I’ve been a stock boy at a ball-bearing warehouse and a garbage man at Taste of Chicago. I’ve been a dog walker, a beer porter, a dishwasher and a landscaper. I’ve been a truck driver for an electrician shop and a laborer at a liquor distributorship, which entailed little more than smashing bottles of spoiled whiskey into Dumpsters.
In short, my resume doesn’t include the caliber of careers you’d expect from someone who was recently entrusted with the most important job in the world. I got that gig in February 2006, when my boss — Jane — was born. And this Tuesday my associate, Mrs. McNamara, and I will have another child.
More accurately, my wife will undergo a C-section operation, and I will hide on the non-horrific side of the cloth partition while refusing repeated requests from the surgeons to “come down here and take a look, Dad.”
Some things I can’t watch. Others I can’t keep my eyes off, like the June 19 square of my work calendar, where a few months back I scribbled “BABY SCHEDULED.” It’s still odd to see those words alongside reminders for deadlines and meetings. I didn’t bother writing “FORGO SLEEP” in each of the following 30 calendar squares, or “QUESTION THE DECISION TO HAVE TWO CHILDREN WITHIN 16 MONTHS OF EACH OTHER.” Those things will take care of themselves.
Thankfully, my wife and I have a greater pool of knowledge approaching this birth. Consider it on-the-job training. I have a greater understanding of the stages of labor. She can better differentiate between kicks and contractions. But like any working relationship, we have disagreements. I want to wear my wetsuit to bed to protect against unwitting participation in the water breaking. She finds that bizarre and rude.
This second time around, we’ve also learned how to handle friends and relatives’ good-natured interest in our unborn child. We know not to reveal any names we’re seriously considering, lest we hear unsolicited opinions. Lately we’ve been saying that, whether boy or girl, we’re naming it TJ. It normally takes them just a few seconds to realize that, coupled with McNamara, that name sounds like the Dublin outlet of TJ Maxx.
Picking out a name might be the easiest part. Pregnancy, birth and child rearing are most certainly a job. A tough job. But it’s one that can instill the ultimate satisfaction of knowing that, since the first moment of your child’s life, you’ve given everything of yourself to him or her. There is great fulfillment in recognizing that you have the most important duty in the world and you’re performing it — at every moment — to the best of your ability.
It may sound self-satisfied, but this is Father’s Day, so here goes: I couldn’t possibly be a better dad. My wife couldn’t possibly be a better mom. And I’m sure many parents reading this column have the pleasure of feeling the same way.
With the arrival of our second child on Tuesday, my job gets harder. Twice the workload at the same rate of pay — zilch. On call every night, every weekend, every holiday. Another boss screaming at me.
And the funny thing is, I’m looking at it like a promotion.
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q@tribune.com
