Official Home Of BIG Ben Kennedy

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I went to sleep when I damn well pleased. Now, I’m lucky to make it through my favorite prime-time programming, and my son goes to sleep when he damn well pleases.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I could bump my knee, or stub my toe and have a cuss word or two. Now, I get a letter from his preschool about the vocabulary words that they don’t teach.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I was “only going to let him watch Sesame Street. You know the stuff I grew up on. Children’s programming sucks these days.” Now, I catch myself singing songs from The Backyardigans and The Wiggles at work.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I answered to no one. Now, I must answer my son at least 50 times a day. “You watchin’ TV, Daddy?” “Yes Benjamin.” “You tying your shoes Daddy?” “Yes Benjamin.” “You poopin’ Daddy?”

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I could quit my job on a lunch break because, well, just because. Fuck ‘em. Now, I’d shovel human shit for 8 hours a day to make sure my kid has food to eat and a roof over his head.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, a young, hot mom was nice to look at. Now, they still are, but when they catch me looking, I can pull the, “I have a little one myself.” and am no longer creepy.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I never traveled with a constantly running tape recorder that never thinks to repeat the “but I love her” part, just the “My wife’s a pain in the ass…” part.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I used to look at other two year olds in public and think, “If I have a kid, they will never act like that.” Now that I have a two year old, he never acts like that. What? You thought I was going to say that he does? Sorry! He’ll never pull that shit, because I’d whoop his little ass in public, and he knows it.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I could take a piss without an audience. Well, unless I was drunk at a party, in which case, whatever.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I watched Jackass the Movie and laughed at someone shoving a Matchbox car in their ass. Now, I watch Jackass the Movie and it’s a painful reminder to never sit on my couch without looking again.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I tried to watch what I eat. Now, if my son doesn’t finish his food, he’s “wasting money”. And even though I’m trying to diet, we “paid 4 dollars for that meal, and somebody better eat it.”

Before I was the dad of a two year old, smothering my wife with a pillow during sex was “kinky”, not a necessity because, “if you wake him up, I swear…”.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I was the toughest son of a bitch on the planet. Now, if my two year old runs up to me for a hug, and I’m not looking, that head butt could put me on the ground for a solid two minutes.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I had everything figured out. Granted it was only wake up, work if you wanna, shower if you wanna, watch TV, eat, take a piss, take a shit, get drunk, get laid if you can, pass out and do it all over again tomorrow. But I had it figured out.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I never felt so unconditionally loved by anyone.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I never felt so needed by anyone.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, I never felt like somebody’s superhero.

Before I was the dad of a two year old, what in the hell was I doing with my life? Being a dad rocks! Why didn’t I knock somebody up sooner?

When I was growing up, I seem to remember that whenever I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to, my parents would always say, “Go ahead.”

It was never a “Stop!”, or “No, no, no…”, but a very, eerily calm, “Go ahead.”

It only took an ass whooping or two… hundred, to learn that they weren’t giving me permission to do the bad things I was doing. What they were really doing was asking for me to give them permission to beat me like a rented mule.

It was a trap!

Then I grew up and got married, and was free from my parents. No longer will I have to worry about things like “sarcasm”, or “pretext”, or “body language”. Or so I thought.

I was headed home from work the other day when my wife called. “There is nothing to eat in this house! We need to go grocery shopping.” She said.

“I can just stop by the grocery store after work if you want.”

“Whatever, I don’t care, there’s just nothing to eat.”

“Well, do you want to go instead so you can make sure you get some stuff you like?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you go ahead.”

I freeze. An old familiar fear creeps in.

“Go ahead?” I cautiously ask.

“Sure.” She so calmly replies. Almost eerily calm.

Yes, it has been awhile, but I’m not that little kid anymore. I’m older, and wiser, I’m not falling for that shit! Not today, not ever!

When I came home without any groceries, you should have seen the look on your face! You thought you were going to get me, but you thought wrong! Suck it!

And I don’t care how many times I have to sleep on the couch, “make my own fucking dinner”, or “do my own fucking laundry”. I will wake up with Matchbox cars in my back, indigestion in my chest, and wearing three week old swamp ass infested underwear knowing that I’m smarter than you. You will never trap me again!

I guess you should have married ol’ what’s-his-name; he probably would’ve fallen for your entrapment.

In your FACE, bitch!!

Epilogue: Do you still have to pay the utilities if they’re in your name, but you personally don’t occupy the residence anymore?

This picture is a couple of weeks old, and since then Benjamin has gotten a pretty nice haircut.

I’ll post a pic of that on here soon.

