No pretense this time. I've been busier than a one-armed squirrel 3 weeks before winter hits. Can you say Griiiiinding. I've never liked the word "hustle." But baby-on-board has compelled me to work harder than ever before at any and everything at the same time. I've always worked hard at just about whatever I endeavor, but something about the expectation of this little one has sent me into a frenzy. Anxiety and a barrage of mixed emotions has shuttled me further along this path of worker bee syndrome. Do I have less faith, now that I'm motivavted to work more? I know that it's God-given. I just need to channel it into the right streams.
Now, every second counts. Every commute is filled with a studio session where I'm drilling my mind with complex rhymes and intense scenarios to develop into the ultimate emcee. Each work day is filled with thoughts of world conquest through the starting blocks of a side business, two simultaneous mixtapes, pushing an album, booking shows, serving my friends' dreams, finding time to read up on the baby, taking care of my wife's needs (albeit not many--her primary desire is for time, the very thing that's already strained), stepping up my responsbility around the house, winning souls, building my church's brand and caring for some strained relationships in my family.
Calm. Rest. Weight gain. Getting fat. Long naps. Great sleep. Wonderful cuddling. Peace. Joy. All the plush benefits of being an expectant father. Well, I've not gained any weight. I've only had peace and calm after spending time in the presence of the Lord, I always feel guilty for everything I don't do (dangit, I didn't wash the dishes, I left Charity with more clothes to wash, I didn't go buy that prego pillow, I didn't cook dinner, I made a etc.), I'm not getting more sleep because I haven't been able to cuddle with my wife (resulting from an expensive, too-soft bed that sinks when in the middle when I'm too close), but there is some light in this tunnel of future daddy daycare...
Yesterday, on the 20th of Septempber in the year 2009, I felt my baby move for the first time. It was as if he or little she pushed back through the great baby wall, throwing daddy a high five (probably with a foot) through the great bubble divide. Oh, what a glorious feeling. And I'm almost jealous that it's still all the more special for my wife, because she can feel the baby on the inside and the outside. Oh, the joy she has. In reading "The Expectant Father," a beautiful hand-me-down gift from coworker Nicole and her beau Donshay, I learned about the phase where the father can feel isolated, neglected, outside the circle of pregnancy and wifely goo-gahs. I can't say that I feel isolated or neglected, just a bit jealous that I cannot emote the same way.
That I cannot lavish in the same emotional euphoria of anticipation that I witness in my wife. But then again, she most certainly deserves it. If that is one of the few rewards of being chosen to carry our child, then may she be so blessed to feel the baby inside and out, to see the ultrasound and witness God using her very vessel as his life factory. Does this sound all too abstract? Forgive me. I wrote this one for me.
Oh, I'ma changin'....baby I am a'changin'. The wonder and mystery of this life has blown a new leaf this way, and I am determined to find its tree.
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