The other day, my wife gently let me know that she was a little concerned with the language I used in my last post. That’s not an MP, I said. That’s a YP.
But then, the next day…
The doctor told us she loved the way my wife’s cervix looked. She used terms like effacement and dilated and etc. She says it should be any day now.
Let me repeat: It should be any day now that I will have a son. Yikes.
Does this change everything? Is it time for me to tone down my language, reconsider some of my actions in the face of becoming a father. Is what was just a few days ago purely a YP now an MP?
Is it time for Dad and Buried to grow up? Can I?
Let’s take a look at the things I’ll need to sacrifice in order to be a proper example for my son.
1 – Swearing
I love to fucking swear. Too much. As social mores have relaxed in the 21st century, swearing has become a lot more casual – on TV, at work, at home, at Starbucks. Swearing isn’t exactly something we worry about around the house; Mom and Buried likes a good f-bomb as much as the next person and it’s not like my cat is about to start mimicking us. And to be honest, neither is a newborn baby. Sure, they say kids can hear your voice and listen to music and all that – and believe me, he’ll be getting his fill of music – but for the first year he can barely tell the difference between his thumbs and a doorknob. Nevermind understand words. I promise I’ll tone down the potty mouth in the years ahead – and honey, I’ll cool it with the “pussyhound” references – but goddamit I’m not going to change my entire personality to please someone I don’t even know yet!
2 – Drinking
It’s true. Gone are the days of weekend benders, all day hangovers, happy hours, Sunday fun-days, tailgating, shotgunning, etc. To be honest, many of those days have been gone for years, but that was a choice. With a kid around, choice disappears. As soon as he’s born, I’ll be forced to cool it on the debauchery. Not only is it not acceptable for me to come home sloshed when my wife’s been dealing with a newborn all day – because God knows a hammered DadandBuried is not equipped to hold a baby; hell, at this point, a sober DadandBuried is a risk! – it’s not ideal to wake up with a screaming headache AND a screaming baby.
3 – Sleeping Around – Sorry, this was for my “I’m about to get married!” freak-out.
3 – Sleeping
Please God, let all my friends and every single doctor and baby book and website and TV show and movie and relative be exaggerating. I’m begging you.
4 – Walking Around Naked
I’m honestly more worried about my nudity scarring my child than the constant barrage of swear words he’ll be absorbing. Unsolicited male nudity is no good for anybody – I’m in my thirties and seeing men naked still shellshocks me at the gym every day. The last thing I need is to worry about warping my child by sporting my birthday suit in his developmental stages.
5 – Not Giving A
I’m a pretty cynical guy. I’ve given my friends with kids tons of crap about sending baby pics around, talking incessantly about their children, becoming totally boring due to having a baby and being entirely too enamored with their son or daughter. But maybe that will change now that I’ll be experiencing this life-changing event myself. Once my son is born, I’ll never not be a father. It will be inseparable from my personality. Now, I’m going to try as hard as I can to hang onto my pre-father self – I am quite certain some of my friends made little effort to do so – but it’s inevitable that some things will change for me. Not all, but some.
And, apparently, throwing around the term “pussyhound” is one of those things.