Jackson Free Press

You'll have to excuse me. I'm writing this column in somewhat of a sleepy haze. You see, sleep has devilishly escaped me for the past few days. I wish it would return. But alas, I'm a new father again so there are miles to go before I sleep.

My wife and I just welcomed our new bundle of joy into the world last week: A 7-pound, 15-ounce baby girl named Bralynn. Since I coaxed the Queen into letting me court her some time ago, we've been praying for the blessings of new life. It wouldn't be so hard, right? I've already raised a beautiful 16-year-old daughter and an energetic 12-year-old son. I've taken on my wife's 14-year-old as my own. This will be a piece of cake, right?

Certainly, if I could navigate through football and basketball practices, regulate phone time, mediate arguments over video game time, help with math or buy food for hungry pre-teens, I could definitely handle a newborn again. Why, they can't even move on their own. They can't talk back, yet. They can't walk, yet. Hell, you don't have to worry about school, yet. How much trouble could they be? It's kind of like riding a bike, right?

Wrong!

Methinks a bike would be much easier. What I did discover is that in your early 20s infants aren't as tiring, when you're young and full of energy. Long nights aren't as bad when you've got a full day of nothing to do. And it's definitely different when you're married and your little bundle is right next to your bed making a not-so-little racket. Who knew that those tiny lungs could belt out such volume?

My hats go off to ladies all over the world who give us the gift of new life. I am still in absolute awe of the Queen as she carried our baby around for months enduring stairs, the various aches and pains associated with pregnancy, still going to work. I often wondered if men would be able to handle such excruciating pain. Perhaps we'll never know. But what we do know is that women need to be commended for ever letting us touch them considering the nine months of discomfort it causes.

Even as I experience it for the third time, it still amazes me that I'm a father. Each of my kids and my stepson are all my responsibility. I'm charged every day with providing them with the essentials they need to go forth in the world and be competitive. I'm charged with finding the time to mold their young minds and teach them life's lessons. It's my duty to take my oldest, and now youngest, daughter, and teach them by example how a man is supposed to treat them so that they won't learn the wrong way. It's my job to teach my boys how men are supposed to carry themselves. Teach and then release, hoping that my words have hit home enough so that I don't get that 3 a.m. call to come bail one of them out of jail. Or the 3 a.m. shock of seeing my girls on a "Girls Gone Wild" commercial.

I've realized in this time that you never "master" being a parent. It's always going to be a work in progress. So for now I'll be sleep deprived, hungry, stressed, irritable ... and loving every minute of it. That's why I juggle so many things. That's why I wear so many hats. That's why my wife says I never stop working. Because my father set that precedent, and now I must do the same. Besides, have y'all tried feeding three teenagers and an infant? They never stop eating!

And that's the truth ... sho-nuff.