She smiled at me today. Not gas, not a reflex. A real smile. Like she recognized me. Like she knows im her dad. In that moment everything else disappeared. The exhaustion, the stress, the fear that ive been carrying since the day she was born. Just pure love. So much love it physically hurts.
But then she cried for three hours straight and i didnt know what to do. Fed her, changed her, burped her, rocked her, sang to her. Nothing worked. I felt useless. What kind of father cant comfort his own child? Sarah took over and somehow got her to sleep within ten minutes. I felt like a failure again.
Nobody tells you how inadequate youll feel. All the books and classes prepare you for the logistics. Feeding schedules. Diaper changes. Sleep training. But nobody prepares you for the emotional minefield. The constant fear that youre doing everything wrong. That one mistake will mess her up forever. That youre not good enough for this tiny person who depends on you completely.
I watch Sarah with her and its like she has this instinct i dont have. She knows what different cries mean. She can tell if its hunger or tiredness or just needing comfort. Me? Im guessing. Always guessing. Throwing solutions at the wall and hoping something sticks. Sarah says im doing fine but i see her redo things after i do them. Reswaddle the baby. Readjust her in the carrier. Small things but they feel like proof that im not cut out for this.
Work called asking when im coming back. I said next week but the thought of leaving her makes me sick. But the thought of our dwindling bank account also makes me sick. How do people do this? Balance providing for their family with actually being present for them? I feel torn in half. Guilty for wanting to go back to work where i feel competent. Guilty for wanting to stay home where i feel needed.
My dad called to check in. He made it sound so easy. "You just do what needs to be done" he said. But he was never really present. Sure he provided for us but i dont have memories of him at my school events or helping with homework or just being there. I dont want to be that kind of father. I want to be different. Better. But what if trying to be different means im worse at the providing part?
I cried yesterday. Just broke down while she was napping. The weight of responsibility finally hit me. This person, this tiny perfect person, is depending on me to keep her alive. To raise her right. To not pass on my own trauma and insecurities. To somehow be the father she deserves when i have no idea what im doing.
Sarah found me and just held me. Didnt tell me it was okay or that i was being dramatic. Just held me. Later she said she feels the same way. Like were both drowning but taking turns holding each other above water. That helped. Knowing im not alone in feeling lost.
People keep saying it gets easier but when? When does the constant anxiety ease? When do i stop checking if shes breathing every five minutes? When do i trust myself to keep her safe? When do i feel like a real father instead of someone playing pretend?
I love her so much it scares me. I didnt know i could love something this intensely. That kind of love is terrifying because it means the stakes are so high. If anything happened to her id break. Completely shatter. So i carry this fear everywhere. What if i drop her? What if she gets sick and i miss the signs? What if im not enough?
But then she looks at me with those big eyes. Or wraps her tiny hand around my finger. Or falls asleep on my chest with complete trust. And something in me settles. Like maybe i dont have to be perfect. Maybe i just have to be present. To show up even when im scared. To love her even when i dont know what im doing.
My dad was emotionally distant. Thats my biggest fear. That ill repeat that pattern. That ill be so caught up in providing or so overwhelmed by everything that ill forget to actually connect with her. To be the safe place she comes home to. The person she knows will always be there.
Im trying to be intentional about it. Talking to her even though she cant understand. Singing stupid songs. Making faces until she laughs. Reading parenting books at 2am when i cant sleep because the anxiety wont shut off. Im trying so hard. I just hope its enough.
Sarah says im a good dad. That our daughter is lucky to have me. I want to believe her but the voice in my head says otherwise. Says im screwing up constantly. Says she deserves better. But then i look at her sleeping peacefully and i think maybe love is enough. Maybe showing up consistently, loving her fiercely, and trying my best is all she really needs.
I dont have it figured out. I probably wont for a long time. But im here. Im trying. And maybe thats what being a good father actually means. Not being perfect. Not having all the answers. Just being present. Being willing to learn. Being brave enough to love someone more than yourself.
She smiled at me today. In that smile i saw my future. Every scraped knee ill kiss. Every nightmare ill chase away. Every achievement ill celebrate. Every heartbreak ill help her through. Its overwhelming and beautiful and terrifying all at once.
Im a father. That still doesnt feel real. But here she is. Here we are. Figuring it out together. One day at a time. One smile at a time.