eat charcuterie. They can't even pronounce it.
I also don't want to do certain things. I don't want to go to Little League games. I don't want to go to PTA meetings. I really don't want to sit in a room making chitchat with little Susie's dad about the weather while we wait for our kids to get done with dance rehearsal (Joshua is going to be a great dancer, just like his dad).
Above all, I still want to make funny shit. Whether it be through writing or improv or stupid videos or otamatone covers, I want to just keep making funny shit. Or start making funny shit, I guess, if you haven't found anything I've done to be funny.
I'm scared I won't be able to do that.
Parenthood is sacrifice. I get it. No, really, I do.
And, like I keep saying because I'm trying to convince myself so hard, I'm excited at being able to spend time with my little one and have a ton of awesome new experiences with him and Delma. Being a dad is going to be amazing (nerve-wracking). I'm very optimistic (scared) about it. Terrified but thrilled. Paralyzed by a mixture of fear and excitement.
I think, more so than not being able to do these things I want to do though, I'm scared that I'll use having kids as a convenient excuse to not do them.
I have a tendency to be passive. It's something I've been trying to work on. Whatever happens, I just accept it. A lot of the time, it feels like I let decisions be made for me rather than actively choosing to do something. Many things, I do because they are easy.
My worry is that I will stop trying to make funny shit because it's easier to just not do it. "Well, I have a kid now, so I don't have time for this nonsense..."
And I'm going to have to keep reminding myself that that's bullshit. Kanye has North and Saint and he just released that album that's supposed to be really good, but which I haven't listened to because it's on Tidal and there's no way I'm getting Tidal when I already have Spotify Premium, man, I'm just going to wait until it comes out on iTunes or something.
But you know what I mean? People have kids. And they continue to do what they do. They make it work. They have their kids and raise them lovingly and still make time to do the things they love.
It's harder, for sure. They have to make the time. But they make it work. Because they really enjoy doing what they're doing. Whether it's writing or playing the keytar or painting miniature figurines.
The rest of this post will be me giving myself a pep talk.
Sup Alf. It's me/you, Alf. Having a kid is going to be to tough, man. He's going to try to devour you. That boy will demand your every waking minute and then, when you sleep, he will invade your dreams. In a loving way. You'll love him and he'll love you, but love is hard. And you two might come to hate each other at times. There might be some Oedipal-shit going on, who knows. It will be incredibly difficult, yet also rewarding and fun. Terrified, yet thrilled. Scary excitement. Conflicting emotions.
But if you want to keep doing you, you're going to have to make time to keep doing you. Whether that means writing during lunch or waking up at 4AM to edit a video you've been working on, you're going to have make sacrifices to do what you really want to do (in addition to making sure your child grows up in a loving environment and never neglecting him in order to do what you want to do and always teaching him right from wrong, of course).
You can do this, man.
And if you can't?
Well, then just wait eighteen years. You and Delma can hit up Patagonia then, albeit with those walking canes that older people use because you're going to be close to fifty and your bones will creak and your muscles will ache and your life will have passed you by.
And if you don't want to wait?
Then just make it work. Work work work work.
Forrealtho, I think the best thing about being a dad is probably going to be singing this song whenever I get home.
Terrified, yet thrilled, man.
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