The Fear Of Becoming A Father

And the joy it brought me instead

I have never fully grown up. I’ll turn 30 this year in May, but I still think of myself as childish.

How could someone like me ever be a good father?

I look at my own father, a workaholic who’d always put his family before himself. He’d skip a joyful evening to keep us fed. He’d work overtime, get home late, sleep on the couch out of exhaustion. He worked in a coal mine since he was 17, then later he’d join a construction company as blue-collar worker. Carrying heavy stuff in burning summer heat, while his more fortunate coworkers got to drive around in air-conditioned excavators.

We never had much, but he gave his all to make sure that we keep the little we have.

He had a big stature. Even now, my hands fit into his palms. I’m nothing like him. So how could I ever be as good a father as he is to me?

This fear of failure nagged on me for the longest time. I thought I’d never want kids. They’re loud and noisy. They smear their dirty fingers all over the place. They drip and drool their saliva across the floor like badly trained bulldogs.

And I can hardly take care of myself. I’m lazy, I always put playing and joy before work and my mind shuts down completely if someone just mentions “overtime” in my vicinity.

You’ll never truly be ready

I met my wife in 2014. She’s Japanese, I’m German. Just a year later, we married. I’ll tag our story at the bottom, there you can read all about how we met.

Occasionally, she’d make a notion or give a hint that she also wants children. I always told her “someday, let’s just enjoy our lives for now”, but deep inside, I was trying to play for time.

I met other guys like myself at different jobs. They were as old as I was and would show me pictures of their kids with fatherly pride. Oddly, they’d goof around in their own way. We were just like kids on the school playground. Yet one of those guys has three kids who are already going to preschool. And when he talks about them, he’s a completely different person. Mature.

And this has inspired me at some point. All my life I’ve been waiting for the moment I’d suddenly feel ready — mature enough to take on the responsibility.

Now I was 27 already and still playing for time. My dad was 22 when I was born. I realized I’m waiting for a moment that would never come.

So I decided to plunge into the unknown.

Tears of joy and anticipation

When I told my wife about my sudden change of mind after 3 years, she was incredibly happy.

Well, I know how children are made, that part was easy.

But now I had to think about how children are raised. Now I had to be like my dad.

During my wife’s pregnancy, I supported her as best as I could. I’d do all the stuff, from cleaning to shopping. I’d give her all the rest she’d need. Ask her every 5 minutes if she needs anything.

Now it felt like she’s doing all the work, enduring all the pain. And I came off so easily.

We’d drive to the hospital each other week to get a new ultrasound image. Once the little one was big enough for the doctor to make an assessment, he gave us the news:

It’s gonna be a girl!

That was the first time I felt goosebumps. I have a younger brother. My father has two brothers. Each of them has sons. I was hoping from the bottom of my heart that we’d be blessed with a girl. And the odds were so slim.

But against all odds, I was able to proudly tell my parents that “the vicious circle has been broken!”

Now that we knew it’s a girl, we had to come up with a name.

My wife’s name is “Konomi” 好, I’m Kevin. So why not come up with something that starts with K again? And because she’d already get my non-Japanese family name, she’d get a Japanese first name.

After looking for hours in a Japanese dictionary for names, we finally found something we could both agree upon.

慧奈 (けいな）

(Kayna — I’m still unsure about how my wife wants to spell the Roman version — Kayna, Kaina, Keina, but I think Kayna looks best)

The last month was the tensest

My wife would be under constant pain from her big belly pulling her down. And I felt helpless. I often was more of a nuisance to her than of any help.

And one morning, she’d wake me up in agitation.

“I think she’ll come today! We gotta go to the hospital!”

Wow, the big day has come. Now I got nervous. So we jumped in the car and I drove her to the hospital at about 7 AM, right in the middle of a traffic peak. It was a 15-minute drive, but it felt like an hour.

She went in to the doctor and I was stuck in the waiting room. A nurse came by and told me that they expect the birth to start around 1 PM. So we waited.

