On being someone's father

My mother describes my husband as one who does not show much emotion, and she is right. But she noticed how, during her recent visit, whenever our Great Expectation was mentioned, my husband would unconsciously begin to wag his proverbial tail. Because I live with him, I don't necessarily recognize my husband as an emotionally retentive, particularly because my hor-motional mood swings, unpredictable as they are, provoke lots of emotions from him which sometimes cause him to speak in a high voice, KENNY WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT IT???, or place both hands on my shoulders and look at me grimly, BABY? WILL YOU STOP?

But when it comes to events or milestones or moments where I expect a certain emotion to register for most people, such an emotion is often lost upon my husband. He remains cool in crisis, soft mannered even when cut off by a Masshole driver.

When we got home from the shower on Sunday, I began squirreling away all of the new layette, calling my mother to gush about all of the adorable uni-sex layette that the wee one will get to wear in just a couple of months. Hubs lounged on the couch, folded some laundry, caught the tail end of a James Bond marathon.

As I was washing my face that night, he stood in the doorway to the bathroom holding our new infant car seat. I figured that he would need to play with one new toy when we got home. But then I noticed that he had also opened the little sack of warmth that we will bundle our child in when he/she rides in the car or stroller during the colder months.

He started to pat the sack down into the carseat.

"See, this is where there will be a little baby," he said, and as I saw his eyes registering the sight of a small Q-tip head with Asian-Irish eyes, I also saw a smile creeping out the corner of his mouth.

Papa got a brand new [diaper] bag.

Property Damage

Recently, I've been getting handy with my needle and thread -- a dangerous pastime for someone who never took Home Ec. (The Catholic schools lack the resources, I guess, or maybe it's because the nuns believe the five paragraph essay is a more useful life tool than sewing, puh-heh!) I stitched a button into one of my jackets for work and last night Lovey Loverpants pulled it from the laundry basket and my face nearly split in half when he started to yank on the sleeve with the newly-stitched button. "Wait, whatareyoudoing??? WAIT, don't do that! That took me a WAY LONG TIME, DON'TRUINIT!"

Somewhere in his male brain, when Lovey is told to put something down or leave something alone, a voice titillates his conscience saying, "Keep fiddling around. Don't stop fiddling just because wifey told you to stop fiddling. Fiddle. Fiddle on, young fiddler."

Even though the button in my sleeve stayed in tact, I realized for the first time that if our child takes after his/her father, the rest of my life is going to be spent on the verge of a conniption fit. I just don't understand? Why must hubby persist when told to pump his brakes? Why must he be so tactile-oriented, so reluctant to let sleeping dogs lie? I don't think this is a fair penance. I grew up with a special needs brother. I reined in plenty of ADHD tots in my babysitting days. Ones that would wait for their parents' departure and at the sound of the door slamming, would wield a nine iron golf club and crack it right into the newly installed basement door. Awesome.

Have I not paid my dues? Oh that our child could be just like his/her mama. Astute, focused. Useless for anything other than the five paragraph essay.

Showtime

Mr. Loverpants and I redirected funds from the baby's college savings to our entertainment budget on Saturday night. And I have no regrets. We went to see the Brothers Affleck's newest cinematic rendering of Boston life. I have to give them kudos because they always manage, i.e. always as in "Good Will Hunting" and now in "Gone Baby Gone" to capture some mannerism native to Boston that I had not otherwise been able to articulate. In "GBG," the mother of the missing daughter lives a very low class, self-indulgent life but she punctuates every sentence with, "Gawd fah-bid," or "Gawd buh-less them" which is so!! familiar to me!! after 2 years of service to East Boston, where every other person you meet is an Italian-American who wants to be a gangster and wears a giant golden crucifix on a chain and doesn't ever appreciate the irony. Oh sweet sanctimony. How rich are your fibers in Beantown.

The only aspect of the film that caused some cognitive dissonance is the fact that the film is set in my 'hood, Dorchester, the finest ghetto of Boston, where the Vietnamese per capita is noticeably higher than elsewhere in the city. And yet, as the review from Slate notes, the Brothers Affleck managed to completely evacuate little Vietnam from the film set. What the?

I highly recommend this flick, even if you don't live in Dorchester and didn't work for the City of Boston for 2 years and don't have any fascination with Casey Affleck's clear complexion.

I also recommend texting your friend Balger to tell him that you're going to see "Gone Baby Gone" and enjoying the laugh later when he tells you that he thought that was some chi chi baby shop that you were venturing to on your hot little Saturday night. HA!

Also, I saw a preview for "Atonement," based on Ian McEwan's master work. I recommend that you get hip to that book right now because the film version looks to be quite faithful to the novel, and there's nothing better than being a smug literati who cries in a muted theatre voice, "That's not how it ended in the book!"