Crazy. Like a shit house rat. You want kids? You will need a certain level of crazy that labor pains bring. Yes, dads, her labor pains are your labor pains, too. It’s all your fault anyway… might as well get used to it.
For one, there’s crazy in love that Beyoncé sang about. That kind of love that makes you nervous, give you sweaty palms, makes your heart race, and makes you do stupid things in the name of love. This isn’t the right kind of crazy.
There’s crazy that adrenaline provides. This would include bungee jumping, skydiving, hang gliding, being a helicopter door gunner, and a bomb technician. This isn’t the right kind either.
The right kind of crazy to be a parent comes from within the moment your bundle of joy bursts forth from the womb. That I would walk through hell in a gasoline suit for this creature kind of crazy. I say “creature” because for the first couple months they only look human. The sounds, smells (except for the brief 30 seconds immediately after a bath) and liquids that ooze, squirt or launch from them isn’t human, it’s disgusting.
The right kind of crazy involves the desire to get up 3 times through the night for feedings. It involves stumbling through the day like a zombie, barely awake awake enough to keep yourself from soiling your own pants. It involves going to bed at 9:00 on a Friday night. It involves vast amounts of pee, poop, puke and other volatiles that don’t start with P. It involves proudly wearing clothes that might have spots of said volatiles on them. And this is just the first few months.
Eventually, the crazies change from disgusting liquids to pretend food, pretend phone calls, macaroni necklaces, listening to Frozen on repeat for 6 weeks straight, and plenty of embarrassing things said and done in public (if you have boys, this will involve peeing in inappropriate places). You will have to pretend that they’re singing is the most beautiful thing in the world and the song they’re scratching out on the violin is a masterpiece and not a cat caught in a meat grinder.
And this will last for years and years and years… I’d like to say until they’re 18 and move out. But it could be until they are 25 or 50.
Crazy in love? Most definitely. Crazy adrenaline? Without a doubt. Would I have it any other way? Not by the hairs on my chinny chin chin.