Monthly Archives: January 2012

Paternity Blues


I always thought that I would be an inspiring life changing person that people will mention my virtues within their gatherings, feel pride that they know me, and novels and films will be made about my life after my demise.

Nearly 30 (not just yet) it seems I am very far off that track.

For 50 days my wife and I waited for our daughter to arrive. We were in foreign country and I had taken time off work waiting for our bundle of joy to arrive. We would spend our days touring but after a while it became repetitive, and movement with a eight and a half month pregnant woman seemed challenging, so we would go to the movies, eat out at times; but otherwise we’d sit around the apartment and I would read. There were at least half a dozen maternity books that my wife had bought, and so out of boredom and out of interest in my new coming child, I read them all.

I knew nearly every trick in the book, or the 6 odd books I read at least, about pregnancy and child care. Whenever my wife would sit amongst her pregnant friends or new mothers (post partom) I found myself engaging in the conversation. I would start every sentence with “the book says.” That lead to me being mocked by my friends and family by asking me, “what does the book say?”

Of course there were people that thought everything written in books about the topic was a waste of time for the writer and the reader since their grandmothers went through a delivery and raising children without reading the book, and the cat delivers without having read a book.

I was as good as a certified midwife Read the rest of this entry


Pessimism and Shit


I try to be optimistic in the coming of every new year, but that whiff of optimism probably lasts as long as the count down to midnight. I tend to be relatively pessimistic. Not in the sense that I see the glass half empty, but in  the sense that I expect the worse to happen, and more often than not my expectation is incorrect.

I don’t know if it has anything to do with my upbringing, maybe the socio-political scene that I grew up around didn’t help. I imagine growing up in the region between ’48 and ’82 would take a toll on you.

I remember my grandma would always be angry. Her husband died leaving her with 9 kids ranging from 30 to 6 years old, and without a nanny (a different story altogether) probably was a reason why she was always angry and pessimistic.

The way I explain it, this pessimism has got to do with an interesting characteristic that she had; one that links everything to Shit. I would ask my grandma how she was doing, and she would say Shit! I was once having a casual conversation with my cousins on Read the rest of this entry