In the lead up to, and aftermath of, Jamie's birth, I didn't read much parenting material. I am sure this makes me a bad parent in some respects (ignorance is bliss?), but my general approach has been that there are so many conflicting opinions on how to raise a baby, I just try to do what feels natural.
I didn't read much, but I did read a little. And the one nugget that managed to stick with me had more to do with the changes we go through as parents than anything I gleaned about raising a child.
I read somewhere that post-pregnancy, the mother tends to experience many changes in hormone levels*. This I knew. What I didn't know is that studies have shown that fathers undergo hormonal changes as well, including a drop in testosterone levels.
* You. Don't. Say.
Less testosterone? I did not like the sound of that. I am a man. I want to remain that way. So ever since Jamie was born, I have tried to pay attention to my hormones to see if I could tell a difference.
Sports? That's a manly pursuit. Still love 'em. Check.
Sex? Yeah, still want it. Check.
Fistfights? Well, maybe I'm not quite as manly as I like to think.
The point is, in the six months since Jamie joined the family, I'd never seen any evidence of a decline in masculinity.
Until recently, that is.
With Jamie down for a nap this past Sunday, Hilary and I took the opportunity to play a little DVR catch up. I'd heard good things about the season finale of Saturday Night Live, so we put it on.
For those that didn't see, the episode ended with a tribute to Kristen Wiig, who is leaving the show after seven pretty spectacular seasons. Check it out:
Watching her say goodbye to her fellow castmembers, my eyes started to well, and soon enough, I was experiencing a salty discharge -- I was crying**.
** much to Hilary's delight, I might add.
Typically speaking, I am not a man giving to great expressions of emotion. I didn't cry when we got married, I didn't cry when Jamie was born, and I didn't cry at his naming -- things I've seen several of my male friends do.
By my count I have cried exactly one time in the last decade, and that was when my grandfather died.
So pre-Jamie, it took a death in the family -- the first close family member of mine to pass away, in fact -- to get the waterworks flowing inside me.
Now that Jamie is here? Apparently all I need is the Target Lady saying goodbye to late night television to turn me into a blubbering mess.
Goodbye testosterone. It was nice knowing you.
