EVERYTHING
FOR YOUR FAMILY
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New Dad
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 I remember “kick count” being discussed at a doctor’s appointment, but the specifics eluded me. So I read the page of labor tips and instructions stuck to the fridge – for the first time, mind you. Getting worried, I went to find my copies of “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” and “You: Having a Baby,” which were on the shelf next to “The Happiest Baby on the Block” and others. I’d love to say I’ve read them all, but like Seth Rogan’s character in “Knocked Up,” they were more or less uncracked, except for the nutrition sections. (I’m head cook and smoothie maker around the place. Bottle washer remains to be seen). Research said to give it another hour while keeping track of the kicks, but my cousin Joe (father of about the cutest 2-year-old ever), told me his rule is to call or go to the doctor if you have any doubts. And I trust Joe completely, because his “put-every-baby-gift-together-as-soon-as-it-comes” rule had proved prescient. “Give it an hour,” the on-call M.D. said when we touched bases, “and if it’s not better, get to the hospital.” So I made her a smoothie, and we sat. And we counted. As the kicks came oh so slowly, I read about cords around necks, and heart rate monitors and such. Then they came more quickly, and stronger. By 30 minutes, the count was up to 12, and soon after he became his rambunctious self. As I continued to flip through the books, my own heart rate finally dropping, I realized that a favorite movie quote from my single days is still frighteningly apropos: “I still don't know nothin‘ ’bout birthin‘ no babies,” and we’re weeks (maybe days!) away. I fully expect my ignorance to be a source of amusement (and occasional outrage) to the more seasoned parents among you. After all, I’m well into my 40s (pushing 50, some would say!), and I’ve never changed a diaper or held an infant for more than five or so stressful minutes at a time. Up until the baby showers, I didn’t know the difference between a Pack ’n Play and a Snap ’n Go, or that they’re even were such things. Never fear: I’m certain to get my comeuppance for my long and lovely bachelorhood – a status, mind you, that never stopped me from judging the parenting choices of others. Yes, that was me giving you dirty looks as your child squealed and ran around in my favorite restaurant; that was me snickering at a young mother’s inability to control her toddler’s tantrum in the grocery store. But now I’m going to pay; I just know it. So check back monthly and witness all the foibles and fumbling of my first-time fatherhood. If all goes as it should, I’ll be a dad when we next convene. Now, where are those books? Kedric Francis is a longtime columnist and editor; contact him at kedfrancis@gmail.com. |
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