All three of my long term readers have noticed a downturn in both the quality and quantity of my postings after selling off my store. Face it, most of the entertainment here was found in mocking the stupid, and with the steady supply I was enjoying in the video game retail world pinched off, I’m hurtin’ for material.
I don’t think the world needs another quasi-libertarian political blog, and the catalog of gunblogs is flush with writers who are both more talented and knowledgeable than I. I’m not under any particular delusion that my voice is any more unique or important than the zillions of others out there.
But I will continue to write, and I expect that most of my writings will be dominated by a new subject.
This is my son.
This picture was taken of him on November 1st. He is expected to make landfall at the end of February.
I don’t want to say that his arrival was wholly unexpected; I do have a passing familiarity with biology. But after about eight years of marriage, and about seven of that spent with no attempt made at forestalling nature with no results, The Mrs and I had reached certain conclusions about our plumbing.
This isn’t also to say that we were actively trying, to include charts and moon phases and dance rituals. Rather, our attitude towards children had slowly crumbled from “Glad They’re Someone Else’s Problem” to “It Might Be Nice” to “Maybe When We’re Ready”.
But ultimately we decided that to wait until we were ready was tantamount to postponing it indefinitely, and we began the adoption process. We scheduled classes and started poring over the foster parenting paperwork.
Then, a miracle happened — I became an unemployed bum! And as anyone whose walked around Walmart or driven past a trailer park knows, shiftless men without jobs seldom have trouble conceiving. And whaddyaknow!
In fact, his arrival was such a surprise that The Mrs was initially diagnosed by her MD as suffering from depression! Fortunately a second pee test was conducted soon after, and I found out when The Mrs waved the stick in front of my face at O’Dark:30 while shouting: “I’M PREGNANT!”
“Holy crap!” were my first words in my son’s presence.
So, yeah, fatherhood. I view this development with quiet apprehension, offset by abject terror. Who approved this? Who thought this was a good idea? What the hell business do I have being a father when my first thoughts were “I hope he doesn’t turn out like me!”
My two reasons for not curling up with a bourbon bottle on the bed in the fetal position (otherwise known as “Unemployment”) are the sure knowledge that he will have a fantastic mother, and that my concerns are nothing new, and have been dealt with by uncountable generations of fathers before me.
I promise not to curse Jackson (potential nicknames: ‘Lil Hickory, Twenny, Stonewall, Stoner, Rocky, M36, Slugger) with an easy life. I also promise to thoroughly embarrass him in the future by cataloging his development right here.
I also promise you that I will post more often. And you had better enjoy baby pictures, because this is only the beginning.