Hello Handsome,

Well, here we go. [SPOILER ALERT] You’re six weeks away from fatherhood (Surprise! He’s coming four weeks early), and have a million thoughts happening at once. Am I ready for this? Am I good enough to be good enough? Am I grown up enough to handle growing up? Are my wife and I going to be OK? We love each other thoroughly but so did the 5 gazillion now divorced couples that came before. How hard is this gonna be, really? No, seriously, what am I getting myself into?

All of these questions can be answered by three words:
Spaghetti. Poland. Butthole.

No that doesn’t make any sense, but that’s the point. The questions you’re asking are not wrong necessarily, they’re just not the right ones right now. If I can be blunt: you’re fixating on the wrong stuff. You’re prioritizing the philosophical over the practical, which is like quoting Plato in a knife fight, “man is a being in search of a meaning”- and…I’m dead.

By all means be introspective; keep asking the big questions; quote Plato like a fucking boss; but can I also suggest buying smaller diapers and smaller shirts just in case he comes a little early? Right now you’re loading up on “Newborn” diapers and clothes and rightfully so, but did you know there’s a whole different category called “Preemie” that covers babies who weigh less than 7 pounds? Oh shit yes there is.

Can I suggest buying a few different kinds of formula, blankies, binkies and bottles just in case he happens to prefer one brand over another? It’s highly preferable to think, “maybe he doesn’t like this type of bottle” over “he hasn’t eaten in 3 hours. Is he dying? Am I dying? Am I the worst parent in the world or in the history of the world?”

Can I suggest sound proofing his room and your room as much as possible? Forget aesthetics put his fucking crib as far away from your pillow as possible. Tell Martha Stewart and the baby magazines that they can feng shui your undercarriage; you want maximum pillow-baby distance at all times.

As the clock ticks down you are very naturally nervous, excited and nervous again and that’s making you focus on yourself. Get out of your head and into the baby’s room and get that shit ready. What else should you know? Well, here are a few quick hits:

I’ve learned a lot. I can drop terms like “positive association” and not sound like a dick.

As soon as you can, start putting the binky into his hand rather than directly into his mouth; he needs to learn to “self soothe” and by doing this he’ll start to positively associate that motion with calming down and going back to sleep.
(You may read that and think: holy shit, I’ve learned a lot. I can drop terms like “positive association” and not sound like a dick. I wish that were true, Handsome. The truth is you plagiarized that entire paragraph from the $900 sleep consultant you were forced to hire when your son would scream from 8pm to 4am, pausing only to barf a little and choke on it. Sorry. Oh, and it didn’t work either. Do me a favor, in the fall of 2011 go to the bank, withdraw $900, go to an empty parking lot somewhere and light that shit on fire which is the way cooler version of hiring that sleep consultant.)

There will be long stretches of time, not just hours but multiple, consecutive days where you are literally too tired to think about, talk about or try to instigate sex. Don’t be alarmed by this. Ride it out (pun intended, we’re just sly like that) and you’ll be back to being a proper degenerate/male in no time.

Zero point zero. That’s how many fucks your baby gives about his room.

Right now, you and your sweet lady are experiencing a phenomenon unique to soon-to-be-parents called “nesting.” This is a very primal need to build the perfect setting for your baby. This is the crib and the dresser and the changing table, but also includes granular, assholish questions like, “do these curtains feel right? Does this rug have the right energy?” Zero point zero. That’s how many fucks your baby gives about his room. That won’t stop your wife from calling every lumber yard in the Western Hemisphere to try and find someone to custom make three shelves to complete the bookcase. Don’t jump in front of that bus, you’d have better luck convincing salmon to swim downstream, but maybe just casually mention, “hey, Honey, maybe this doesn’t have to be done before he’s born? I mean, realistically he probably won’t appreciate his custom made bookcase until he’s 60 or 65, right?” She won’t listen of course, and The Great Shelf Odyssey of 2011 will continue, but maybe sneak into the baby’s room while she’s harassing some poor carpenter in Lake Oswego and put the rocking chair together.

Pack a bag for the hospital. Like right now. Oh, and make sure to add these three things: a pillow, towels and fucktons of water. Not only do you have to beg for water in the hospital but they seem to only serve it in thimbles. Buy at least 6 massive bottles. Trust me. You know how Velveeta isn’t cheese but “cheese food” — well, hospital pillows are “pillow-shaped.” The towels? I could use words like “sandpaper” and “washcloth” but how about “pack” and “now” instead?

There will be a period of time where you are only capable of speaking in broken, Neanderthal-like fragments. This stings a little I’m not gonna lie, we just quoted Plato from memory for fuck’s sake, but is temporary. So when you hear yourself say something like “I want chips eat mouth,” don’t get depressed. More likely than not the person you are speaking to will respond with, “No! Out! Store if chips.”

Let me tell you something, Handsome, there is no fucking equator.

Go to the movies. You’ve been doing a nice job of going out to dinner with your lady, but you know what? This might sound weird, but you can eat really nice dinners at home. You can make a really nice X and open a really nice bottle of X. Granted you still have to cook and clean and serve and there’s a baby nearby, but you can have a relatively nice little date at home. You cannot replicate a movie theater. Right now you’re thinking, “man, there’s nothing playing. Just Adam Sandler and a few dumb action movies.” Three months from now you’ll be thinking, “that Adam Sandler movie looks hilarious! How is he gonna get himself out of that pickle?!” See movies this month; you’ll thank us later.

You are not gonna believe what your wife is capable of doing, enduring and creating. Literally. Right now, your current plan is to stay “north of the equator” during the birth. A noble but ultimately futile plan. Let me tell you something, Handsome, there is no fucking equator. Your wife’s head, crotchal region and feet become one area, kind of like when a Slinky is standing upright. This is only the beginning of her amazingness. Tell her that. Tell her that until she doesn’t want to hear it anymore. Then tell her again.

I could literally keep going for another few hours but I’m going to stop here. I don’t want to spoil anything; we’re reaching the point where your eyes are starting to glaze over; and to be honest, this letter is starting to be a little more about me then it is about you. Look, here’s what I’m trying to say, Handsome: you are going to be FINE. You’re spending an inordinate amount of time right now trying to figure out what kind of dad you’re going to be, and hoping with everything you can that you’ll be a good one. I don’t want to undermine the importance of the BIG topics, you NEED to think about those things, but parenthood, much like the little person you’re soon to parent, is a living, breathing thing. So write this shit in pencil. Your philosophies and perceptions will change. A lot. The key is to make sure that you and your lady are changing together. It’s not that simple, yet it kinda is.

About two months from now, when you’re sitting at your desk drinking a coffee the size of a submarine and Googling things like “my left eye won’t open is that bad?” you know what you won’t be thinking about? Any of the things that you’re currently thinking about. Is your newborn alive? Are you alive? Are you and your wife remembering to take a deep breath and laugh about the absurdity of your situation, and maybe even kiss a little? If you can answer “yes” “sorta” and “yes, but not nearly enough” then you’re way ahead of the game. So focus on those three things; everything else is just Spaghetti, Poland and Butthole.