Yes, we put off buying Benjamin’s Halloween costume until the last minute. And then, all of this sad stuff happened. We thought for a brief moment of canceling Halloween altogether, but then we came to our senses.

And I’m glad we did.

Benjamin is going to go trick or treating at his Aunt Robin’s house with his cousins Hailey and Connor. That’ll give Kerri time to rest and recover tonight, and the two of us a chance to relax. Only Benjamin didn’t have his costume yet.

Yesterday, Kerri was feeling pretty sad and depressed, and I got her to get out of the house with me for some fresh air and sunshine on the mission of picking up Benjamin a Halloween costume.

I’m so glad we did, in more ways than one. Kerri seemed a little better, and we found Benjamin the best costume. Every night, he usually cycles movies to watch. Some nights it’ll be Finding Nemo, other nights it could be Shrek, Curious George, The Muppets Take Manhattan, The Goonies, or The Shining.

The kid has great taste in movies, huh?

And if you can’t tell that I’m kidding about “The Shining”, then God help you, and you probably shouldn’t stop by here again.

But there are two movies that get the heaviest rotation in Benjamin’s DVD player. They are Toy Story 1 & Toy Story 2, or “Buzz & Woody” as he calls them. Well, part 1 is “Buzz & Woody”, then if he’s feeling like watching the sequel, he ask for “New Buzz & Woody”, and “Buzz & Woody” has been in his player for about a solid two weeks now.

So imagine what joy it brought Mommy and Daddy, especially with certain things going on recently, to be able to go out and find this…

We are the proud parents of the real Buzz Lightyear! He ran around with this costume on for over an hour last night.

But I don’t know what made Mommy and Daddy happier, the fact that we could make Benjamin so happy, or how good it feels as parents to still find a way to maintain normalcy for Benjamin while everything is far from it. Anyone reading this will easily say, “Well, that’s what you have to do, for his sake.” But anyone who has gone through this will say, “It can be much easier said than done.”

I think we needed to see him in this costume, or any costume for that matter, just as much as he needed to keep his Halloween.

And as he wears it probably every night until he grows out of it, or we have to alter it into shirt and pant separates, I’m sure we’ll forget the joy it once brought us to see him in it for the first time. But it’s ok, maybe that won’t be the only emotion we forget.

Last week, the genetics counselor left us a phone message saying that we had a 1 in 125 chance of Down’s Syndrome, and further testing would be needed. And for the past week we have had some of the most serious, heartfelt, honest conversations about having a child with Down’s or any other disability. Our fears, our hopes, and our overactive imaginations got plenty of air time.

Then yesterday arrives, and we get in to see the genetics counselor. As she gets into discussing the results, we start to find out that Down’s might have been the least of our worries. Chemicals were off the charts high, or off the charts low, where they needed to be much, much closer to normal. They begin to ask us about drugs, medications we might be taking or recently stopped taking. Then the talk gets serious. There may be something wrong with the baby’s placenta, and we would need to be on top of things because anything wrong with the placenta could lead to anything from Preeclampsia in the mother, or demise in the fetus.

Demise. A scary word that we never heard once during Kerri’s pregnancy with Benjamin.

After a small wait back out in the waiting room, we go into the ultrasound. As the ultrasound starts, the baby appears to be wedged in a corner and every angle to get a good look at the baby is not working. They decide they’re going to change to the internal kind, which as a man am glad I’ll never have to do. After the techs leave to go get the instrument, Kerri turns to me and says, “I didn’t see a heartbeat.” Neither did I, but just two weeks ago, we were in the doctor’s visit and they couldn’t hear the heartbeat with the doppler, and they found it on an internal sonogram.

The techs come back and proceed with the sonogram. The tech asks, “When was your last sonogram?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Now if you look right here by the skull, you’ll see that there was a presence of a Cystic hygroma, and down here you’ll see that dark area, that is fluid in the baby’s abdomen. And I’m so sorry, but there’s no fetal heartbeat.”

Thus began our nightmare.

We have gone through so many emotions since yesterday, and I’m sure that more are to come. I can’t even imagine what Kerri is going through, and what she still has to go through. If I could take it all away from her, and do it for her, I would. When we got the news, I asked her if she was okay, and she said, “No.” Then I asked her if she was going to be, and she said, “Yes.” That little answer hurt me so bad, not because I didn’t want her to be, I just didn’t expect her to be the least bit hopeful. I’m the positive one in the marriage, I’m the patient one, I’m the hopeful one. Kerri, the same woman who gets so negative at times about life and the world around her, my little part-time Debbie Downer, had every right to say no. But she didn’t. And I have sold her short. Yesterday I saw the woman that I fell in love with again, and she’s just as strong, and brave, and amazing. I think I’ve spent the past couple of years in our marriage thinking I know what she’ll say before she says it. Our conversations began to slip into the day to day, and about other people, and not about us. And much like the 60 year old couple married 40 years, I started to listen with half an ear.

