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Finding My Me-Place

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A New Father's Discovery: Finding My Me-Place

There are few things in life as gag-inducing as a "journey of discovery."

A year ago, after telling people that my wife was pregnant, for the first of many, many times to follow, someone recounted how having a child led him on a "journey of discovery."

Since then my vomit reflex has been chunking like a nickel slot machine at a Seniors Only casino.

"The path to enlightenment" is right up there, so is "a moment of reckoning,"-- they make me want to bite the top off of a bottle of bourbon and start chugging, glass and all. But at least "enlightenment" and "reckoning" hint at either someone moving from ignorant to less ignorant, which is always good, or someone finally biting into the shit-sandwich they deserve, which is phenomenal.

"Journey of discovery," on the other hand, says one thing and one thing only: A set of circumstances forced me to take a good hard look at myself and what I've discovered is that I'm even more amazing than I thought.

This is one philosophy of parenthood. That it's all just one long, fat trip to me-ville.

When little Ascot starts screaming at three a.m. and knocks off ten seconds before a tabloid crime is committed, it forces mommy inside her spiritual self where patience bubbles like fresh spring water. Or as daddy scrapes gravy from little Fargo's ass after the kid craps like a chili-stuffed truck driver, -- it's ha-ha -swirl-tepid chardonnay-in-wine-glass-while-staring-'s all just part of me finding that selfless me-place within me where I can be a better me.

No it's not.

It's poo on your fingers.

And that's OK because it serves as an organic reminder that it's actually all about the baby. In fact, the baby has very little to do with its parents other than that they had it. It's not a Rorschach blot, a substitute for psychiatric analysis or a "window on my soul" (bourbon bottle, please.) For the record, it's also not an accoutrement, anecdote, beard, bling, there to provide talking points, conversation starter or poodle.

It's an individual requiring the undivided attention of its parents.

My suggestion for "journey of discovery" people: make the trip before you have the kid. Maybe it'll lead to an inner-you who's honest enough to admit that what's really needed is a pet llama or tap-dancing lessons instead of a small human being.

And when you make that journey, wherever it leads you?

Keep it to yourself.

I just ate.

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