So...What Happens Now, Dad?

            It’s come to this. I am only days away from possibly the biggest life-changing event I will ever have. I’m going to be a Dad. It’s odd to even write the words out because it does not seem real to me yet. But by the time my little one has been forcibly ejected from her current residence inside my wife’s basketball like womb, it will be real. All that I feel right now is nerves. Nerves that I would compare to standing on the edge of a 1000 foot cliff waiting to BASE jump. But, instead of just jumping off and pulling the cord, I have to wait until someone throws a baby off the cliff and I have to jump out and catch it, secure it into my Baby Bjorn harness, then pull the cord of my parachute, maneuver through three burning hoops of fire, and land on an island 20 feet across in the middle of a shark tank. That’s about what I feel like right now.  That, or I have to poop.

            For those keeping track at home, this means that for the past nine months I have been preparing for this event. Actually, I would say I was coming to the realization that my wife was pregnant and that I would be becoming a Dad for the past nine months. This is still something that I cannot wrap my head around quite yet because my daughter is not in my arms yet. I’m jealous of my wife for the single fact that she has been with our baby girl 24/7 for this entire time, feeling every kick, punch, hiccup, twitch and stabbing pain. Then I realize very quickly that my wife will be the one who is pushing a watermelon through an opening about the size of a lemon, and I thank myself for being born with outdoor plumbing.

            For me, I did come to the realization that I would be becoming a future father about three months into the pregnancy. And do you know where I came to that realization? Probably where most men come to the same realization…that’s right…the ice cream aisle at my local Wal Mart. And it wasn’t like a light bulb went off over my head when I was reaching for the Klondike Bars. Oh no! That would be too respectable.

            My realization put me completely catatonic in front of the section of Kemps and Edy’s vanilla flavors. That’s right, I just stood in the middle of the freezer section, no motion, no words, and just simply staring at vanilla ice cream. And apparently it was that far away stare you see on people who have just found Jesus, or aliens, or a ‘Squatch. Plus, my wife did not realize I had stopped, and she had continued to walk and carry on our conversation we were having when I simply stopped functioning.

            Thankfully, my wife noticed that I was no longer with her rather quickly. She had made it roughly two freezer doors down before she realized there was no longer a second participant in the discussion. Apparently I did not tell her I was going to get ice cream, and I don’t even remember telling myself that. Apparently when I get stressed, I turn into a woman who is dealing with a bad break up through the guilt free consumption of frozen dairy products to drown my sorrows.

            When my wife came back to me, she asked me the obvious question, “Are you okay?” And she said it very calm and nice like, no hint of worry in her voice or anything. My reply, however, was as follows. And please know that with each additional response, my voice went up an octave:

            “Yeah, I’m fine.”

            “Oh, yeah, fine.”

            “No, I’m alright, you know, fine.”

            “Yeah, fine. You know, fine.”

            “Just fine.”

           

I had a conversation, with myself, in falsetto, in the middle of the ice cream aisle in Wal Mart. And my wife, being the observant partner that she is, asked again, “Sweetie? Are you okay?” Only, this time much more slowly and deliberately so I could understand each and every word. I think I said something to the extent of, “Ice cream, fine.” That was the extent of my vocabulary range.

My wife had to physically hold me and tell me, “Let’s get you some ice cream and get you home.” To which I just nodded yes, slowly grabbed the door of the freezer, opened it, grabbed my Edy’s Slow Churned New York Style Vanilla ice cream, and resumed standing in stunned silence. My wife had to again hold me and push me forward to get me to actually start walking.

It was when we were in the car that my thoughts had congealed enough in my head that my words could be used to complete full sentences. I was able to tell my wife that the reason for my reenactment of a statue was because I finally realized that she was pregnant. I don’t know why it took me until that moment to see it; it may have been the baby bump my wife was showing, it may have been because of the books I was reading on fatherhood, or it could have been the mystical powers of vanilla ice cream. But right then, I admitted to myself that I am going to be a Dad.

That in and of itself is a very strange thing to experience. Knowing that now you are not responsible for just yourself and someone else who can contribute to daily life. But you are going to be responsible for a miniature person who can’t do anything for themselves and can only communicate through varying forms of shrieks, screams, and cries. It’s strangely awakening. Since that day I have been preparing myself for the plunge into a new form of adulthood that my parents experienced when they had me some 30 years ago, and that every parent has had when they get their new baby home and put them soundly to sleep in their crib. The single question that goes through their head is, “Now what?” Only two words, but they pack more weight than almost every question you will ever ask in your life.

I have been playing my ‘Now What?’ moment in my head every night for the past six months. I’m excited for that moment. I want to know the feeling of looking at my little girl and to simply wonder, “Now What?”