Stuck with a Punk ✔

No. 19.: Doing some research

I don't sleep that night. I try, though. Heavens above me know I've tried to shut an eye, but whenever I rest my head on the pillow, I can't get the image of my shattered reflection and scratched knuckles out of my mind. The struggle is real and hella agonising. My bloody knuckles don't help. Whenever I move my hand, either to get more comfortable in bed or to scratch my hip, I am reminded of the broken mirror in my bathroom and seven more years of bad luck. As if it could get any worse.

But in the end, I do something I've always been good at - make something good out of bad.

I remember when Dad came to visit us when I was 14. His visits were becoming rarer and rarer, but when he did come, he would usually stay for longer than just an afternoon. He was the first one who ever heard of my dreams of becoming the engineer and he was also the first who thought I should do everything in my power to accomplish that. So, whenever he left back to Chicago, back to Deidre, I would push the sadness aside and rather think about minor engineering projects that I could show to him next time he came.

I don't exactly go to work on the latest project Jed and Lenart need in a couple of weeks, even though I should. Nonetheless, I get myself comfortable in my home office and turn on the computer.

I wait for it to slowly get ready for my use and I remind myself I should get myself a new one. This thing with babies and mothers have drained me completely and therefore made me forget about the things I need.

Speaking of needs, when was the last time I had sex?

The computer demands my password and I quickly type it in, mouthing it letter by letter, so I don't get it wrong. These secret little dots that hide the password have always confused me.

B-I-G-B-A-D-A-N-D-H-A-N-D-S-O-M-E

The monitor flashes and shows me my background picture after some time that it spends processing. Nostalgic feeling overwhelms me when I see my background image - baby Aidan, right after he was born, safely resting in my arms. After resting my eyes on the picture, I can hear Patty saying "You look so adorable with him."

I wonder what she'd make of seeing me holding Devon, or just... seeing me after she completely cut me out.

I don't dwell on the picture that long, at least not voluntarily. It takes forever for my computer to open a browser and when it does, I have to give it some more time to let the computer get on the track of everything.

As my browser opens and I type in the search section what I'd like to see, I think about taking a picture with Devon. That's what people would expect me to do, wouldn't they? It does look a bit weird that I have a picture of me holding Aidan, my nephew, but not one of me and my son.

Whenever I address to Devon as my son, I feel weird and... out of place. My only scenario where a kid would call me 'daddy' has always been if I accidentally knocked up some girl. Even that scenario was hard to believe. No matter if a girl told me she takes contraception pills or had had a shot or some other form of protection, I'd still put on a condom or have a girl do that for me.

The browser finally ruminates and opens a ton of helpful links, articles and advertisements on how to take care of your baby. I read through almost every text my computer has found online, but mostly they only talk about few things. I even suspect them to have the same author, given the use of words and the same grammar mistakes. Why can't people like them get a linguist, seriously?

Articles soon begin to bore me. After reading fifteen of them, I think I know I need to rock baby in my arms a little when he starts crying. All in all, useful things are mentioned, but after reading so many of them, I'd expect to be a bit more aware of the situation I put myself in. Even though most of these online texts shed some light on taking care of a baby, I know this was written for women and men who can't wait to become parents. That's why I think these pieces of advice lack detail.