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! 

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!