Waiting For the Kid to Come Out

Kid’s not even born and he already has a lot to answer for.

I am not a religious man. I certainly don’t believe that a literal Adam and a literal Eve were chilling in a literal garden when a literal snake offered them literal fruit from the literal Tree of Knowledge.

But after sitting vigil during my wife’s labor and delivery, I am coming around to the idea of Original Sin.

Because my son is doing my wife wrong. And, by extension, doing me wrong. Oedipus-style!

Everyone knows – except maybe Andrew Dice Clay (dated!) – that women bear the brunt of pregnancy. Whether or not that’s due to a curse laid on them by the aforementioned snake is unclear (except for the fact that it’s totally clear. There was no magical fucking snake.). But that’s not to say that men have it easy once the labor process starts. Quite the contrary.

I’m not talking about the hardships that come with living with a pregnant woman; they are too obvious to bother complaining about. (But just in case you forgot: hormonal explosions and mood swings, loss of my best drinking buddy, constant bathroom breaks in the middle of the night, suddenly losing half my bedspace, watching the woman I love just plain let herself go, etc.) I’m talking about being in the room with the future mother of your children while she undergoes her grueling 6 to 72 hours* of labor.


This is not news to anyone – and is probably even a well-timed wake-up call for someone about to have a kid – but sitting by powerless while a loved one is in pain is not a lot of fun. And neither is waiting two days for the birth of your child, especially on top of waiting for those first 9 months. I mean, seriously, there’s no way the womb is as fun as the real world. And it’s definitely not as fun as “The Real World.” Have you seen this season? They’re in New Orleans, for pete’s sake!

So even though he has yet to emerge from his Fortress of Solitude, he’s already flexing his muscles as the new man in charge. Apparently he won’t come out until he’s good and ready! If this early example of making our lives hell isn’t so-called Original Sin, (or even Original Sin), I can at least say his selfishness is his original sin (lower case). And if that means we need to wipe the slate clean with a baptism – and maybe hedge some bets in the process (can’t hurt) – then so be it.

Besides, if waterboarding the kid in front of a small crowd of onlookers doesn’t do the trick, I’ll direct him to this blog. He will know what he put us through and he’ll never be late again!

Bottom line? After this marathon of pain and impatience, this kid had better be cute as a motherfucking button.

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