Forty-eight from now, we’ll be in 2011. That’s a tiny bit scary given how fast 2010 went by. Becoming a father is probably part of that little time trick: first, the shock of learning you have impregnated your girlfriend (there’s something which comes before that however, but the “oh, it actually works” feeling is rather quick to die out in front of the moment’s pièce de résistance), second, the questions – left without answers, the discussions, the sleepless moments, the secret, which all lead to the Decision – after enough time has been spent on the above, but not too much, third, you are left in the blue for nine months were obviously all the advice you heard at some time is worth crap since every girl is different and there is no instructions manual for what’s going on in her brains especially right now.
Then comes the D-day, usually unexpectedly as well, and that’s when you actually start to realize what is happening. For a while, you are still in robot mode: going to the hospital each day, going home to barely sleep and doing it all over again the next day. And then, something magical happens: you leave the hospital, not only with your lover, but with your baby. You come back home, and that’s it, you’re not two anymore but three, you are a family.
From now on, even if you are going to lack sleep, even if you are not going to enjoy slacking in bed for a while, even if traveling around the world will offer some logistics issues, even if family celebrations are bound to become a nightmare, even if you will stop going clubbing until 3am every day (or you’ll die tryin’), from now on, you became a proud parent. I became a proud father.


