Read Raising Cubby for Free Online

on me. There was no way the baby would know me from Adam, and even if he did, he couldn’t say so.
    As it turned out, the markings were not really needed, because no one tried to take Cubby away from us. Mom held him tight asthey rolled her to a room where they could rest. After that, she retained possession of him until they were both released the following day. I had him in my sight all the way home, and within a week, when my mark wore off, I had gotten sufficiently familiar with him that I felt confident that I could recognize him anywhere. Thanks to my Sharpie, I have no regrets, and a strong sense of confidence in Cubby’s origins.

After our baby was born, I followed Little Bear to her room and sat with them as long as I could. Finally I had to go to sleep. I wished there was a place I could lie down too, but there wasn’t. I headed home to bed, excited and scared at the same time. I was thrilled at the thought of a new baby, but worried about my ability to be a good dad and the possibility that Cubby might be damaged or nonfunctional, or even that he wouldn’t survive.
    My brother and my parents told me my fears were ridiculous and that Cubby would be just fine. I heard their words, but I was convinced they were just saying them to make me feel better. They were not in the room, looking at Cubby. Even if they had been, they had no knowledge of medicine or statistics, the two things that might have offered solid comfort to a logical guy like me.
    I knew the odds of an ordinary, viable infant were in my favor, but I couldn’t help being worried. Psychologists call that thought pattern catastrophizing: imagining disaster at every turn of events. Today I know that’s an Aspergian trait. However, I didn’t know about Asperger’s back then; I just knew my new baby was one more thing to be worried about.
    A few of my male friends offered advice based on their own experience as parents. “We all worry we won’t be good dads. All we can do is do our best.” That was a practical acknowledgment that I could accept.
    The broken-baby fears were less easily allayed. My newborn baby didn’t talk, and I had no test data. In the electronics world, we called that flying blind, and sometimes our creations blew up when we did it. Yet I saw no alternative. One encouraging sign was visible in his mom: Her ulcers went away once he was born. As she got healthier, I felt better about Cubby’s chances.
    Other people acted horrified when I expressed doubt that Cubby would remain alive and functional. Why? When someone goes to the hospital with a heart attack people wonder exactly the same thing, and they say the odds improve with every day of survival. I figured the same was true for a baby. Being born was surely as big a deal as having a heart attack, so every day a baby lived meant the odds for long-term survival increased.
What was horrible about that?
Other people’s attitudes seemed strange to me.
    Then there was my basic insecurity—my inability to believe that he was really with us to stay. To combat those feelings, I began telling people about my new baby boy right away. For some reason, the act of describing Cubby to others made him seem less ethereal and more real to me.
    Little Bear carried him around with her much of the time when he was new. He slept on top of her or next to her on the bed. Sometimes I would place him on the bed next to me and we’d both fall asleep. I was always afraid I’d roll over and suffocate him, but that never happened. Still, we knew he needed a place of his own. We didn’t have much money, so we lined a nice yellow laundry hamper with a soft blanket and he was in hog heaven.
    One of the problems with babies is that they howl, at high volume and at inopportune times. If some of the accounts I’ve read are to be believed, an energetic baby can make sleep for the parentsjust about impossible. Cubby wasn’t all that bad, but he sure had his moments. Most of the time, Little Bear would