Stealing from the church

Breast milk?!? What part of 'soy chai latte' don't you understand?


One of the most commonly asked questions I get lately is this: Are you ready for the baby?

This question is always followed by big smiles.

I think I’ve deflated a few of those smiles by answering, “I have no idea.”

It’s small talk, I get it.

In the most literal sense of that question, I don’t know if I’m ready for the baby or not. I’ve never welcomed a baby into my home before. It may be a lousy houseguest (hey, who said you could poop on the couch?).

I’m excited about the baby. I’m also kind of stressed.

I’ve never had to operate under severe sleep deprivation (this could get ugly). I’ve never been in charge of making sure a baby, a brand new human, is OK at all hours of the day and night.

I’d like to be a good mathematician or scientist. However, I know that I am not. Good intentions probably won’t change that.

The same goes for parenting. I have great intentions. That doesn’t mean I won’t fall on my face trying.

I may be the world’s worst baby holder (I prefer Mozart whilst you pack me up and down the steps, sir). The baby may find my breath offensive (Jelly beans again? You disgust me). What if the baby prefers steamed milk and lox for breakfast? How will I know?

All these anxieties are smoothed over because I know my wife was born to do this. I know it because she said it’s true.

Here’s a funny tidbit about my wife, the would-be nun.

She’s had three separate members of the clergy approach her about becoming a nun.

She’s always flattered, but, obviously, she’s always turned down their religious advances.

The last person to approach her about this (a nun) submitted a handwritten letter requesting that my wife consider joining the clergy.

My wife handled it gracefully, telling the nun that she felt she was born to be a mother. Somewhere, far away, I rejoiced without knowing why.

So while I can answer the small talk question with an “I don’t know,” I have confidence in my wife.

I respect my wife. I’m happy to say that she out earns me two-to-one. I don’t feel like less than a man by this (if I did, I would have to come to terms with living on hot dogs and Ramen noodles).

My wife deserves everything that comes her way. She’s a brilliant, caring teacher. She makes a difference in the world, and looks good while doing it.

So while I pine away, squirming in my seat over things I never considered to worry about before, I take solace in knowing that my wife has got this.

She may not admit as much, but I know her. She does have this.

I’ll be happy to play the supporting role, burping and changing and cooing into the dawn.