Monday, February 21, 2011

Shaking babies

It's no surprise that the first several hours after a man's first child is born are a whirlwind of sorts. In retrospect, it's really nothing more than a lot of standing, worrying, not sleeping, and attempting to cherish; but at the time, there's this overarching trepidation that you should be doing more - that you should be able to assist with the breast feeding somehow, that there should be an intelligent question you have for the nurse, that you are currently fucking this up big time and you should know better not to be.

This feeling of utter inadequacy lasts until you get your new family out of the hospital and back to your place - away from the doctors and nurses who have witnessed the bumbling husband a thousand times to the stronghold you've spent months creating; with safety gates strategically placed in the doorways you felt would be both effective and convenient, with the crib you built using your brand new socket wrench.

Of course, before you get back to home base, you don't know this. The hours before wife and baby are discharged are fading fast and you still feel as helpless as the kid whose life depends on you. Luckily there's an instructional video or sorts they make all first time parents watch that has the unintended effect of assuring you things aren't as dire as they seem.

The video is about ten minutes long and can be summed up as follows; DO NOT SHAKE YOUR BABY. It shows a variety of poorly performed reenactments of frustrated fathers ill-equipped to deal with crying newborns. With no other foreseeable course of action they feel compelled to shake their babies until they shut up, presumably via broken necks or irreparable brain damage. As alternatives to attempted murder the video offers numerous suggestions for dealing with impending rage, ranging from exercising to watching television. Perhaps it's because you're sleep deprived, but you'll find this video more hilarious than educational. Hilarious in the same way that a tense situation can be diffused with the perfect inappropriate comment. You may find yourself laughing out loud as all of the sudden the wide spectrum of daddy skills becomes evident and you know for the first time you're not going to totally suck at it. Because while you may very well be in over your head a bit with the breast pumps, blanket wrapping techniques, and the bottle temperature wrist test, at least you're not the guy in the video frantically doing push-ups in front of a blaring television why his newborn daughter screams nearby, in need of a diaper change.

At least not today.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

The vial

[Man hands over small wrapped box across candlelit dinner table]


MAN: Happy Valentines' Day.


WIFE: Why thank you, sweetheart!


M: Open it.


[Wife opens gift]


W: It's beautiful! What is it?


M: Why it's a necklace of course. Do you like it?


W: It's very pretty. What's this at the bottom though?


M: That's what makes it so special. It's a small vial.


W: A vial?


M: Yeah, there's a few tiny drops of my blood in there. You know, to symbolize how we're one, how we're with each other wherever we go. One heart. One blood. Something like that. I got the idea from Billy Bob Thornton and Angelina Jolie.


W: Uh huh. But it's not real blood, is it?


M: Of course it is. A little bit of bona fide B positive from your loving husband. Because I love you so much.


W: What did you do? Prick your finger or something?


M: Umm. . . No. . . That didn't occur to me at the time. I suppose that would've been a lot easier than the route I took. Anyway, what do you think? Try it on!


W: I don't know.


M: What? Don't be silly. Strap that bad boy on! Let's see how it looks!


W: Don't get me wrong. I think it's a beautiful sentiment. And I love you. But don't you think it's a tad bit, I don't know. . . unsanitary. . . wearing a vial of blood around my neck throughout the day? I mean, I teach kindergarten. There are health codes. Kids are inquisitive.


M: C'mon. It's not AIDS blood from some random guy off the street. It's the life force of your husband, the man you love, the man you've been doing a lot more unsanitary things with for over ten years.


W: [speechless]


M: I mean doinking. . . or sex. . . or whatever. I mean, my point is we've been screwing for a long time and all I'm saying is one might conceivably construe that the act of coitus itself is far more unsanitary than wearing a small, tightly sealed, vial of blood around one's neck.


W: (sarcastically) Oh! Great! So draping myself in blood is slightly less disgusting than sleeping with my husband. Sense you put in that way, can you help me with the clasp?


M: So you're not going to try it on?


W: No. I don't think I am. It's creepy.


M: (angry now) Well that's just great. I guess I'll just take them both back then. Hopefully I still have the receipt. I'll exchange them for the old V-day standbys; a fucking pair of slippers or a gift certificate for a god damned back massage. Pardon me for trying to spice things up.


W: What do you mean 'take them both back'?


M: I got a matching one, OK? I thought it would be cool if we both had cute little vial of blood necklaces. You know, the ultimate expression of unity or some shit.


W: But why would you wear your own blood around your neck?


M: I wouldn't. I mean, I'm not. You wear my blood and I wear yours.


W: Wait. Where did you get my blood?


[long awkward pause]


M: I don't see what that has to do with anything.


W: Oh my god. This isn't happening.


M: You know what? Forget it. I can see now this was a bad idea. I'll just put both the blood vials back in my pocket here and we'll pretend it never happened. Let's just get some dessert, finish our wine, and head home.


W: I'm not hungry.


M: Fine. I'll get the check. . . We're still on for sex tonight though, right?