Growing up, I never considered myself daddy material. Not only would no woman want me, I figured, but no guy who stayed up until 4 a.m. every morning playing video games was cut out for fatherhood.
Even when I started dating my wife, I wasn’t sure. “Monsters Inc.” was still in theaters at that time, and I considered myself more like Mike Wazowski, the one-eyed green monster who was scared of kids, than Sully, the big blue monster who loved them. My wife-to-be had confidence that I’d come around, and despite what common sense might have told her to do, she kept me.
Well, first came love, then came marriage. Then, about three years later, came the baby in the baby carriage.
I was elated when we found out that my wife was pregnant with Penny, but I was nervous, too. I still had a hard time keeping the house as clean as it should be and actually taking the garbage outside when the bag got full. Was I fit to be a dad?
During that pregnancy, I took my wife out to see “Shrek 3,” the one in which Shrek becomes a father. I found great humor when he told Fiona about what babies do: “They eat, and they poop, and they cry, and they cry when they eat, and they eat when they cry.”
I felt his pain.
No matter how ready you are (and you never feel less ready than in the nine months leading up to your first child’s birth), babies are more responsibility than a prospective parent can ever anticipate. That precious, priceless life is completely dependent on you to get him or her to adulthood. You’re the teacher, mentor, disciplinarian, provider and occasional comic relief.
You’re their world.
And just as soon as I first laid eyes on Penny, she became my world and her mother’s world. There’s no way, once you meet your baby, that you can let them down.
I suddenly knew how Homer Simpson felt when Maggie was born, and he had to return to work at the nuclear power plant to support his enlarged family. Sure, he had bad days, but seeing pictures of his baby girl made it all worth it.
Indeed, Penny is worth anything that comes my way. So is her brother. He’s only been with us a few months, but my fairly hectic, sleep-deprived life that scarcely resembles my existence pre-fatherhood wouldn’t be as complete without either Rigby or Penny.
Like that delightful green ogre on his “Shrek the Halls” Christmas special, not an annoying donkey nor mischievous sword-wielding cat nor talking cookie can diminish the joy I feel when the kids are around to enjoy the simple moments.
Just as they can brighten up a bad day, there’s not much Rigby or Penny can do to make a day bad. If he spits up on me for the fourth time in a day while offering a Grinchly grin, I love him. If she throws a tantrum about not getting to eat another Dorito (“tzip,” in Penny-speak) and tries to throw her head backward into the floor, I love her. If he decides he wants to eat right when I’m ready to go to bed, then mid-meal she wakes up, climbs me and greets me with a cheery “g’mornin,” I love them.
Nothing can change that.
So as I approach my second Father’s Day as an honoree instead of just an honorer, what does all of this mean? First of all, I relate way too much of my life to television and movies.
But second, there’s nothing you can do to prepare for fatherhood. It will not be what you expect. The work will be harder, the hours will be longer and the cost will be higher.
And the hugs will be more loving, the laughs will be more energizing and the fun will be more exhilarating than anything else you can experience in life.
I’m still up at 4 a.m. every now and again, but only when Rigby insists on having an early-morning meal. My wife was right to keep the faith that I’d become a Sully, and even though I’m not perfect I have to say that I am most definitely cut out for this daddy thing.
Even the poop ... so very, very much poop.
Happy Father’s Day.
Contact Paul Laneat 693-1000, ext. 116,or paul.lane@gnnewspaper.com.
• Visit the Life in the Slow Lane blog to read the "secondary" Crib Notes column Life in the Slow Lane
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