Yesterday was the ex-roommate’s birthday, and even though it was a school night, I was happy to escape out to the country for a few cold ones with him and his older brothers. Bunch of guys, sittin’ around, drinking beers. We spoke a bit of the Sabres (Kasparaitis can smoke my balls). We joked a little about mutual friends. We shot the shit about politics, the weather, chicken fingers, and the other obligatory odds and ends people talk about while drinking on a Wednesday night. Then the conversation turned to fathering.
Oh the baby talk. I got boatloads of advice. Here’s my favorite, paraphrased:
“Once a week, just make Lisa leave you and the kid alone for a few hours. She’ll appreciate the time off anyway. Then you aren’t worried about the ‘right’ way to do things, always asking if you’re doing it correctly – instinct just kicks in. And, honestly, in my experience, instinct kicks in for the kid too, so don’t be too scared. It’s like the hiker who gets lost outside in the winter. His body shuts down all non-essential functions so there’s enough blood for the heart and brain. As soon as Lisa leaves, the baby goes into survival mode, curls up into the fetal position and waits for mom to come to the rescue. It’s a beautiful thing.”
1 year ago