I walked up and down the hallway, went outside, came back in, went to a convenience store, got some coffee and a snack, went back in, out again.

I was restless.

At about 1 PM, I got called into a room next to where my wife was lying. Then I waited again. I don’t know how long. I lost track of time.

Nurses went past, back and forth. I’d hear someone scream and think my wife is giving birth. But passing nurses told me that it’s still not happening. I must have heard someone else.

The big moment

Then all hell broke loose. Nurses ran into the room and told me to stay put. I heard my wife inside. Moaning. But I was told to wait outside. I was both happy and sad. I didn’t want to see “the magic of giving birth” with my own eyes, but felt sad for being excluded that easily.

Well, turned out I’d still get my fair share of blood.

The midwife came out and told me to get inside. My wife was lying or sitting on a chair, surrounded by nurses, midwives and her attending physician. The midwife grabbed my hand, pushed it on my wife’s belly and told me to help pushing.

I hesitated. “Wouldn’t I hurt her?”

The midwife pushed my hand with the strength of a barbarian in the middle of a bloody rage, yelling “harder, harder! Press!” while I worried that I’d do more harm than good.

I’d try to cheer my wife on, telling her that she’s doing a great job. But I had a lump in my throat. I still don’t know if it was out of fear or joy, but I started crying, shaking.

Little Kayna came out but was silent for a long moment. I thought to remember that this is a bad sign at birth when the baby is not responding. So my heart stopped beating. The nurse gave her a brief slap and summoned the air sirens.

Thank god, little Kayna is healthy!

Someone brought me a chair and I sat next to my wife, who was white like a ghost, cold sweat running down her heavily panting face. Her skin felt cold as ice.

After the worst was over

I was guided back into the waiting room, where I’d “assist” (read: stand around like a stump) the nurse while she’d take measurements and check our little girl.

Then she’d wrap her into a big blanket and hand her over to me.

“Do you want to hold your daughter?”

Of course I did, but I never held a baby before. Maybe my younger brother when I was 4 or 5. So I held my daughter for the first time, rarely moving, as to not hurt her in any way.

I was still crying, not caring for how pathetic it must have looked to the nurses. Besides, they probably see men crying every day. Don’t pretend you didn’t. If you didn’t cry, maybe something’s wrong with you.

After a while, I was told that both my wife and daughter need some rest. I can head home and come back tomorrow. I kept contact with my wife via messages and would prepare everything she’d need to stay a few weeks at the hospital.

I’d come by every day, visit them, stay with my wife to help her against the boredom of being stuck in the hospital. Then I’d get back home, where I went into a frenzy, cleaning every inch, moving furniture around, preparing everything for their arrival.

I’d go buy a child seat for the car. I stood in the middle of the shop and took pictures, asking my wife which one she likes the most.

Finally, I was able to take them home. Now I’d have to change diapers, feed her, entertain her and grow into the thing I always feared: Being a good father.

It’s not really as hard as you’d think

Don’t get me wrong. It’s a mental strain for both of us. You will be sleep deprived. You will yearn for a hot shower in silence. But it’s not really as bad as it sounds. All the good moments will make you forget the bad ones.

If the little girl starts crying, there’s almost no stopping her. Soothing her is a challenge. I felt bad for our neighbors, who must have thought there’s domestic violence going on in our apartment. I’m glad to this day that the cops never showed up for an awkward questioning.

But seeing her grow is such an amazing experience. It’s been 494 days now. Moments ago, she was wrapped up in big blankets, would only wake up to get fed. Now she runs around the table, insisting on feeding me her last grape instead of eating it herself.

Just hearing her laughter fills me with joy every single time.

So if you’re like me back then, unsure whether you’re ready to become a father, then rest assured that you’ll never truly be ready. It’s like a pair of shoes that are just too big for you. You’ll never grow the right size. You’ll have to put them on and then grow into them.

There’s only one person in this world that will teach you to be a good parent. And that is your child.

Thank you for reading my story.

Kevin is an editor and writer for the ILLUMINATION publication. Follow him on Twitter and LinkedIn.