It was like I woke from a dream. But the dream was my former life: video games, baseball, writing, traveling, partying and the occasional bit of work. My wife crouched next to the bed one morning. She had this shit-eating grin on her face. She was worried and excited at the same time. Like if you're eating shit- you're excited about doing something repulsive like eating shit but also worried about dysentery. You get my point. Anyway, she scooped down and showed me what I thought was a tampon. I sat up in bed, preparing to wake up and at the same time beg the question: why are you holding a tampon in my face? But hten it hit me: my wife's never woken me before with a tampon. She's not like that. Doesn't have those fetishes or trailer-park sensitivities. She was holding a pregnancy test and my waking began. From that dream I was telling you about earlier. Those visions of kegs and Mario Kart and Yankee playoffs with money on the line and so many other were all sucked out of my head; ME, I was sucked out o my head, and what took the place of me and all these visions and my former life? a wee-embryo. yeah... that thing growing inside her fallopians or uterus or wherever it had decided to set up shop parasitically. My fucking wife was telling me I was going to be a father. And then I watched her go back into the bathroom, sharing the same numb and frozen expression as I was. A shit-eating grin was smeared across my face. Because I was worried and exicted at the same time. Worried like a mother-fucker. Excited because we were flying to Negril that morning.
So, there it is. I'm going to be a father in less than nine months. But I can't talk like that anymore. Only amateurs use months as a measure of pregnancy. My wife and her doctors talk in weeks. I felt like an asshole the instant I used months. But that's how I saw it. Speaking in terms of weeks makes the time seem longer. My wife is already spinning her head around in circles and speaking in tongues. Those goddamn hormones have taken hold of her. They've skewed her rationality, suffocated her sweetness and hightened her appetite. It's like she's on one huge acid trip, only the side-effects include a 3/4 of a year menstration. I love my wife. I think she's amazing, but when her hormones take control of her and send me into hiding, I feel as though my dignity is evaporating, and I can only expect for her mouth to open one night and vomit pea soap all over the room. "The power of Christ compels me.!" Demands. Ridicule. Demands. Insane behavior and reaction to commericals and movies. Demands. Is this what the next 40-mother-fucking-weeks have in store for me? Karma burns. Whether it was a test I cheated on in fifth grade, or stealing the neighbors whiffle ball when I was nine or betting and losing so much money on college football when I was a freshman, karma burns. If I have to take care of this little thing for the rest of my life, I'd rather we skip all the "bells and whistles" of pregnancy and have some stork dive bomb our apt. with babies in cloth wraps. Get all of this over with. Because, for the next nine months, I'm going to suffer. And if I have to suffer, all of you have to suffer. It's a jungle out there, but when you're a new father waiting for your seed to germinate and sprout, the jungle's more dangerous than ever. My wife is the predator, I am the prey.
