My son is named Kyle. We both share the same middle name of Benjamin. There is nobody in either side of our family who has the name Kyle. Nothing against “Kyle” but it wasn’t my first pick. The late, great George Carlin has a bit where he mentions that name. My wife and I were reading through a book of baby names, and there came a kick when we got to the name Kyle. It’s only as I type this that I realize maybe the kick was his way of saying “No! Anything but that name! ”
The pregnancy itself is a bit of a blur, but I don’t recall anything out of the ordinary for the most part. Of course, when it’s the first time your wife is pregnant I suppose EVERY-FUCKING-THING seems out of the ordinary, but I digress. Kyle did have what appeared to be a cyst on his brain, but that went away on it’s own. Whether or not it had any effect after the fact…I think about that sometimes more than I probably should.
He was born. Through my wife’s vagina, not stomach. Not sure what it says about me, but the smell of him being born sums up the entire pregnancy/delivery for me. I have friends who are about to become first time dads, and I find myself excitedly asking them to make sure to get a whiff of what’s happening. Most seem to think that’s an odd thing to focus on, and I do agree. My mind seems to be wired in a way that is not…normal? Practical? I guess I’m just curious if it only meant something to me, or if others have had a similar experience.
I also distinctly remember looking into the grand canyon that was now my wife and remarking “I see the head I think! It looks like one of those turnips from Mario 2!” If you don’t get the reference, I highly suggest playing a few games of Mario 2 for the Nintendo to refresh yourself, then knocking up your significant other and searching for the turnip head in hear gaping womb.
By the way, childbirth is really amazing and all, but so is Mario 2. One of those doesn’t seem to often get the credit it deserves.
Suddenly they placed what looked to be a plunger onto the top of the turnip, and with the smallest pull, there was a baby boy. Very fast. Very quick. Turnip head turns to baby in what felt like a snap of the fingers, if not quicker.
I don’t cry much. “Much” might as well be “at all.” Music can move me to tears, but that’s a little more rare an occurence than it used to be. It used to be pretty bad actually, but that’s another story in itself. When my son was born, it was the first, and I’d bet last, time where I lost complete control of my emotions. If I do cry, I can cut it off. I wouldn’t be surprised if in later years the official saying goes from “cool as a cucumber” to “cool as a Robert Ormsby.” But when I saw that baby, I lost it.
I am not accustomed to losing it. I prefer to keep it. As in “keep it together.” You know, the strong, silent type. Though there is a strange pleasure in just letting emotion completely take over. Of course, I couldn’t help it. I became this big, handsome, blubbering mess of a mess. And I couldn’t stop it.
Didn’t even get to cut the umbelical cord. They offered me the scissors, but I was in total bitch-meltdown mode. Shaking, crying, trying to articulate what is apparently impossible to articulate. Should old age eventually shake the memories out of my head, I hope she’s kind enough to at least let me keep that one.
My son is almost 4 years old, so if I were to detail the last few years in ye old blog, it would take a little while. As I mentioned before, Kyle is on the Autism spectrum, and with the numbers being what they are (My GOD! 1 in 88?!?) I want to spend a bit of time on how we got there, and what we’ve done since then.
So Killer Kyle gets a two-parter of a blog entry.
I can’t very well tell you about HOW my kids are driving my crazy without letting you know a bit about the crazy kids themselves no?
And on a seriousness note, I hope that once we start dealing with the Autism part of it all, maybe some other parents will find something beneficial in it for themselves. With those kind of numbers, trust me, you are nowhere NEAR alone.
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Word to Mario and them…