Soon-to-Be Fathers Apparently Aren't Supposed to Feel Like I'm Feeling Right Now

When I was 13, I went on my first roller coaster. It was at King's Island Amusement Park in Ohio. I had been there a couple of times before, with my dad and stuff, but I'd never been on a roller coaster. I mean, I went on the "Beastie" but that was in Hanna-Barbara Land, with the kiddie rides and the blue smurf ice cream. It was in a whole different section of the park, worlds away from those giant, hulking metal structures that twisted and turned above you. Sometimes, you'd hear the roar of the cars as they raced over your head. People were always screaming. The sound always freaked me out. People screaming. I didn't like it. It scared me.

So, I had never gone on any of the giant coasters. I was too scared to. It'd been that way for years. All my friends had been on them, but not me. No way.

The reason I was in line was because I didn't want to look like a wuss in front of this girl, Sarah Wujick and her friend Renee. I remember standing in line as it snaked to the front of the Blue Racer, one of the fastest wooden roller coasters in the world. And I can remember what I felt. The fear was so thick, I couldn't think straight. There was this metallic taste in my mouth, like when you touch your tongue to a 9-volt. My knees wouldn't lock.

I remember looking around the line at the people laughing, holding hands. People seemed like they wanted to get on this ride. Getting into that seat, I felt the panic bar (what a terrible name), come over my lap and lock in place. My stomach did this thing. Some people call it butterflies. They say cute things like, "Oh, do you have butterflies in your tummy." It's not like butterflies. It's more like someone is inside, punching you in the gut from the inside. It's not cute at all.

I say this because I'm getting similiar feelings in my stomach. It's in knots. I have been eating Tums like candy.

Here's my to-do list of things to do this week:

1. Clean leaves out of gutters.
2. Mow lawn.
3. Organize desk in den.
4. Become a father.

It's difficult to believe that I'm going to be a father sometime during this week. Not next month. This week. In five or less days. That's mind-blowing to me.

I don't think I've ever had this mixture of anxiety and eagerness. What's the difference between "anxious" and "eager", anyway? I think it's that "eager" is like Christmas morning and "anxious" is like, if someone walks into the room with a gun. So both emotions are coursing through me. Anxiety is winning most of the fights between the two.

It's hard to deal with this stuff, these major life changes. I'm kind of surprised how little people - guys in particular - talk about these things. Like, when I got married, I was pretty scared too. But then I felt guilty for being scared, and I didn't want to talk about it, because I was afraid that I was, you know, the only guy in the history of weddings to have doubts, and get scared. So I just kind of pretended that everything was okay, but it wasn't. I was terrified. I mean, this was forever. What if I got it wrong? What if there was someone out there better? What if I messed up? What if I got into marriage, and it was too much work and wasn't much fun?

But everyone just kept clapping me on the back and saying, "Congratulations, old boy! Aren't you excited." So I figured that must be the attitude that everyone has, so mine must be totally off. So I pretended not to think what I was thinking.

That doesn't work too well.

I have a lot of friends who are dads already, and most of them have done the same thing. They clap me on the back and say things like, "I'm so excited for you. It's going to be awesome!"

Which is good, because I know these men are good men who have said these things to me. And they know better than I how it will turn out. And so their positive attitudes are contagious, in a sense. They help me remember how I should be. They've been on the coaster. They know how cool it is.

But still. That doesn't make the fears go away. One of my students told me that she was at a barbecue like two years ago, and they ran out of drinks, so her cousin got in his car and backed up really quick to go to the store. And somehow, his two-year old son had gotten out of the backyard and saw his dad going to the car and so he followed him. The guy back over his son and killed him.

I had a friend in elementary school named Donny Creekmur. When he was 2, he crawled out of his crib and up on the ledge of the window of his bedroom, which was on the second floor. He fell two stories and landed on his head on the grass below. He had brain damage, and was able to function, and now is a teacher for deaf children in a private school. And he's married and is a great man, with a great heart. But can you imagine being his parents during that day?

This stuff keeps racing in my head so much it's almost paralyzing me. I try to walk around the house and do stuff, fold clothes, iron stuff, clean the car. Anything to keep my mind from concentrating on this, because when I slow down, when I'm quiet, my mind goes to places I can't handle thinking about.

What if I drop the kid?
What if the kid is developmentally really behind?
What if the kid won't stop crying?
I'm pretty selfish. What if I resent the kid for sucking all my free time away?
Does the selfishness just die, or do you have to kill it?
And what if it's hard to make the self-centeredness go away? Or what if I kind of don't want it to go away?
Will I be able to write anything anymore?
Will I have time to create anything, or will I be so tired, I won't even be able to collect my thoughts?
What if I'm giving the baby a bath and it slips out of my hands or something?
What if the kid is really ugly, and everyone knows it, but doesn't say anything because it wouldn't be polite.
What if I lose my friendships because I am so busy with the kid.
What if I lose my sense of humor because of the stress of this?


Am I the first person to ever have these thoughts?

I mean, I'm freaking terrified here, and everyone seems to be smiling, and excited. They clap me on the back and say, "Isn't this exciting!" and I want to yell, "I don't have the slightest clue what the hell I'm doing."

I just want to know that I'm not the only one who's ever been this scared of roller coasters.