Dude!!!

Dude, apparently, you're male. 

I have no idea whether this is true, that's only something that the clinic who was conducting your exam mentioned. "Apparently, it's a male, but we'll only know for sure in a couple of weeks". And we started dreaming differently, without daring to say so, your mother and I. I changed my mental landscape to fishing trips and video-game-playing, and (argh) sports. Because that's what a dad is supposed to do, you know. And I feel I'll not be good in doing sports, even if I do walk a lot. It's just not my cup of tea, but for you, ok, I'll do it. Dammit.

My father liked sports. I think he just didn't like to play a lot with me, because I was do puny, in a lot of senses. Never one for phisically surpassing one's expectations, me. But I can say I tried. I represented my school twice in distance leaps, and when I got into Military School, I was one of the few ones that could excel in some of the tests and apply to olympic gymnastics. I am short, so that's not too difficult. Even so, by then, it was a little late to bond with your grandpa, so we always were a little awkward. I began reading a lot, he went to the practical ways of life. I've never been good in making money, just good at following my passions, so eventually I realized that, apart from what I was good at, there was not much of a future to me. And I decided to do precisely that, what I was good at. Reading, drawing, talking to people about the things I liked. Surprisingly, it was not difficult to make it work, once I realized that this, too, had value.

It took a while, though.

I'll tell you about my adolescence sometime. And my late teens. A guy who barely spoke anything to anyone, and kept everything to himself, including his parents' divorce. Deeply influenced by Bukowsky and Baudelaire. A sardonic, vitriolic adolescent. Like thousands - all of them thinking they are one of a kind. 

For now, i'll just remember the images of that exam. The first time I saw you. Alive and well, jumping from moment to moment as if you were a mexican bean in a frying pan. And you were just five centimeters tall, imagine that. I'm sort of in love already.

Best,

Dad.

Update on your mom's pregnant habits (you never asked for it)

At this moment, your mum is under a staggering number of sheets, only her nose sticking out, watching the News on the telly, with the preparations for the 2016 Olympic Games in Brazil. That is, watching whatever is on, since neither of us cares or follows any sport on TV (or outside). Even our exercising activities are walking and (her case) Pilates.

It's not that cold, and I'm getting ready for dinner. Or ready to cook dinner. I've been trying to put some quality on our diet (vegetables, lots of green leafs, grains and roots, and meat - I fear she diminushed her milk-based intake, but today we had some ice cream, so I figure that's ok). But I have never cooked so much nor so often in my life. I enjoy cooking, and I'm a pretty good cook even if I say so myself, but she is eating like crazy. And gets fed up with certain foods pretty quickly, too. This is good, because it brings a lot of variety to her diet, so I don't complain - but am I fed up with cooking!

She sleeps a lot, and has little disposition. Her ginecologist told her that this is probably going away on the end of her first trimester. Her body is starting to change - her tummy is already starting to grow, and is very rigid to the touch (so you know... it's not fat from the food intake, it's YOU). Her breasts are swelling a bit and she's sleepy all the time. Pretty much normal. 

One thing that concerns us a little is that Roberta is 40, already, and so the pregnancy may not be totally free from problems - but we hope. And we expect. And we can't wait, really. So we are trying to educate ourselves the best we can. Not without a little bumps in the way - today I made hibiscus tea, and (after the tea was ready), looked it up. It turns out it is not indicated for pregnant women. So I drank it and made her lemon grass tea instead. I kinda liked it, and want to turn it into a habit, so that's ok. But it could have decreased her blood pressure, had we not looked. 

It scares me how unprepared we are. We live surrounded by humans, but have relatively zero experience in raising children until we have to deal with our own. There are books and information we can search out there, but a lot of it is contradictory and misinformed, and merely opinions, on a large percentage of the cases. So... what to trust? It seems rather pointless, like having to reinvent the wheel every generation. I suppose we lost touch with that part of ourselves, our tribal origins that would have put us into contact with other people's children, and made us responsible to take care of them part time while the adults are outside hunting or gathering or planting or whatever. thing is, we miss it at a certain part of our lives. See how well-structured we are for life in a tribal society? We even miss something we never lived - because we see that our raising has left somethings unattended, something really very basic and human. How to care for our child.

People say that we (that is, your mum) know what to do, that mothers develop a very intense relationship with the child, so that they understand instinctively what are the child's needs, and what is wrong in most situations. And by Jove, I hope so, because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't know what do do if something went wrong sometime.

But I digress. Just wanted to tell you that you mother's body is already changing. And I see it. And am quite jealous, really, that she has all this contact with you, while I have to seek you through time in a blog.

Hugs and kisses,
Dad.

The Little Prince

The first book we bought you. Bear in mind, you were about 2.3 centimeters tall, by then. 

