This Week in Uncontrolable Weeping

I was a little dissapointed in myself when Lucy was first born. If movies and TV have taught me anything the birth of a man's first child is supposed to be this trancendent moment where he feels the greatest love he has ever known. A love from which he can never return. That moment is supposed to be special and beautiful. The first words out of my mouth when I saw my daughter for the first time? "Holy shit." I kind of whispered it to no one in particular and I don't even know if it was audible, but still...I know what I said. And I know what I felt, which was nothing in particular. Not good. Not bad. Just kind of like, "Welp, that certainly is a baby. Hope I don't fuck this up."

I haven't told anyone about this because, honestly, I couldn't shake it and I was begining to wonder if I am some kind of soulless freak that doesn't feel things anymore. I mean if a guy can't love his own child unconditionally at first sight that is a serious red flag. We were talking about how much she looks like me the day she was born and my sister in law told me that babies look more like their fathers when they are born as a biological defense mechanism that prevents the father from eating his own young. She was on to me.

OK, obviously I wasn't going to EAT her. Those little ribs could be a choking hazard! But my feelings on that first day ranged from "I hope Pam is going to be ok" to "I hope I don't fuck this up" with nothing about how madly in love I was with my new baby daughter and much more about how cramped our stupid hospital room was and how I couldn't wait to get out of there. Don't get me wrong. I have held that little girl, talked to her, and done as much "good daddy" stuff as I could possibly do since the day she was born. It's just that...there was no bond. No immediate connection. And it made me feel like a total scumbag.

I had been trying to manufacture it for days with nothin' doin' so I stopped beating myself up about it and resigned myself to being the scary, intimidating dad from The Wonder Years. That would be my role. Hopefully Pam would pick up the slack. I kept on keepin' on with the duties of parenthood, but there was just this weird, nothingness kind of feeling about the whole thing that was seriously bumming me out.

So I am at work on Tuesday listening to some Pandora radio at work and the Pandora gods selected "Float On" by Modest Mouse for my listening pleasure. I had never really paid attention to the lyrics to that one before then, but since it was all up in my earhole in a quiet office I paid more attention. It's a very positive song about how life can be hard sometimes, but that's ok because even though bad shit is going to happen to you from time to time good times will be just around the corner. When I heard lyric right before the bridge, "We'll float on, good news is on the way" I imediately flashed into a daydream about having a conversation with Lucy and trying to cheer her up when she feels bad about something. I would give her this exact advice. And as I sat there, having a fake conversation with my daughter in my head, I started to well up. Realizing what I was experiencing were genuine tears of happiness, joy, and love for my baby girl got me all crazy emotional. The first domino had been tipped, my friends, and I let out a straight up SOB and was sporting a serious happy cry face. It took me a solid minute to reel that shit in.

Guess Lucy doesn't have to worry about me eating her anymore. We gon' be 'aight.