As this once-in-a-millennium day dawns, I find myself wondering if it will be the beginning of my new life as a dad. My wife’s due date arrives today, and she’s as ripe as she’s going to be. She’s gotten so big the baby looks like he’s going to fall right off the front of her.
But God bless her for being so brave and strong through everything so far because the more I learn about the intricacies of pregnancy, the more I thank the Lord that I’m a guy. Organs getting shifted around by the growing fetus, acid reflux, constipation, soreness pretty much everywhere. The whole “gaining 30 pounds” thing I think I could handle. But the rest would be enough to cure any gender-confused man.
So the nursery has been painted and papered; the requisite blue sports-themed outfits have been purchased, washed and organized; and here we sit, afraid to plan anything more than 12 hours ahead or travel more than half an hour in any direction just in case “it happens.” (Though I’m starting to think this whole birthing process is much more gradual than we’re led to believe in the slapstick comedies on TV.)
Though, God willing, he’ll be born safely and healthy. Then maybe he can become my own little version 2.0, and I can impart some of the wisdom I’ve taken from the mistakes I’ve made … and go from being a father to fully a dad.