Pants Check

My son’s first birthday* just passed and it got me thinking about the changes I’ve undergone in the last 12 months. For one, I’ve gotten used to speaking about time in months. Apparently that’s the only way parents are supposed to talk about their child’s age before their kid can say it himself. For the record, you can try referring to your son as 5/8 of a year old but folks will just look at you like you’re crazy. I guess some people aren’t great with math.

Along with changing the way I refer to time, I’ve changed my pocket check routine. Many guys are familiar with what I’ll refer to as the dude pants check. It’s that little move you do as you’re leaving your house or getting out of your car or leaving a restaurant where you quickly check your pockets for your wallet, phone, and keys.

Well, shortly after my son was born I graduated from the dude pants check to the dad pants check. It’s similar with one notable exception: you actually check to make sure you’re wearing pants. See, on one of the sleep deprived days following my son’s birth I had to make a trip to the grocery store. Doggedly tired, I grabbed the car keys, slipped on flip-flops, and started to open the door but suddenly realized I was not wearing pants. Thus I adopted the dad pants check and, almost 13 months later, I find myself still doing it (and with a 100 percent success rate).

My concept of personal dignity has changed as well. I attribute this change to one specific incident at a café two months after Eli was born. My wife, son, and I were having our first breakfast out and Eli still wasn’t sleeping much. So when he fell asleep while I was holding him in the restaurant I was thrilled.

However, my excitement turned to horror as I realized his tiny little hand was gripping the collar of my t-shirt and was slowly pulling it down in a V. I couldn’t loosen his grip without risking waking him, so I had to decide: was keeping the baby asleep through breakfast worth sporting enough chest to be in an Abercrombie ad? As I said, this was the day I crossed over. It was also the first time in recorded history when a wife had reason to be concerned about the amount of cleavage her husband was showing.

The truth is my whole identity has changed. But I’m not complaining. After all, these changes have allowed me to do things I never thought I would. (Like create slogans for made up advertisements “The Dad Pants Check: Never leave home without them”, and shamelessly ignore the angry looks of the people sitting across from me in a café). But more than that I’ve learned there are things that are worth giving up your identity for. And I wouldn’t give that up in 12,000,000 months.

*Ok, this drives me crazy. The birthday a kid turns one on is actually their SECOND birthday, seeing as on their FIRST birthday -- they were born! That is all.