SEEMED SO REAL

Dear Spike:

We met your doctor for the first time today. I felt foolish smiling, like I was, as she went over a number of things that could go wrong between now and the time you arrive. But I couldn’t help myself.

It suddenly seemed so real. We were seeing a doctor. She was speaking to us as expectant parents. Your mother had blood drawn for a series of tests.

Even paying for the visit felt so good. First, the woman behind the counter asked for our medical insurance card. Your mom couldn’t find hers, so I produced mine. As handed it to her, it felt as if I was saying, ‘Yes, I am going to be a father.” And as I handed her my debit card — $20 was the co-pay — it was if I was saying, “Yes, I am responsible.”

Truth be known, I feel only slightly prepared to be a father and even less ready to be responsible. You might think, then, that as the doctor began to list a litany of ailments, diseases and conditions we might consider having you and your mother tested for, I might have been feeling quite nervous.

Rather, I was calm. Excited. I felt joy.

Your mother, I figure, will do enough worrying for the both of us. It’s more her nature, anyhow. The doctor, I know, is covering her bases. Preparing us for outcomes that could happen but most likely will not happen. She’s not telling us that you are going to have cystic fibrosis or Down Syndrome.

And anyway, what if you did? Would we love you less? Care for you less? Want you less? Of course not.

And that, I think, is where my joy came from. I enjoy knowing that there is something new in my life that I can love unconditionally.

Call that fatherhood. Call it responsibility. It doesn’t matter to me.

I’m smiling. Foolishly. And I don’t care.

Love,
dad