The First Chapter

To mark Peanut's first day of Kindergarten today, I am taking you back in time. To the beginning. Not of her life, but of this blog. I started DKL with this post, two months before Peanut was born. Reading it again recently reminded that I feel the same excitement, hope, and angst now as the dad of a five year-old that I did then, as a dad anticipating her arrival. (There are also references to the annoying things people say when you're pregnant.) Enjoy this look back. I will be back with a brand  new featured post next Thursday.

TELL ME SOMETHING I DON'T KNOW

Here's the most annoying thing about being an expectant dad: it's not that my wife's mood swings more often than the door to the Yankees bullpen when Randy Johnson pitched. (Thank God he's gone.) It's not that every time she tries to get comfortable in bed, I get a knee in my back. It's not even that, like clockwork, she'll ask me for something the instant I sit down. And that something is usually in the place from where I just came. That's annoying, but not the most annoying.

No. THE most annoying thing about being an expectant dad is that everybody wants to tell you something you already know. Sometimes they're specific. Like the fathers who tell you that you're never going to sleep through the night again. "Get your sleep now," they say. As if I'm a bear that can just hibernate for months until my daughter arrives. And in doing so, I'll be magically well rested. What they don't realize is that by saying that, they are having the reverse effect. Since I'm so neurotic, one of the things that keeps me up nights is knowing I won't get enough sleep once the baby is here.

Christmas card 2006:
"What Child Is THIS?!"

They also want to tell you that you're never going to get to the gym again, thus becoming a fat slob with three chins and man boobs. That's a good thing to say to a guy who is so self-conscious that daily he asks his still-growing soulmate if he looks fat. Why am I friends with these people?

Other times, it's more general. Here's a good one: they like to tell you that "life as you know it is going to change forever." No kidding. You mean it's not like owning a hamster? I can't keep her in a cage and get her a little wheel to run on for those times when I'm tired of playing with her myself? Do these people have anything constructive to say? Seriously. What is wrong with people?

What is wrong with the women who find it helpful to share with my wife all of their horror stories from pregnancy and birth? Did more than the baby, and perhaps some of their cerebral cortex, come out during the birth as well? Even our moms, sisters, cousins, and aunts do this. Our own flesh and blood. Hello? Do you not remember what it was like when you were pregnant for the first time? All of the anxiety about the unknown?

Parents who have been through it already should be a source of comfort, not of aggravation, for expectant first-timers. Didn't your mom always tell you, "if you don't have something nice to say, don't say it at all?" Well that should go double for these moms and dads who want to share all of the gory details about afterbirth and late-night, weary-eyed feedings, and "make sure you ask for the epidural as soon as you get to the hospital." One of my favorites: "Breast feeding sucks. No, it literally sucks. Ha ha." No, you're literally not funny. You're a nightmare. Ha ha.

You know what would have been helpful? One of these know-it-alls coming over and helping me put the crib together. That would have been nice. I'm not the handiest guy in the world. I can drink a screwdriver better than I can use a screwdriver. Or maybe they could have shown me how to install the car seat. I swear to you there are some NASA scientists that couldn't figure that one out. And when I brought it to the police station for them to make sure I did it correctly, they just laughed at me.

What is this, initiation to some sort of fraternity? Well, let me tell you something, my friend, I've pledged already. It was more than a decade ago. I wore the diaper and I ate the raw onion. That was college, and it was funny. This is real life, and I'm not saying it's not funny, but a little help would be appreciated.

And they may be thinking they're sharing a nice sentiment, but if I hear someone say how much I'm going to love this child one more time, I'm going to flip. What am I, made of stone? If you cut me, do I not bleed? You're talking to a guy who was so upset when his wedding reception had ended, his new bride had to console him. That may have had something to do with all of those Sambuca shots, but that's neither here nor there. And while I'm baring my soul, I also cried the first time we left our dog somewhere when we went on vacation. How's that for love or attachment? I may present a tough exterior, but inside, Niagara Falls is just a good episode of "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" away.

So don't tell me my life is going to change. I know that. We knew that when we decided to have a baby. It's going to change for the better, because this little girl is going to teach me things I would have never thought I could know. And please don't tell me how much I am going to love her, because I already do love her more than you can imagine, and she's not even here yet.

As Peanut starts her school career, I am also reminded of a letter I wrote for her right after she was born. You can read it here.

