The word is out. The wife and I decided there was too much happiness here for just the two of us, so we figured the next logical step was to have us a critter.

(“We’re set to pop here, honey.”)

What I didn’t count on was the endless, endless supply of advice and parenting instructions we would be given. Some of it’s good, some of it’s ridiculous, and the only thing that can be depended on is that it will never, ever end.

You know how if you buy a certain type of car, you suddenly start seeing that car everywhere? The make and model are now on your radar, so it stands out more immediately when it enters your peripheral? The same thing is now happening to me with kids. All things kids: kids shows, kid shoes, kid shapes, and kid sizes. Anything about a kid, I notice and file away. That’s how a 2 year old talks… that’s the approximate size at 3 months…. it’s something I realize I’ve done my whole life, but never at this rate of frequency. Clearly, the game has been upped.

So it has all around me. Everyone is coming out of the woodworks to offer up some sort of tip, observation, or cautionary tale. It’s interesting to see how many people who know me actually see me as some sort of party animal dipshit, just some fratboy who can barely dress himself. A skinny Bluto Blutarsky who will end up working in a gas station. First of all, I was NEVER in a Frat. Secondly, you see me in party surroundings and I act accordingly. This does not mean that I’m going to trade my baby for a 12 pack of Schlitz, as some would suggest.

(See? The kid can’t even reach it. It’s called “being responsible.”)

Breast feeding is a big topic of conversation now. At any given time, my wife’s breasts will suddenly become the current issue of discussion, with the location ranging from the grocery store to a work environment. Also, her hips. Strangers, friends, co-workers, cousins, and most frighteningly, her parents, start discussing my wife’s body right to me. I DO NOT have an interest in discussing the changes to a woman’s body during pregnancy with her father, or my father, or frankly, anyone who is a father. If it weren’t for this baby offering some sort of safety net on the subject, these fellas would all be searching the pavement for their bloody teeth. She may be pregnant, but she’s still my wife. Show some respect. And DON’T just go grabbing for the stomach. Seriously, I will really hurt you.

It’s fascinating how people react to the news that I’m going to be a dad. A few of my friends actually forgot. When I blogged yesterday, in came the shocked texts from people I had already told. Now, I don’t mean to say that I need to be the first and foremost thought on everyone’s minds at all times (though I should be), but I would hope that news like, “my wife and I are having a baby” would somewhat seep into their brains. In one case, I got a complete do-over for the conversation, like it was Groundhog’s Day. Those who do remember tend to act like I’m the one not getting it, like my shock is not at an acceptable level. They talk to me as if I equate this to getting a turtle. “It’s a lot of responsibility, Tucker.” No shit! Really? A human child takes responsibility? Get outta town! I’m glad you occasionally remember that we’re having a kid, and decide to spout off an uppity little reminder to me. It tends to slip my mind, even though I’m living with a pregnant woman.

(There’s a crisis every 5 seconds, everyday. This is my life now.)

Maybe in Chicago it’s different, but out here in Los Angeles, nobody has kids. You don’t even see kids on the streets. They must exist, since I live a mere 2 blocks from a grammar school, but I never see them. There’s no bike riding, no shouts or giggles in the distance, and no school buses causing traffic delays. Where are the children of Los Angeles? I see some babies, but everyone else is 22 and up, so it makes sense then that most people look at my news as something totally out of left field and unexpected. Even the Redhead and I had an initial moment where we felt it was like a teen pregnancy. What are we gonna do? What will our parents say?! The fact is that we’ve been married for almost 4 years. This really isn’t a shock, nor is it necessarily unplanned.

Yet everybody tells me about child custody law. I’m “on the hook” for the rest of my life, they tell me. I’m the one that will give the kid issues and complexes, and how they’ll hate me from 10 years old and up. This isn’t some cocktail waitress I knocked up at Hollywood Billiards who’s calling me weeks later with “news” while I struggle to remember her face. This isn’t some “just having fun” situation that suddenly got real. This is my child, with my wife. Yes, I understand I’ll have to pay for stuff. I’m really not sweating the day I have to skip going to the Horsetrack with Meathead and the gang because little Johnny needs a measles shot. I think it’s the fact that so often people think about having a kid under duress, or under stressful conditions. If I were a single guy watching Spike TV on my couch then yes, the thought of a child that looks like me showing up in just under a year would be pretty scary. It would leave me feeling a little trapped and tricked into becoming someone I didn’t yet choose to be. This is not what my situation is.

I don’t mean to sound bitter. Honestly, none of this matters. While I’ve never not felt like an adult, even when I was a kid, I’m definitely feeling more “adultish” now. You can waste a lot of time in life worrying about other people’s opinions, and I plan to waste even less worrying about their views on me as a dad. From here on out, I can expect people in line at the bank to tell me how they would parent my kid. I can expect unsolicited orders from strangers on the street because everybody knows better than me, apparently. Well, screw ‘em. I could say that they’ll see the error in their view eventually, but even that suggests that I’m actually interested in them enough to prove them wrong. I’m not.

We’re gonna be just fine.