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What it's actually like.....
Apr. 18th, 2011 02:40 amSo, Chris is now 15 weeks along this apparently 40 or so week journey. It's both going fast and slow at the same time. It's joyous, exciting confronting, terrifying and at times heart-wrenching all at once.
There are a bunch of guide-books out there for dads to be. I've been avoiding them mostly because they will say things like "So, you've gotten her pregnant, well no more strip-clubs for you then!", or "Time to give up on restoring that Holden out the back" or some such crap.
So here's my attempt to use words to give an honest appraisal of the experience so far:
It's hard. It's kind of bewildering and it can feel like you're blundering around in a haze that's a mix of anxiety and euphoria. You have no idea what's going on most of the time, and all you know is that the person you care about most in the world is on a journey you can never truly understand.
But, truth be told, your partner's probably not got that much more of an idea of what's going on than you do. They're just in the unfortunate position of having to deal with all the changes from the inside while you run off to get chocolate milk, open doors, carry things and try your darndest to make yourself useful because you know you can't really bring them any real relief from what they're going through.
That's the hardest bit. Feeling useless. Knowing that if there's pain, you can't relieve it. You can't even comprehend it. You're a passenger on this ride. She is too when you think about it, but at least she's sitting in front seat.
In my heart of hearts, I'm loving it. Granted, I'm am a slightly insane paternal cluck-monster. It is a beautiful thing, nonetheless. In spite of the vomiting, in spite of the pains, in spite of the tears it's beautiful. It's beautiful the way you watch your partners abdomen with a kind of bizarre impatience as you wait for it to "pop". It's beautiful when you see the 12 week old foetus dance around inside your partner as it tries to get comfortable. Seeing a picture so clear that you can make out a tiny brain forming, a brain that will one day have all the capacities and complexities of yours, probably to a greater degree. It's beautiful taking the time to think about what it is and what it means. It's beautiful hearing the excitement in the voices of future grandparents. And it's beautiful standing awe-struck by your partner and what she and her body are working on.
Anyway I'm out of words. Words stop working in the face of experiences that are too massive. I wish dad was here sometimes. But he isn't. So I give him the news in my dreams.
There are a bunch of guide-books out there for dads to be. I've been avoiding them mostly because they will say things like "So, you've gotten her pregnant, well no more strip-clubs for you then!", or "Time to give up on restoring that Holden out the back" or some such crap.
So here's my attempt to use words to give an honest appraisal of the experience so far:
It's hard. It's kind of bewildering and it can feel like you're blundering around in a haze that's a mix of anxiety and euphoria. You have no idea what's going on most of the time, and all you know is that the person you care about most in the world is on a journey you can never truly understand.
But, truth be told, your partner's probably not got that much more of an idea of what's going on than you do. They're just in the unfortunate position of having to deal with all the changes from the inside while you run off to get chocolate milk, open doors, carry things and try your darndest to make yourself useful because you know you can't really bring them any real relief from what they're going through.
That's the hardest bit. Feeling useless. Knowing that if there's pain, you can't relieve it. You can't even comprehend it. You're a passenger on this ride. She is too when you think about it, but at least she's sitting in front seat.
In my heart of hearts, I'm loving it. Granted, I'm am a slightly insane paternal cluck-monster. It is a beautiful thing, nonetheless. In spite of the vomiting, in spite of the pains, in spite of the tears it's beautiful. It's beautiful the way you watch your partners abdomen with a kind of bizarre impatience as you wait for it to "pop". It's beautiful when you see the 12 week old foetus dance around inside your partner as it tries to get comfortable. Seeing a picture so clear that you can make out a tiny brain forming, a brain that will one day have all the capacities and complexities of yours, probably to a greater degree. It's beautiful taking the time to think about what it is and what it means. It's beautiful hearing the excitement in the voices of future grandparents. And it's beautiful standing awe-struck by your partner and what she and her body are working on.
Anyway I'm out of words. Words stop working in the face of experiences that are too massive. I wish dad was here sometimes. But he isn't. So I give him the news in my dreams.
