No doubt we've all heard that time flies when your baby is still little. Alexa is now over a month old, and I can say without hesitation that this is true! Having spent so much time prior to her birth wondering what it would be like to be a Father, I've been intending since she was born to write about the ways in which my life is suddenly different. However, there was just one problem: I still had no idea!
Not that I expected to immediately fully understand the implications of having a daughter; undoubtedly it'll take a while to even begin to figure this out. But particularly, in my case, I tend to process things slowly. Initially, it barely even registered in my mind that Alexa was mine. It felt like she was someone else's baby, and contrary to my expectations, taking her home didn't change much. I still wasn't making the connection. However, rather than making me feel disconnected in a discouraging way, this turned out to be a very enjoyable pace at which to get used to having a baby; this is because, rather than being hit with everything at once, I've been able to gradually grow accustomed to the fact that this is my daughter. Every day I'm at work, I miss her a little more and look forward more to coming home and seeing her. Every time I hold her, I grow a little more fond of her, and it feels just a little more real than the last time. Because of this, each time feels new to me, and nothing ever gets old.
One significant contributing factor to this all feeling new to me is the fact that I am not naturally good with babies. Most people reading this will know I'm a twin, and so I had no younger siblings. In addition, I was the youngest of all my cousins; so I had very little exposure to babies for most of my life. I am, admittedly, helpless when it comes to figuring them out. What do they need? What do they want? It's all foreign to me, especially in these first few months.
However, necessity has a way of making things change very quickly, and to my astonishment (and elation), I'm finding that babies are rapidly becoming demystified for me. They're not all that different from the rest of us, just smaller and more disproportionate. While I used to be afraid of even holding a baby (what if I drop her? am I holding her head correctly?), I'm now able to pick her up and bounce her around with confidence. Previously unable to even begin to figure out how to get a baby to stop crying, I'm now finding that it's not that complicated; in fact, I'm starting to wish that other people who are upset could be calmed simply by being bounced on a knee!
One particular recurring situation has stood out to me as special, and the makings of good memories. Sarah is without a doubt much more skilled with babies than I am, so when it comes to helping calm Alexa down, more than likely Sarah will be the one to do it. But occasionally she'll continue crying, and nothing seems to help. One particular time, it was nearly 2am, I had work the following morning, and had lost all hope of getting a good night of sleep. So I got up and asked Sarah if she wanted me to take a turn. She handed Alexa to me, and I walked her around for a while. Before I knew it, she was peaceful once more. Since this was during her first couple weeks, it was a huge boost to my confidence. Despite my lack of experience, apparently I wasn't so bad after all!
More recently, I've found that she loves being walked on the treadmill. I set the treadmill to a very low setting (it wouldn't be very good to have a baby flying through the air as I slip off of the thing), and hold her as I walk. While normally she makes noises and squirms around, particularly when she's bored, this is the one time during which she becomes completely still and peaceful. I think she likes the combination of the motion and the sound that the treadmill makes. Usually, she'll fall asleep within minutes whenever I do this.
However simple, I already know how quickly these occasions will turn into memories. She won't always be small enough to hold in such a way, and sooner than I even realize, she'll be mobile herself and busy discovering the world around her. So I'm doing my best to value these times and make sure to remember as much as I can!
Monday, January 23, 2017
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
Feeling Her Move and Our First "Conversation"
There's a difference between knowing something and feeling like it's true. Consider, for example, the trust fall, in which you fall backwards and your friend (hopefully) catches you. You may trust your friend, but when you begin to fall, it's fairly likely that for a moment all your senses are screaming to you that nothing is going to stop the back of your head from hitting the floor.
Finding out that you're going to have a baby is similar; not similar to the fear of hitting your head on the floor, but rather, similar because of the difference between what you feel is true and what you know to be true.
I suppose that was a very roundabout way of saying that it doesn't yet feel real to me that I'm going to be a father! The moment Sarah and I discovered that she was pregnant, we knew there was a little human growing inside of her. However, especially in the beginning, it was difficult to fully comprehend or "feel" that it was real.
It's pretty safe to say that I'll never experience having a baby growing inside my body; however, throughout the last nine months I've gained quite an appreciation for the difficulty and hard work involved in the process (as much as is possible from the perspective of an external observer). I suppose the advantage of being the father (rather than the mother) could be that the difficulties of carrying a child are avoided. However, the disadvantage is that, as the father, it's harder to feel like any of this is real. Sarah, as she experienced everything that happens during pregnancy, had no difficulty comprehending the reality of it. But I was, in a way, out of the loop. I tried so often to imagine the baby, to picture her in my mind, and yet it was so hard to "feel" as though there was actually a little person in there.
All that changed, however, when I began to have the chance to feel her move.
The first time, it was so faint that I wasn't even sure if I was imagining it. Often, when I would rush over to feel her kicking, she would settle down as soon as I got there and I would miss it. Perhaps it was merely unfortunate coincidence, or maybe she was being shy; someone even suggested that perhaps I have a calming presence that compelled to settle down as I drew near (that seems like a bit of a stretch, but I'll take it!) However, as time passed, the sensation grew stronger, and there was no longer any doubt as to what I was feeling. Eventually her kicking and punching has become quite strong (stronger than I would have thought possible given the small space in which she is confined!).
