March 17, 2005

The preparation game

Last night as your mother and I lay in bed, I rested my hand on her belly. I could feel you moving around – exploring your limited surroundings with exploratory punches, kicks, elbows and headbutts. Certainly, punkling, with a performance such as I was treated to last night, you have a career in professional wrestling ahead of you.

It’s so strange to me, lying there feeling like I’m almost holding you in my arms, but knowing that it’s going to be another two months until I can actually see you. Your mum’s having a really hard time of it. She’s still working full time, and it’s obvious to me that working a full day as well as lugging you around is really taking a toll on her. When we get home, it’s all she can do to tell me what she wants for dinner before she collapses onto the couch and sacks out.

It’s a bit of a hassle that I’m just ramping up at work, too, because it means that she’s unable to give me the help that I need around the house. Sure, pumpkin, don’t believe that your dad’s COMPLETELY helpless when it comes to domestic duties, but having two very tired people + two very excitable dogs in the house can get to be a bit of a strain sometimes. I am aware of the irony inherent in this complaint. That having you arrive on the scene will turn this situation even more on its head, that I will be unable, in coming weeks, to even believe that I used the word ‘tired’ to describe the feeling that I’m having now.

I am left, then, in a bit of a rock vs hard place scenario. I know that there’s a million things that I need to get done before you get here, but I know that I need to get enough rest before you get here to cope with the days and nights of sleeplessness that will follow your arrival (the current horror story that’s plaguing us is that your father didn’t sleep through the night until he was Two and A Half). I know that it’s my responsibility to support your mum after you’re born, to make sure that she’s taking care of herself as well as you. I know that I’m going to need every ounce of my strength to do that.

We’re in this situation, spending these last days of our lives together alone, before you arrive to change us forever. We’re trying to make sure that we give each other enough space to come to grips with the impending whirlwind that is you, but at the same time we need to be close enough to each other to see when the other one needs help.

It’s a crazy old time, pumpkin, feeling like we’re almost ready for you to be here, but it’s pretty darn scary too, because we know that no matter how much we prepare, we’re not going to feel ready when the time comes.

Love you.

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