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What a Difference a Year Makes

I'm regressing. In my anxious anticipation about the pending arrival of our baby, I have morphed back into a teenager. My face is breaking out. I'm an awkward kid wondering how to ask the girl I like to the prom, so I can't sleep either. I know the end is near, I just don't know when it's coming. It's kind of like when I was pledging my fraternity. I've been told to pack a bag, and wait for that final step: "Hell Week." I just have no idea when that phone is going to ring, summoning me to the next stage in my life.

Coincidentally, exactly one year ago this weekend, I was also finding it difficult to fall asleep in nervous anticipation of another blessed event. There was no baby on the way. Not fraternity involved.  No one was getting married. We were about to host our annual St. Patrick's Day pre-parade party. Say that five times fast.

2006: So young and irresponsible (and fun) 

But this year, the annual Hoboken tradition went on without us. It is a tradition that we, as transplanted Hobokenites (people whom the natives of this fine city refer to as "yuppies," as if it's a bad term), have embraced over the past 8 years like, appropriately enough, a drunk embraces a toilet. Neither one of us is Irish, but we have marked Hoboken St. Patrick's Day on our calendars since we moved here. It's part of our lore, and has been for a quarter of our lives now. It can't just be dismissed merely by saying "You're grown-ups now."

You may be looking at your calendar thinking St. Patrick's Day isn't for another two weeks. You would be both correct and incorrect. The day most people celebrate is March 17th. But in Hoboken, land of mozzarella and cannoli, we do it on the first Saturday of the month. In order to achieve maximum financial capitalization, the city, in its infinite wisdom, holds its parade a two weeks before the actual St. Patrick's Day, as to not compete with the one in Manhattan. Now, if it can only solve the parking problem.

2006: You don't have to be Irish to love bagpipes

Now, when I say parade, I can only speculate because I have never actually seen the parade. I know of it. I've been too busy drinking Guinness and eating Lucky Charms right out of the box in some bar. Yes, even the hairiest of Italians in the salamiest of cities is Irish on Hoboken St. Patty's Day. I do remember bagpipers, but they always come into the bar and play for us after this alleged parade is over.

I used to receive an excited email from my wife sometime each January, reminding me to take the day off, since I work Saturdays. In years when I couldn't, I would meet up with people afterwards, when they were as coherent as the assembly instructions to our baby swing. Those years the party would continue until well after sunrise. It was like Christmas for grown-up children in March. A day where you can relive a little bit of college. Drink all day, eat a couple of really big slices of really good pizza, and pass out and spend Sunday on the couch drinking Gatorade.

We would host what we termed "bagels and booze," early morning pre-game drinkfests that feature a smattering of breakfast treats (Mimosas, Bloody Marys, bagels). Others may refer to them as "kegs and eggs," but I will not serve them kegs and eggs. Not me, not I, nor my wife Megs. See? I have already learned the way of one Dr. Seuss.

2006: The parade before the parade

You may be thinking, this guy's going to be a dad in a few days? He's complaining about missing out on a day of drinking? But you have to understand: this is like celebrating New Year's Eve without a Times Square countdown. Like the 4th of July without fireworks.

Last year, we led a convoy of 25 people from our apartment, to a fine drinking establishment. Everyone wore a green & white T-shirt that read "O'Boken 2006." You see, we don't do things half-assed in our household. All or nothing.

The key to the pre-bar party is to get everyone satisfied enough so they will not mind the hour-long wait outside of the bar. Once inside, some years we had food delivered so we could stay and keep drinking. It's like the Wonka factory: no one ever goes in, and no one ever comes out. If you do leave, you have to wait in that line all over again. We made sure we ordered enough for the people taking care of us: the bartenders and bouncers. Hey, they're working on a holiday. It gets me so nostalgic, I feel like bursting out in a rendition of "Glory Days."

2007: So pregnant, sleepy and ready for Peanut

This year, we woke up at 9:30, a full two hours after our pre-game would have started . I had to get on a conference call for work. Yawn. Then we walked the dog to get bagel sandwiches, while watching scores of geeked up non-parents saunter by in their leprechaun hats, excited about the day to come. When we got home, I saw someone had stashed an empty beer bottle in the lobby. I said, "Can you believe this?" and picked it up, and threw it away. Then realized, I am an old man. That's something a dad would do.

Some of you may say, "if you're so hardcore, why didn't you go without your wife? You can still drink." My response to that is a resounding 'No thank you.' She's my sidekick, my wingman. I don't like to go anywhere without my wife. I married her because I enjoy hanging out with her. I'm not one of those husbands who counts the days to "boys' weekends" or "guy's nights out." She's fun, especially when she's had a few Bloody Marys and swig of champagne right from the bottle before 9 AM.

