Discovering you're about to be a father causes a certain amount of blokeishness.
However much of a beta-male you may be normally (and I certainly am), discovering you've successfully made a life causes a definite, if passing, amount of 'Yeeeessss!' with attendant punching of the air and the feeling that you're a 'real man' and gently patting the ol' heat-seeking moisture missile for a job well done.
Fortunately, this doesn't last long, and Mr Winky is soon put back in his rightful place as a disgusting flap of flesh to be ashamed of, full of Satan's badness, like the Preacher told me*. Another thing that takes the shine off feeling too pleased with yourself (and I do mean it takes the shine of feeling unduly pleased with yourself, not that it takes the shine of feeling pleased about the fact that you're going to be a father again) is knowing certain things about someone else.
There's someone I know at work - a thoroughly splendid chap. We have a good working relationship and see eye-to-eye on a lot of things both inside and outside the office environment. I also know his wife a little, and she's lovely too. If having children were a matter of 'deserve', they would completely deserve to, so knowing that they can't shows precisely how little 'deserve' has to do with it.
We all know that too many babies are born to parents who don't give a shit or who can't afford to feed their babies or are abusive arseholes or drug addicts etc etc. We all know they exist, and of course we all know they're proof that having babies is a result of fucking and lucky biology, not worthiness. The fact is that for most of us those people are pretty abstract. We can close our eyes and pretend that these fuckers don't exist and that babies don't die or get abused in a thousand and one innovative and not-so-innovative but equally disgusting ways every single day. The truth is it took my colleague telling me that he had fertility problems to really bring home the fact that my being able to father another baby is essentially dumb luck; fucking and biology.
This is nothing to do with how I feel about being a father again, how much I love Olivia or my wife. I wouldn't denigrate any of those things for a second. This is just the facts.
My colleague would never wish to make me feel embarrassed to tell him we're having another baby, but I'm certainly not looking forward to it. He doesn't go into details, and I don't ask, but he's said certain things. I know how pleased he is when one of his friends has a kid - he talks about going to see them - and I know how pleased he was for me when Olivia was born. It may well be a reflection of my less-than-noble character, but I'm dreading telling him. It must surely be a bit of a slap in the face. However magnanimous, however logical, however nice and decent a person you are, it must surely make you more aware of your own 'failings'/problems.
Do I just come out with it? What do I say? When do I say it? How? I think it's going to require some thinking about.
However much of a beta-male you may be normally (and I certainly am), discovering you've successfully made a life causes a definite, if passing, amount of 'Yeeeessss!' with attendant punching of the air and the feeling that you're a 'real man' and gently patting the ol' heat-seeking moisture missile for a job well done.
Fortunately, this doesn't last long, and Mr Winky is soon put back in his rightful place as a disgusting flap of flesh to be ashamed of, full of Satan's badness, like the Preacher told me*. Another thing that takes the shine off feeling too pleased with yourself (and I do mean it takes the shine of feeling unduly pleased with yourself, not that it takes the shine of feeling pleased about the fact that you're going to be a father again) is knowing certain things about someone else.
There's someone I know at work - a thoroughly splendid chap. We have a good working relationship and see eye-to-eye on a lot of things both inside and outside the office environment. I also know his wife a little, and she's lovely too. If having children were a matter of 'deserve', they would completely deserve to, so knowing that they can't shows precisely how little 'deserve' has to do with it.
We all know that too many babies are born to parents who don't give a shit or who can't afford to feed their babies or are abusive arseholes or drug addicts etc etc. We all know they exist, and of course we all know they're proof that having babies is a result of fucking and lucky biology, not worthiness. The fact is that for most of us those people are pretty abstract. We can close our eyes and pretend that these fuckers don't exist and that babies don't die or get abused in a thousand and one innovative and not-so-innovative but equally disgusting ways every single day. The truth is it took my colleague telling me that he had fertility problems to really bring home the fact that my being able to father another baby is essentially dumb luck; fucking and biology.
This is nothing to do with how I feel about being a father again, how much I love Olivia or my wife. I wouldn't denigrate any of those things for a second. This is just the facts.
My colleague would never wish to make me feel embarrassed to tell him we're having another baby, but I'm certainly not looking forward to it. He doesn't go into details, and I don't ask, but he's said certain things. I know how pleased he is when one of his friends has a kid - he talks about going to see them - and I know how pleased he was for me when Olivia was born. It may well be a reflection of my less-than-noble character, but I'm dreading telling him. It must surely be a bit of a slap in the face. However magnanimous, however logical, however nice and decent a person you are, it must surely make you more aware of your own 'failings'/problems.
Do I just come out with it? What do I say? When do I say it? How? I think it's going to require some thinking about.
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