Hey there. It’s me again, it’s your father speaking. Another one of our bedtime chats, Pokey. We call you Pokey until we can come up with a name for you. Did you know that pokey is not only what we’re calling you but is also a slang term for jail or prison? Did you? I bet you didn’t.
Your mom is drifting off to sleep and this helps her. Me talking to you. Dunno why, but she finds this soothing. Then again, your mom’s a weird gal. You’ll see what I’m talking bout soon enough. Half the time, I have no idea where she’s coming from. I look at her and think, ‘Who is this woman.’
Like this morning when we went to that diner over there, and she walked in wanting savory, but then when she looked at the menu, she decided she wanted sweet. So she ordered pancakes with bananas, strawberries and blueberries on them. With whipped cream to boot. How she went from savory to that in a minute is anyone’s guess. Then she ate half my bacon, which pissed me off, cause then I had to order a whole nother thing of bacon cause one and a half strips isn’t enough, not by a long shot. Like I said, she’s a weird gal, your mom.
By the way, I’m kissing her belly, basically more or less at where I’m guessing your head might be. She’s almost lightly dozing right now. It looks like she has a little grin on her face. She looks relaxed. It’s a good look on her. Or maybe she’s relishing the memory of pissing me off by stealing half my bacon when she coulda just had bacon of her own if she wanted bacon so bad.
There. I just kissed her belly a few times round where I think your head might be. Did you feel them, the kisses? Kick your mom real hard if you felt them. Kick her so it makes her eyes open wide startled, and she goes ‘Ooh.’
No? No kick? That’s all right. This book I’m reading, the same book that tells me to talk to you every day cause it’s pre-natally stimulating, tells me that at some point, you might feel it. No rush, though. I’m not rushing you.
I know I say this every damn night, but I love you very much and you’re not even born yet. Now, while some people might view this as being ‘all downhill from here,’ I am not one of those people. I am one of the otherkind. I think I can remain loving you like this even after you’re born and we’ve met and everything. You know what the book says? It says that after me spending all these nights forming an attachment to you by talking to you through your mom’s belly, when you’re born it’ll be like meeting someone face to face for the first time after having talked on the phone for a long time.
Isn’t that cool? I think that’s pretty cool. I hope it’s like that. Otherwise, I’m gonna be kinda disappointed. Not in you. In the book for getting my hopesup like that.
Book also says things like you’re gonna pick up things from me and her. Aptitudes, habits, likes, dislikes and what not. First thing that springs to mind when I think of that is you’re not gonna be good at math. Your mother and I weren’t. But hey. Math is stupid. They make it too complicated. Once you get past multiplication and division, it’s all just a buncha math geeks doing things with numbers cause they can’t handle people. Numbers can be controlled, are predictable, obey rules, whereas people can’t be, aren’t and don’t. Algebra, geometry, calculus, all that. What’s the point.
And if you take after me, you are gonna be cracked up by things that most people would consider lowbrow. Like when Wile E. Coyote falls down the canyon, disappears out of sight, then there’s a moment or two of nothing, then a small quiet poof of dust and earth where he lands. That will crack you up. Unless, as it turns out, you’re not my kid after all. But let’s assume you are. Wile E. Coyote will crack you up, as will the part in Animal House where Bluto eats all the food in the cafeteria line, tries to cheer up Flounder by breaking a bottle over his own head, and hops on the ladder over to the sorority girl’s bedroom window. Also irresistible to you shall be that part in Blues Brothers where the nun penguin beats the shit outta Jake and Elwood with the ruler, beats ‘em so bad they hafta take off, only Jake’s stuck in the chair-desk and winds up tumbling down the stairs still wedged in the chair-desk. You won’t be able to stop laughing. Just like me. Your old man.
Your old man who can’t wait for you to get here. Your old man who jokes all the time bout running away and hiding in his mom’s upstairs guest room but has no intention of doing any such thing. Not only because I wanna stick around to see how you turn out, but also because mom lives in Florida and things are batshit crazy there. Monkey-tits crazy.
By the way, my mom is your grandma, and she’s just as ‘can’t wait for you to get here’ as I am, if not more so. She’s already got a crib and playpen set up for you there. Part of me’s scared to bring you down there cause she might kidnap you. I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s been waiting so damn long to get a grandkid, who knows what she’ll do once she gets one.
Hey, here’s something to tell you. I went to Target today and they had clip-on ties seventy-five percent off. I bought a handful. You now have six clip-on ties. Oh, yeah, buddy, that’s right. You better believe it, pal, it’s no joke. I’m hell bent on dressing you up like a nerd. Clip-on ties, a few blazers or sweater vests, white oxford short sleeve shirts, khakis and shoes. This is gonna be your strolling round attire. You’re gonna look like you’re in the cast of Gossip Girl Baby or Gossip Girl Toddler.
Yeah. You’re gonna be the best-looking nerd kid on the block. Way better looking than those other three nerd-looking kids. I’m gonna take you to the park, where all the hot moms are, and they are gonna fawn over you like nobody’s business. I can’t wait. Trust me, those are some hot moms over in that park. Those moms are hot. I’m gonna parade you in front of hot moms like I’m cock of the walk. They’re gonna love you and I’m gonna log some serious time with the hot moms.
Hah. Your mom just slapped the top of my head. She meant it playful, but it came out harder than that. Like a slap that had intent. Which is fine. If she thinks she can dissuade me from talking bout those hot moms in the park by a little hard slap on the top of my head, she’s got another …
Okay, she just slapped the top of my head again and that one hurt, so I’m not gonna talk bout all those hot moms in the park anymore. Your mom sometimes forgets she slaps me with the hand that has the ring on it, and that ring hurts. She should remember, considering all the times I tell her, but does she? I think you know the answer to that one.
All right. I think your mom’s getting good and dozy now. Now that she made the top of my head hurt so bad I gotta rub it, it might be beddy-bye time for her and therefore you. I think it’s time to turn off the light. Get a good night’s sleep, you. If you’re like her, you’ll always get a good night’s sleep. If, unfortunately for you, you take after me, sleep might prove tricky once in a while.
No worries, though. If, when you get here, we find that you sometimes have trouble sleeping, I already know what I’m gonna do. It’s what a friend of mine who lives in England did when his son couldn’t sleep. He drove the mile or so drive to the sea, and sat there with his son in the car, listening to the waves crash lightly against the rocks. He’d stay there long as it took, even if it meant they wound up watching the sun come up. That’s what I’ll do. Drive you to the water and sit with you there until sleep comes. We live only a short drive from water. Though it’s not the sea. It’s a lake. LakeMichigan.
awww. wow. i'm so excited for you. you're gonna love it.
Posted by: theparakeet | 07/20/2009 at 08:20 PM