Hillbilly Dave's

Advice for 'Spectant Paws

Well, well, well. I reckon if y'all are checkin' out this here page, yore either gonna have a youngun' or yer figurin' on tryin' before too much longer. Or just mebbe you've done had a youngun' or two (or if yore like my cousin', Tuckered Out Tom, elev'n! That's why we nicknamed him "Tuckered Out!" Hee! Hee!), and you just want to see what ol' Hillbilly Dave's got to say 'bout it. Either way, it's a fine thing becomin' a paw. It'll swell out yer chest and make you walk taller and speak prouder'n almost anythin' in the world. But there's a long road 'tween findin' out yer gonna be a paw, and actually holdin' the little one in yore arms. And if you don't have a "map" or know where the "potholes" are, yore likely to git into trouble 'tween now and then. So I decided to write down some of the things I've learnt so far, and a few things that some friends and cousins told me 'bout. Even a few of the womenfolk whispered a couple o' things to me, once I promised not to mention their names! I shore do hope it helps you fellers out a little!

O.K. Once you find out yer gonna be a paw, the most important thing I can tell you is: Yore wife has left the building! Now some of you may be sayin', "No she ain't, Hillbilly Dave. She's right in the next room! I can almost see her from here!" Nope! Let me tell you, the wonderful, warm, fun-lovin', intelligent gal you fell in love with, shared yore life, heart, home, and bed with has been replaced with someone who is fickle, emotional, a little persnickity, and has the attention span of a goose! This is somethin' you need to realize right off the bat, if'n you want to survive the road ahead! The good news is: I've been told by reliable sources (the womenfolk) that this is a temp'rary situation. The bad news is: from the time y'all find out yer gonna be paws, 'til you git yore wives back is gonna be about a year an' a half to two years. Yep! You've got the first 7 or 8 months (after y'all find out) 'fore the child is borned, and then 'bout 15 more months afterwards (give or take a couple) 'til the wonderful woman you married moves back into th' house! Until then you can count on just a very few things:

There's probly more I could say, but half the fun of bein' or becomin' a paw is findin' out this kinda stuff on yer own! I will tell you that I've decided that one of the most handy things you can keep with you all the time is a medium size brown paper bag. I know that sounds a little odd, but it really will come in handy. First of all, you can carry things in it. That's a purty plain use for it. Secondly, whenever you make a decision maw don't like or do somethin' maw don't like, and she decides that yore just about the biggest consarned idiot she's ever had the burden of dealin' with, you can just place that bag over your head and walk out of the room (hopefully without bumpin' into too many chairs, tables, or walls) to show her that you understand and that you fully agree with everythin' she just said. And finally, when yore in that delivery room and you feel yer head start to swimmin' you can put that bag over yore mouth and start to breathin' in it and you'll feel right better. Or, if things start to get particularly messy in there, and you feel like you might be seein' them beans and cornbread again that you had for dinner, if'n you cain't make it to the commode in time, why there's that paper bag ready and waitin'! 'Course that'll be the last time you use that particular bag, but at least it served it's purpose, and you can always git another!

On the whole, though, once everythin's said and done, and you start watchin' that youngun' a-growin' like a weed, like as not you won't even remember none of the bad things about the whole process. You'll just remember how that little one (who may not be so little anymore) looked and felt the first time you held him or her as a baby. All the things that was said and done'll be forgotten. At least until the next time maw comes up to you and says, "Guess what!"

Well, that's all I've got to say on that particular subject. Enjoy the little one(s). Do yore very best to raise 'em right, 'cause they's only little once. Go with God.


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