Fatherhood | Day One
Lessons In Being Human; No. 5
Nothing could have prepared me for this. That is to say, even after all the visits and questions to the OB/GYN, all the conversations with other parents, the day-long online baby classes, the free baby clothes and registry gifts…even after all of this, nothing truly prepares you for that moment when you arrive home from the hospital after the birth of your first child, close the door, look at your spouse and say, “now what?”
Note: Before I continue I’d like to preface that this post and future posts of a similar nature should be read as if reading a private journal. I’ve reached the realization that becoming a parent, and raising children often comes with thoughts and feelings of insecurity, anxiety, judgement, passive aggressiveness, and much more. More often than not, the information we are given and that we share, primarily espouse the virtues of newly found parenthood and exceptionally celebrate the miracle of life aptly found in the eyes of a newborn baby. Messages of unconditional love are abound to the point where it may feel stigmatizing to share feelings and emotions that are contrary to that narrative and mold. Furthermore, we more readily acknowledge the importance and impact of motherhood and women on this journey (rightfully so), understanding the pressures, the strains, and difficulties they endure both mentally and physically. So, with that context, consider this and subsequent posts like it, as an exercise in introspection from a man, a new father, and a loving partner trying to make sense of his sometimes contradictory thoughts and feelings, as well as navigating the barrage of information and advise (unsolicited or otherwise) he receives from everyone in his life with an opinion…
My son Leo was born on February 22 at 11:42pm at New York Presbyterian - Alexandra Cohen Hospital for Women and Newborns. While babies are indeed born everyday, I suspect a lot of us will be sharing unique stories of our childbirth experiences because of this global pandemic, the first in many of our lifetimes.
The coronavirus presented unprecedented challenges and opportunities for many of us. In fact, I honestly don’t know if my wife and I would have gotten pregnant if not for it. It’s amusing to think that extended periods of time confined indoors increased the likelihood of our getting pregnant, and indeed that is what happened. And so while we unexpectedly reaped the benefit of working remotely, and spending more quality time supporting each other throughout the 9 month ordeals of pregnancy, we conversely experienced the distress of not being able to visit the OB/GYN together, or attend Lamaze classes in person, or even share in the bounty and bliss of doting family and friends eager for a baby shower.
Often times my wife would breakdown and cry, anxious and scared. I too shared her fears and her doubts but simply could not allow myself to succumb to them. If we were both broken no one would be able to come and pick up the pieces. So we grieved the loss of our community and our social lives as we knew them, we threw ourselves into preparing and learning everything we needed to for the sake of our son. There was so much we didn’t know and a lot we weren’t prepared to feel. At one point my wife fixated on self-care and self-preservation and it was difficult for me to not take it personally, after all, we were supposed to be in this together. At another point, I was the one obsessing over every detail of what her postpartum care should look and feel like. I wanted her to feel supported and I didn’t want to be overwhelmed caring for her and our baby simultaneously. This was Covid after all, no one else was coming.
The day our son was born it was just us, a fact that we did our best not to raise even once. At that point we did not feel like a mom and dad, we were just a boy and a girl having a baby; babies having babies. Were we ready for this? Was I ready for this? What ultimately changed my mind was when I noticed the genuine surprise every nurse expressed when I offered to assist my wife at every stage of labor and delivery process: getting her food and water, helping her to the bathroom, checking on our son in the nursery while she slept…What were other husbands doing if not all of this?
Two days later after a bit of medical intervention, debriefs from various doctors, nurses, lactation consultants, and a folder of paperwork, we were in an Uber on our way home in the dead of night. I had done my best to take notes of everything, but the whirlwind of information sat heavy on our minds all the way home. Thinking back on all the stories other parents and friends had shared with us, I remembered the fun pregnancy stories and I remembered the blissful baby anecdotes, yet somehow I didn’t recall hearing about all the birthing experiences. Why was that?
When we finally get home, the silence of our apartment is deafening. One day we didn’t have a baby, and now we did. There was no instruction manual, and there was no one there to help you when your baby lets out that first cry. So, you take a deep breathe, you look at each other, you pick up the baby, and somehow you figure it out as you go.
