I’m many things; a chef, a veteran, kind of a dick, engaged to a beautiful woman known here as Lady Merc. And for the last few months, I’ve been getting ready to welcome Baby Merc into the world.
But today, at about 0030 CST, Lady Merc began her contractions. We piled into the car, and drove through the snow to our hospital. By the time we got up to the Delivery Center, she was fully effaced.
For the last 2 hours, I’ve held her hand through massive contractions, the IV tube, and they just finished her epidural.
I also almost passed out. I like to think it’s a combination of a lack of sleep, being over-worked because of the Super Bowl, seeing Lady Merc in that much pain, and the fact that she freaking Vulcan Neck Pinched me when the anesthesiologist jabbed her with the local.
After some dry-heaves, a glass of Apple juice, and a few minutes sitting down, I watched the anesthesiologist finish up. And now, we’re sitting here, waiting for the final push through labor so that we can be a family.
And I am scared out of my mind.
Am I going to be a good father? Am I going to be able to protect her as she grows up? What difficulties is she going to face as a bi-racial girl in Trump’s America? How many faces an I going to punch in? Will Boris and Natasha ever catch Moose and Squirrel?
Of course, I can’t show any outward signs that these thoughts are having such an effect on me, as I have to be the emotional and physical support thought now. But, as I sit here, listening to her ramble in her drug-induced haze, I can’t help but think about these things.
I know these aren’t new thoughts, and that almost every new father has thought similar things in this position, but that knowledge never makes the reality of the thoughts any less invasive. Doesn’t make the uncertainty any less challenging to face.
Maybe it’s something I’ll get over as soon as I hold her in my arms. Maybe I’m just being overly in my feelings because I don’t like not knowing and having contingency after contingency planned. And maybe I’ll jump in my Wayback Machine in a few years and laugh at myself for trying to Man through it all.
Maybe I just need to sleep.
Update: She eats, she poops, she cries. She is Baby Merc, and she makes the cutest damn face when she sleeps.
I think I got this.