In 2008 I found out I was going to be a dad and ...

In December of 2008, I went public with the fact I was about to be a dad. I have to say, I got a bit dusty rereading just now. And for the record: Eight years old, and it was tequila, and he hated it.

Holy crap, I’m going to be a dad. That’s right folks. This guy is going to be a father. Kelly is some 21 weeks in, we’re looking at a mid-April birthdate, and the little bugger is a boy. We’ve already got a name picked out!

Holy crap I’m going to be a dad.

Of course, I realize this impending fatherhood business is going to change my lifestyle around a little bit. For instance, I probably won’t be spending 10 straight hours watching football on Sundays anymore, and I suppose my days glue-sniffing while hang-gliding over the Himalayas is probably no longer viable, and yep, I can kiss those cocaine-and-hooker-fueled all-week math competitions goodbye. Won’t have the time. Gonna have me a son.

Holy crap, I’m going to be a dad.

This whole kid thing wasn’t exactly a surprise, as Kelly and I pretty much stopped not trying to have a kid. We kind of threw caution to the stork, and whatever happened, happened. And lo and behold! It happened.

Holy crap I’m going to be a dad.

And my child is going to be a boy. We went for the ultrasound, and we wanted to know. Kelly likes knowing things. Like what color to paint the baby’s room.

Holy crap, I’m going to be a dad.

A boy. Just like me! I can’t wait to play catch with him, can’t wait to play action figures, can’t wait to teach how to properly sip a bourbon ... oh, I hope he doesn’t grow up too fast. How old before the first bourbon? Five? Six? I have no idea. I’ve never been a father before.

Holy crap I’m going to be a dad.

You know what else I’ve never done before? Changed a diaper. Woke up at 3 a.m. to feed someone. Been, you know, a father figure. Kelly keeps telling me not to worry; it’s not that I’m worried, I just don’t want to screw this up. I think my best plan is to play lieutenant to Kelly’s colonel and let her tell me what to do. (Does the lieutenant work under the colonel? I have no idea. What if my son asks me? See how hard this could be?)

Holy crap, I’m going to be a dad.

Of course, all this anxiety will probably dissolve once, you know, action is demanded. Kind of hard to worry about something when you’re in the middle of it. But I do worry about one thing above all else -- I want to be good at this. I desperately want to be good at this. I want to be a good dad, I want to be able to point the kid in the right direction, all the time. I want to be as good a dad to my son as my dad was, and is, to me. Maybe I should call him.

Holy crap, I’m going to be a dad.

Well, I called him. He said he had no idea what he was doing, either. That is incredibly reassuring, and I’m not even kidding.

Holy crap, I’m going to be a dad.

I couldn’t be more excited, for the record. There’s been times in the last few months when I would think about this, think about how we’re going to have a kid, and it seemed kind of unreal and hyperreal at the same time. I can only imagine what I’m going to feel when I hold him for the first time. There won’t be a dry eye in the house.

I’m going to be a dad. Damn straight.

Read Jeff Edelstein every Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. He can be reached at jedelstein@trentonian.com, facebook.com/jeffreyedelstein and @jeffedelstein on Twitter.