Home

About Homedaddy

Archives

Subscribe

Tell A Newspaper

Contact

Music

Publisher's Area

On The Brink

My decision to skip writing the "Homedaddy" column last week triggered a firestorm of speculation, innuendo, and hearsay. Enquiring minds wanted to know: Did Julia go into labor? Has our second baby arrived? Or are you just lazy?

The answer is none of the above. The fact is, since we've entered this final phase where labor could begin at any moment, I've been feeling a little anxious. Well, perhaps that's understating things. In truth, I feel like my head is about to explode.

I don't recall being this jumpy when Emma was due, probably because I was still at my old job at the time and therefore had my hands full with the meaningless distractions of the so-called "real world." Having already attended birth classes, my responsibility had boiled down to wearing a beeper, which required no effort at all. There was one minor mishap during a typically pointless meeting when the beeper of the person sitting next to me went off. Order was restored after the custodian was summoned to scrape me off the ceiling with a mop handle, and the meeting resumed without incident.

Now a Homedaddy, I no longer enjoy the luxury of losing myself in the myth of the "real world." I am succumbing to the pressure of being in the round-the-clock presence of imminent childbirth. In order to stay calm, I have employed all known modern forms of mind control, including meditation, visualization, and beer. Although I have achieved short-term results with my mindset, I am still betrayed by my body. I'd probably do better if I cut down on my secret formula high-viscosity coffee, which is itself probably strong enough to induce labor.

Last week, my lower back was inspired to seize up into its once-every-three-years spasm by the simple act of getting out of my car. Those of you who have experienced severe back pain need no further explanation; for the rest of you, I have one word: "Blinding."

This was the perfect time for one of my molars to go south and require a root canal. Always a pleasant process, particularly while it feels like there is a pit bull gnawing on your spine, and you have one eye on the cell phone.

Still, it is considered bad form to complain of pain and discomfort to a woman preparing for natural childbirth.

There are the various other minor distractions: the clothes dryer, apparently in solidarity with the nerve in my tooth, decided to call it quits. The driver's side window in my car also broke, leaving a three-inch gap which was perfectly timed for the recent cloudbursts.

And of course, there is that lovely holiday season thing going on, which means that every errand carries the potential for long lines, road rage, and Christmas muzak.

Yes, I realize I am anxious and cranky. Emma knows it too. You can't hide anything from the little ones. I try to overcompensate for my edginess by agreeing to participate in endless variations of Wizard of Oz play-acting games in which I am invariably cast against type as the Scarecrow.

Meanwhile, Julia wants this baby to come out as soon as possible. What do I think? It hardly matters. It is time to relinquish control, and have trust in whatever is going to happen.

send this column to a friend!
have a comment about this column?

© Todd Pinsky 1998-2002. All rights reserved.