24 Days To Go

Alison is counting the days down. If, for example I say we have four weeks left, and we actually only have say, three weeks and four days, she is quick to correct me. The novelty of being knocked up has worn itself thin. I may have mentioned that before, but it bears repeating. As the baby keeps growing, and the tummy keeps going, her attitude towards the little munchkin in her tummy has changed from the wonder of a mother to be into one of a traffic cop trying to keep things moving..."alright buddy, keep it moving, hurry it up, let's get this show on the road."

I can't say I blame her. I doubt I would handle having a person inside me very well, particularly if that person made me pee as much as the little rugrat is making her go.

We'll have all the baby stuff set up by the end of this week. Probably by tomorrow, but we'll see how far I get. As I mentioned a while back, the kid has more stuff in Dallas than I do. But that is a good thing, as I am pretty low maintenance and let's face it, that is not a claim that has ever been made about children.

I have been lucky enough to get some cool stuff too. The diaper bags I've been blessed with are remarkably manly. All black, nylon, not a pastel animal to be seen anywhere on the things. Eventually I'll find one with skulls or something on it. It's not so much that I want to be a cool dad, although i do, I think I am just scared of growing up and being not cool. Not that I was ever that cool in the first place. I guess I just don't want to be any less cool than I really am. Conflicting, isn't it? I will go kicking and screaming into responsible adulthood, but I promise not to do anything too ridiculous, I know how to act my age when I need to. For example, I understand that hoodies are not appropriate casual wear for me anymore. I have figured out that the T-Mobile Sidekick is not an age appropriate phone. I know that pants with holes in them, especially the pre-made kind, are now reserved for young people with not sense of decency, and middle-aged guys who can't let go of thier 20's. I've accepted what I would have considered a mild hangover in my 20's, now constitutes something just short of the ebola virus now that I'm approaching my mid-30's. And I also know that just about everything on the radio sucks and the bands I listen to did it better and first. Just like my dad knew when he heard the stuff I was listening to.

I think a lot of the preceding was brought on by this site: http://wannafeelold.tumblr.com/.

It is weird to think my kid won't know what a compact disc was, or that he/she will know Jordan as the greatest basketball player much the same way I know Ali was the greatest boxer, through old film, and the ramblings of crazy old people. By the time the kid can pay attention to sports in any meaningful way, it's almost doubtful they'll know who LeBron is. The kid will never have an old school boxy-ass TV. Pro-Sports without steroids will be something I moan and groan about as 400 lbs. 7-foot tall quarterbacks zip frozen ropes 50 yards to wideouts who run 3.1 40's.

They'll never know what it means to live in a country where newspapers used to actually be paper, or where getting famous actually required some sort of achievement, rather than a sex tape or drug habit, or a stint on reality TV. Or when traveling by air didn't involve taking off his or her shoes, and randomly searching old ladies in wheel chairs for possible terrorist activities.

On the other hand, the kid will hopefully have missed the inevitable emo revival that's coming. So they've got that going for them. Which is nice.