I’m going to be a father. Holy jumpin’, look at me, a father?! I have so much work to do on myself before I can be a reliable guide. I’m frightened sometimes. Overwhelmed at other times. Excited too. All sorts of emotions, fears and fantasies are engaged in fabricating this certain surreality surrounding me.
I am in love with the baby’s mother. I love the baby. I want them to be happy, comfortable and safe.
But, holy shit! Can I do this? I know I can, but there’s that damned part of me that won’t let the rest of me relax until I know for certain. So I push myself too hard – all work and no play sort of mentality. Mind you, some of my work is play.
I haven’t been writing here because I’ve used every spare moment to write and edit the first draft of a new screenplay. Writing here is a frivolous waste of my precious time, but I like it. The story is pretty good. I was hoping to squeeze another in before Christmas, but it isn’t looking good.
This is our baby @ 12 weeks, 4 days. In a freakish twist of fate, I was allowed to watch the entire ultrasound session (Wednesday past). Wow! Alive and kicking. And that’s all that matters. This feeling overwhelms me. We’re a family. And tears swell up in my eyes. I get that painful lump in my throat. I grow lost in some endorphin enriched sensation of perfection. My family. Beautiful mother and child. A miracle in the making. Mind blowing, all encompassing love and compassion.
In these moments, I drop my guard on the backdoor of my consciousness and my fears flood unobstructed through to the very sensitive centre of my being. This feeling, not a nice feeling, is what wakes me up most mornings.
Can I give my family the life I think they deserve?