Skip to main content

The blog you've all been waiting for


What are you going to do this weekend?  Watch some basketball?  See a parade?  Drink until you puke?  Oh, me???  I’m probably going to have a baby.  That’s right, a Mini-Cogito is headed to the world.

It’s beautiful and awe inspiring and all that but it’s also nerve racking.  I haven’t had a good night sleep in weeks.  The worst part of that, when I do sleep I get crazy, baby dreams.  Several times, the baby has talked to me.  I don’t mean goo-goo ga-ga stuff either.  I mean clear ass English.  “Hi Daddy, let’s play!” coming out of an infant.  I wake up going, “What the fuck was that?”

It’s messed up because I used to have anxiety because I didn’t have a job but somehow I actually found a semi-decent one but still, no sleep.  I can’t even take my usual insomnia killer, massive amounts of Cuervo, because not only do I have to go to work in the morning, I might have to drive my wife to the hospital at a moment’s notice.  I’m getting all anxious even thinking about it.

It’s not all bad though.  I think raising a baby will be fun.  I’m not sure what kind of dad I’ll be, but I have a whole lot of love to give and I aims to pour it out in buckets, which will be odd to do with someone I won’t be able to get drunk with for 21 years. 

We don’t even know if it is a boy or girl yet.  We have names picked out but without knowing the sex, it’s hard to visualize the poor kid.  I went to Lamaze class with my wife and I’ll try not to think about the baby as a newborn.  I love kids and all but for the first week and a half, those are some ugly creatures.  They need to send they asses home in hoodies and Versace shades… But I digress.

It is kind of nice to know my balls work.  On second thought… overrated.  It’s nice to create life and all but it would be nice to be able to turn my balls off from time to time.  Lord knows that I don’t need any more kids any time soon.

Seriously though, I love the baby already.  I can’t wait to hold it close and let it hold my fingers and just carry it around.  I might even hold it in my lap when I’m playing Call of Duty.  There might even be a KU vs. K-state game this weekend but if the baby comes calling, I won’t even care.  Well, maybe a little… if it’s a close game… Just playing, baby.  Daddy loves you more than the Jayhawks.  You’ll know how much that means soon enough.

Comments

Post a Comment

Got comments? Let it out. I always do.

Popular posts from this blog

There's gold in them thar crates

Right now I’m listening to Camp Lo’s Uptown Saturday Night.   I don’t know how much play this album got around the nation when it dropped in 1997, but it didn’t get any love in Kansas City, but If you haven’t heard, it is the shit! I don’t know when it became the general consensus that rap music that didn’t come out in the last 6 months isn’t good but we have to remember hip-hop’s history of being the product of people that were willing to dig in those crates. Bargain bins at the used CD store, garage sales and amazon.com all have great CDs that you never heard.   Not to mention all of those CDs with 2 or 3 great songs on them. My point is that great music doesn’t have a shelf life.   Just because Kanye and Jay-Z keep coming out with hits doesn’t mean Reasonable Doubt and The College Dropout aren’t great CDs.   It’s just the opposite.   There has been a long time since somebody referred to a rap album that is universally referred to as a classic.  ...
1 comment
Read more
Maury must be stopped. No one has profited more from Black people being ignorant than he.   I know the old saying: “Mama’s baby, Papa’s maybe.” But, contrary to popular belief, Black men love their children.   Everyone loves children.   Even if Black men realize that they aren’t bringing much to a household, they know that there is magic there.   That magic might be scary, like all magic, but it’s there.   There isn’t much difference between the love that develops between a man and a child with his D.N.A.   and a man that a child that he has raised. I am my father’s son.   No, I’m not light skinned or a hustler, but I laugh when I hear something funny.   I’ll sit on a porch and dink liquor all Saturday morning.   My toes are extraordinarily long (just like his).   I will see a beautiful woman and take notice just because I am a man and that’s what a man does.   My dad raised me well. When you see a Black man on Maury, y...
2 comments
Read more

R.I.P. Rusty Hayes

Pretty soon here I’m going to say goodbye to my dad.   I suppose that I already have.   When I walked into the place where he lived and saw him there, dead, with his mouth cocked open in a very strange angle, I realized that I had been saying goodbye to my dad for some time now.   That body that laid there in the nursing home did not resonate my father at all. You see, my dad was a big guy.   Always was to me.   That body there was emaciated and small; so much not the powerful figure that I remember. When I was younger, I remember how much I wanted to grow up to look like my dad.   He was muscular, handsome and light skinned and I was anything but (I still have beef with every negro that got blessed with being light skinned in the ‘90s).   The best thing about my dad, though, is that he had a serious thirst for life.   He always laughed so hard that you had to turn around and wonder what the fuck was going on over there that was so damne...
1 comment
Read more