Well obviously I don’t know what she is going to say, and I’m glad I was listening yesterday, because she actually gave me hope, strength and positivity when I needed it.

Over on my side, I’ve been very angry. I feel angry and cheated because I am a good dad and I really love being a father. Why don’t I do stand-up anymore? Why did I move to South Carolina? Because I am a good father, and a family man. But I guess I don’t deserve to have two kids. Crack whores can have their crack babies, but we can’t? A dysfunctional family like mine could just keep adding to the shit, but once I try and start a family of my own, one that functions better than the one I came from, I don’t get to? I didn’t love this baby enough? Each time we got a new sonogram picture on disc, I uploaded it to my BlackBerry. How many fathers do you know who show people pictures of their “children”, even though one of them isn’t born yet. People thought it was cute, and saw how proud I was, and thought that this child is lucky to have a father so proud, so early. “Come on healthy baby!”. “God has never given me more than I can handle.” I’m so “tenacious”. Did my words have to come back in my face so fast? I mean, tell me, did I not want this bad enough?! Fucking bullshit!

But there’s no one to be mad at. No one to blame. So then, you’re just sad. When you’re angry, you can break things. You can stop anything that comes at you. When you’re sad, you can even lift your arms to wipe your nose. One feels so empowering, the other so helpless.

I don’t like feeling so helpless.

Further testing will be done to find out the cause, but all indicators say it was chromosomal. Kerri had a great analogy yesterday when she said, “The teeth weren’t lined up right when the zipper went up.” I’m really glad I’ve started paying her the full attention she deserves again, because she honestly said something I couldn’t have said better myself.

And we also know we’ll get through this, because I am tenacious, and I am stubborn. And Kerri is stubborn. And our son Benjamin can be so stubborn sometimes at just 2 years old, that he has us practically pulling our hairs out. I always joke and say, “Well, he got double the juice, so we are screwed.”

Just two weeks ago, we saw the baby on that sonogram, and it’s heart was beating as strong as ever. Then we went downstairs, and Kerri gave blood. Gave blood for the genetics testing. The results of which were scary, off the charts, and in worse case scenarios, insurmountable for our little one. Yet, there it was, beating away.

It was just as strong, just as tenacious, and just as stubborn. The fight was just too big.

And to the little one: As we hold each other close, and appreciate what we have, and find the positives to carry on past this, we will never forget you. You got us talking again. Talking about us, about life, about fears, about hopes, and about love. You got me to listen to Kerri again, and helped her see some things she needs to change for Benjamin and I. It feels like we are already a bit stronger.

And while it saddens us that to know that we’ll never meet you, you still changed our lives.

This afternoon we have a genetics sonogram to find out if our baby is healthy and free of any developmental disabilities. In the blood work taken a couple of weeks ago, a marker for a particular disability came back a little higher than normal. It has forced Kerri and I to have some real conversations, and even after those conversations, I’m still a bit nervous. That might be why I’m writing this at 5am. Although I’m nervous, I know everything is fine, and no matter what they say, I am not afraid.

And as many of you know, or will come to know, I’m not a very religious person. However, I will say this: In all of my life, God has never given me more than I can handle. Sure, I’ve been rocked a bit, even fell down to one knee a couple of times, but never got more than a 2 count. I think that part of that may be the fact that my Dad threw in the towel early, and that has just made me more tenacious.

Did you like those boxing analogies? Me too.

Now, on a lighter note, we also get to find out the sex of the baby! Some people just say, like we did with Benjamin, “As long as the baby is healthy, it doesn’t matter.” Please, the whole time I was thinking, “Boy! Boy! Come on baby boy!” I’m really hoping for a girl this time, but in light of our recent news and the nature of this sonogram, I truly just want the baby to be healthy.

So what do you think? Boy or a girl? And don’t let my hopes sway you. When you email me, IM me, or leave a comment, tell me your gut feeling… that it will be a girl.

Ray Lewis, chicken nuggets, ranch dressing, and the horns!!

Actually, Benjamin came up to me with his hand like this one day and said, “Look Daddy, Batman hand!” How cute is that? While you’re busy rocking, he is striking fear into the hearts of criminals!

I see what he means in the shape of the hand, but I bet he doesn’t know that if he turned it upside down, it would be Spidey hand!

Just be glad he has a nerd for a father to help him figure such things out.

I know this was on my old blog, but I just love this video and had to repost it!

Behold, my son Benjamin rockin’ the mic…