Being Daddy

Editor’s note: A few weeks ago, I asked Eliza if it would be OK if I wrote a guest column on her blog in honor of Father’s Day. She smiled at me, drooled and babbled incoherently.

Based on this exchange, plus all the good work that she’s been doing on this blog, it seems that she’s just like her old man – not nearly as good at expressing her thoughts via the spoken word as she is the written word. Of course, she can’t talk yet; I have no such excuse.

Excuses or not, that’s why I chose this blog as an outlet to discuss my life as Daddy. It beats having to actually talk to people. Warning: The following may be extremely sappy.

– Mike

I’ll never forget the day I found out that I was going to be a father. It was Feb. 16, 2011, and Lauren had just taken a pregnancy test. Wanting to avoid any mixed signals (“Is that a plus, a minus or a division sign?”), I had sprung for the best test I could find – one with a digital readout that clearly read “Pregnant” or “Not Pregnant.” 

If the water turns blue, a baby for you!

If purple ye see, no baby thar be!

If ye test should fail, to a doctor set sail!

After Lauren did her business on it, we sat and stared at it for the longest three minutes of our lives. When we finally saw just one word – “Pregnant” – I knew right then that my life was changing. And I couldn’t have been more excited.

I’ve always loved kids. For the most part, they’re a lot more fun to hang out with than adults. And Lauren and I had talked for years about how we wanted to have a family. So as the months ticked by, leading up to her Oct. 22 due date, our excitement grew. But then, when we hit October, I started getting a little nervous. Was I ready for this? Of the million or so things you need to do when you’re responsible for the well-being of a tiny human, I had experience doing just a fraction of them.

I’m a worrier by nature and I fear the unknown, and that’s not a good combination when you’re about to become a father for the first time. Will I be able to change a diaper correctly? What do I do when she gets sick? What if she never stops crying? Did I pay close enough attention during baby CPR class? Will I ever get a full night of sleep again? And how the hell are we going to afford this?

Looking back on the night Eliza was born, I wish I had been happier. Not that I wasn’t happy – I was. I was ecstatic that mother and baby were both healthy, and the dream that we had both wanted so badly was coming true. But keeping me from fully enjoying the moment was the nagging feeling that I was in over my head.

A couple of minor complications meant we had to stay in the hospital for a few extra days, and as sick as I was of looking at the walls of our tiny room at Swedish, I was also somewhat dreading going home. No more nurses and doctors at our beck and call, ready to answer any questions or jump in to help if we didn’t know how to do something. We were on our own.

But then the strangest thing happened. Our first day at home came and went, and Eliza was still alive and well (and so were we). And then the next day. And the next. And our little flesh-colored rag doll kept getting bigger, stronger, and livelier. We were actually doing this!

Turns out, these past seven-plus months have easily been the happiest and most rewarding of my life. It’s impossible to describe the joy I feel from the simplest things. Like picking Eliza up after a nap and seeing her mouth stretch into a big toothless grin the moment she sees me. Or the way she snuggles into me when we’re lying in bed together. Or the way she giggles when I blow raspberries on her tummy. Or the way she smiles triumphantly after farting.

Of course, much of the credit for my happiness goes to my amazing wife. Lauren is the absolute perfect partner for raising a child. She has always been the most caring, loving person that I know, but seeing that care and love directed at our daughter is incredible. She’s been a steady, calming presence whenever I’ve felt overwhelmed or didn’t know what to do. She’s the one who got up with Eliza at night every three hours during those first three months, letting me sleep. She’s the one who sacrificed so many things while she was pregnant, taking every precaution to make sure Eliza was healthy.

Putting Eliza to bed together at night has quickly become the highlight of each day, with Lauren cuddling with her in the rocking chair while I read a few chapters from whatever book we’re working on at the time. It’s the one moment (out of many, many candidates) where I most feel like we’re a family.

Has it been difficult at times? Of course. And it will continue to be. But making it this far, relatively unscathed, has made me realize that whatever we face with Eliza, we’ll be as prepared as possible for it.

I’d give anything for the chance to tell Oct. 22 Mike that everything’s going to be great, and that being a father is the coolest thing imaginable. If June 15 Mike had been in that delivery room last fall, I’d have been doing backflips off the walls and seeking out people to hug like Jim Valvano at the 1983 Final Four.

I’m still dwelling on unknowns these days, but now, it’s those unknowns that are most thrilling to me. What is my little girl going to look like six months from now? What will her first word be? What will she be wearing when she takes her first steps? What will be the first book that she reads all by herself? What will be her favorite subject in school? I don’t have the answer to any of these questions, but I can’t wait to find out.

There is, however, one thing that I do know – on the day Baby Rose No. 2 comes along, you won’t find a happier, more excited person within 5,000 miles of that delivery room. And if you come near me, I’m going to hug the living crap out of you.