The 100th Post

100 posts. I am a writing god.

There are times when I am successful that one of my pitfalls decides to rear its ugly head. Sometimes, and completely on accident, I assure you, I tend to get over confident. The word cocky could almost be used to describe my attitude at times. I get to the point where I feel that I know what the hell I’m doing and if you don’t, well, then you are not as great as me.

This can be both a good and bad thing. I’m not afraid of a challenge but also I would not be as open to criticism as a good well rounded person should.

So I am taking this opportunity on this special post to correct that mistake before I go any further. I am going to eat a little crow, humble myself, and perhaps go to the bathroom for an hour. But first, let’s deflate the ego a little bit.

When Little Hoss was born my wife and I had taken every class that you could imagine. I was CPR certified, I knew how to change a diaper, give baths and went to every Lamaze class that was offered. I was the Chuck Noris of child birth and baby care, hi-ya.

I could do it all. Black poop, I’m on that. Burping, give me the kid, I’ll get it out of her. I read every book that there was out there. Not only did I read the dad books, which I found very disappointing as far as the how to portion, but I also read the “What to expect when you are expecting.” I was ready, I was genius and this genius would pass down to my daughter.

One of my biggest fears was that I wouldn’t be able to bond with my daughter. That because she had been with her mother for those 10 months that I would be a side character, the guy in the red shirt that never has a last name. I was afraid that there would be so many people around us in the first 2 weeks that they would snatch my child out of my arms and tell me that I didn’t know what I was doing, go have a fruit cup and relax.

I didn’t want this. I WANTED the experience of her crying and me coming to the rescue. I WANTED the experience of fighting with her over the bottle. I WANTED her to know that you can always count on Dad, no matter what. I am superdad, pleased to meet you.

If we didn’t do this, how would she believe that I am better than everyone else. How could she give a character reference for me if I ever needed it. “My dad was a pretty good guy, but my Aunts, now there’s good people.” I couldn’t have that, nope. So I told everyone that for the first two weeks I didn’t want anyone at the house that much. I stated that I wanted the grandmothers to show but only between certain hours and that my wife and I would be caring for our daughter and bonding as a family.

I.
Am.
An.
Idiot.

I am nothing short than the dumbest father that has ever graced this Earth.

For those that heard that speech so many months ago, please feel free to ridicule me in the comments. I deserve every bit of shit that I get for making those dumb ass, knee jerk statements. I ask for your forgiveness, I ask for you understanding, and I ask for your mercy.

I never liked when parents would tell me “It’s so hard”, “It’s so hard.” It sounded like complaining to me and the Hossman Family does not suffer complainers very well. Look, you asked for this, now you have it, suck it up. That was my thought process.

And in the truth of it, now that I have some experience, is that raising a child is not to difficult overall. Sure, we had some of our bad times but on the whole it’s been peaches and cream. She gives high fives, listens to Metalica with me, watch’s Star Trek with me, it’s greatness. In fact, there is no one else that I know other than my brother and father that will watch Star Trek with me. So I’m loving fatherhood.

But with that said, that first month sucks massive balls. All I can say is that I didn’t know. All the books, which you should immediately throw away, down played those first two weeks. They talked about bonding and how you will enjoy your new bundle of joy.

So let me tell you, I didn’t enjoy my bundle of joy at all that first month. I couldn’t sleep more than 2 hours at a time. When I was 18 I did this all the time, I was out with the ladies. At 31, not so much. Breastfeeding was causing major headaches, I was to tired to cook so I ate everything raw. My wife had the baby blues, had stitches and then had to have gallbladder surgery thereafter. Superdad was forced into the impossible situation and I have no problem now saying that I was overwhelmed and regret everything I told everyone, ever. Come on, even Superman had the Justice League.

Luckily, my mother and mother in law ignored me completely, like they tend to do, and came over anyway to offer help. I am forever in their debt because they didn’t even give me shit for the whole “bonding” thing. That first month isn’t roses and you gently holding your baby. That first month is you sleeping in a rocking chair, robe open because you are to tired to put on underwear or tie it, drool coming down your chin and a kid that will only sleep if she is sucking on your pinky finger. That’s fatherhood, that’s the creation of superdad.

Look, you will have time to bond with the kiddo over the next year. She’ll run to you before anyone else. She’ll pull on your pants leg until you pick her up. She’ll snuggle in your lap as Klingons overtake the Enterprise. So those times will be there. And even with help, who do you think is getting their ass up at 3:00am to do the feeding? You are chump because even the hired help requires their time off. You get nothing, no time.

But after that first month, and what we call the 60 diaper change, things got much, much better. We took Little Hoss to the emergency room the second week at home because I thought she wasn’t peeing. No one told me that girls pee and it seeps all to the back and not to the front like I expected. Fucking books.

But things did get easier and the bonding thing happened without even trying. Now that we have kid number two on the way, I am much more experienced. I know what I am doing and I know what to expect. And like always, I have a plan.

1. A week before the birth I am going junk food shopping. Chips, little Debbies, anything microwavable. I’m going to buy 300 bucks of this stuff because I know that between eat and sleep, I’m taking sleep every time.

2. I hereby invite everyone I know over. I don’t care when you come over. You don’t have to call. Just come, please god, just come over. I need some socialization and if you happen to keep an eye on Little Hoss while I sleep on the princess Barbie couch, I would very much appreciate it.

3. I am officially, in this post, asking both my mother and mother in law to move in with me. Mother in law, will you please be there the first week and Mom, will you please be there the second week. I would love for both of you to come at the same time but I am trying to prolong the help as long as possible.

4. My brother in laws—I am asking, no I am begging—please come over and cook a meal for my family. I know that you both like to cook so whatever you would like to feed me, I will pay you for it. I’m not a proud man, I will eat whatever vegetable you come up with as long as it’s hot. I don’t care what it is, so get as fancy as you want. I will eat each meal like it is steak and will probably cry that you cared enough to come over at all.

5. I am buying a mini-fridge for the upstairs and also bringing up the bottle warmer. Why? Because we will probably have a C-section which means my wife will have stitches. That means that she can’t go up and down the stairs that we have which means it’s my ass getting up every time for water or a bottle. Last time Hossmom popped a stitch. We are not having any of that this time. Hossmom, stay your ass upstairs!

That’s it, that’s the superplan for superdad. Once again I am confident that this will go off without a hitch as Junior comes into this world. I have been humbled but I have learned from my mistakes. That is the true sign of greatness. October 8 is go day, let’s get ready.

And Little Hoss—you are in charge of looking cute. That and answering the phone.