I loved the book when I was growing up, and then someday someone who loved the book at least as much as I did decided to create a pop-up book based on the author's own illustrations, with animations. The first time I saw it, I went crazy. It was also crazy expensive, so I didn't have the means to buy it. Well, not for myself, though I wanted it. I bought it to my nefil and niece the first oportinity I had. And then, upon your notice (that is, the notice that you were already on your way), I decided it was time.

I, at this time, haven't read the book again, have opened it only one time, to take a second look (I didn't do so at the store). And I won't, I will probably download it to read it to you in English (for your sake) or translate it live, when reading it to you. I can't wait. And yet, I remember.

I remember a book that made me realize the world was too small to concern myself only with money (the star accountant), or with power (the little king), that it is important to do my job (the volcano sweeper) and take care of the things  I own (the planet taken by baobas). A book that taught me that the essential is invisible to the eye, that all that matters in life is love (the lesson of the fox), that people have idiossincrasies and are complicated things, but that we can profit from our relationship with them - and sometimes we need a break as well (remember the Little Prince's relationship with the Rose). It is a great book. It was important for me at a very tender age. But, funny thing, it didn't decrease in importance through my life, it remained as significant as it was, originally.

I don't know if that means that I have an infantilized view of the world of if it means that it is very true. Maybe both. But That is something that I cannot say for sure, and would never be able to - that would be a judgement that only someone from outside is entitled to make. So I leave it to you. 

All I can do is wonder. But some of the lessons in that book remain with me to this day. And maybe I'm not the most practical of men, but I'm certainly a loyal and responsible one, who does not overvalue material things, and is concerned with the immaterial (though not in a religious way). At this time, at this place, it seems like a good attitude to have.

Anyway, You'll probably be a better judge of that than I am.

By the Way...

Will you be able to understand this? And why am I asking myself that?

See, the idea is that you will grow up bilingual. At this point I have an understanding with your mother - I will only talk to you in English, while she will be restricted to Portuguese. We want you to know things, and to have access to lots of things, and a basic knowledge of the most known language internationally is useful in many ways.

I have studied the development of the bilingual child in college, and it is the current understanding that you'll struggle a little bit more than your peers to understand our languages until you turn three - then the advantages start coming. You'll be more aware of linguistic differences, you will naturally develop two different vocabularies, you will likely perform better in expressing yourself and be smarter, have moreway with languages in general. 

This is supposed to teach you to think and express yourself in a better way. So, will we try? Are we (Roberta and I) willing to sacrifice the easy-going family way and put a little more pressure on you to help you develop yourself as a human being? I think it is worth it. We may have a problem, though - If I'm to express myself solely in English, I'd like your mother to understand us both as well - and Roberta just isn't up to scratch at this point. She doesn't completely understand spoken English (and I suppose she's been so busy professionally that she doesn't have the time to apply herself now, with college and work). It will be weird if I talk to her in a language and to you in another (though that's pretty much the foreseable future, as it appears from here). So, We're willing, and we'll try. I hope we can manage it - if we do, please understand that this probably was really difficult. 

You're just worth it. ;-)

By the way, that's the reason why I'm writing this blog in English. Call it incentive, and a manifest of hope, if you wish. The only thing that saddens me is the books that I'll not be able to read to you. (I mentioned we bought The Little Prince just before yesterday, and that's one I'd not be able to read you... despite loving it in its translation to Portuguese.)

Maybe I should have explained this a little sooner, innit (isn't it)? But I figure, if you'll ever see this, the plan worked. If not - hey, so many plans don't. I'm just eager to meet you anyway.

Bye, kiddo.

Dad.

Declaration of Intent

Hello.

I don't have the slightest idea on whether you will read this someday or not, or even if you'd be capable of understanding this language. Your mother and I have only recently learned of your existence a couple of days ago.

We suspected. Roberta's period was late, and we really wanted you to have started your journey into existence - but we were not sure. So, when the test results came, they were very welcome. I phoned your grandpa and your aunt Daniela Immediately, of course - Roberta announced you to her family through WhatsApp, and asked me to keep a low profile for a while (I think it's because of her job). 

After the news sank in, I started thinking about writing you something. To introduce myself, in a way. I always planned to do something like that, but now it seems pressing, somehow. You see, your mother has a lot more contact with you than I do. She feels your presence in a myriad of ways that I'm not capable to really relate to. She gets sick, tired, has strange feelings that she is not quite capable of verbalizing accurately (once she told me it felt just like the time she stroked, and I went half mad with concern). Her body is starting to change, her womb is swelling - you are one, your mom and yourself. That leaves me out, in a manner of speaking - I'm only the guy who's allowed to dream of you and to make plans all the time, but not much more than that. At least not yet. And that's why I sought to contact you directly. Through time, through the void. In the only way I can. 

