I was always a little awkward around dogs. With their slobber and farts and fur loss. Always jumping and licking. Always staring at you with those helpless eyes. What did they want from me? I could never tell.
Babymoon. It’s a thing. A brief respite from the chaos of work, hospital visits, nursery preparation, and the myriad other responsibilities of expecting parents. I’d been advised by
the internet friends to take a babymoon and enjoy one last hurrah before our life is forever changed come March.
Gender reveals. It’s a pregnancy milestone. One that you spend countless hours wondering about. The ultrasound date nears, the anticipation grows. You make plans around it. A gender reveal party. A carefully crafted social media post. And however it happens, it all boils down to a singular moment. That moment you open the envelope. That moment you cut the gender cake or those colored balloons rise from out a big box. It’s a moment you can’t recreate. A moment that stays with you forever.
Yeah, it’s supposed to be like that. Except when it’s not. Take ours, for instance. Ours…malfunctioned.
Let me explain.
We’ve all seen them. They don scratchy white cotton socks, khaki cargo shorts, some ill-fitting faded shirt, and tightly laced new balance sneakers. They’re white and squint when looking at their flip-phone. They’re called Lame Dads and they’re taking over America.
I’ve often wondered when this seemingly inevitable transition starts. Does it happen overnight? Or is it slow, steady, and without your realizing? Most importantly, can it be avoided?