Life 2.0.

There are a number of measurable indicators in life that determines individual’s variable state of maturity. The first is leaving school. Then, a more subsidiary compliance is attending college and university. (These have been dramatically negated on my list simply because I never attended either of these academic institutions.) There is of course moving out of your family’s house. Finding permanent residency away from your parents is one of the most daunting yet liberating stages of adulthood. Car ownership is another, one which I endeavour to achieve by my 29th birthday. Marriage, another traditional institution that has alluded me thus far is also a hugely pivotal moment. The first time you engage in, well you know, intimate liaisons. Being employed into your dream occupation. Attending the funeral of a loved one, though sombre is an incredibly powerful life lesson that painfully teaches you the fragility of humanity. And then there is this. Nothing else in my life requires a lifetime of dedicated attention. To become selfless, purely motivated by this incredibly life altering event. I’m incredibly nervous about revealing this and do so with much reticent trepidation. It’s also incredibly difficult to verbalise, so I’ll instead insist on a more discretionary visualisation that can ably pacify my nerves without having to literate an explanation with considered articulation.

“No, this isn’t some grainy picture of bigfoot.”

This April 14th 2016 I am projected to inherit the very prestigious honour and grave responsibility of becoming a father. I can’t articulate just how feeble my fingers were as I typed that, as they trembled with utmost veracity at the behest of such a life altering admission. I’m going to be a father! My girlfriend is jubilant, as are our respective relatives and friends. My mother even detailed why she felt that it would never happen, and quite frankly neither did I?! Not because of conception issues but due to sheer idleness. I’ve received an emphatic rallying declaration of intent from my friends, poised to aid me in my transitional phase in my life. Already they have fraternised with the idea of potentially renovating and converting my attic space into a sturdy logistical habitat for gaming, insulating the attic floor cavities with sound-proofing to absorb and deflect the nocturnal emissions of ambient baby cries and the perennial whelping of a concerned mother. Modifying a sound system that is built into the plaster and laying the foundation with hard flooring so thick it will modulate not just the ambient noise of a crying baby or hollowing spouse but probably a nuclear explosion! Potentially furnished with all the modifications a benevolent father would need to forget his paternal responsibilities. Well, probably not.

I however despite the levity of friends and well wishers am terrified beyond the capacity for reasonable thought and I’m not entirely sure why? Partially I think it’s down to the ancestral humiliation appointed to the Weller name, namely through the adulterous heritage attributed to our family that has resulted in numerous fathers abandoning their posts. But chiefly I think it’s the notion that up until this point my life has always been dictated by my own assented whims. Not that I’ve been necessarily selfish, but more ornery. I have a singular capacity for being isolated from social engagements, a proclivity that restricts any extroverted gregarioty. I guess essentially I’ve always been more comfortable with my own company. Well, not any more! It’s not about me any more, but us. My girlfriend is the one dealing with all the transformative pains of pregnancy with tempered resolve, and I’m still cloistered in my own selfish bubble. The game has changed, the rules and conditions have been recited and this one player game has now become an extensive collaborative partnership.