Everyone's Excited. I'm Excited, Too, I Swear.

Somewhere along the line, I became a worrier. I can trace it back to the end of my sophomore year of college; I distinctly remember worrying about my living situation and a feeling of impending dread and homelessness as I was unable to fill all of the rooms in my group house. Despite all of my sky-is-falling feelings, the house was filled, and life moved on. But I think that's the first time I really started to sweat some small stuff.

I don't worry about everything, there's probably a few things I should worry about more. But from time to time, there are things that get me worrying, get me stressed, and hinders my ability to truly revel in a situation. Take that group house in College Park. For all the worry and stress I put into that situation, I probably could've salvaged a few free afternoons and evenings where I could've been doing something much more -- or much less -- productive.

That pattern of worry and internal stress has repeated a few times over the years, and I have to admit, I'm going through it again. Now, all of the Daddy Books I've read have chapters devoted to this. It is only natural that an expectant father's thoughts turn to providing for his wife and child during this time. It is only natural to feel anxious about this life-changing event. But sometimes, it's mentally paralyzing.

Let me state this first: I know, am absolutely certain, that everything is going to work out. I'm a fairly smart guy, with decent common sense. I make a decent living and somehow managed to snag myself a beautiful and brilliant wife who brims with logic and common sense and also makes a decent living. I know that everything (what an encompassing word) will be fine. But that doesn't ease the worry. Three months from tomorrow, a baby girl will be looking to me and my wife to provide her with everything. It's scary.

While I didn't invent the phrase "mental paralysis" that I used above, I think I've begun to typify it during this pregnancy. Mental paralysis is, simply, a brain fart. It's being temporarily unable to make a basic or simple decision. Often, it's triggered by numerous choices or a seemingly large task. Becoming a father falls into the latter category, but the former is present, too.

Between all the books to read (some I have, some I haven't), between all of the products that need to be researched and purchased (which stroller is best for my lifestyle and safest for my child), and between all of the random questions that pop up (how do I change a diaper), I've managed to combine mental paralysis with the worry and internal stress. A fine cocktail, indeed.

While I am sure that everyone is interested in my internal strife, what has become a problem is how this is affecting me externally (speaking of, maybe that's to blame for the big zit between my eyes, too). The worry, the doubt, the questions, the stress, they all counterbalance the excitement. And that's bad inside and out.

I had a difficult time separating the joy of my first home purchase with the weight of responsibility (and the size) of my first mortgage. I really think that worry and stress kept me from fully enjoying the experience. That dichotomy's back and, as the saying goes, it's bigger than ever. Which means that I have a hard time keeping the worry and stress out of sight any longer.

My poor wife. I'm sure she thinks I'm more excited about the mundane (baseball scores, finding a penny) than our child. The truth is that I have a tough time thinking about my daughter without it turning into a Mr. Subliminal sketch. I can't wait for my daughter to be born (hospital bills), it's a day that my wife and I will cherish. I can't wait for the first time I see her (please be cute, but not too cute), touch her (are all her digits accounted for?) and even hear her cry (oh god, what does she want?). The wonders don't stop after the first few months, in time, I'll watch her learn to smile (she'll need braces for sure), laugh (just not like Janice from "Friends" ok?), sit up (straight at the dinner table, Miss), roll over (gymnastics lessons at 6 am? Get in the car), talk (and talk back), and learn (better get a second mortgage for college).

It's both fun and funny to watch my girl's future grandparents. They are so excited about the birth, so much looking forward to their grandchild. It's fun because I love to see my mother and in-laws this happy, having a grandchild must be one of the more fulfilling experiences. And it's funny because I know that they are enjoying it so much because they've worried enough about us, so now they can relax.

The worry and the stress crept in early during the pregnancy, but I hadn't succumbed to it until recently. I've got three months to go. I don't want the worry, the stress, the fears to block the joy of the coming twelve weeks, but it might be too late. I am excited and anxious about becoming a parent. It is something I've known I wanted to be for a long time and it's finally going to happen. It just might not be readily apparent on my face, or in my words, or even in some of my actions from time to time. Usually within 15 minutes or so of me checking my bank account.

I'm self-aware enough to understand this is happening, and I'm optimistic enough to think it will pass. I'm smart enough to know I should probably smack myself around and get over it. But I'm enough of a realist to know that I won't get over it, at least not on my own. I won't get over it until not one, but two sets of eyes are looking at me. The two women that I love more than anything else in the world, looking at me, smiling (or defiantly sleeping with eyes pressed shut). Knowing, between the three of us, that everything will work out. Knowing that life, love, and family relationships aren't always easy, but always worth the effort. And to those women, I hope they know how truly exciting, blessed, and special this time is for me. And, I hope they know I worry a bit, but it doesn't mean I care any less.