Harry Harrison - You Know Youre a Dad: A Book for Dads Who Never Thought Theyd Say Binkies, Blankies, or Curfew

A guy walks into the labor room a man, and then, in one of the most traumatic, intense, life-altering events imaginable, he turns into a father. Instantly. And if this is his first child, his only preparation has been watching his wife read books about babies. So, in other words, he knows just a little more about being a dad than he does about being a potted plant. But in reality, nothing can prepare him for being a father except being a father. The fact is, every day prepares a dad for the next day because every day contains signs that he is a dad. This is a book about recognizing those signs.

You know youre a dad when...

You secretly panic after hearing the news that shes pregnant, then are overcome by feelings of nausea, doom, and the need to hold on to the remote control. This condition can last minutes or through college graduation.

You feel overcome at the third month when you learn your babywho in your mind is a just a cute little blob in your wifes bellyis four inches long and weighs one ounce; has arms, hands, fingers, feet, and toes; and can open and close her fists and mouth and suck her thumb. The circulatory and urinary systems are even working. Shes alive!

You start giving back rubs to your pregnant wife every single night. Foot rubs are not out of the question either.

You realize your wife wants you to show unrestrained joy at the little line on the stick, while you deal with the reality that that line means your future savings just took a $400,000 hit.

She wants to have a deep, meaningful discussion about whether Brook is a boys name or a girls namewith about two minutes to go in a tight game.

You buy your unborn baby a baseball glove while everyone else is buying teething toys and baby mobiles and Binkies, because no matter the sex of your baby, he or she is going to be a shortstop.

You wake up in a cold sweat over the thought of your increased responsibility. This is called delayed onset maturity.

You watch your man cave turn pink because youve been told its now the nursery.

Despite the fact that your wifes doctor has delivered thousands of babies, you wonder if thats quite enough experience.

You never miss one of your wifes appointments with the obgyn, even if it means pushing an important client meeting back.

You tour the maternity ward with your wife and realize your honeymoon hotel wasnt this luxurious.

You spend the time learning what the health insurance will pay. Some births cost a big-screen TV. Some cost a small car.

You are stunned by the cost of baby furniture because you think small furniture means small prices, so really, how expensive could that small stuff be?

Suddenly it seems like those commercials for life insurance are talking directly to you.

You decide only the best crib will do for your babyand then, after pricing out cribs, you wonder just how important a crib really is.

You believe you can put a crib together in an hour, tops, then open the box to find two thousand parts and eight pages of instructions, and then, after six hours, realize youre missing the three most critical pieces.

You finally get the crib together at 6:00 a.m. only to learn you need to spend more money. On a mattress. Actually, on two of them. Not to mention the sheets and a bumper pad, whatever that is.

Even though your baby is the size of a golf ball at the moment, you grasp that this fatherhood thing requires a man, so you sell your old Pokmon card collection to start a college fund.

You know the only way you can be the kind of father God wants you to be is to ask for His help.

You celebrate the fact that shes beginning to show.

You give her the side of the bed near the bathroom because shes scurrying there most of the night.

You stagger out of bed at 2:30 a.m. because she has a craving for cottage cheese with French dressing and chili peppers. You try not to gag while your wife gulps it down in bed. You also keep a can of room spray for this very purpose.

You both realize that last months maternity clothes dont necessarily fit this months maternity body. So its off to the mall again.

Youre overcome with the urge to talk to other men about baby names.

After youve looked at over a thousand baby names, you name her after your grandmother.

You learn that arguing with a pregnant woman is suicidal.

Without saying a word, you quietly air out the house after she takes her prenatal vitamins.

Youre not thrilled about killing a good Saturday afternoon attending a baby showerbut you know its important to your wife, so you give her a big hug and tell her youre happy to attend.

You care enough to lie and tell her she looks better with thin hair.

You start watching other men with their kids and deciding which dads you want to imitate. And definitely which ones you dont.

You leave a hotel at 1 a.m. to grab the red-eye so you can be at the ultrasound the next morning.

You start paying down all the debt youve piled up till now. Which is challenging in light of the cost of a crib.

You read the sports commentary to your wifes stomach no matter whether your baby is a boy or a girl.

You constantly reassure a panic-stricken mom at 3:00 a.m. that you do have a plan for the family finances, and urge her to go back to sleep. (It helps greatly here to actually have a plan.)

You stop any TV commercial with a baby, wait thirty seconds, then fast-forward through it knowing that failure to follow this exact plan will result in ten minutes of tears from your pregnant wife.

You continually tell her shes going to be a great mom. And after nine months you tell her she is a great mom for the rest of her life.

You come home from work early to say hello to your baby by tapping on your wifes stomach. And your biggest joy is when your baby pushes back.

You make the unfortunate discovery that all moms have a deep genetic need to whack off all their hair. When this happens, you tell her she looks great.

You say, Good morning and Good night to your wifes stomach. Perfectly normal.

You wrestle with whether to calmly fill out the myriad of hospital and insurance forms piling up on your desk now instead of watching football, or wait until your wifes water breaks all over the admissions room floor and you have to furiously fill them out while shes giving birth. Its not an easy call.

You find yourself nauseated, gaining weight, and feeling a bit moody. You have sympathetic pregnancy. Resist the urge to cut off all your hair.