My Lady is 10 Weeks Pregnant: The Sarcastic Truth about Relationships & Fatherhood (2)


Everything I learned about long term relationship I learned from the Absurdist play by Samuel Beckett Waiting for Godot. Let me share with you the lines which most summarizer my years of deep thought and reflection:

waiting-for-godot11

ESTRAGON: Why don’t we hang ourselves?
VLADIMIR: With what?
ESTRAGON: You haven’t got a bit of rope?
VLADIMIR: No.
ESTRAGON: Then we can’t.’

Silence.

VLADIMIR: Let’s go.
ESTRAGON: Wait, there’s my belt.
VLADIMIR: It’s too short.
ESTRAGON: You could hang onto my legs.
VLADIMIR: And who’d hang onto mine?
ESTRAGON: True.

Many people might not agree with my assessment that long term relationships are like wanting to hang yourself off a willow tree (a weeping willow) but being denied due to an egregious lack of materials. For those who don’t believe me, let me ask you: “What are your reasons why divorce is so high and single parent homes are so prevalent? Yeah?! …but you can use the economy and women being indoctrinated by Oprah as the root cause of every problem: chemical weapons in Syria, the growing rift between the haves and have-nots in this country, and erectile dysfunction.

Mes Amis, Je te supplique

Life is a giant question-mark and we always find ourselves chasing the illusion of the certainty.

Let me be the first to tell you  that there are two events in your adult life where you have absolutely no say in what’s going on. The first event is your wedding ceremony.

Concerning the wedding ceremony let me ask you two questions:

  • Do you know a dude that actually wants to participate in and spend money on 10-100 people people’s enjoyment on a day that is all about someone else other than him?
  • Do you know someone who wants to start a life together in debt for an over indulgent ceremony, with a mortal being that has the audacity to clandestinely fart, burp, and shit quietly like they are better than everyone else?

When my friend got married we did everything to assure him that life wasn’t over, that from the dried sullen ashes of who he had once been, a new beast would arise stronger happier and more stable than its last incarnation despite the fact that we had stop believing in fairy tales decades ago, but the cigars, strip clubs, excessive alcohol intake did nothing to slow the ever luminous realization that it was in fact over.

The other event, to cut the denouement, is pregnancy. Looking at how happy my parents are in every fucking picture from 1981 onward it seems that bringing forth new life is an amazingly happy time. However you face never gets the message. Let me give you a taste of my experience with pregnancy as this is round 2 for me.

Scenario

Thanks to seemingly every fucking movie most people think that men, especially black men, want no part caring for the women we impregnate and our progeny. Campaigns are launched to remind us that our spouse and kids need us. You are advised to go to the hospital with your lady, read pregnancy books with her. The best thing is talking to the baby as he or she slowly drains the life out of the women you love right before your very eyes, until she has the attitude and demeanor of the Alien Queen that made Sigourney Weaver and the Alien franchise so popular. Every word from her now is a concentrated dosage of vitriol that burns through all the layers of flesh and bone right riddling your soul like an innocent African immigrant- victim of police brutality.

burroSo I did that and it was beautiful to see as much as I did due to the late-term miscarriage, the miracle of life. I had pictures of the ultrasound at my desk at work reminding me why I put up with these fuck-tards and don’t turn to a life of crime. I tried to act “normal” which meant adorning myself with pants around the house instead of my tattered underwear. I cooked super specific meals, and made sure the prenatal vitamins were taken. For the first time in my life I seriously tried to fall in line. Then I took a day off one day to go to the clinic with MrsMaryMuthaFuckingPoppins only to be treated like I was Williams S. Burroughs at another party. I was treated by the staff like I was a walking scourge, raining disease on innocent women, and it was a polluted rain tainted with the seemingly endless reserves of genetic materials in the juice filled nut-bag I called a scrotum.

The doctor ignores you completely and talks to your lady. People call your house to ask about the lady. Neighbors push you out of the way while you are carried 15 bags of groceries up a 3 story fucking walkup in NYC, to talk to her and see how she is. You pick up extra shifts because baby accessories are fucking expensive. At the end of the week you plop down on the floor against the wall like a drug addicted veteran. As fate would have it your father calls you and says: Comment ca va mon fils ? ( how are you my son) and you sigh and you both know that that epic moment has come in your career as a man.

You realize that your job as a father is to make sure every-thing is paid for, the forms are filled, the baby stuff taken out of boxes and assembled, the heavy stuff is moved then placed where it belongs, mutter to yourself on your favorite chair every night after the news and finally unceremoniously die. Yes your only relief is death, the sweet siren call of an eternal somnolence purchased with a lifetime of suffering under the heavy weight of being socially, economically and familially expendable. You realize especially if you’re a minority in this country that you will live just long enough to teach whatever kid you have what you’ve learned from life and die early enough for your significant other to still get someone good looking while your life settlement/insurance payments keep her afloat, and they will probably do it on your chair that you saved months for to get.

