Ten Weeks

A couple of days ago.

Ten weeks.
Ten weeks until what? (I may have been watching the World Cup, or hunting down a member of the bandito gang at the time, I don’t remember)
Umm…until BBC is born. (B.B.C. stands for baby babycakes, long story but it’s a cutesy nickname we came up with for our baby, I mean what do you call your baby before you know whether it’s a he or she? It? Sounds mean, doctors kept saying “baby”, that sounded generic)
(Beat) Oh $#!%

This morning.

I couldn’t sleep last night.
What’s wrong?
I had a little panic attack I guess. 
(At this point I go on about how much we have to do, visit the hospital, take classes, etc. I freak out just a little bit)
What about when we have to walk the dogs and I’m all by myself and the stupid dogs have to go out and no one is around whatamIgoingtodo??
You can leave her sleeping and just swaddle her…
What the f@$% is a swaddle?
(now she’s just laughing at me, I’m half sobbing at this point, and I’m half-kidding about it)
You’re worried about swaddling? That’s the last thing you should be worried about.
(She says something like that, or it’s the least I should be worried about, which doesn’t make me feel any better. She’s laughing at me at this point)
So, I’m going to be a father in about ten weeks or so. To my daughter I’d like to say…
Good luck kid.


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