"A Start" by J

So I never ever wanted kids. And to be honest I never really thought I'd get married. Then there's my good friend Z. When we were at university (too many years ago now to even think about counting) his girlfriend was late one month, but what would scare most ordinary red blooded twenty-something males senseless didn't phase him one bit. "If she's pregnant then we'll get married and start to have kids...we're gonna one day anyway" was his attitude.

So let us recap this short but very crucial first paragraph. I didn't want kids. Z did.

These days we're in our mid to late thirties and I have been very happily married for ten years (I met a wicked girl who didn't want kids either -- perfect!) and I have an 18 month old son (luckily we both changed our minds at about the same time -- superb!) who I always adore and almost always enjoy. Meanwhile Z has now been married nearly a year (not to the late girl, who did get her period eventually -- I know you were wondering) but seems to have no plans for children, and is still living a pseudo-single lifestyle.

"How can this be?" I have asked myself. So far no answer. Just some thoughts on the subject.

It isn't that I'm jealous of Z for having more free time. OK. It is that I'm jealous of Z for having more free time. And it isn't that I feel Z is missing out on one of life's greatest joys by putting off procreating possibly until it is too late. OK. It is this too. I guess the point I am trying to make is that I am, by definition of my human condition, a surplus of conflicting emotions about fatherhood. With its universe of delights and its never ending responsibilities it is impossible not to feel at odds with oneself. I can at once be more than a little displeased that I am unable to drink beer and watch the hockey game, and completely overjoyed by my son screaming "BAAAAAATH" at the top of his lungs when it is -- can you guess? -- bath time. You see this is one of about only 20 words he knows at the moment but it is how intensely expressive he is with it that puts me in stitches!

So when Z calls me during this busy dinner/bed/bath time of night, and he is perhaps a little tipsy or at the very least a bit merry, and he carries on about how on Saturday he stayed up until 3am, and on Sunday he woke up at 1pm to watch movies and sports for the rest of the day, it is from this conflicted state that I listen and react to him. Especially considering that because of the time difference between where Z and I live these days it is 9pm where he is during these calls, but what I know and he doesn't, is that by 9pm where I am, MY bedtime is usually looming large.

I don't think my life is better than Z's because fatherhood seems full of more meaningful undertakings. Nor do I think his life is superior because of the countless freedoms he enjoys. What I truly feel, in that strange calm sort of way that comes from knowing you're in this for the long haul, is both.