2006: What a difference a year makes

She is my straight man. The Abbott to my Costello. The Moe to my Larry and Curly. The Alice to my Ralph Cramden. I'm not nearly as funny if she's not around. She's my comic co-pilot. My biggest fan and my muse. So I'm not going anywhere without her. Just forget it. We're a team.

She's as depressed about missing this as I am. We were even holding out hope, telling our friends that maybe we'd have the pre-party anyway, and then they can go to the bars without us. But it just wasn't worth it. We're too close to the finish line to be host to a bunch of half-drunk fools just to feed them muffins.

Next year, we're going to be back. We're going to party like it's 1999, the year we moved to Hoboken. And Peanut will be fine without mommy and daddy for a day. We're going to be the coolest parents on the block. We're too much fun not to be.

Then again, can you call yourself cool, and still be cool?

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Tell Me Something I Don't Know

Here's the most annoying thing about being an expectant dad: it's not that my wife's mood swings more often than the door to the Yankees bullpen when Randy Johnson pitched (thank God he's gone). It's not that every time she tries to get comfortable in bed, I get a knee in my back. It's not even that, like clockwork, she'll ask me for something the instant I sit down. And that something is usually in the place from where I just came. That's annoying, but not the most annoying.

No... THE most annoying thing about being an expectant dad is that everybody wants to tell you something you already know. Sometimes they're specific. Like the fathers who tell you that you're never going to sleep through the night again. "Get your sleep now," they say. As if I'm a bear that can just hibernate for months until my daughter arrives. And in doing so, I'll be magically well rested. What they don't realize is that by saying that, they are having the reverse effect. Since I'm so neurotic, one of the things that keeps me up nights is knowing I won't get enough sleep once the baby is here.

They also want to tell you that you're never going to get to go to the gym again, thus becoming a fat slob with three chins and man boobs. That's a good thing to say to a guy who is so self-conscious that daily he asks his still-growing soulmate if he looks fat. Why am I friends with these people?

Other times, it's more general. Here's a good one: they like to tell you that "life as you know it is going to change forever." No kidding. You mean it's not like owning a hamster? I can't keep her in a cage and get her a little wheel to run on for those times when I'm tired of playing with her myself? Do these people have anything constructive to say? Seriously. What is wrong with people?

What is wrong with the women who find it helpful to share with my wife all of their horror stories from pregnancy and birth? Did more than the baby, and perhaps some of their cerebral cortex, come out during the birth as well? Even our moms, sisters, cousins, and aunts do this. Our own flesh and blood. Hello? Do you not remember what it was like when you were pregnant for the first time? All of the anxiety about the unknown?

Parents who have been through it already should be a source of comfort, not of aggravation, for expectant first-timers. Didn't your mom always tell you, "if you don't have something nice to say, don't say it at all?" Well that should go double for these moms and dads who want to share all of the gory details about afterbirth and late-night, weary-eyed feedings, and "make sure you ask for the epidural as soon as you get to the hospital." One of my favorites: "Breast feeding sucks. No, it literally sucks. Ha ha." No, you're literally not funny. You're a nightmare. Ha ha.

You know what would have been helpful? One of these know-it-alls coming over and helping me put the crib together. That would have been nice. I'm not the handiest guy in the world. I can drink a screwdriver better than I can use a screwdriver. Or maybe they could have shown me how to install the car seat. I swear to you there are some NASA scientists that couldn't figure that one out. And when I brought it to the police station for them to make sure I did it correctly, they just laughed at me.

What is this, initiation to some sort of fraternity? Well, let me tell you something, my friend, I've pledged already. It was more than a decade ago. I wore the diaper and I ate the raw onion. That was college, and it was funny. This is real life, and I'm not saying it's not funny, but a little help would be appreciated.

And they may be thinking they're sharing a nice sentiment, but if I hear someone say how much I'm going to love this child one more time, I'm going to flip. What am I, made of stone? If you cut me, do I not bleed? You're talking to a guy who was so upset when his wedding reception had ended, his new bride had to console him. That may have had something to do with all of those Sambuca shots, but that's neither here nor there. And while I'm baring my soul, I also cried the first time we left our dog somewhere when we went on vacation. How's that for love, or attachment? I may present a tough exterior, but inside, Niagara Falls is just a good episode of "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" away.

So don't tell me my life is going to change. I know that. We knew that when we decided to have a baby. It's going to change for the better, because this little girl is going to teach me things I would have never thought I could know. And please don't tell me how much I am going to love her, because I already do love her more than you can imagine, and she's not even here yet.

Read more ...