…for the third time

Brian Barth 

August 6th, 2009 was the day I became a father for the third time. Nine months earlier I was sitting in the basement with my son watching Sponge Bob Square Pants for the fifth time, when my wife screeched my name. I leapt from the couch knocking my son off the cushion in a mad dash to find where she was and to see what happened. Sprinting upstairs from the basement, I grabbed a few provisions such as towels, band-aids, and the phone, just in case. I reached the first level and couldn’t find her. Then I took off again for the top floor. Thinking the worst, my finger was ready to dial 911.  I entered the bedroom and found her on the floor and crying. I ran over and asked "what’s the matter? Are you hurt? Where’s the blood? Did you break something?" She looked up, tears rolling down her face, with a smile. I had a feeling in the back of my mind that this was a cruel joke. Her arm stretched to my face, she stuck a plastic object near the tip of my nose and said "we’re pregnant."  

If you know anything about me, I lean towards being a worrier, and germ-a-phobe. So the thought of that contraption nearly touching my face made me weak at the knees. I quickly knelt down. My wife thought I was trying to be closer to her, luckily she didn’t realize I was about to pass out from the thought of that stick so close to me. She was waiting for me to say something. All I could muster was, "we’re pregnant? Are you sure?" This apparently wasn’t the response she was hoping for. This meant I was in for a long night. "Aren’t you happy?" she asked. I quickly replied that I was thrilled.  "Why don’t you seem happy?" I finally had to ask that she move that pregnancy test to a safer spot, preferably far away from my face.  

After the flood of emotions at the discovery that we were going to have another child, my mind went into overdrive. How am I going to pay for college? When should I start a college fund? I sounded like a Morgan Stanley commercial. My wife was still on the floor, listening to me talk out loud.  She said, "let’s worry about this in nine months." Not wanting to make my situation worse from my earlier question I decided to address this topic later. 

Now my wife, on her feet, grabbed the phone from my hand and tried to start calling everyone she knew. I immediately snatched the phone from her and said that we should at least tell the other two kids first and then wait till you have your first doctor’s visit.  It should be official before you go telling the world you are pregnant.  She agreed.  

We both walked downstairs to find the two kids in the kitchen eating something they made. When I saw them I thought, "I’m sure I’ll have to clean that mess up when they are through." That’s a story for a different day. The two saw that mom had been crying. They both asked at the same time, what is the matter? Are we in trouble? No, no, I am happy she said. With a grin from ear-to-ear she told them we are going to have a baby. The both stopped what they were doing, ran over to her and squeezed her waist. Right then I knew everything was going to work out just fine. 

Editor’s Note: Brookfield resident Brian Barth is not only a father again, but lays out the paper you hold n our hands.  Brian has agreed to authoring a column on the humorous side of fatherhood.