Dream a Little Dream

I had a horrible dream last night that I died never seeing my unborn child. Like, how fucked up would that be if they never let me talk to him? Or say goodnight to him. Or take him camping and teach him how to fish. I would so teach him fishing. We'd wear those fishing uniforms...matching ones of course...with the hooks and the fuzzy things and the beige hat and shorts...and he'd have this cute little fishing rod, maybe with a cool design on it or flames or something, I don't really give a fuck, as long as it's kid sized. And we'd sit side by side and try to catch fish and we'd talk and laugh and get all excited when he would reel in his first fish even though it would most likely be an empty can of beans or some other piece of garbage. Possibly a body part. So, we'd throw it back. But we'd throw it back together. And then we'd laugh some more because that's what father's and sons do. Or daughter. I'd be cool with a daughter. But for now, this sequence involves a son. So, then, we'd go home and I'd cook fish for him that I bought at the store and we'd act like it was a piece we had caught. And then I'd go smoke a cigarette and hide it from him, one of the many things I will end up hiding from him. And then we'd sit on the couch and watch a movie and I'd put my arm around him and he'd fall asleep so gently, I would pick him up and put him to bed and kiss him on the forehead and say, "I love you MY son." I scream that last part. Every time. Just so he knows. He knows that he is in fact my son. And he looks at me and goes, "I love you real dad." And then falls asleep. Just one day at a time.

Just one day at a time.

The Nursery

I went shopping yesterday for a crib. Is that wrong? I mean, they do come to visit sometimes because Tara's best friend lives here and I figure, maybe they'll bring my kid with them and he can stay with me. In the crib. And I can rock him to sleep. And sing him songs. Like my mom never sung me because she was too busy dealing with my younger brother's bed wetting problems. But yeah, so, the crib I'm looking at is kind of expensive but fucking worth it I feel because, you know, it's like my first kid and shit. I really wish I knew what sex it was so I could go ahead and buy sheets and other decorations for the nursery. That's what it's called now. The second bedroom. It's the nursery. I don't store things in there anymore. So, my apartment is kind of a mess with shit everywhere and I could really use that second bedroom, but I want what's best for my kid. I need to get a mobile, too. One with lights. That will be so rad.

God, I just love it so much already.

Sad Morning

I just saw a kid on the street and started to cry. I miss my unborn child so much already. I wish I could be there when it's born. But Jon is adamantly against me having anything to do with it. Even being its Godfather, which is kind of messed up that he won't let me since I am in fact that babies father. And I think this blog is annoying Jon too because he texted me last night by saying "your blog is annoying me. Take it down." But I'm not going to because it's the only release I get. I'm thinking of transforming my second bedroom into a baby room. You know...just in case.

So Messed Up

WHAT THE F! I bought baby clothes and sent them to Tara but she sent them back. Well, she didn't. Jon did. With a really nasty note that said "Stay away from MY kid." Psshh. Yeah, right. Whatever. I don't care. I don't care what he thinks. Just because he's my best friend and I was the best man at his wedding and now his wife is about to give birth to my child, doesn't mean I should feel bad. Fucking circle of life, dude. Deal with it. Anyway, the clothes were awesome. I bought like gender neutral shit because I don't know the goddamn sex of the kid but I think the kid will really like them. Would have liked them. Now he/she won't know about the sailor outfit that it could have been modeling for its new friends at the playground. Or the raincoat made of feathers. Feathers are neutral, right? And the socks with Hebrew lettering, since Tara is kind of Jewish, which counts in the eyes of God and I'm full Jew. So yeah, get ready for one Jewish looking kid, Jon. Maybe that will give something away that your pale skin doesn't match his dark features and curly locks. Anyway, that would have been cool to see pictures of my kid wearing the clothes I got it. It's hard to be me right now.

Name

I wonder what I'll name it? Well, if I had a choice. I don't. They'll name it. Most likely after one of their family members or friends or someone from Alkaline Trio. But that's not fair because I don't want it to be called Matt Skiba Moore. Whatever. It's just cool that I'm going to have a kid even if it won't be recognized as mine. It will still have my eyes. And my smile. I hope it doesn't have my nose. That would be awful for him. Or her. OH! What will it be. They won't tell me. Sometimes she acts like it's not mine. Which is so totally stupid because it is. I mean, she even called me right after she found out and was like, oh shit, it's yours. And I'm like, oh shit what is mine? And she's like, the baby. And I'm like what do we do? And she's all, act like it's Jon's. So whatever. If it makes her happy and him happy and the baby happy, I'm all for it. Whatever's best for the baby. I'll know it's mine.

I'll know it's mine.

I Can't Wait.

Tara is pregnant with my child. It's not Jon Moore's. This blog will give daily or weekly updates on the progression my kid is making in my best friend's wife's stomach. As soon as I receive pictures, which I'm betting is never because they are both denying that kid is mine even though I know damn well that it is, I will post them. For now, just imagine a large gooey object that you can barely make out, surrounded by triangles of yellow and black. Because that's what all sonograms look like. Ok, have to go. But am so excited about my unborn child.