“So there is only one parent, and that parent is me. And I will never break up with myself. I will never throw things at myself or cheat on myself or get divorced from myself.”
Hooray! I’m going to be a mommydaddy!
That’s right – I’m a man who got pregnant. And you thought Baby Jesus was a miracle!
I want to go back in time, to that manger in O Little Town of Bethlehem, and go up to Mary and say, “In yo’ face!” and lift up my ALF T-shirt and show her my hairy pregnant man-belly. “Yeah, you think you all that.”
But enough about the Blessed Virgin – I’m going to be a mommydaddy!
Wait’ll the guys in my ol’ college fraternity hear about this. I can see it now – all of us gathered for our annual excursion to the golf course, headin’ back to the clubhouse for beers afterward. I’ll push back the frosty brewski that’s been poured for me. They’ll raise their eyebrows in suspicion. Or in Larry’s case, he’ll raise his one eyebrow in suspicion. Larry has a unibrow. It’s something we don’t joke about because we all secretly suspect that he’s sensitive about it.
So I’ll push the brewski away from me with a sheepish grin, my tongue lodged in the corner of my mouth as if I’m just dying to share some news. “What gives, brah?” Chuck will say. Chuck is 45 like I am but always tries to talk like however the teenage boys at the moment are talking.
And then I will clasp my hands together in glee and say, “Fellas, I hope you’re sitting down…” and then I’ll feel dumb because of course we are all sitting down and I can clearly see that. But you know, it’s an expression I wanted to use to enhance the drama of the moment. “… because I am gonna be a mommydaddy!”
There will be a moment of stunned silence. It’s understandable.
Then I bet Larry or Chuck will say, “Drinks on me for everybody – my buddy’s gonna be a mommydaddy!” And there will be hearty cheers all around.
There will be jokes about am I sure I’m not just constipated and assorted crude remarks like that, but I will take them in stride, because I am going to be a mommydaddy, and it has given me a wise new perspective in life about not sweating the small stuff.
I wrote a letter to my parents to share the good news. Or I should say, I wrote two letters to my parents, because they split up when I was a baby.
The crazy thing about being a mommydaddy – well, OK, one crazy thing out of several – is that I am both the mommy and the daddy of this baby. Duh, what did you think a mommydaddy was?
So there is only one parent, and that parent is me. And I will never break up with myself. I will never throw things at myself or cheat on myself or get divorced from myself. My baby is assured a future in which his mommy and his daddy coexist in a perfect union, like those soul mates from that Plato story. Bet you didn’t expect me to bust out with a Plato anecdote here, did you? You were wrong. I am a man who will surprise you. I am a man who will give birth.
I will make little jokes with my baby – for example, when he says, “Mommydaddy, can I sleep over at Bobby’s house tonight?” I will say, “Hmm, I don’t know – better ask your mommy.” And then I will say, in an eerie and unnerving high-pitched voice, “Oh OK, I guess so! Have a good time!” What a fun life my kid’s gonna have, full of jokes like that.
I will say, “I love you” in a deep voice that’s meant to be the daddy part of the mommydaddy word, and then I will say, “Oh, I love you, too!” in that creepy high voice I use for the mommy part of the equation. And I will make slurpy sucking noises as if two people are kissing, but they’re not, it’s just me.
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