Life will Never be the Same
Your life will never be the same,” people said when they heard my wife, Lori, was pregnant. And they said it in an ominous way—as if it were an Old Testament prophecy that involved pestilence and sword. They said it over and over, so I knew it must be true. Change was coming, and I couldn’t avoid it any more than I could avoid death, taxes and the Britney Spears publicity machine.
I was already apprehensive about parenthood. I mean, why would a rational person take on the responsibility of having a child? You can’t find people to help with a school holiday program for kids, and that only requires you to put up with the ankle-biters for one week a year. But parenthood is a 20-year commitment! More if your child is a music major.
On the other hand, I’ve never met anyone who regretted having kids. No-one has ever come up to me and said, “You know, if I had it to do over again, we’d have skipped having kids and put more time into our vitamins business.”
cold, hard facts
I knew I was in for a change. But what kid of change? The best answer came in an email from Matt Pierce, the father of two absurdly adorable girls named Sarah and Sophia.
Here’s what he told me: Well, now that you’re expecting, I can share with you the cold, hard facts. The reason they don’t tell you about the cold, hard facts is because if they were known, the human race would wither away into extinction. So here they are, summarised for your convenience:
You are no longer the centre of the universe.
Actually, consider yourself a fringe planet somewhere in the Gamma Quadrant. And in another 30 years, you’ll be considered a gaseous anomaly. At least that’s how we see my father-in-law.
You no longer know anything.
All the laws of nature are tossed on the floor like so much oatmeal. Night is day and day is night; you’ll learn to take little naps anywhere and any time. Water (and other fluids) will flow opposite their natural course. What should go north to south goes south to north in a child. Later you’ll have the same problem with your household plumbing. (Hint: It’s probably Lego or marbles.)
You no longer have the luxury of aversions to bodily fluids.
I bet you didn’t know it was a luxury. Well, it was.
You will learn to embrace ABC television.
The Teletubbies are: Tinkie Winkie, Dipsi, Laa-Laa, and my favourite, Po. You will learn the Barney song; it comes in handy while cleaning. Elmo is the little furry red guy, and Baby Bear has some deep, dark side that I can’t put my finger on.
Those are a few of the cold, hard facts. I have one piece of advice for dealing with the pressure—blame the baby. When Lori is wondering who ate all the Special K, blame the baby. When you want to leave an annoying social gathering, blame the baby. When you’re late for work, blame the baby. The Greek words for “baby” and “scapegoat” are very similar.
So now that you have the facts, what I really want to say is, Congratulations! Your life will never be the same.
And you’ll be glad.
Adapted, with permission, from Women of Spirit.
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