There's a Baby in There...

It is surreal right now. We're not sure how to think of it, deal with it, not sure what to do with it. It's too big to do anything with. When people ask about it, they do not want to hear that we are freaking out. They want to hear that we are so excited. That this time is so special. They beckon us to tell stories about the loveliness of it all. But the reality of it hits Sara and I hard. Yes, I have to say, we are so excited, and the thought of it is quite lovely. Quite, quite lovely. But when it comes down to it, when I really think about it, I am left with so many questions. There is so much weirdness in my soul. I look at Sara's stomach, shudder, point and say, "There's a baby in there."

"I'm a dad."

"Sara is a mom."

Now, I gotta say, when Sara broke the news, my feet leaked rocket fuel. My voice turned nine, and my arms went mad like a kid in an acorn field. For days we were basking in the glory of the idea. But after some weeks had passed, we started to spout those little anxious kitsch phrases, like "Uh..." and, "O my..." and, "Whaaa..." The phrases Rearing a child and Raising a human are just a little too much to bear on the tongue. I mean, for us first timers, how is the migration from "childless" to "with child" going to be a smooth one? All I have to say is, "Thank you God, for the nine months to prepare." Of course, this begs the wrought iron gut wrenching agony of bearing it. The sickness. I look at my wife, who smiles weakly and says, after throwing up the fourth time today, "I guess I'm healthy." Is she allowed to say being pregnant sucks? Is she allowed to mention that the curse of the fall in this life-giving event reminds us all of a world made wrong by control? And while she suffers physically, my brain is in a vortex of turmoil. "A dad, a dad, I'm gonna be a dad!" It is being super-soaked with a thousand worries. What does it mean to be a dad? A father. How do I raise a daughter or son in this world of ghost men? It is a downright risky role in a classic tragedy. I feel my selfishness starting to kick in, to scream a little, not wanting to die. I want to follow after the examples around me, of men lost in the milieu of culture's conventional wisdom. To buckle down and start 401k's, save for the future. To worry a lot and take matters into my own hands, try to fix my wife and her sickness and diet. I try to figure it all out. To be a real man who's always ready to give an answer and act like he knows what he's talking about. But in reality, inside, I am the coward who sat by and watched his wife eat the fruit. I am the taste of control as I take it from her and bite into it. I am the blamer when God asks me why I am hiding in the bushes, "She made me do it." I walk in the shadow of empire. I take revelry in the Psalms which speak of God's silence and hidenness. Where are you God? Why have you forsaken me? My soul is thirsty, in a dry and weary land.

You might be reading this, saying, "Boy, he's not happy about this pregnancy, not one bit." And to this, I say not true. Not one bit. I am thrilled. I am ecstatic. I am still leaking rocket fuel. I look at kids around town, and I scrunch my shoulders, get completely cheesy within, and tear up about my own. I pray fervently for my child. I touch Sara's little tiny bump (barely noticeable) and speak to my son or daughter. Sara and I are writing down names and having those fun relationship freak out discussions about what kind of parents we're gonna be. My students at school are overjoyed, and it's so fun to go into class and say, "My son or daughter is the size of a plum right now." I love keeping the names we have thought of a secret as they try to wrench it out of me. But I am honest about the struggle here because I don't want to speak shadow dreams. At the end of the day, the thing I am learning as I mess up is that the worst thing I can do is control my child and family. To be the kind of father who speaks and does not listen. Who works and is wise without trust and proper fear. I have asked fathers around me for advice. Without fail, they have been unified in this, "Do not control your child or force them to be what you want them to be." They urge me to listen and take joy in their life and uniqueness. I see the struggle in their eyes and hear it in their voices. Regret hides in their words. As it will hide in mine someday. But I take joy in this. As the Psalmist writes, in a moment of great despair, "Yet my hope is in the Lord."

Praise be to God. He has given us a child!