Ok That’s over The Serious Bit

That to me is the generic script that is passed around, nowadays for father hood in America of course you could never guess that from reading a lot of these so-called  mommy and daddy bloggers. They make me sick they paint this fictitious image of life that doesn’t exist.  They think they are special because they decided for whatever reason not to pay for condoms on night. There’s no honor in that, Freddie Mercury did the same thing and no one is fucking clapping.

This is my ecstatic face, once I take it off Nick Cages Face
This is my ecstatic face, once I take it off Nick Cages Face

Ok I digress. I joke around a lot but deep down inside I love my lady and the lil alien feasting on her innards. What I have noticed on this Round Two of me Becoming a pops is how fathers are treated socially.  When you hear that you may become a pops in 9 months you have two scenarios in front of you, well many men I know I know (myself included) do. The first scenario is that you work yourself into an early grave to give everyone a better life. During your kids formative years you may miss their first steps because your pulling 80 -100 hour weeks, but eventually when they are old enough they will completely ignore you when they don’t need stuff and put you in a home to die in a sanitized mad-house as an homage to the fallen leaves on the tree of youth. The second scenario is that you accept the lesser pay in exchange for more time with your family money is tight, you cant get everyone what they want, you give them what they need. Tough decision.

But that is not more

Your kid will spend most of his or her time with their mother. 74-76 % of their elementary school teacher will be women. Unless the milkman is fucking your wife and helping your kids with their homework there will not be a stable male presence in the home which both kids need for their psycho-social development. This is more complicated when you realize that 83 percent of public school teachers were White, 7 percent each were Black or Hispanic. Judging from the way white women of all ages clutch their purses or cross the street when I walk by or blatant have said the “N-word” to my face this is not good news.

eh just some funny sarcastic thoughts

mrmary

 

6 thoughts on “My Lady is 10 Weeks Pregnant: The Sarcastic Truth about Relationships & Fatherhood (2)

  1. Oh fooey! My Dad was born in 1921, he was an engineer, gardener, cabinet-maker/restorer AND he was the one who did my homework with me, taught me most of what I know, instilled in me a love of philosophy, music, art. In a word he was a hands on Dad back in the days when Dads weren’t even /expected/ to be hands on. Of course there was a price, and the price was that my parents didn’t pack me off to bed at 8pm. From a young age I stayed up until about 9.30 and that meant I was often late for school the next day but my Dad was very much a part of my life.

    As an adult I’ve done the same with my daughter. Friends of mine decided to co-parent with both taking part-time jobs so both could share in the job of raising their kids.

    You don’t have to buy into the bullshit. Kids are people. If you /like/ your kids you make time to see them, just as you would with your best friends.

    Most parents don’t make the time because what they really want is to hold on to as much of their pre-kid life as possible. Kids mean change, but it can be for the better.

    Okay, apologies for the rant. I wanted my ex to be the kind of father my father had been. He wasn’t. That still rankles, even after all these years. I’m sure you’re a different kind of dad. Congratulations on no.2. 🙂

    Like

    1. No need to worry about ranting, you are always free to share what you you feel here and not worry about recrimination from me at least. I dont want to work so many hours that I will be an absentee father. I love having a family and like doing all the hands on things you mention. I have a joie for life and its pretty amazing when life and joy kind of come together in this litter person that sorta looks like you. Im looking forward to it actually!

      Like

  2. Not so much sarcasm as truths that people pretend they don’t think about. If it’s any consolation, reading this post of yours has made me even more terrified of pregnancy and uncomfortable with the idea of marriage than I already was. 😉

    Like

    1. lol I feel bad now. As taxing as relationships have been they have been awesome. Much more awesome than being alone. Could I asked what is it about pregnancy that makes you terrified I remember you had mentioned that before somewhere on your blog. I have been with MrsMary for forever and we are consider common law marriage. I have a lot of misgivings about tradition marriage. A lot of the stuff that goes along with it seems a sham or a relic of a past age.

      Like

  3. Don’t feel bad at all, MrMary!
    I’m very happy for anyone in a loving relationship, and am so glad that you and MrsMary have been together for as long as you have. I hope your upcoming little one is happy and healthy as well. Just because *I* want to stay single does not mean everyone else should!

    I guess my distrust and suspicions about relationships gets the better of my comments at times. Sorry for making you feel bad. Growing up, I was from a divorced family, as were every one of my friends. My father alone has been married to 3 different women, and my mother just recently divorced my stepfather. I hear from a lot of my customers that their wives drive them absolutely insane, quite a few are genuinely unhappy, and even my older friends who are “happily married” seem like they have weekly arguments with the ladies at home. Perhaps it would be different if I was in one as I’m fairly laid back…but the odds don’t seem to be with me.

    As for the whole “terrified of pregnancy” thing, I believe it is a combination of my Gender Dysphoria (men don’t get preggers) and my continued fear/discomfort with touching. I mean, can you imagine something (in this case, a fetus) being inside you, changing your body to suit it’s needs, constantly growing in you, touching you, no way to get rid of it past a certain point…ugh. It is the stuff of my nightmares!

    (Yes, I realize that most women WELCOME this particular type of parasite, but that’s how *I* feel about pregnancy.)

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s