It’s 6 weeks or so until my daughter arrives, should all the dates line up and go according to plan. The plan never changes, right? (I know, I know…)
I’m asked if we’re ready, and I vacillate between “ready as we’ll ever be” and “not even close.”
I mean, let’s face it, what could ever get you ready for a small, tiny life that’s completely dependant on you? It’s insane to assume even a a small part of that could be expected or prepared for.
Jess and I go to classes, where they try to get us ready for her arrival, but those classes are, by good design, mostly about the birth. And dear Lord we need that so much. I’m scared. Seeing Jess in pain, I feel certain, will not go well for me. I can’t imagine what it’ll be for her.
No, getting our daughter home, meeting her, rocking her, all that, it’s a mystery. The most I’m hoping for is not-complete-shock. Asking the universe for actual capacity for competence seems too much. What right do I, a 45 year old man greeting his first baby, have to ask for skill?
We need love to be enough, or at least enough to start.