So I’m not much of a small-talker. As referenced previously (see the conclusion of this linked post), I’m not much for the indefinite script of predictable questions that constantly come up. With my wife 35 weeks pregnant, I am well accustomed to the constant check-ins from close friends and nominal acquaintances alike, though it doesn’t make me any more skilled or gifted at these little exchanges.
What I have learned is that I’m best equipped if I have a line ready - a morsel of an update from the last appointment, a picture from the last ultrasound, a brief but amusing anecdote of an expecting couple. My current line? “If you told us that the baby could come today, and both Katherine and the baby would be healthy, I think we’d both take it!” I don’t know what bone or organ1 people have that makes them adept at these little exchanges, but I’m missing it.
I think part of my problem is that my close friends and my social experiences in college and adult life have spoiled me with frequent and easy access to high quality conversations. So when it comes to brief exchanges in the hallways at work or chance run-ins with friends out and about, I struggle to get over myself and engage authentically in these more surface-level chats. My education and my gifts and my personality all lend themselves to deeper, broader thinking, so I can often spend too much time in my head and lose the ability to chit-chat with ease. My wife, Katherine, is a positive influence on me in this regard, as she models how, without dumbing herself down, one can be sociable, engaging, and authentic in these smaller encounters.2 I have much to learn.
But when it comes to the questions of our parenthood and the impending birth of our daughter, I am glad that I am wired this way internally. My head and my heart both relish the chance to stew over something and prepare for it gradually and steadily; I realized as I grew up that I only cry when I am surprised by something, or when it’s something super profound,3 because I’ve otherwise mostly prepared myself for whatever it is. When it comes to the big stuff, I love to confront tough decisions over and over again in small and steady ways, day by day and week by week as a decision stews and marinates in anticipation of being made.
So with this baby stuff, the whole nine-month waiting period suits me well. Katherine and I talked so many times in so many different ways about having and raising children that tons of starter thoughts brewed in my mind. One of the things she taught me is that mothers often realize most of the magnitude of their reality as soon as they get the positive pregnancy test, but sometimes fathers take longer for it to sink in, sometimes not even until the baby is in their arms. For me, I have long felt called to being a husband and a dad, and I have a fiery conviction in my heart to be an active, hands-on father—a diaper-changing, cry-soothing, belch-inducing, love-cuddling machine. I acknowledge that sometimes babies need their mothers, but I’m going to be eager and antsy to stake a full claim to the role of father for this tiny human.
When people confront me with the usual battery of follow-up questions and comments, I bristle at the subtext that new parents and especially new fathers don’t realize what they’re in for, that they’re in over their heads, or that they don’t realize how much life will change. You’re going to be so tired. You have to sleep when the baby sleeps. Babies need so much. You have no idea how different things will be!
Ok, sure, if you’re a parent or you’ve spent significant time caring for babies, then I cannot stack up to you in terms of my awareness of how parenthood will hit me. However, what if I told you4 that I’ve been thinking about this, praying about this, crockpot-cooking this for a while now? What if I spent half of high school and most of college being “the guy girls would love to marry” but didn’t necessarily want to date (at least not for very long)? What if this is what I’ve dreamed about and longed for? What if this is who I am? It is.
When I was running the Wexford Half-Marathon,5 I was using every mental tactic to push me through the finish line. I was tracking and passing people, conversing with other runners, and taking in the sights of the countryside. But what got me over the hump, just as the heaviness was coming on, was a random glimpse my imagination conjured of my then-girlfriend/now-wife, standing along the course near the finish line, holding a little girl who had her eyes on the runners. And as I pictured them, I saw myself running closer and closer until the moment when I passed, and I saw Katherine bopping and bouncing our little girl while they together cheered me, dad, on to my finish.
So maybe I haven’t doodled in notebook margins or written hypothetical diary entries the way that pre-teen girls might do about their future loves, but I have dreamed and prayed and thought specifically about this little girl.6 I have thought about peeling out of bed - that place I love so dearly and for which I meticulously make plans to spend 8+ hours a night - to head to baby’s side and feed and soothe her to sleep. I have thought about leaving my comfy couch and UHDTV - where I make appointment viewing to watch my oh-so-delicious live Chicago sports - to wipe poop out of a helpless human’s butt and dress her again. I have thought about crunching our budget - cramping our style so that we cannot go out to eat so much, get a nicer apartment, or clear off more of our student debt - to get the things a baby needs to be happy and healthy.
I am so completely and totally down for this invitation to love that will point me toward Someone and Something bigger than myself. Christ calls me to fatherhood, fundamentally and integrally part of my call to marriage and my call to be a husband, and my wife and I will strive to raise a family that builds God’s Kingdom as best as we can. I will take these twelve glorious weeks of paid leave 7 as my opportunity to dedicate professional-grade, vocationally comprehensive attention to my two special ladies. I will struggle and fail and laugh, and I will live out this call and be joyful.
So I may not be able to visualize each scenario and appreciate the full depths of emotions and frustrations that await as I learn how to integrate giving and receiving love to this little girl into what is an already crowded and complex daily life. But I am emotionally and spiritually poring over my fatherhood.
And I am pumped.
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| Here's some nursery artwork, courtesy of Katherine, who painted my gnarly hand gray and stamped it on a pink canvas, followed by her own hand in purple; third handprint coming soon... |
1 Where did this expression even come from? Why do we metaphorically associate bones and organs with abstract skills and abilities? Weird, but I’ll certainly employ it rhetorically.↩
2 A dear person very close to us described this positive effect Katherine has as “making Dan tolerable.” I heartily concur.↩
3 Notable examples: I cried SEVERAL times when I first made my Kairos retreat because of the surprises, and here I am going on my 12th next week; I cried SEVERAL times as my mom passed away and in the grieving period because of the profundity of our love; I cried at my wedding after I hugged my dad and godmother (and wanted my mommy) and then again when I saw my bride because of the profundity of all that love.↩
4 What would the 30 for 30 about me be called?!↩
5 The Wexford Half Marathon was my glorious retribution of triumphant victory race. I trained for 12 weeks in early 2011, in snow and cold, for the Holy Half Marathon on campus during senior year. Then, in true midwest fashion, the race day temp spiked to 85º, the first day to really even crack the 60s all year, sending me and many others into heat-related sickness. A benevolent student medic pulled me from the race at Mile 10 - I should’ve stopped much sooner - where I promptly keeled over and stiffened up. An ambulance ride, several IVs, and a brief ER stay later, and I was good as new. One year later, I’d get my finish, at an even 1:42:00, running in Ireland.↩
6 For whatever reason, while I was ready for either a boy or girl, most of my past glimpses of a child were of a girl.↩
7 MAD PROPS to the Archdiocese of Chicago for my 12 weeks of paid leave. The Church teaches that we must support and uphold the family, unborn children, pregnant mothers, and all life, and this policy puts the Church’s money where its mouth already was. As a prospective parent, it helped me to find the grace and courage to say yes to fatherhood when I did - and frankly, when I wanted to - because I knew that some of the challenges with my job and family finances would be mitigated so I could focus on my new child. I pray other institutions and diocese in the Church follow suit, and I hope other businesses and the public laws move in this direction to help make this a norm.↩
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