This, therefore, is one reason that each time I've felt the baby kick has been significant to me: it is tangible, relatable evidence of her existence that makes her "feel" more real to me.
However, there's another reason it's significant to me, and that is that I consider it to be, in a sense, the the first instance of communication between my daughter and me.
I have in mind a particular occasion, when the baby simply pushed against the area where my hand was resting. It was a strong push, as if she were stretching. So almost without thinking, I pushed back, and then I thought to myself how interesting it is that at the moment she has no idea I even exist (indeed, she has no idea yet that anything outside the womb exists), and yet by pushing back when she pushed, I had the ability in a way to nonverbally communicate with her. Certainly there's not much variability as far as what I'm able to convey to her through a simple push. But perhaps at least I'm providing a sort of direct response to her movement, showing her that someone or something is aware of her and cares enough to respond. I'm under no delusion that she reasons through the experience in the way I'm imagining (although who can know for sure?), but nonetheless, I'm confident that in some way this had some sort of impact on her.
It may not be much, but it's certainly a memorable experience. In the future there will be so much communication between us: the first few things she says when she learns to talk, the thousands of questions she'll ask me and all my responses, the first time she tells me about a boy she likes (I'm in no hurry for that one!), the opportunities I'll have to share with her lessons I've learned, the arguments we'll have, telling her I love her and hearing her say it back. But I can always consider this to be our first interaction, and it's something I'll always remember!
Finding out that you're going to have a baby is similar; not similar to the fear of hitting your head on the floor, but rather, similar because of the difference between what you feel is true and what you know to be true.
I suppose that was a very roundabout way of saying that it doesn't yet feel real to me that I'm going to be a father! The moment Sarah and I discovered that she was pregnant, we knew there was a little human growing inside of her. However, especially in the beginning, it was difficult to fully comprehend or "feel" that it was real.
It's pretty safe to say that I'll never experience having a baby growing inside my body; however, throughout the last nine months I've gained quite an appreciation for the difficulty and hard work involved in the process (as much as is possible from the perspective of an external observer). I suppose the advantage of being the father (rather than the mother) could be that the difficulties of carrying a child are avoided. However, the disadvantage is that, as the father, it's harder to feel like any of this is real. Sarah, as she experienced everything that happens during pregnancy, had no difficulty comprehending the reality of it. But I was, in a way, out of the loop. I tried so often to imagine the baby, to picture her in my mind, and yet it was so hard to "feel" as though there was actually a little person in there.
All that changed, however, when I began to have the chance to feel her move.
The first time, it was so faint that I wasn't even sure if I was imagining it. Often, when I would rush over to feel her kicking, she would settle down as soon as I got there and I would miss it. Perhaps it was merely unfortunate coincidence, or maybe she was being shy; someone even suggested that perhaps I have a calming presence that compelled to settle down as I drew near (that seems like a bit of a stretch, but I'll take it!) However, as time passed, the sensation grew stronger, and there was no longer any doubt as to what I was feeling. Eventually her kicking and punching has become quite strong (stronger than I would have thought possible given the small space in which she is confined!).
This, therefore, is one reason that each time I've felt the baby kick has been significant to me: it is tangible, relatable evidence of her existence that makes her "feel" more real to me.
However, there's another reason it's significant to me, and that is that I consider it to be, in a sense, the the first instance of communication between my daughter and me.
I have in mind a particular occasion, when the baby simply pushed against the area where my hand was resting. It was a strong push, as if she were stretching. So almost without thinking, I pushed back, and then I thought to myself how interesting it is that at the moment she has no idea I even exist (indeed, she has no idea yet that anything outside the womb exists), and yet by pushing back when she pushed, I had the ability in a way to nonverbally communicate with her. Certainly there's not much variability as far as what I'm able to convey to her through a simple push. But perhaps at least I'm providing a sort of direct response to her movement, showing her that someone or something is aware of her and cares enough to respond. I'm under no delusion that she reasons through the experience in the way I'm imagining (although who can know for sure?), but nonetheless, I'm confident that in some way this had some sort of impact on her.
It may not be much, but it's certainly a memorable experience. In the future there will be so much communication between us: the first few things she says when she learns to talk, the thousands of questions she'll ask me and all my responses, the first time she tells me about a boy she likes (I'm in no hurry for that one!), the opportunities I'll have to share with her lessons I've learned, the arguments we'll have, telling her I love her and hearing her say it back. But I can always consider this to be our first interaction, and it's something I'll always remember!
Saturday, November 19, 2016
Am I Ready?
One of the questions I receive most frequently is whether I feel ready to be a father. My response?
"Nope."
And I would immediately like to add that there would be reason for concern if I did feel ready.
I'm 26 years old, and have been married for roughly a year and a half. I've been through college and now work full time. I have a driver's license, I've voted, and I've had alcoholic beverages. In short, I've done everything I ever thought of as a barrier between myself and adulthood.
