The joys of fatherhood

Being Frank, by Frank Ameduri

A dear friend of mine recently told me he was going to be a father for the first time. He was excited, as fathers-to-be often are, and I detected something in his eyes that I hadn't seen there before. I recognized it right away, because I had that look in my eyes about 17 years ago when l learned my wife was pregnant with our first child. It was the distant glimmer of proud papa-hood. I remember it well.

When we learned we were pregnant, I immediately knew I wanted the first baby to be a boy. I know that sounds sexist and shallow. When you ask pregnant couples what they're hoping for these days, they'll usually say something like, "Oh, it really doesn't matter, as long as it's healthy." I don't buy it. The first time I wanted a boy -- someone to play catch with, to go fishing with, to coach in Little League and YAFL Football, and someone who would buy me a new house and a giant truck after he signed his first major league contract.

The second time around I wanted a girl -- someone to go for long walks with, someone to share ice-cream cones with, someone to coach in soccer and softball, and someone who could buy me a vacation home and a sports car when she sold her first novel. It worked out just right for us, a boy and a girl.

The thing is, I spent the entire first pregnancy with that far-away glimmer in my eyes. Here's what I was seeing in my mind behind the glimmer. It mostly came in little snapshots of things I'd do with the little feller.

The first image was usually of me tossing a little guy up in the air, him laughing, hair flying up with each toss. Another image was of me standing at the top step of a dugout, signaling my boy to choke up on the bat a little, and then watching him belt one into the gap for a double. There were hundreds of little pictures like that. I know that's what my friend is thinking about behind the glimmer, too. Here's a few interesting pieces of information for him … and for other young fathers-to-be.

Newborn babies are not equipped for being tossed in the air. Most of them are born with necks like Slinkies, and their heads wobble all over the place. A fair number of them also have trouble holding down breast milk or formula, and none of them can handle a hotwing. If you move a newborn around any faster than you'd move an over-full cup of hot coffee, it will puke. If you throw the baby in the air, its head will do all sorts of alarming things, its mother will shriek words she wouldn't normally whisper, the baby will puke, and you will not be allowed to touch the baby again until it is 12 years old.

Babies are born at the age of zero. Even though your second vision has something to do with baseball, football, hockey or basketball, even the most gifted athlete is not roster-ready at zero. Even worse, some kids don't like baseball, football or basketball -- some of them don't even like high places or bugs. There's no telling what sort of kid you'll have, and you can't change it, no matter how much of a jerk you are. The best you can do is wait to see what kind of kid you have, and enjoy the things he or she enjoys. It turns out that's easier than it sounds.

I'm no expert, but that doesn't mean I can't give advice. In fact, most of the people who give lots of advice about child rearing are idiots -- for that, I'm qualified. Here's just a few bits of advice from someone who's been there.

Babies are tougher than you think. While they shouldn't be tossed around or allowed to work the barbecue grill, they are sort of bendy and bouncy. Don't panic when the umbilical cord falls off, no matter how disgusting it is, and don't start CPR the first time he starts coughing or producing alarming amounts of mucous. He'll do that a lot.

Mom is right -- always. Mothers speak Baby. You don't. When the baby cries, your wife will know what it needs. It will always either need food, changing or to be held. You will never know which one. You should be willing to do an equal share of the changing, feeding and holding, but always ask your wife which one before just diving in.

When it comes to baby food, there are only a few you can eat, even though you'll be tempted to try them all. The banana one is not too bad. Any of the fruit cobblers are fine, except the peach one. The squash will not kill you, but it needs a fair amount of salt. Never eat any of the meat ones, and don't even allow the spinach one to touch your skin. If your baby must eat the spinach one, try to time the ensuing diaper change for your wife's rotation. Trust me on this one.

If you have a boy, it's advisable to wear safety goggles and a shower cap the first few times you change him; also the first few times you bathe him.

You are not ready to have a baby. That's OK. Nobody's ever ready. You'll never have enough money, you'll never know everything you need to know, and you'll never be "at the right spot in your life." Stop worrying and follow your instincts. After all, look how weird your parents are, and you turned out just fine.

He's not smiling at you. He has gas.

No matter what your mother tells you, you'll never get used to that smell. Once the kid starts eating regular food, potty train as soon as possible.

Even though it sounds cool right now, do not name your child after your favorite athlete, musician, actor or ball park. Garciaparra is not a good name for a boy or a girl. ESPiN is not a name.

Here's a list of things you thought you'd never do … but you will: Wipe someone else's puke off your shirt with a napkin dipped in your water glass -- keep wearing the shirt, keep using the napkin and keep drinking the water; learn to sift your drinks through your teeth to strain out the "floaties;" dig a piece of French toast out of your DVD player; read one book 6,513 times; watch every animated film 4,291 times; have a favorite character from "Sponge Bob Square Pants;" brag to your friends about your child's bowel movements; say things like, "Ooodie, boodie, googy-woo" in front of other adults; hit yourself in the head with something hard because it makes the baby giggle, over and over again. There's a bunch more.

Lastly, here's an interesting bit of news. You think you've loved someone about as much as a person can be loved. You haven't yet. When you hold your baby for the first time, you will love someone as much as a human can be loved, and it only gets better. Congratulations.

Frank Ameduri is no expert on parenting -- who is?