Ramblings of an Expectant Dad: The Ocho

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart….

 

(The very next day, you gave it awa – GODDAMMIT!!! Did you just Christmas WHAM! us to start this post???)

 

I totally did. But there's a reason: You see, this Christmas was the last Christmas, for many things. This is the eighth post of The Ramblings of an Expectant Dad, and we're now into the days countdown. Not months, not weeks, but days; assuming my daughter arrives as anticipated, she's thirty-one days from being alive on the outside. My gut feeling tells me that she'll make her arrival sooner than that, but we'll see. In any event, this Christmas was the last Christmas before my life changes forever.

 

I didn't think that fact would hit me the way it has. Although, perhaps it should have; because I planned for this Christmas as if it was a "last".

 

(Okay, you're getting a little morbid….)

 

Let me explain. There is no denying the fact that this Christmas was the last such holiday before our focus shifts. Up until now our complete focus was on one another. Gifts to make us smile, laugh, maybe even cry, but gifts from each other to each other. Next year will be indubitably different. Next year we will be parents. Our daughter will be approximately eleven months old, celebrating her first Christmas, her first trip to see Santa Claus, her first Christmas tree. Do you see where I'm going with this? It will be our first Christmas as parents, and our focus will be on our daughter, as it should be.

 

(You still need to focus on yourselves, too. Don't forget that. )

 

Oh I won't. At least I'll try not to. But I'm also keenly aware that we will very likely get swept up in the firsts, and may lose a little sight of the still. Still as in "we are still us" and "we still need to make time for ourselves" and "we still need to maintain our healthy relationship." It may be easy, it may be a struggle. I honestly can't say right now, a year in advance, how we'll react. I like to think I can anticipate, but I also anticipated the Bills would rally and beat the Patriots, so, there's that.

 

(That touchdown call was some bullsh*t.)

 

This is what I'm saying. Anyway…This Christmas was the last one I'll celebrate without being a father.

 

*grin*

 

Don't get me wrong, I'm elated that henceforth and forever I will celebrate the holidays as a father. But this one… this one had to be special. This one had to be about us. About my beloved. About her. Because as much as I will now always be a father on Christmas, she will always be a mother, and I cannot pretend to comprehend that special bond she'll share with our daughter by virtue of carrying that little girl in her womb. As joyous as that is, let's face it; it's a burden as well. A wonderful burden, but a burden nonetheless. I know and recognize that there is a certain, overarching sense of obligation a mother feels towards the children she bears. She will forever carry that with her as our daughter grows. As much as being a father will become part of my identity, being a mother will forever be intrinsically part of hers.

 

So this year… this year I tried to make Christmas hers. I think I did a good job. I hope I did a good job. There were smiles, and there was laughter, and yes, there were even tears, on both our parts. I think we needed that. I think this Christmas we just… knew that it was going to be a last, and had to be special.

 

As if having a child together wasn't proof positive enough that we have each found the partner we've sought for so long, I give you this example: As you know, we took a "babymoon" vacation to the Amalfi Coast in Italy this past September. And we each came up with the same idea for Christmas, and each chose, as one of the two presents we'd exchange on Christmas Eve, to give each other… basically the same exact thing: a photo book chronicling our Italian adventure.

 

(You guys… are such dorks.)  

 

Right? But isn't that telling? The funny thing is that, except for maybe four or five photographs, the books were completely different. Yet…. We both subconsciously understood the importance of that trip and what it meant, to us, and for our burgeoning family. Now we have not one but two reminders of something wonderful.

 

(I take it back. You guys… are such sappy dorks.)

 

I cannot deny this. Nor can I deny the fact that I got emotional when my mother and two older sisters stepped foot into the completely finished nursery yesterday afternoon. Parenthood has been a long time coming for me, and they knew it. For them to see the work I'd done to create space in my home for my daughter, to share with them the fact that in a matter of a month and a wake up or less I'm going to be a father… It was a special moment.

 

Yes, this was a last Christmas for many things. It was also the springboard to new beginnings. As much as we focused on each other, there were also little things for the baby, too… like a onesie with Formula 1 cars on it for those early Sunday mornings when daddy will take feeding duty and snuggle my little girl and watch a race. With the volume turned low, of course, because, you know, infant ears are sensitive.

 

(*facepalm*)

 

Shut it, you. If you facepalm that, then I probably shouldn't tell you about the bacon socks.

 

(Bacon soc…I can't even. This kid is definitely gonna be your daughter.)

 

Yes she is. And her mother's. At least we're pretty sure she's her mother's.

 

(*blink blink*)

 

Inside joke. We watched a video of a guy reading stupid emails and tweets from people, several of which, and yes, there were actually, truly, several, that were from women questioning whether the child they carried was theirs.

 

(I… what???)

 

Yeah. So for as nervous and anxious as I am to be a parent, I'm reminded that there are people out there who have no business breeding. I think we as parents are gonna be just fine.

 

During yesterday's festivities I stole away for a few minutes and sat in the rocker in the nursery and imagined what next Christmas will be like. Christmas with an eleven month old child reveling in the sparkling lights of the tree, giggling as the dog tears into her tissue-wrapped presents, and the joy of opening the first Christmas present of her less than a year old life. I foresee comfy robes and flannel pajamas and coffee and egg nog and the dulcet tones of Bing Crosby singing White Christmas playing in the background and then…after all the commotion and excitement… leaning back on the sofa with my daughter drifting off to a nap in my arms, and feeling content.

 

And then… I hear my dog growl and bark at the soon-to-be-mom-in-law's dog because that dog got too close to the garbage, and I'm jerked back to reality.

 

*sigh*

 

Reality.

 

Things won't always be idyllic and serene, I get that. But I know also there will be moments, lots and lots of moments, that will be, and I can't wait. So, as must as this Christmas was a last Christmas…. It's only the beginning.

 

One month. Thirty-one days. Or less, or more. In just about a month's time I'm gonna be a dad.

 

Oh, and no, we're not telling you her name until she arrives. You can ask, you can try, but I ain't budging. I'm not telling you little Gertrude's name.

 

(Hahaha… wait... Gertrude??)

 

Really? Did you honestly think a) I'd tell you in this blog, and 2) that we'd name our daughter Gertrude? I mean, my beloved's cousin's dog's name is Gertrude.

 

(Indiana Jones was named after the dog… just sayin'.)

 

I…. well, sh*t. you have a point. But no, her name will not be Gertrude. Her name will be….

 

I guess you'll just have to wait. If I can last a month until she comes, so can you. I'll do my best to write one more of these posts before she arrives, as my intention with this blog series was to write nine pieces in total before I become a father. If my instinct is correct though, and she comes early, I may not have a chance to write again as an expectant dad. But just think of the sheer comedy to ensue when this dopey, goofy, sarcastic and cynical writer you've come to know starts writing about his experience as an honest-to-goodness-diaper-changing-dad.

 

Dad.

 

Dad.

 

I'm gonna be a dad.

 

I'm gonna be a dad.

 

 

 

 

© 2017 James J. Goodman. All rights reserved.