*NOTE: This is the final post in a series titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent.” For an introduction to the series, as well as links to each post in the series, please begin with the post titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent: A Series Documenting My Metamorphosis from ‘Married Guy’ to ‘Dad’.”

Image © Jamin Garoutte

In previous years, I would ask friends with kids what it was like to be a parent, and the closest they could ever come to describing it was to say, “You know how different your life is when you’re just dating someone versus when you actually get married? It’s that same kind of dramatic change.” It’s a major paradigm shift.

I’m here to tell you that your entire world doesn’t get turned on it’s head—oh no!—your whole life gets thrown into a blender, pureed, and the resulting liquid gets poured out and swallowed by your child… Every. Last. Drop.

It’s the best feeling in the world! There is nothing else like it. In fact, that feeling has multiple variations. There’s one for the times when I’m lying in bed, listening to my son crying out that he’s awake in the morning and suddenly he starts calling, “Da-DEEEEEE! DA-DEEEEEE!” There’s another for the times that you start to tickle him and he says, “DAAaaDDY!” (I know that one won’t be as cool a feeling when he says it as a teenager with that same inflection like, “Come on dad. Your jokes are so lame.”). There’s a whole host of other variations too!

•  Every time he pulls his hand under his chin, elbow pointed up in the air—his version of the ASL sign for love—while he says “Wuv You!”
• Listening to him giggle and squeal.
• Watching him as he meets a new milestone like rolling over, walking for the first time, saying his first word, taking his pants off during nap time & throwing them out of the crib, climbing up on the coffee table to sit and stare at you when you didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep.
• Seeing the look on his face every time you ask for a kiss and he opens his mouth (that’s right, open-mouthed kisses are the best!), only to psych you out by turning away at the last second & snuggling into whatever’s close-by in protest and laughing hysterically at your expense.
• Watching him try to wiggle his nose when we ask, “What does a bunny do” only to see the biggest, longest, most forced blink in the world because he can’t actually do it.

Even the negative stuff can sometimes create that awesome feeling:

• When he comes to you to kiss his finger after smashing it between his toys, whether it hurt him or not.
• When he panics as he realizes that you’re walking out the door and he’s not coming with you.
• When during a fit of excitement he takes a nose dive off the couch, screaming for comfort.

And the best part is that there are so many variations on this feeling I still have yet to experience after just two years:

• His first day of school
• Getting his license
• Watching him graduate
• Sending him to college
• Watching him get married
• Watching him become a dad
• Reveling in the payback as he draws a hand covered in poop back from the diaper he never thought had anything in it.

That being said, it’s all quite bittersweet, your joy washed away at the realization that your baby is no longer a baby. This one’s been especially hard on my wife—don’t even think about pointing out how tall our kid is now, or how incredibly different he looks from his pictures this time last year! I have to remind her that growing-up is what he’s supposed to do. I have my moments, but for the most part I’m thrilled with how much fun this kid is and I can’t wait for what comes next.

I hope you enjoyed hearing a bit about my own story—feel free to share a little about your own in the comments below.

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*NOTE: This is the sixth post in a series titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent.” For an introduction to the series, as well as links to each post in the series, please begin with the post titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent: A Series Documenting My Metamorphosis from ‘Married Guy’ to ‘Dad’.”

Image © Jamin Garoutte

Following the epidural, my wife got some incredibly good sleep. She was a new person—the fighter we’d seen a few hours before was her quiet little self again, brushing her hair in the middle of a contraction with a smile on her face. All I have to say is, that epidural is powerful stuff and you have to be borderline crazy to ever want a child without one. Seriously, why put yourself through that pain? Guess it’s a good thing I never have to deal with that—Thank you, Lord!

The day continued into the night as things progressed very slowly. The midwife disappeared to another room for short naps throughout the night, and my wife and I both tried to get some sleep. I can’t remember exactly when it happened, (around 4 or 5 in the morning I believe), she’d finally reached the point of being complete and the determined fighter came back for yet another round. She started pushing, and we encouraged her every step of the way. Minutes of anticipation waiting for the first sign of a baby turned to hours. I’m almost positive that my wife had pushed at least twice as many times & and twice as hard than any of her own patients ever did, but with no result.

After such an incredibly long time of pushing and no baby in sight, the midwife consulted with one of the other doctors. Apparently, the other doctor looked at her surprised and asked, “Why hasn’t she had a c-section yet?!” The reason was that while my wife wasn’t opposed to a c-section, it was an absolute last resort in our minds—something to only consider if there was a legitimate danger to the child or herself. Although she had fought harder than most women in labor, she wasn’t giving up any time soon, and the monitor continued to show a healthy baby inside. Thankfully, the midwife also wasn’t ready to give up. Finally around 6am, the midwife informed us that another doctor would be on at 7:00, one that my wife respected as a coworker & knew could help us without resorting immediately to a c-section, so it became a waiting game of just fighting through the pain until he arrived.

