Here’s a quick history of how my son, Finn, was shuffled onto this mortal coil.
It was 2005. My wife and I were talking about having a baby. Basically what that means was that she was yelling at me a whole lot and I was trying to stay calm.
What we decided, amidst talks of having children, was that we needed to move. We were paying too much for the apartment that we were living at and we wanted to find some place cheaper and smaller. And that’s what we did: We went from ghetto living to trendy neighborhood as most young couples do in their mid-twenties.
In a poorly decided attempt to save money, and because I had the most flexibility in my work schedule, I decided that I would let our leases overlap so that we would have one month left in our ‘soon to be’ old place and one month all ready started in our new place. The idea behind this was for us to move into our new place at a leisurely pace.
I had a set work schedule and no other commitments so I would be doing most of the work by myself. I was ok with that because my wife was working full-time and going to school. She would be relied on for packing. No biggie.
What really happened was I did all of the moving except for two days. One of the days, I needed my brother to help me move the furniture and the other day my wife jumped in on the last big move. Prior to her jumping in at the last-minute, she yelled at me the entire month.
I couldn’t figure out what the problem was. I worked a full-time job. I was sociable when I was home, and I was moving us. On my own. Everything I did was wrong. Yes, I admit that I was a little unorganized when it came to unloading the van. I was by myself and everything was in the general area of where it needed to be.
I couldn’t win.
All of this happened during the month of July. Eventually, August rolls around. It’s still ‘ain’t no fuckin’ way I’m wearin’ underwear today’ kind of hot. She’s still yelling. I try to get out of her what’s going on, and it’s a lot of generalizations and non sequiturs. I seriously start to question things. I get to the point of mentally preparing myself for going our separate ways.
(her) “I got good news.”
(her) “I’m pregnant.”
I don’t remember what in the hell I said after that. I couldn’t talk very well. I couldn’t think. The only thing I could do was move. Everything was sooo clear to me right then.
The entire drive home from work, I kept thinking ‘She’s pregnant. That’s why she’s been acting like such a whack-bat. She’s pregnant.’
When I got home that night, we talked. About what, I don’t know. I was just happy that I knew what was going on.
The next nine months flew by.