Nothing is Different, except Everything Is

I've delayed for so long in posting to this blog for my usual reasons for putting off anything new or challening: waiting for a "special" day, researching enough on the topic, over-organizing.

Enough's enough. Leslie is over 14 weeks pregnant -- if I'm going to write about her (our) pregnancy and new family, I might want to start while she's actually pregnant.

On the surface, very little has changed in our lives. Sure, Leslie sleeps more and has the odd aversion to food, but that's hardly life-altering. We've gotten a few baby things already, but Leslie and I have always been planners: our lives are strewn with items purchased for things we almost did or never started. I've read about natural childbirth and how to be Leslie's coach, but I've always read books to teach myself new skills. As powerful and tangible as some of these things are, there's still an element, for me at least, of unreality to the whole thing. I still get the feeling from time to time that I'm just a kid playing house, not a nearly 30 year old adult -- how can someone merely playing ACTUALLY have a kid? Please don't misunderstand me or misinterpret: finding out Leslie was pregnant and the weeks since have been some of the most profound in my entire life. But it's not the external that brings it home for me, but the internal.

I love the "baby stuff": researching car seats, learning about child development, trying to figure out diapers and safe toys and good books. Hearing his or her heartbeat at the hummingbird pace of 160 beats per minute was moving in ways beyond description. Leslie and I have more fun doing those things, and I think you'd be hard-pressed to find a pair of soon-to-be parents more in partnership. That's the benefit of being married to your best friend. But all of those "things" or "activities" still don't make it fully 100% down-to-earth real for me: it's actually something much simpler.

I look at the world around me now with eyes and perceptions totally upgraded: kids now factor into everything. I've gone from Husband 1.0 to Parent 0.1, a kind of beta version, where concepts and algorithms can be tested before doing any real work or damage. I notice the children I see in public in ways I never used to. I look at their strollers, their clothes, their faces. I see if they're happy or sad or goofy, if their parents obviously love them or treat them as one more "thing" to carry around. I look at their eyes, their faces, their gait. I look at how well-nourished (or not) they are. I look at the things I do and ask myself, "How would I do this with a newborn? An infant? A toddler?" What will grocery shopping be like? The mall? The road trips that are currently spontaneous and easy, will they become frustrating or just more interesting and involved? How do we go camping and hiking with young'uns? (not spelled right, I know) How do I teach my child to walk, to read, to play catch, to ride a bike? I remember, however dimly or clearly, learning these things myself, but I find I have not the first idea in most cases how to teach someone those skills.

And oh what an adventure it will be to try! I so love reading and the half-glimpsed imaginings of sitting with my son or daughter while they sound out words delight me to the stars and back. And so it goes with everything I hope to teach my child. I know that he or she will not love everything I do, and that they will almost certainly love things of which I am not so fond -- but the journey itself of discovering those things is what is important.

I look back on this post and see that it has digressed from the original thesis on which I intended to focus, but as I made no claim that this blog would require itself to be especially rigid, so be it. Thus I have actually made a first post on the blog, striking the first note in the ever unfinished symphony of our growing family.