A Stay-at-Home Dad is Born

Kind of…

(In response to the MPP Friends turning point prompt)

My wife and I were sitting side-by-side on a bench in Cambridge, England when she told me she was pregnant with our first child. It was March, right in the middle of our ten-month stint living in England for my graduate school course.

I feel like I should tell you what the weather was like, but I honestly don’t remember. But it is a pretty reasonable bet that it was either sunny and cool or overcast and cool.

“So, I took a pregnancy test,” my wife said. She gave me a look that was clearly meant to serve as an ellipsis. I didn’t bite.

“And, it was positive.”

Much like the pregnancy test, I was positive that she had planned out her phrasing and delivery in advance because she thought it would be funny.

And it was.

I certainly appreciated the touch of levity because I didn’t really have anything of value to add to the conversation. There was no sudden flood of emotion or feeling. My mind didn’t fill with thoughts. It didn’t feel, at the moment, as momentous as it should have. I was as cool as the imagined weather.

Maybe I was so calm because I didn’t have any experience with this pregnancy announcement thing. My only real guidepost was pregnancy test commercials on TV.

And since my wife didn’t whip out the pregnancy test right away so we could study it intently before melting into each other’s arms as tears of joy streamed down our faces, I had no clue how to react.

As it turns out, she did have the test with her, but she didn’t lead with it.

Looking back, the fact that she stowed the test in her purse so she could bicycle from our college flat into town to meet me does seem a bit odd, but at least she didn’t hand it to me with no explanation in the middle of the town square where the ghost of Isaac Newton was probably looking on.

I mean, I guess it might have added a little pizzazz to the festivities. If commercials have taught me anything, nothing is quite as exciting as having your wife hand you a stick with her dried urine on it and telling you, “No, don’t think about the urine thing, look! Don’t you see what this means? You’re going to be a daddy!”

But alas, we had to do it our own way. In that regard, it was certainly a sign of things to come.

Alternatively, I might have been emotionally flat because that is pretty much how I have been my entire life. And then there are the anti-depressants we could talk about. But whatever reason you want to go with — general temperament, anti-psychotic drugs, or TV commercial-induced disillusionment — the point is I wasn’t exactly jumping out of my skin with feelings when I found out I was going to be a dad. And as best as I can remember, I maintained my impressive level of detachment for most of the pregnancy.

Now, I don’t believe my feelings (or lack thereof) about the pregnancy are that unusual for men. While I do think my perspective on parenting and children is somewhat unique for a number of reasons — because I am an accidental stay-at-home parent, introverted, and socially anxious — I was initially much like most other men.

I don’t want to complain, but this whole pregnancy arrangement is a little unfair…for guys. Think about it. Sure, mom has to carry the baby inside of her, deal with the extreme discomfort, the lack of sleep, the diminished immune system, the changes to her body, everything.

And then, of course, she has to go through the whole labor thing while her worthless mate sits in the corner trying not to faint. But still, it is no walk in the park for guys, let me tell you. I mean, the whole pregnancy and birth pretty much are, but that is exactly the problem.

Everything is so normal for the dad up until the very moment of birth. Particularly the first pregnancy. There are no other kids to care for, so all he does is exactly whatever it is he normally does whenever he wants.

He gets to golf on the weekends, drink alcohol, go to the gym, and buy his wife three Subway turkey sandwiches a day with lettuce, tomato, cucumbers, and Ranch dressing. He couldn’t be happier or more unconcerned. And then, all of a sudden, boom. He is plunged into a war zone from which there is no escape for at least eighteen years.

First, early one morning, there is a viscous water-like fluid all over his bedroom floor. Then the next thing he knows he is driving to the hospital. Then there is a good deal of waiting and, at last, a very small crying human appears, seemingly out of nowhere.

That night, he wakes up every two hours and then repeats this sleep pattern every night until he dies. In the meantime, he becomes more closely acquainted with vomit, urine, poop, and volatile emotions than he ever thought possible.

See, at least moms have nine months leading up to the birth to get used to being miserable. For dads, however, it comes as a complete shock. Yes, I know I am way out here on this lonely and very untenable limb, but I am going to keep on walking until it crumbles away beneath me or my wife hits me in the head with a shoe.

But, no matter who has it better or worse, one thing is certain: The birth of a child really does change everything. Particularly for the child, but also for the parents.

For me, the change was typically drastic and it manifested in a very particular way. Even though I didn’t really feel that different, I did (and still do) feel more like an awkward teenager than an adult, I could tell my standing in the eyes of others instantly morphed.

I went from being an afterthought, the boring anxious guy who never talked, to a revered giver of life, yet also kind of an afterthought. Yes, I was still an afterthought, so no change there, but the reason was different.

Now I was an afterthought not so much because of my public personality which has been compared unfavorably to mashed potatoes without gravy, but because when you are carrying a baby, the attention only goes one place.

And that place is the baby, by the way. Just to be clear.

Fast forward eight years and I am now the father of three wonderful children. For myriad reasons I have written about elsewhere, I have been primarily a stay-at-home parent since the day my first child was born.

It’s safe to say we’ve come a long way in eight years since that sunny or overcast day in Cambridge. But yes, my children are still the focus.

It’s amazing how one urine-stained stick can change everything.