Last Thursday, while my wife was still in the hospital, I slipped out for a spell after her mother arrived to take care of her. With my parents leaving town, Jonas had no one to look after him and thus had to take a trip to the kennel. Or as we call it here, Summer Camp. That sounds so much more fun! Or perhaps it just tweaks the guilt a little bit so as to be more palatable.

So there I was, my first time in public since becoming a father, and I failed on an epic scale. Miserable, horrific failure. I couldn’t even interact with one human being over eight pounds without blowing it. Despite having ZERO reason to inject it into the conversation, I opened my mouth and out it came tumbling. “So yea, I’m dropping him off because my wife and I just had our first child and we’re still in the hospital.” Ugh. I almost barfed on myself right there.

As I walked back to the car, I was drenched in self-loathing. In one shot I had become “That Guy,” the obnoxiously happy, gleeful new father with no reason to tell you his good news. I was mortified at my behavior. And if this alien body-snatching keeps up, I’ll be that bumper-sticker-sporting asshat who is WAY too into the peewee league soccer games in no time.

I need a shower. I feel dirty.