Just before 7am, one of the nurses told my wife she’d seen the doctor coming down the hall—Her whole demeanor changed in relief of the news. Shortly thereafter, he walked through the door and he, the midwife, and my wife discussed the options as if my wife wasn’t even the patient but a coworker helping with the delivery of another (as was usually the case for them). To fill you in, our baby was turned funny—not in a dangerous way, but in a way that was simply too difficult to push out. In order to add a little extra “pull” to help get our child in a better position for my wife to finish pushing, the three agreed to try working with a special vacuum that they place on the baby’s head.

With the vacuum in place, the fight started once more. Moments later, the vacuum popped off, the doctor stepped back & the midwife took over again as my wife continued to push. Finally, there was something to show for all of my wife’s hard work—the top of my child’s head, with hair on it! I couldn’t believe it—this was finally happening. After 9 months of imagining what life would be like, I was getting my first glimpse of the very thing that would completely change my whole world. My wife’s sister, also a nurse, commented at the sight, “Oh my! That’s a big one!” None of us expected what came next. Slowly, little by little, there was more to see… and more… and more… and it was all HEAD! This was a BIG baby.

She continued to push, and eventually the baby’s head came out but the shoulders were too broad. The doctor wasn’t liking how long it was taking and swiftly moved back through the equipment & other nurses, pushed past me and climbed up on the side of the bed. In one grand motion, he took his hands applying pressure on the top of my wife’s stomach, and threw all of his body weight down on her, pushing the shoulders through. I cringed in pain from the sight. The rest of our child came out so quickly, I almost missed it—our child was finally here.

I moved behind the midwife to see my wife’s face as she showed her our baby, but instead of seeing my wife I noticed something else entirely. Looking at the hind end of my child, there was something between his legs… I couldn’t believe it. In my head I whispered, “A boy.” We had no idea for the past 9 months whether we were going to be having a boy or a girl, and similar to how people say their lives flashed before their eyes, in one instance I suddenly saw a flood of images in my mind of what that meant. A boy! I didn’t want to say it out loud; I wanted my wife to discover it for herself (I could sense that others in the room had also taken notice and felt the same). Finally, someone asked aloud and my wife replied through tears of joy, “It’s a boy!” She held him close as we all just stared and the doctor & midwife continued to do their thing.

I began to panic a little myself at all the commotion—something wasn’t right. The midwife was sitting between my wife’s legs shaking her head & swearing to herself under her breath. The doctor was standing over her shoulder doing the same, and so much was going through my mind that I couldn’t actually hear what they were saying even though I was standing right next to them. I watched as a softball size ball of pure blood suddenly fell to the floor. Immediately, I looked back at my wife, now very pale and asked if she was okay. With a very serious & determined look on her face, she stared back at me as if to say, “I have my baby now, that’s all that matters” and turned back to the child in her arms.

The nurses finally came to take our son to do everything they needed to do, and I took Chandler and walked around the bed to lay him on the warmer. Once I saw that he was under the nurses’ care, I looked back to see my wife. All the blood was gone from her face, and her eyes rolled back in her head. I shouted over everyone, “Amy?! AMY STAY WITH ME!” I don’t know what the doctor & midwife were doing with her, but they got busier doing it, and I kept trying to get my wife to wake back up & look at me. She’d passed out. I looked down at the monitor to see that her blood pressure had dropped to 47… NOT COOL!

A little bit later her eyes opened back up, and I immediately told her, “You can’t leave me, got it?” and she smiled. Whatever the issue was, they were getting things back under control, and my wife started asking me about Chandler. One of the nurses shouted, “9 lbs, 10 oz!” and everyone in the room replied in unison, “WHAT?!” Again, my wife is a very small woman, and she didn’t have gestational diabetes. Prior to the delivery, we asked the midwife how big she would’ve estimated the baby to weigh, and she guessed maybe 8 lbs—MAYBE! Everyone kept asking, “Where did you put him?!” Nobody had anticipated my little wife to be carrying such a large child.

And he wasn’t fat either. When they went to lay him down to measure his length I watched as the nurse tried to straighten his leg. The ruler only went to 24, and for a second I thought, “That’s not going to be long enough!” He was 23.5″ long! No wonder my wife had such a long, hard delivery—he had no room inside of her & had gotten wedged in so good that he had no place to go! She really couldn’t have had him without the help of the epidural & the vacuum, no matter how hard she tried.

