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Shortly after my parents first came home with my baby sister, Gina, I dropped her. I was 5 then.

When I saw my baby brother, Jesse, for the first time, he wriggled on our living room couch. Then, as he lay on his back, he urinated on my pants.

I remember a looping, yellowish arc that ended in a dark puddle on the left thigh portion of my brown corduroys. I was 9 then.

Both are true stories. Maybe that’s why every time my wife insists she wants children now, I nod and fall into a coma.

At least that way no one gets hurt and my pants don’t get soiled. That’s my baby logic. I’m 33 now.

I don’t quite understand why I’m still not as overly gung-ho about having children today as my wife is. I love Amy. I love babies. I really do want to have one or two.

Something inside, though, stunts my baby ambition.

Still not fully understanding my hesitancy, I looked inward. The theory I developed is a bit weird, though.

So, I thumbed through the phone book at my Advocate desk and found a family counselor. I wanted to pick a professional’s brain.

I’ll give you my theory first. Then, you’ll know why I telephoned a counselor.

I decided that a neurological diaper must envelop the fatherly portion of my brain – absorbing much of my maturity and leaving me unable to control my blabber.

Just ask my wife – who listens to my incoherent excuses for stalling with parenthood – or 95 percent of my co-workers.

My brain diaper often bounces thoughts of rational behavior right back to where they came from – my brain’s big brother lobe.

In high school, I’d wrestle my sister to the ground and then tickle her until she said, “Jackie Chan: Half a Loaf of Kung Fu.”

I’d seen that film title in a Montana movie rental store and I always thought it sounded funny.

I’d tickle Gina until she said it in an Asian accent.

I took my brother camping one summer. We lived near the Continental Divide, surrounded by mountains.

As brave adventurers, we unrolled our sleeping bags and looked back to our house, which was still about 10 feet away.

We chose the lush backyard sod over the looming, dark, nearby forest.

I started a small fire on the lawn, poked holes in a coffee can, overturned the tub on the fire, placed a metal cup on top of the can and tried to boil rice.

Jesse is allergic to rice, especially the undercooked variety, it turns out. His throat began to close within minutes.

Am I afraid I’ll be as clumsy a father as I was a brother? Would you trust me with your kids?

Uncertain if my brain diaper theory really holds water, I called Virginia Ruschhaupt, a Victoria family counselor.

“Sometimes guys wait, wanting to be ready,” she said. “They want to feel like they can do it and that the timing is right. It’s very often about security.”

When considering children, men also often feel an added financial burden, even when a baby’s costs are manageable, she said.

“Life as you know it is going to change dramatically. You fear a loss of freedom,” she said. “The same happens for women, of course, but they often have a drive for motherhood.”

I didn’t have the guts to tell Ruschhaupt my brain diaper theory. I did ask her, though, what I could do to ready for fatherhood.

“If you wait for the ideal time, it never happens,” she said. “You have to ask how realistic your concerns are.”

Well, I’d say it’s unlikely I’ll make my baby repeat the odd title of a Jackie Chan movie. And now, luckily, steep rice prices make it difficult to purchase the grain locally.

I’d say I’m ready to take the leap.

Lord knows Amy’s gotten up many times to change my brain diaper. Maybe it’s time I become a big boy and learn to use the metaphorical toilet.

I’m still not putting the seat down, though. Darn you, brain diaper.

Gabe Semenza is a reporter for the Advocate. Contact him at 361-580-6519 or gsemenza@vicad.com.