And yet, my experience has been what I'm sure is common to the vast majority of people: I never felt any more like an adult, despite each new milestone I reached. And I couldn't help but wonder at what point I would finally feel "grown up", or if that point would ever come at all.
For me, that point came on March 25th, 2016: the day I found out I was going to be a father.
It came, all of a sudden. Instantly I was filled with an overwhelming sense of responsibility. At that moment, in my own mind, I became an adult; not because of any sudden increase in my own maturity, wisdom, or experience, but rather, because of a vastly increased awareness of my need for those things. In a shorter time than I could possibly comprehend, there would be a new human being who would be totally dependent on me for much more than simply provision and support. This will be someone who, in the beginning, knows nothing about life, nothing about the universe in which we live. And it will be partially up to me to teach her everything I can about what she needs to know, and perhaps even more importantly, to impart to her an inquisitive nature and the ability to seek out and gain knowledge. This is such a simplistic way to state such an awesome and daunting task!
But there's more. My sudden sense of being an adult (or perhaps more accurately, my sense of the need to be an adult) was perhaps brought on most by the realization that this is someone who will look up to me, who will learn behaviors and attitudes from me, who will soak up every word I say and every idea I present. Never before has it been so important for me to carefully consider everything I say and everything I do. Every one of my actions, from now on, has the potential to have a part in shaping an entire mind, an entire life, in ways that could last far beyond my own lifetime.
So am I ready for this? In response to this question, I offer another: "Is anyone ever ready?" Of course not. If I felt ready, it could only mean that I don't understand the incredible responsibility ahead of me. And I don't pretend to fully understand it now either. Perhaps all I can do is acknowledge how little I yet understand, and be open not only to the advice and wisdom of those who have raised their own children, but also to every lesson that my own future experience has waiting for me.
However, my initial answer is incomplete. I would follow up my "no" by saying that I feel that I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Fatherhood is something for which no one can adequately prepare, so I'm not sure that if we had waited a little longer (or a lot longer), I would feel any differently.
Regardless, within a few weeks, a new life will enter the world, and I cannot imagine a greater privilege than to be given the responsibility of caring for, teaching, and loving that new life. With the help of God, the best wife anyone could ask for, and support from those I am fortunate to call my friends and family, I want to commit to doing the best that I can. It's going to be quite a ride, and I can't wait!
"Nope."
And I would immediately like to add that there would be reason for concern if I did feel ready.
I'm 26 years old, and have been married for roughly a year and a half. I've been through college and now work full time. I have a driver's license, I've voted, and I've had alcoholic beverages. In short, I've done everything I ever thought of as a barrier between myself and adulthood.
And yet, my experience has been what I'm sure is common to the vast majority of people: I never felt any more like an adult, despite each new milestone I reached. And I couldn't help but wonder at what point I would finally feel "grown up", or if that point would ever come at all.
For me, that point came on March 25th, 2016: the day I found out I was going to be a father.
It came, all of a sudden. Instantly I was filled with an overwhelming sense of responsibility. At that moment, in my own mind, I became an adult; not because of any sudden increase in my own maturity, wisdom, or experience, but rather, because of a vastly increased awareness of my need for those things. In a shorter time than I could possibly comprehend, there would be a new human being who would be totally dependent on me for much more than simply provision and support. This will be someone who, in the beginning, knows nothing about life, nothing about the universe in which we live. And it will be partially up to me to teach her everything I can about what she needs to know, and perhaps even more importantly, to impart to her an inquisitive nature and the ability to seek out and gain knowledge. This is such a simplistic way to state such an awesome and daunting task!
But there's more. My sudden sense of being an adult (or perhaps more accurately, my sense of the need to be an adult) was perhaps brought on most by the realization that this is someone who will look up to me, who will learn behaviors and attitudes from me, who will soak up every word I say and every idea I present. Never before has it been so important for me to carefully consider everything I say and everything I do. Every one of my actions, from now on, has the potential to have a part in shaping an entire mind, an entire life, in ways that could last far beyond my own lifetime.
So am I ready for this? In response to this question, I offer another: "Is anyone ever ready?" Of course not. If I felt ready, it could only mean that I don't understand the incredible responsibility ahead of me. And I don't pretend to fully understand it now either. Perhaps all I can do is acknowledge how little I yet understand, and be open not only to the advice and wisdom of those who have raised their own children, but also to every lesson that my own future experience has waiting for me.
However, my initial answer is incomplete. I would follow up my "no" by saying that I feel that I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Fatherhood is something for which no one can adequately prepare, so I'm not sure that if we had waited a little longer (or a lot longer), I would feel any differently.
Regardless, within a few weeks, a new life will enter the world, and I cannot imagine a greater privilege than to be given the responsibility of caring for, teaching, and loving that new life. With the help of God, the best wife anyone could ask for, and support from those I am fortunate to call my friends and family, I want to commit to doing the best that I can. It's going to be quite a ride, and I can't wait!
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