Meet my wife

I got married Monday. I've known for a long time I was gonna marry this girl. I might've known it when I got that first email from her, she wrote so well. Or to be real honest maybe I've known it since the day after, when I asked her out, face unseen ('cause of the writing), after which she sent me a picture, a picture of her and the Crackmeista still in his diapers. I looked at that picture like a million times and wondered if she looked as good in motion as she did all still and quiet on that dirty little printout in my back pocket. 'Cause brother, she was beautiful. I never told her how many times I looked at that picture, but I looked at it lots and wondered if she was as funny n person as she was on paper. When I first saw her in the flesh she was in a bad spot. Recently bullied by an illiterate with a modestly sized penis and an even smaller ego who wanted to take that out on his woman. I saw myself in her, the face of a person bent over, the yoke heavy on the back, who was going to stagger and stand and run and survive, dammit. A fellow cockroach, if you will, and I mean that in the best survival-after-the-blast sort of way. And when she spoke I saw myself there as well, a convivial raconteur, a person with a twinkle in her eye and a story on a pair of lips I wanted to kiss. And talk we did, long into the night, a school night, soaking ourselves in wine and the thrill of a such a friendship and the wonder of what was to come.

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You're a girl!

We just found out you're a girl. We just walked out of the ultrasound room and are waiting in the lobby for the doctor.

I'm so happy. I have two boys and two girls, and mommy has a boy and a girl. Symmetry.

I could not contain myself. No waiting for me. I was popping with excitement and still am.

I just texted your older siblings and told them. I posted a picture of you -- just taken -- on Facebook under the caption: "It's a girl!"

You're a girl.

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Hey kid: is it dolls or guns?

Hi, baby. Tomorrow we find out if you're girl or boy. I don't care. I'll love you either or. About your older siblings people ask: Who do you love most? None! I say. And how could they ask? Love them all the same. So offensive that any would think that I'd take love from one and heap it on another. No way, and I'll love you just as much as I love them, and lord ... if you knew me you'd know that's a lot. So much that you'll puke, probably on my suit, most likely as I dance you to my CD of the day. With the boys it was The Raw and the Cooked. With the girl it was Harvest Moon. With you, who knows. Whether boy or girl I'll dance you, dance you 'till you puke.
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Math for old dads

My dad had me when he was 22. His dad had him when he was 41. My dad always talks about how old his father was. Indeed he'd be 111 if he were alive now. Maybe that's why I at 47 have been doing all kinds of math since I got the big news.

I'll be 65 when the baby goes to college. When the baby is my age I'll be 94. If I live to be 100 the baby will be 53. The baby will be 21 years younger than my twin sons, and 17 or 18 years younger than my daughter (the baby is due to be born the month my daughter was born).

I had my twin sons when I was 26, and my daughter when I was 29. Hence I was almost always the youngest parent when I went to their school events. This time I'll be one of the oldest.

If my sons have babies when they are 26 (my age when I had them), my new baby will be just five years older than theirs. Our babies could go to the same elementary school. At the same time. What would they call my baby? Uncle or Auntie?

The people who don't know how old I am think nothing of my having a baby. Some who do know my age are having fun giving me a hard time. At my 25th college reunion last month my friend Peter said, "You'll be 69 when your baby graduates from college!"

"So will you," I said, feeling a bit heated.

And that's the thing. Having a baby doesn't make me any older. It just makes me think about being older.

Mandy and some others say that having a baby will keep me young. I think it will, provided I stop it with the math.

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Baby

So your mom and I are having a baby, and it's you. It's not like we just found out. We found out over a month ago. At first I was having what my shrink calls a "panic attack." Mandy -- that's your mom -- came downstairs with the pregger stick and it said "pregnant." No subtlety like in the old days when you could say: "Holy, does pink mean baby or no baby?" Now adays it just spells it out for you: "You got a baby inside you." I looked at that stick and my face turned red and my heart pounded out of my chest and I could not decide whether to stand or sit or lie down. Your mom looked at me and felt bad that I wasn't shouting for joy.

And at night I moaned. Mandy said I moaned all through the night. Just moaned and moaned, and in the morning I felt like I'd spent the night tossing and turning on a bed of cold rocks.

Mainly I was scared that your older siblings would feel like you were replacing them. I was the oldest of 8 kids and that's how I felt every time your grandma popped out another kid. I didn't want them to feel that way.

So since then I've told the kids about you. Your big brothers are excited, your big sister not so much. But when she sees you she'll love you, how could she not.

And since then I've asked your mommy to marry me. I was planning on doing that after your sister went off to college in 10 months, but god said, "No, do it now," and so I did. And your mommy said yes. We're looking at Die-ah-monds!, as they say on the commercials, and I'm getting the house ready, or trying to.

You're wanted. Stay safe in there. Suck up them groceries. And get strong.

Your dad,

Dirty, Dirty Jesus

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