Tim Tries to Make Brandi Feel Like He Won't Murder Her

According to Nancy Grace, murder is the number one cause of death among pregnant women. This is a staggering statistic, especially if it's true. She didn't really take the next step, but the inference is that it's a result of domestic violence. Don't worry sweet ones, the only domestic violence in our home is limited to tiny feet into Brandi's ribs and the occasional cat claw. This post is pure Tim. I'm letting Brandi sit this one out. Given that this weekend was Father's day, I want to try and express some building thoughts concerning fatherhood. A topic that I don't know much about but hopefully I'm learning.

A few weeks ago I was introduced at work as, The Office Comedian. Under other circumstances, I'm sure that this would be rather flattering but that day it only caused me worry. Is this really how I come across? Not that there's anything wrong with being loose and jovial to break up the monotony. But when introduced, I want to hear the title Environmental Biologist. I didn't spend six years in school to be a comedian. I'm a biologist and take my job extremely seriously, so excuse me for thinking that I'm pretty good at what I do. I feel the same way about fatherhood. I tend to joke about my incapability all the time, but the truth is, I'm completely dedicated to and excited for the arrival of this perfect little person.

Last week at the dinner table, Brandi found herself having to listen to me discuss those at the office that I felt that I could beat up. (Funny enough, this sizing up had nothing to do with the aforementioned experience. As a legal disclaimer, this discussion occurred before the obligatory Workplace Violence training and there isn't anyone at work that I could beat up.) Brandi diagnosed the aggressive behavior as pregnancy related hormones, specifically high testosterone levels. She is far and beyond smarter than I am, especially when it comes to the workings of the body, but on this occasion, I disagreed. In fact, I think that I'm guilty of the opposite. Not aggression, but protection. If women go through "nesting," I think it's totally acceptable for a guy to go through "defending the nest."

For the first time in my life, I've become territorial. Growing up with all sisters, I've had my fair share of being protective. Despite the instinct, my sisters have been independent, so there wasn't a lot of opportunity for me. Being a husband and a soon-to-be father, just like Brandi, I've felt something growing inside of me. Unlike Brandi, mine won't show up on an ultrasound. I know it's there, so the challenge has been trying to come up with a way to adequately describe what it feels like. I think I'm finally getting my fingers around it.

As a biologist, I've had the opportunity to work with and fight for many threatened and endangered species. I absolutely love what I do and take pride in working towards the greater good. It seems to me that people equate the title "biologist" with the visual of hippies running through the forests, tree-hugging, and saving all the fluffy little creatures. This idea usually gets expressed with questions wondering if I eat meat or ever go fishing. Let me assure you that the job isn't all flowers and sausages. The hard reality is that in order to do our jobs - the passionate fight towards the survival of a thing - in most cases, comes at the expense of some other thing. This is the day in which we live. A struggle to reclaim resources and habitats against invasive, exotic species. As a result, my fights have come at the cost of literally hundreds of thousands of other lives. Without hesitation, without regret.

Lately, that hesitation and regret have begun to change. We've been conducting a bioassessment study at work lately to try and quantify the bioaccumulation of contaminants into the environment. In order to accomplish this, we've been collecting stands of vegetation and...bird eggs. We've been targeting two species: killdeer and American coot. Not the prettiest birds in the world, but this activity has created a pretty obvious conflict of interest for me. One that I've felt in my guts. For weeks, I've been hunting down nests only to then force a mother off her clutch in order to steal one of her babies. Coot and killdeer tend to express quite different behaviors during this process. Upon approach, killdeer will come off the eggs and exhibit what's known as "broken wing" where the mother flails about while holding one wing at some unsightly angle trying to sell you (the predator) on the injury, to lure you away from her offspring. As you squat at the nest and the mother realizes that her theatrics fell short, she'll just stand there and stare at you from 20 feet, for the most part, without making a noise. But once in awhile, without breaking eye contact, she gives this high bleat - which if you want it too, sounds very much like "Please?" Coot have a different strategy. They'll stay committed to the nest until you practically have to push them off. Once off, they'll retreat and then rush towards you slapping their wings on the water and making a curdling squawk that peaks at desperation and then tumbles towards resignation. Either way, the result is the same as they are no match for my stoic determination as they can only watch me walk off with a precious little part of them. Now I know what you're thinking, and trust me, I'm usually the first to call someone out on anthropomorphism. But even though I watched from a distance as each mother settled down and returned to the remaining eggs in her nest, I can't help but feel that she felt the loss. Defending ones' offspring is innately biological. I made the mistake of watching her, watch me and I'm convinced more than ever that parenthood, in some form, crosses all boundaries. There's no more science, no more job, no more species. There's only violation and sorrow.

Finally, if there is a point, the point is this: as I type this, I can't say that I'm totally ready to be a father but I can say that I've never felt more ready to defend the women in my life at all cost. Being a pacifist, IE skinny, I've had my fair share of being pushed around, but in the last few years, I've never been more willing to come to someone's defense than that of Brandi's, and now Paisley's. So when I find myself sizing up my coworkers - or anyone else whose life my day crosses, it's not about egomania, it's about protection. The truth comes in the uncertainty of a messed up world and knowing that in the end, I can only do so much. When I let my mind go, I see myself trying to protect the two things that matter most and I'm only a bird. Tragedy takes nothing more than a single determined someone or something to walk into your pond and threaten what you have and challenge what you are. Eventually, this beautiful little girl who I will soon enough get to hold in my arms will grow up and walk out of my front door all by herself. I just hope that when that day comes that I will have been able to give her everything she needs and that I'll have offered her real protection, not just a bunch of noise and a faked injury. That day really scares the hell out of me.