Jessica was likely conceived on Saturday, December 7th, 1985, which makes sense as it was easiest for Sheila and me to see each other on weekends due to our military commitments. In a previous blog post, I pointed out those things that led to our daughter’s arrival in this dimension. While the photo is dated August 31 at 12:10 p.m., Jessica emerged earlier in the evening when it was still the 30th of August. The 12:10 p.m. time stamp was my lack of attention to detail as it was actually the first minutes of the 31st or 12:10 a.m.

With Jessica only minutes old, she had ink applied to her tiny feet and their imprints recorded for posterity.

In the days leading up to her birth, I was helpless in offering anything more than holding Sheila’s hand as she endured the torment of her body preparing itself to allow a 10cm-wide object to be squeezed out. When our daughter was finally born, I was overwhelmed with the emotion of the incredible act of conception and the subsequent process of a fertilized egg becoming a fetus and, ultimately, a baby on its way to being a self-aware human being. I wept at how beautiful this moment was. I knew I could be a good father.

Parenting is the last thing I was prepared for. For that matter, I hadn’t been prepared for bullying starting in Junior High either. I wasn’t prepared for financial responsibility, nor was I prepared for sharing in a relationship. I knew selfishness, and I knew it well. I do not deny that watching the progress of this little girl move from a helpless infant into an expressive toddler was amazing; every minute I spent with her was a treasure.

The larger problem is that spontaneity took a big hit, and Sheila took her role seriously, as she should have.

For me, domestic life at 23 years old was a prison akin to the one I was in during my working hours for the U.S. Army. Maybe this is too loaded with drama, but I wasn’t ready for such a burden, and yes, I knew I should have kept that thing in my pants if I wasn’t going to accept my responsibility. But I was trying, although I was failing and was about to fail miserably.

By the early morning of June 18, 1989, at around 5:00 a.m., after a night out that included me filming the Pixies at a local club, a woman I’d run into multiple times in whom I had ZERO interest walked me to my car. About to depart, we leaned in and exchanged the slightest, most delicate kiss; in an instant, I fell head over heels in love under a burst of profound chemical turbulence that overwhelmed my senses in ways that were absolutely new to anything I’d known before. My married life and being a father screeched to a halt that instant.