Well *I* think he’s a big effing deal.

I'm not sure what happened, but somewhere along the line I think I "faded out" of people's conscious thoughts.  Out of sight, out of mind, and when you move 10,000 miles away from "home", you are definitely out of sight.

I kept an online presence though, a website that I could keep up with that would keep folks up with me.  It started out as www.juddexley.com where I put pictures and videos of my adorable children, but that site has evolved into something that's a bit more Authory since I'm being an author now.

This site, this Judd Hole, was originally my place of refuge, where I could use no "real" names and talk about things as freely as I liked.  I could tell stories about work without fear of being "dooced" and I could talk about my life and relationships without worrying about anybody getting the wrong idea.  So much of what we tell people these days has to be so fucking sugar-coated and finessed and cut-to-fit that we end up losing the goddam message.

Well this was my place to deliver that message.

Then, I grew up a little.  I realised that I can't just have one place where I say "Jade is so cute!" and another where I say "that fucko at my kid's school needs his ass kicked".

Sadly, that "growing up" meant that the posts about asskickings had to go.

But did it?

Well, I wanted a place to talk about writing, and books, and publishing, and e-books, and reviews and all things Writery.  Well, my name is my "brand" so it had to be the other place.  This, by default, had to be where I could put the videos and the "oh isn't he cute" stuff.  My MOM is always cool here, but my dad?  Hmmm... my stepmom?  My Gramma Genie?  My Aunt Becky and my cousin Sarah?

Uffda, now it's getting complicated.  Who's reading?!?  And even more importantly, what are they thinking when they're reading it!??!

Oh dear.  Oh my.  Where to from here?  Self-censorship for fear of offense?

Um, yeah.  Not really my style.

I'm sorry, genuinely sorry, Gramma Genie, that I use language that I'm sure you don't approve of.  I really do apologise if some of the things that I say will offend your sensibilities.  I trust that you know though, that you raised a good man with a good heart and nothing but the best of intentions.  Regardless of the shape they take when exiting my mouth (fingers?), my words are only meant to make the world a better place, as my heart longs for nothing more.  You taught me how to be happy in my heart when I was very small, and I've taken that with me.

Mom, Dad, Becky, Sarah and even my misbegotten brother David... you're all welcome to read and interpret and judge me accordingly, though I dearly hope you'll raise questions and approach me if you think anything untoward.

See, the thing is, I'm pretty pissed off right now.

Actually, not pissed off, I'm just fucking hurt.

I don't know what you know about my children, but the fact is that the older two aren't biologically mine.  They're mine in their hearts, but I wasn't here when they were babies, and that sucks.  I got a chance to make one of my own, from scratch, and I find her pretty damn awesome.  As far as we were concerned, she was my only shot at that, so I was pretty pleased.

Then we went for another, against some odds and without any solid reasoning beyond we "just felt it was right".  There was some minor and very subtle opposition from just about every member of wife's family (except for Nic!) and my family was ambivalent as always (except for Granbo!).

It now seems like only a month or two ago that we announced we were pregnant, and then that he was a boy!  It was all so exciting that I've lost track of a lot of the details, but I know that the folks that had anything to say about the excitement are/were the same ones that are saying anything now.

And now that he's born and here and awesome and chewing on my shirt right now looking for a boob, not very many people are saying much.

So we didn't do the whole come-see-the-fluidretainy-tired-and-blergh lady in hospital.  We asked that everybody stay the eff away for a few days while me positively mooned over our new baby boy.  I sent out texts, emails and updated Facebook.  I felt like I put enough word out there, and some folks have been positively amazing.

But then the feelings start to trickle in.

Like how I feel about the fact that my wife called her mum out about how she acted like an absolute twat at Christmas (which was at our house) and how her mum then ceased all contact with us and her grandchildren.  The kids used to go stay there at least once a month or so, and it's been 5 months since they've seen any of them.  We've only just found out recently that Jo's mum is claiming WE'RE the ones that have kept the children from her.  Yadda yadda, bullshit ensues... and cleanup is about as fun as you think it would be.

Not that we're counting the "congrats" or anything, but Jo's family has been remarkably slow and unexpected in this.  Slow in that her next-youngest brother could barely be bothered staying in the hospital room and ended up acting like a 10-year old and her youngest brother only made mention of the new baby in some convoluted Facebook message with no mention of "congratulations".  Unexpected in that her sister and brother-in-law (the dry and sardonic doctor) have been WONDERFUL.  Seriously, vunderbar, and we've loved it.  Nic, sis-in-law, as always, has been awesome.

But yeah, less than excited greetings and thus far, NOBODY has brought a gift of any kind for him.  I'm not going to be silly about this, and yes I recognise that his cousins brought a lovely attitude and home-made cards (which meant huge things to us), but isn't it customary to visit somebody in the hospital with a teddy bear or a flower or a balloon?

We didn't get one fucking balloon.

That said, my mother, whom I have called "Mombo" and the kids "Granbo" for as long as I can remember, cleverly shipped a package from the US weeks in advance, so that it got here about 2 days after young Andrew was born.  Well... Hell Fucking Yeah.  Way to go Granbo!  A hand-written (caligraphy) card and a hand-knitted baby blanket.  What a fkn legend my mom is.

Know what else we got?  A hand-made quilt, complete with a poem about stars and stripes and the southern cross and it was FUCKING LOVELY.  This was before he was even born.  A few days later, we got another little patterned blankie and some bibs and a hand-made card with little stick figure drawings of all of the Exley family.

Guess who all this was from... that's right.  Sandra, from Grey Company.

Yes, the sweet little gal from my medieval nerd re-enactment troupe.  She's basically outshone every single member of me and Jo's families, with the exception of my mother.

WOW.

My father apparently didn't receive the emails where I announced his name (which was late, mind you, because it took a day or so) and his only email talked more about he and my stepmom's upcoming camping plans than about my new baby boy.  My brother emailed me and left a comment here, mentioning something about how we need to catch up via email because "it's cheap" but made NO MENTION of my new baby boy.  His wife is on my Facebook and said NOTHING about the baby until she chimed in on my "No Way I'm Circumcising My Boy" thread with, quite simply, "please get it done".  Nothing else.  No congrats.  NOTHING.

I've been to my medieval swordfighting nerd outings and to a couple of webnerd industry meetings, and at each I was roundly given handshakes and "congratulations".  Chrissakes, the gal at the school canteen where I used to volunteer gave me a hug and asked me all about how we came up with his name.

I guess I'm left wondering what the fuck happened.  I think he's a big fucking deal, and I've all but quit work for the next few months just to enjoy him and learn him and help wife bring him into this wonderful world.

I guess I just wonder what he means to everybody else.  Because I have the feeling that this kid is going to be bigger than anything else I've done (with the possible exception of his more-in-your-face older sister) and I wonder if I've made such a forgettable mark in people's lives that they'd treat this as if it's my favourite footy team winning the Grand Final.

Not looking for anything by writing this, other than catharsis that is, but I'm just genuinely perplexed by the majority of reactions to something that I have found veritably life-changingly profoundly fucking HUGE.

His name is Andrew James Exley.  He's small and curly and farts and looks like his mother in the eyes and me around the mouth and we both think he's the most beautiful thing we've ever done together.

I think he's worth a bit of a fuss.

About JuddHole

This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.