At least it's not the end of the world...

I'm getting ahead of myself here; I haven't even gotten to the juicy bits yet.

Allow me to divulge this little quip about myself before I can properly move forward...

Nothing wakes me up. The Bloods and Crips could be engaged in a turf war in my bedroom and I am sound as a pound, lost in the mundane world known as my dreams (and when I say mundane I truly mean mundane. I dream about going to the grocery store and putting on my shoes...seriously). A beeping cell phone, sitting a good 10 feet away from me, broke the mold and woke me up ... at 3:00 am. I feel I should also point out this night was up to that point, an ordinary in-no-way idiosyncraticThursday night... quite mundane if you will...I went to the grocery store then bought some shoes online...my middle name should be hip to the scene. Anyway, I look at my phone, his snarky little beep saying, "come turn me on and listen to what I have to say, it's quite *snicker, snicker* informative". Cells phones are such a-holes.

Now I don't have a lot in common with Mr. New England Patriot Tom Brady. I never attended Michigan University, never played a single down in the NFL, never dated a supermodel, and never had to cheat to win a game...

Tom and I do have one thing in common, but I'm getting ahead of myself again.

Let's talk about that phone call for a second...

Phone calls at 3:00 am are rarely, if ever, good, always ready to lead you into the Abattoir. If someone isn't on the way to the hospital, dead, jailed, in desperate need of money, then it's not a 3:00 am phone call. I never listened to the message. Whatever the problem was, it was going to be there when I awoke again at 8 am. I value my sleep...sue me.

The phone started to beep again... (Censored). I look at the number, hem and haw for a few seconds and then I answer it. "Whoa there buddy, I just read you value your sleep, so what gives with answering the phone, you lying to us boy"? I thought this might be the moment where I could finally find myself writing a letter that began with the following: Dear Penthouse Forum...again...sue me.

"Hello"

If I were to be given a test regarding the content that was covered over next ten minutes of this conversation, then I would have to be held back a year. Once I realized that previously stated letter would have to wait for another day, I sort of closed my eyes and tuned out...did I mention its 3:00 in the morning? I kept asking if she was drunk, she kept asking me to be quiet so she could effectively get the burden of kept information off her chest.

Let's go ahead and jump to that juicy part now.

"I'm pregnant"

"Okay"

"You're the father."

"I'm not a science guy, but I'm pretty sure sperm cannot travel by land, sea or air". "When was the last time we saw each other"?

"18 weeks"

"Okay...oh...wait...Santa Monica"?

"Yep"

I don't need a test to prove that night.

So that commonality that Tom and I have...we both have ourselves a baby momma...Two little words that can give a man a profound moment of pause, for all kinds of different reasons.

I think Matt Leinart has a baby momma too. Matt, Tom, me...ne plus ultra.

Oh, and just to confirm your more than likely spot on assumption, the relationship with said baby momma is dissolved... down the drain... while she is up the spout. The " one more time for old times sake" tree sprouted a branch...oh me oh my.

High five Tom? Matt? Shawn Kemp? Latrell Sprewell? No? Well at least my baby momma won't end up on the cover of People magazine...put a point in my column for not dating someone famous.

A little bit about the girl...

With her I thought she'd be bringing home the Turkey while I brought home the bacon. She told me once that she can only go so far on assumptions and do so much at an arms length, which I tend to do with people. Our seven minutes in heaven stop at five.

Now back to the part where I will become a father....well maybe... she gave me an out.

This is the first time I've spoken about this situation. I haven't even talked to my parents about this. Friends, well I love them to death and respect their opinions on so many things, but this one? Well the conversation would probably include some movie analogy and end up with us snickering over someone using the term back end deal. Someone call Hillary, I am without a village.

That out doesn't help me either.

I've always told myself that no matter what, I will always step up and do the right thing...basically be a man in any situation. But that out, I have to be honest, I am truly wrestling with it right now. Over the past few days I've rationalized that not being there for her or our child is the best thing. That over the next year I have a few projects that will be starting or nearing completion, which has to be the sine qua non in my life and with that, isn't it better to just stay out of the picture than be the guy who shows up once a year, or worse?

Or am I way out in left field? A philistine if you will. Is that sort of thinking only reserved for people who end up on TV as the Dead Beat of the Week? Her life has now effectively changed; ostensibly shouldn't my life change, despite a relationship that sleeps with the fishes?

My head won't stop spinning.

She's having a girl.

I am going to be a father...weird...guess I better find my local Baby Bjorn distributor...get that book about people pooping...get this figured out...step up and do something.

Keeping it real...painstakingly real.

PH.