Last week my wife started feeling sick during our visit to Arkansas.
At first I thought it was just the humidity. The heat is a little more intense down south as opposed to Pennsylvania, a state full of wimps when it comes to handling the heat. I expected her to be fine after a few days of aspirins or children's tylenol.
However, a cure didn't come very fast. She felt nauseous. The billboard for the Whopper made her unusually queasy. Sore breasts. Exhaustion. Cramping. And as cranky as a waitress being tipped with Monopoly money.
Oh, and that promised menstrual period?
She never got her period. Instead, we got a stick with two lines on it. Yep, we're pregnant.
That Sunday morning after we got back from our 20-hour drive to the states, Allicia immediately took a pregnancy test. And it came back positive. But not after three minutes. We're talking mere seconds. Any doubts as to whether this pregnancy was legit was erased within seconds.
And within seconds, I realized that I'm about to embark upon a lifetime goal of raising up a faithful Catholic and productive member of society.
To quote a young Joey Lawrence, "Whoa!"
Let's get this out of the way now. I'm going to be a HORRIBLE father. Not because I'm going to go Casey Anthony on my children or anything, but because I'm still a horribly selfish man. Sure, some of that went away when I got married, but I like to have my own time to do whatever I want. If I want to stay up playing Epic Mickey, I can do so, because chances are my wife is in the other room working on her own crafts.
I know that I'll still have free time when the baby gets here, but I'm not going to be able to play video games whenever I want. I'm not going to be able to post on my blogs, or hurry up to post the latest Lino news whenever I want to. I realize that all of this probably sounds overly whiny, but this is the end of "dustin gets to do whatever he wants."
I'm sure it's a maturity thing. Hopefully I'll be able to find a good balance when that kid gets here. Eight months and counting.