Angie's cousin Eddie and his wife Julie had a baby girl last weekend. And yes, I'm well aware of the fact it's absolutely hilarious that Ang has a cousin named Eddie. Trust me, the Vacation jokes are endless and every time I see him I'm tempted to yell out "Hey Clark! The s******s full!", but somehow I keep myself composed.
Anyway, they had a beautiful little girl named Sage and I took some food over to them before church this morning. See, down South we believe the answer to everything is food. New baby? Food. Somebody died? Cook 'em a meal. Your neighbor Ms. Gunderson had a bunion removed? Take her a pie.
I firmly believe Southerners believe the fix for all the worlds incurable diseases won't come from science or medicine, but from a pot roast, homemade biscuits and strawberry shortcake. These people take cooking for others to an Aunt Bea in Mayberry level.
I'm getting off track; as soon as I hit the front door, Eddie, completely disheveled and looking like an extra from "The Night of the Living Dead" tells me this: "I have NO idea how you guys deal with 3 kids". Turns out the lack of sleep, constant crying, and general feeling of helplessness had finally caught up with him.
I was thinking of telling him this was just the beginning; wait until she's 2 1/2 years old, it's 3 a.m. and you are sitting in the ER waiting for her to get an IV because she's got a rotovirus. Compound that with the fact the only Doctor on call is having to deal with some stupid drunk who got in a bar fight, and the fact your baby girl is hurting so bad is causing you to have visions of giving this drunk an enema with a bed pan.
Or I could tell him how helpless you feel as you watch her fly down the driveway on a scooter, knowing she's going to wipe out but you can't stop it. He'd never believe how fast you can run to get to her crumpled little body and tell her she'll be OK, even though her legs and arms look like she ran a cheese grader over them.
Maybe I should have warned him about the first time she says "I love you, Daddy" or that from now on whenever he hears that God awful "Butterfly Kisses" song he'll turn into a blithering idiot. He should be ready for the first time she mentions a boy in non-disgusted way or goes to her first dance. Plus, he may need to get his legs ready to hop the fence like Carl Lewis when that softball that should have landed in her glove hits her mouth with a sickening thud and the question isn't whether any teeth were busted, but how many.
I guess I should have told him to take it all in and treasure every second, because before you know it she'll be 9 going on 25 and he'll wonder where in God's name did the time go. How did that sweet, innocent little baby turn into a girl on the edge of becoming a teenager?
But I didn't say anything. I just watched that new Dad hold his brand new little girl and look at her in a way only a Dad could understand.
I figure he'll find out all about that other stuff on his own.