Wednesday, January 4, 2012

A new year, a new life

The classic image of the New Year is a baby.
A smiling, cherubic baby with a 2012 banner around its body, signifying the promise of the year to come.
This year, it won’t be so figurative for me.
That’s right, in 2012 -- around the first week of March, to be specific -- my wife and I will be welcoming our first baby into the world.
Already I’m worried. Terrified, really, about hundreds of things.
You hope everything with the delivery goes OK. You hope for ten fingers and toes. You hope for no complications and good health.
Even though Unnamed Baby Girl hasn’t seen the light of the world, I’m feeling the primitive urges that I’m sure date back to our cave dwelling ancestors: to make sure she is safe and happy.
And to buy her lots of toys.
Most of all, I worry about the things I can control, like whether or not I’m up to snuff for daddyhood. There’s things I’ve got to teach this kid, but without passing on any of my own bad habits which include, but are definitely not limited to, excessive snacking, sofa lounging and bar stool sitting.
I’m guessing all these worries are just the beginning, and that I have a long way to go.
“You never stop worrying,” is the common refrain.
Superseding all the frets and fears, though, is the joy.
Unnamed Baby Girl has had me in a tizzy from the moment I learned of her, even if I had just walked across the entire county.
This past summer, my brother, one of our buddies and I hiked across Manistee County. I eventually wrote a three-part series for the newspaper about our backpacking adventures.
But I left out a crucial tidbit. The day we hiked into Stronach, we were picked up and whisked back to my house where all three of us dirty, dog-tired fellows took showers. I hadn’t seen Meredith, my wife, for three days, but she didn’t let on that there was big news brewing in her uterus just yet.
She had known for days, but didn’t want to tell me over the phone.
She accompanied us to the Bungalow, where the dudes and I dug in on some much-needed cheeseburgers. It wasn’t until after the fellows left Manistee later that afternoon and Meredith and I were alone at home that her face started shining.
I was exhausted and only had thoughts of climbing on the couch and nursing the blisters on my feet.
Baby Girl had different plans. Meredith stopped me in the kitchen.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” Meredith said. “I’m pregnant.”
Despite my exhaustion, I was ecstatic.
I still am.
And I know raising her up right will be much more exhausting than a three-day hike. I still have to learn how to change a diaper, heat up a bottle and bathe a baby. I still have to learn how to operate on limited hours of sleep.
She will cry. She will scream. She will run. She will play. She will whine. She will be sassy. She will learn to tell jokes. She will learn to dance. She will try to wear unsuitable clothes. She will have suitors showing up at the door.
She will grow up and I can’t wait to be there for all of it.
And, future suitors of 2027, do be aware that Unnamed Baby Girl’s daddy knows how to use a shotgun.