So it dawned on me, this is the most significant Friday since the day I was born.
Why?
Because on Monday, it’s the due date of my son.
My son!
2 little words … yet attached to them are massive implications, consequences and wonder.
But he’s probably not going to be born on Monday … they don’t think he’s quite ready.
Now, as much as I want to meet him – I’m ashamed to admit – that is kind-of good news.
You see if he can hang on for 4 additional days, our health insurance clicks over to another year which means our ‘maternity budget’ goes back to zero and we’re not going to be held liable for a massive bill.
Which means I will have some money to buy the last few gadgets I’ll probably ever get to own.
Which also means he will probably now be born on Thursday at 11:45pm just to show me who is really in control.
But all that aside, it’s a weird day because I’ve just realised, in all likelihood, this will be the last weekend I’ll ever have that is like all the other weekends I’ve ever had.
That sounds like I’m being uber-selfish but it’s not what I mean.
It’s just mind-blowing to think that this time next week, my life will be – depending if he decides to turn up – entirely different.
From how I live … to what I think … to the priorities I have.
It’s amazing and in some ways, almost impossible to comprehend.
Maybe part of the reason for that is because – as I mentioned a few weeks ago – I’ve only just sort-of come to terms with being a Dad.
Despite seeing my wife look like she has a constantly inflating balloon under her jumper.
Despite seeing the office at home transform into a wonderful babies bedroom.
Despite seeing the word ‘nappy’ appear on shopping receipts.
Despite my house suddenly looking like a toyshop for cuddly animals.
Despite reading books I have never had any desire to read in my life.
Despite hearing conversations about things that both amaze – and horrify – me.
Yes, I am that stupid.
[By the way, NEVER tell your wife she looks like she has a constantly inflating balloon under her jumper. You are on a high-thing to nothing. Trust me]
Now before I go on, I feel I should deal with the elephant in the room.
Look, I know I said this blog was on sabbatical – and it is – but the fact is I’ve not written this post to satisfy my desire to start spouting planning clap–trap again, it’s because I wanted to capture how I am feeling for future reference.
And yet despite all that, I am sort-of looking forward to the mountain of abuse I know I’m going to get for it.
Not because I’m a masochist, but because one of the things I have always worried about is that becoming a parent means becoming an adult.
God that sounds terrible doesn’t it.
Of course I know being a parent is a massive responsibility and it is a challenge I am looking forward to.
And of course I know a bunch of things will change – many in ways that will be better than I ever could have imagined – but the fact is, I have seen too many people suddenly turn into either crushing bores or selfish dicks the moment they have a child.
Where they lose all sense of perspective.
Where they lose all sense of reality.
Where they lose all sense of fun.
Where they become closed off to the people and the things that surround them.
Whether they are from the past or opportunities for the future.
I don’t want that for me and I don’t want that for my son.
As my parents once said to me, one of the best things you can do for your child is to be happy.
Of course you have to – and want to – do the right thing for your child, but that also includes doing the right thing for you.
And for the record, that is not an excuse to justify buying a new iPhone every year.
[I don’t need an excuse to justify buying a new iPhone every year]
But all that aside, I want to say this:
To my future son …
I can’t wait to meet you.
I can’t wait to see your face and look into your eyes.
To kiss your head and hold you in my arms.
To see you as you wake and as you go to sleep.
To watch your little chest move up and down as you let life fill your lungs with life.
I’m so curious to see all the expressions that will appear upon your face.
To hear the questions and observations that you will one day make.
And learn the lessons that you will teach to me.
I’m excited I get to re-experience life through your life.
As you discover everything for the very first time.
The very first time.
[Which, as a concept, still blows my mind]
And I promise you this …
I will always do my best for you.
To take care of you.
To support you.
To guide you.
To encourage you.
I will do everything I can to make you proud of who you are and where you come from.
Starting by making you proud of who I am and where I come from.
There will be mistakes … dramas … moments where we all end up frustrated and upset.
I will never enjoy watching a kids movie as much as I enjoy watching a documentary.
And the thought of spending my weekends at children’s parties will always fill me with dread.
But I want you to know this.
It will all work out, it will all be OK … because there’s one thing that conquers all.
You are wanted.
Desperately, desperately wanted.
And I will do all I can to prove that to you every single day.
I am excited. Sure, a little scared … but mostly excited.
And I cannot wait for the journey we’re going to have together to start.
But please. Pretty, pretty please. Don’t come until the 12th.
See you soon son.