So, here we are: nice to meet you. I'm your father. I'm 38 now. I already have grey hair, I'm short, I've began to exercise in order to be able to keep up with you. I've been told you are currently two centimeters tall, but I'm already making plans, you see. I hope you like ice cream. I hope you enjoy reading, because that's something I'd love to do together with you. I like reading stories, and particularly comic books - I have drawn a few, and tried to write some scripts (none is published to this day). Some of my favorite books are Dom Quixote, by Miguel de Cervantes (and I hope we'll have fun with it someday), some of Shakespeare's plays (Richard III and Hamlet are some of the ones I favour), Terry Pratchett's books, some of Alan Moore and Neil Gaiman's works, Robert Anton Wilson's Illuminati trilogy and Robert Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land. Sorry, I digress. It's because I like Literature, and tend to ramble on (you probably already know that).

I am an English teacher (Roberta says since I'm en route do finish my PhD I should try calling mysef a professor, but I think a teacher is more accurate), specializing in English Literature. I study Alan Moore's oeuvre, as a whole, in his recurring themes and tropes. This is quite complicated, and I fear I'll have a lot of work to do before I'll be able to get somewhere in this effort. I've written Mr. Moore a letter, but I am unsure if he's received it. If you are interested someday, I'd love to tell you all about it - my research, and Mr. Moore's life (provided you are old enough, of course). So, I think I'll probably have some nice stories for you. Yesterday we bought your first book - Saint Exupery's The Little Prince. It is a fold-in book, with the origamis based on Exupery's own illustrations. I can't wait to read it to you someday. 

So. As far as introductions go, I think this one is appropriate. I'm just a guy who'll meet you someday and is managing to keep his anxiety into check by writing you a thing or two, in the meantime. I have lots of dreams and lots of worries, and you are going to be a big part of my life from here on. I intend to write to you now and then, without really any expectation to be read by you someday - I don't know if Blogger will last, or if I will. So much can happen. I guess in a manner of speaking I'm really talking to myself, a projected image of you I have in my head. 

I'm really scared of being your dad, you know. Scared that I'll not measure up, that I might not be good enough to turn you into the sort of human being I really want you to be - king, gentle, generous, smart, intelligent. I'm not all that myself, you know - so how can I? So, that's me, in a nutshell: I fear, and I worry, and I plan and I hope. And I'm quite sure I'll be honoured to meet you someday.
Love,

Dad.

3... 2... 1...

The eye, according to Freud, is a window to the soul. 

Only the soul does not come with a lid - it is restless, it is relentless. It constantly poses us questions and defies our answers. 

I originally created this blog to be able to express myself - and then I didn't. It remained online for years, with no attention from my part. It just was. And I am only starting to remake it now. But I wanted to explain some things.

First, why reactivate a dead blog, and delete the posts. I guess I like the title of the blog. Lidless Window. Like an unrelenting look a someone's soul. It is still possible to find great ble titles, with a little work.

Second. Recently I found out I am expecting someone. It will be a son or a daughter, and it doesn't really matter which. (Since it is in the nature of this blog to be absolutely honest and bare my soul, I have a slight preference that it will be a girl - but that is because girls are usually closer to their fathers, and not because I'd rather have a girl or a boy... I just want it to be a pal, and will do my best not to disappoint in that regard). But I am now eagerly waiting for someone, and sort of need a way of unburdening myself of the anxiety to talk, and to be understood, by that little person, who will be unable to understand me for a while yet.

And there is the repurposing of the blog - from something I had no idea if it would be useful for something to something that answers a very true compulsion. 

To you - the one to whom this blog is directed - I promise a couple of things. I will not lie to you here. I will show myself a little more vulnerable than you will think is comfortable. And I will talk to you of what is going on in the myriad of nonsensical threads that I call my mind. At least for a while.

I am not a wise man, I am not particularly intelligent (despite some of the people you know may have this idea about me, it is something that I never encouraged - first because I thought it proved me intelligent, and then because I realized I wasn't the last cracker in the pack). I am not emotionally secure. Hell, I have no idea if I'm an adult - I always figured it comes with a degree of certainty, and I certainly do not feel a lot of that, and doubt practically everything. 

But I'll be your dad someday. I will bea guy who you can count on. And who will try to tell you abou the world in the best way he can, trying not to be too biased, and trying his best to allow and understand your own views on the world, without trying to determine them. 

I think this blog is a first step in that direction. 

I will not re-read the posts - the idea is that I'll get them out of my heart and never look at them again.

I made this blog public because I hope you stumble onto it someday, and if you don't, maybe one day I'll tell you about it. Maybe not. Maybe the greatest surprises are the ones we find out for ourselves. Life is greatly like this, you know.

Now I'll tell you something important, about flowers and bees.

Just kidding. I do that, at this stage of my life. I hope I'll do a lot of that in your memories, as well. Anyway, this is it. I made a blog. Hope you read it someday. And I don't know you yet, you understand. But I love you. And that, I think, until you see your own child's image, you don't understand. I'm feeling sentimental at a time you are the size of a pea. you already have me at your feet, kiddo.

Love, 

Dad.