Jay Clark's Blog - Posts Tagged "daddy-paranoia"
19 new-dad what-if's I'm quietly panicking over
My wife and I are going to have our baby ANY DAY NOW. Well, she is. I’m going to hunch over her bedside and whisper supportive-nothings into her ear. Things like, “Sorry, honey, wow, oh jeeeezy, did that one hurt?” and “What’s that? You hate everything about me right now? I get it, but I love you.” and “Aw, $**#, what was that? I’ll buy you a David Yurman bracelet to make up for it!”
And that's not all. I'll also be politely declining to cut the cord. Sounds like I’ll have my hands full, too.
This baby has other ideas about the delivery day proceedings, though. Ideas like, “Sorry, guys, NOT GONNA HAPPEN.” Nope, it’s in absolutely no rush to abdicate its parasitic throne inside Mommy’s body, which is giving Daddy a lot more time to do what Daddy does best: Create a paranoia loop inside my head.
Here are a few of the what-if’s I’m mulling over:
- What if I ruin the baby?
- What if I can’t figure out the car seat and we never get to take the baby home — it just has to live in the hospital gift shop forever as a cautionary car seat mascot?
- What if I look away for one second and that’s all it takes for the baby to vanish into a Mary Higgins Clark novel?
- What if the baby takes one peek-a-boo at Daddy and says to himself/herself: “NEXT!!!”?
- What if the baby is a boy? Or a girl? Or, just as I’ve suspected all along, an alien?
- What if it’s a Golden Retriever? (Yay!)
- What if we choose the wrong name and the baby has to go through an awkward name change process at the tender age of 18 months?
- What if I quickly get the hang of the baby and start giving out smug parenting advice to innocent bystanders at Babies R Us (“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice you’re purchasing the wrong Boppy pillow.”)?
- What if I start posting pictures of the baby on Facebook and I get a big head about it being showered with what I eagerly describe to anyone who’ll listen as "international baby adoration"?
- What if the baby doesn’t get the baby modeling contract it deserves?
- What if I’m tired for the rest of my life?
- What if I can’t complain about being tired because Mommy always has me beat in that department?
- What if I love the baby so much that it feels like I’m going to die from love but at the same time I have to make myself invincible because the baby needs me?
- What if somebody drops the baby and then, after confirming the baby’s okay, I have to body slam them so they can see what it feels like and then do it again for emphasis while yelling, "NOT SO FUN IS IT, FUMBLE FINGERS?"
- What if I’m a tad too overprotective?
- What if I forget to put sunscreen on the baby and then the baby comes back from our walk looking like a sad, neglected baby lobster?
- What if my bod turns into a Dad bod and I start making self-deprecating Dad jokes about it (“Who wants to see Big Daddy’s 1-Pack?!”)?
- What if the baby questions the legitimacy of my being John Green’s long-lost cousin?
- What if this baby is the best thing that ever happens to us?
And that's not all. I'll also be politely declining to cut the cord. Sounds like I’ll have my hands full, too.
This baby has other ideas about the delivery day proceedings, though. Ideas like, “Sorry, guys, NOT GONNA HAPPEN.” Nope, it’s in absolutely no rush to abdicate its parasitic throne inside Mommy’s body, which is giving Daddy a lot more time to do what Daddy does best: Create a paranoia loop inside my head.
Here are a few of the what-if’s I’m mulling over:
- What if I ruin the baby?
- What if I can’t figure out the car seat and we never get to take the baby home — it just has to live in the hospital gift shop forever as a cautionary car seat mascot?
- What if I look away for one second and that’s all it takes for the baby to vanish into a Mary Higgins Clark novel?
- What if the baby takes one peek-a-boo at Daddy and says to himself/herself: “NEXT!!!”?
- What if the baby is a boy? Or a girl? Or, just as I’ve suspected all along, an alien?
- What if it’s a Golden Retriever? (Yay!)
- What if we choose the wrong name and the baby has to go through an awkward name change process at the tender age of 18 months?
- What if I quickly get the hang of the baby and start giving out smug parenting advice to innocent bystanders at Babies R Us (“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice you’re purchasing the wrong Boppy pillow.”)?
- What if I start posting pictures of the baby on Facebook and I get a big head about it being showered with what I eagerly describe to anyone who’ll listen as "international baby adoration"?
- What if the baby doesn’t get the baby modeling contract it deserves?
- What if I’m tired for the rest of my life?
- What if I can’t complain about being tired because Mommy always has me beat in that department?
- What if I love the baby so much that it feels like I’m going to die from love but at the same time I have to make myself invincible because the baby needs me?
- What if somebody drops the baby and then, after confirming the baby’s okay, I have to body slam them so they can see what it feels like and then do it again for emphasis while yelling, "NOT SO FUN IS IT, FUMBLE FINGERS?"
- What if I’m a tad too overprotective?
- What if I forget to put sunscreen on the baby and then the baby comes back from our walk looking like a sad, neglected baby lobster?
- What if my bod turns into a Dad bod and I start making self-deprecating Dad jokes about it (“Who wants to see Big Daddy’s 1-Pack?!”)?
- What if the baby questions the legitimacy of my being John Green’s long-lost cousin?
- What if this baby is the best thing that ever happens to us?
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