8 Pounds and 4 Ounces of "Now What?"

[ericrapp]

You may have heard that childbirth is a miracle. I am here to tell you that is not. Just about any two fools you'd care to name can produce a child, and I have proof that this is so: A father I met whose son was born minutes before mine told me that his son would be named "Jedi." ("Because he gonna be a warriorMoreover, childbirth is in many

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[ericrapp]

As bizarre as it may seem to be responding (again) to what you've said... well, it is bizarre. But somebody mentioned putting a few of my more memorable entries on LiveJournal into the "memories" and I don't think there's anything more memorable than this.

Anyway, with time to look back on it, I will say that you said one thing very very well: The sense of purpose. That this was not just the most important thing that I could be doing, it was the ONLY thing that I could be doing at that moment. Sure, there could be a world to save. If only I would take my pack of gum to McGyver, he could patch up the nuclear reactor, but sorry McGyver, I have this one singular arrow-like purpose, and that is for my wife to deliver my child safely. The world blowing up is in the "so be it" category: I have to get my wife to where she needs to be so that she and my child can be alive. This is my one and only purpose.

It still gives me a huge lump in my throat. And despite my cavalier attitude in the original post, I don't think I was fooling anybody: From the moment I first saw my son, I was and am completely his. I only hope to fool him that it is the other way around for enough years to keep him out of trouble.