Three's A Crowd

Okay:

So, I went to my homeboy's baby shower this weekend. He found out he's having a boy a few months ago, and he is literally beaming with pride. The motherfucker was glowing.

His lady is beautiful and pregnant, due in couple of months.

I was sitting there with my daughter, peeping out the scene. At one point I leaned over to him and said, "There are a lot of fine women in here, man."

He laughed. "What about that one?" I asked.

"Married," he said.

Then his lady leaned in. "Happily married," she said.

"Well, what about that one?" I asked.

"Also, married," he said.

Once again I had found myself in that most curious of worlds where everyone is either married or pregnant, or toting around a newborn. They all look tired. But happy nonetheless.

Thing is, I don't want any parts of it. None whatsoever. In fact, for the past few months I've been seriously considering having a vasectomy. I don't like the idea of an unexpected pregnancy, me being completely out of the loop and subject to the whims of another person with a different agenda. I'd probably try to drive off a bridge or something.

If I got the bread and I can find a doctor who'll do it, I'm getting myself fixed. End of story. I've got to do my research though. If it's going to change my situation in the nether region in some negative way, then fuck all that.

I guess what I really want to know is whether or not it's going to change the consistency of my spunk. Is it going to go all clear and watery? I feel like that wouldn't be a good look. Like, a chick might me all, "What's wrong with your love gravy? It's a little on the thin side."

But suppose if that's the only negative side effect, I could live with it. Long as I still have projectile action. I don't want the leaky faucet or the dry heave. Like a gasping fish or something.

Don't get my wrong. I love my daughter. She is the best thing that ever happened to me. Without her, I'd be an even bigger mess than I am right now. But I'm clearly not cut out for this shit, and we both know it. Sometimes I catch her shaking her head in pity, like, "Poor guy. He's trying."

But another one? That'd be like John Kerry making another run at the presidency. He was all we had at the moment, but everybody knew he wasn't up to the task.

My whole life was flashing before my eyes in that place. I started getting claustrophobic. I wanted to leave, but I was there to support my man and share in his joy or whatever. So, I stayed put.

Then it was time to play games. The coordinator had written out a series of parenting questions. "How long should you wait before you leave the baby with someone else?" "How long should you wait before you have sex?" "How can you tell why the baby is crying?"

Everyone picked a random question out of the jar and we had a big discussion. I was surprised at how much I knew about this shit. I wouldn't call myself an expert, but I suppose once is all it takes.

One thing I did not know but found interesting was how to stop a male child from pissing all over the place while your changing him. Not so much an issue with the girls. As it turns out, there is something called the pee-pee tee-pee. It's like a cone that you sit on his junk until you're finished handling the business.

Then they made their godparent announcements. It was very touching.

Of course, he was smart enough not to choose me. Not that I felt like I was really in the running. I guess we aren't that close. But for a moment there, I wondered.

I guess you don't really want the reluctant godparent thing though. I'd be all like, "Make sure you wear your seat belt." "Maybe it'd be smarter for you all to take separate flights." "Have you been monitoring your sodium intake?"

Then it was time for everyone to offer their wisdom and encouragement to the expectant parents. People had inspirational tidbits about spirituality and consistency and the like.

Then, for some reason, I was possessed with the desire to say something.

I lifted my Long Island Ice Tea and said, "Good luck. This shit is rough and rugged."


And then I went home and watched iCarly with my little youngin. Which is a damn funny show by the way. A lot better than that fucking Hanna Montana.


Thanks for reading.


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Postscript: Family Matters is on Nick At Nite now. When I was her age they ran Mr. Ed and Car 54, Where Are You?. My black ass is getting old. Pretty soon I won't have to worry about the consistency of my spunk. The motherfucker'll be spitting out dust.