Mommy Bloggers: An Essay Written by Mr. Big Dubya

The Following entry was written by Mr. Big Dubya. You can read more of his work at Mr.bigdubya, Dadcentric, and Ronmexicosblog:

I don’t know what’s gotten into Meghan, Jenn and Jenny. First, they’re big fans of my blog and have actually called me “talented.�? Honest. I kid you not. I have an e-mail to prove it. Send me a dollar and I’ll forward it to you – there will also be detailed instructions about how we can both make money forwarding this single e-mail. It’s so easy. I can’t believe it’s not illegal. Second, they asked me to write about Father Hood. Why on earth they would want me to write about some lame, 1993 movie starring Patrick Swayze is beyond me. But, this is their blog and they’ve asked me to contribute, so who am I to question their subject matter? What’s that? Oh. Not Father Hood? Fatherhood? One word? Well, that makes much more sense, though I think I could have had fun with the former.

Fatherhood. Such a weighty topic. One that if I were to actually dwell on it for any extended period of time, I would probably end up a quivering mess in the corner, overwhelmed by the awesome responsibility of raising a child. I am constantly reminded of something my father told me lo these many years ago before I went off to basic training: “Whenever it gets crazy, just keep laughing in your head.�? Now I find, nearly every minute of every day, my head sounds like some horrible 80s sitcom laugh track stuck on repeat. But I love it and wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Even though my son recently turned one, I still consider myself fairly new to the daddy game—I’m still a rookie, just called up from AAA ball. But, then again, aren’t we all, for the most part, still rookies? Unless, of course, you’re The Donald, have grown children and decide it’s a good time to start over. I don’t think you can call yourself a journeyman player…ever. In some way, shape or form it’s all new. From the early morning feedings and seemingly never-ending diaper changes to mobile toddler to obstinate child to dating teen to college-age young adult—each stage presents its own unique challenges that you’re never really fully-prepared for. Sure, many aspects of growing up are universal and you can draw on your own misspent youth for guidance, but now, as an adult, you have to look at it and make decisions as a father and not some pimply-faced teenager decked out in pegged Z. Cavaricci’s trying to extend his curfew another hour.

Whoa. See, this is what happens when you become a father. In addition to losing the ability to follow one thought through to its conclusion, randomly jumping from one topic to another, you begin thinking years…decades…into the future. My son’s still trucking around the house on his hands and knees wearing his Pampers Cruisers and already I’m debating whether or not I’ll hand him the keys to the flying car. Ten years ago, my long-term view meant sitting at work on a Monday thinking about what I was going to do that coming Friday. Now? I’m trying to make sure things I do now don’t turn him into some psycho up in a bell tower with a high-powered rifle a la Parenthood. Therapy? Fine. Homicidal maniac? Not so much.

So, what am I supposed to do come December when there will be two in the house? I’ve already got my perpetual laugh track going, I’m parenting by the seat of my pants because they don’t come with a manual and I honestly think Michael Keaton had mad parenting skills in Mr. Mom. I’m still getting used to this little guy, his developing personality and wide array of communication techniques, desperately trying to catalog each one: wail, shriek, wail, wail – need bottle now, dammit! shriek, wail, howl, howl, wail – what the hell is taking you so long! whimper, whimper, wail, shriek, howl – I am no longer happy in this crib. Remove me immediately! gurgle, gurgle, giggle, giggle, laugh, whack – love you. And now we want to add another to the mix? Maybe it’s appropriate that I’m listening to Gnarls Barkley’s Crazy right now.

All kidding aside, I couldn’t imagine my life without my son. His infectious laugh and ear-to-ear smile can make even the shittiest of days great ones. There is nothing that brings me to the edge of blubbering idiot faster than to have him scrambling to the door when I arrive home and then trying to climb my leg to get me to pick him up. Sure, those nights when he doesn’t want to sleep can cause a man to teeter on the brink of insanity, but they are outweighed and outnumbered by the joy I feel watching him stand without something to lean on or boldly trying to take his first steps.

Um…ok…gotta go. I’m getting all verklempt. Talk amongst yourselves.

Comments

I too flash between random scattered thoughts of the present, and random scattered thoughts of the future. Those little people are a lot of work, but I haven't met anyone yet who would trade them in. Great post.

Posted by: Meghan | June 14, 2006 11:40 PM

I thought the not being able to have related thought in a row was just me. I feel much better now.

After reading this I am strongly considering asking you to write a "Father Hood" post for me.

Just to see.

Posted by: Sarah, Goon Squad Sarah | June 19, 2006 8:00 AM

An Essay Written by Mr. Big Dubya

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