My wife started having contractions on Sunday morning, and finally at 7:59am on Tuesday morning, my son was born. A few hours later, we sat in the room with both of our parents and her sister eating some McDonald’s breakfast that someone had gotten, trying to take it all in. That little baby boy was ours. I went home to take care of the dog & get some sleep for a few hours before coming back to the hospital. Apparently, while I was gone, my wife passed-out a few more times, so we decided to stay as long as the hospital would let her to make sure everything was okay. A few days later, we got to bring our son home.

We’re parents now, and this was only the beginning.

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*NOTE: This is the fifth post in a series titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent.” For an introduction to the series, as well as links to each post in the series, please begin with the post titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent: A Series Documenting My Metamorphosis from ‘Married Guy’ to ‘Dad’.”

Image © Jamin Garoutte

Sunday morning, just a few minutes after taking our seats in the church sanctuary, my wife stepped out to use the restroom. I’m not sure why, but I immediately had this strange feeling that it might be time. I told myself that I was being stupid & tried to calm down. No sooner had I finally got the thought out of my head when my wife touched my shoulder, whispering, “I think we better get out of here.”

I didn’t hesitate—within 10 min. we were home. We live about half an hour from the church… Do the math. It’s not that I meant to speed like that, or that it was even that urgent; I was just THAT excited. Thank goodness all the cops must have been in church themselves that morning.

Throughout the rest of the day, my wife’s contractions would get stronger and closer together, but each time it got to where we could go to the hospital, she’d say, “Let me go sit in the tub first” and once she got in the water, they’d fade and we’d resign ourselves to waiting. One of the biggest pet-peeves of many labor & delivery nurses are the people that just don’t know when to come to the hospital so they show up far too early and have to be sent home, only to show-up again a little while later to be sent home again… My wife was determined to not be one of THOSE people. Being the professional, she wanted to be absolutely certain this baby was coming before we even stepped foot out the door.

What began at nine o-clock in the morning on Sunday finally resulted in us showing up at the hospital at nearly two in the morning. The pain was simply too unbearable, and the contractions were close enough together that we figured it was time. However, upon our arrival, it was determined that my wife wasn’t exactly very far along, and figuring her body was simply exhausted from the entire day of contractions, they gave her some meds to help her get a little rest. What they didn’t do was send her home, though I’m not sure if it was because they truly believed she’d have a baby soon, or if it was because they were her coworkers and they wanted to help her save face in light of the fact that we had shown up too early (in my wife’s defense, as you’ll soon see, this was not the typical labor you hear about or see in the movies; had it not been for the scenario that hindsight now reveals, I truly believe that the midwife & nurses were expecting a baby to make an appearance first thing in the morning).

Monday was rough. I honestly don’t remember many details from the day, but I do recall there was a lot going on and very little sleep and pain. My wife didn’t have any sort of a birth plan (because frankly, as labor & delivery nurse, she finds them pretty ridiculous), which was good because we wouldn’t have been able to stick to it. While she didn’t have any particularly strong feelings for an all natural birth, she worked very hard to do everything she could on her own without medication. My wife requested the labor tub, which is pretty much a taller version of those kiddie blow-up pools, to help ease the pain and to this day she still talks about how incredibly amazing it was for helping her handle the pain. Unfortunately, I think this labor tub had the same effect that the bath tub at home did, and no matter how incredibly painful things became, there still seemed to be no progress to our child making an appearance. When she was about 6 cm dilated, she sat in the labor tub for nearly 4 hours. The contractions & pain had everyone, midwife & nurses included, believing she was pretty much complete only to discover she was still 6cm!

Finally after an entire day of active labor, my wife couldn’t take it any longer—She was spent. While she & the midwife would have preferred avoiding an epidural, everyone agreed that her body simply couldn’t handle any more on it’s own. I have to tell you, while nobody would know it to look at her, and even fewer would believe it after meeting her, my wife is the strongest, toughest person I know. Sure, she’s pretty quiet & very petite, but after everything I’d witnessed, something inside her surfaced that nobody knew she had—a deep well of strength, deeper than any strength you could imagine. She loved this child that she’d never even met, and fought hard for it. Unfortunately, that simply wasn’t enough given the situation we were all unaware of.

With tears in her eyes, she looked straight into mine while they did the epidural, saying “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” The tears weren’t from the pain of having a needle shoved in her back—she hardly even felt them do the epidural—she was disappointed that it came to needing the meds. She had absolutely nothing to be sorry for; she fought harder than I ever imagined her capable of, harder than anyone in the movies ever fought for anything. I just kept telling her, “Seriously, you are my hero!” She really is. I pray I never have to fight that hard for anything, but if I do, I pray for just half of the amount of strength that my wife has.

To be continued…

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*NOTE: This is the fourth post in a series titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent.” For an introduction to the series, as well as links to each post in the series, please begin with the post titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent: A Series Documenting My Metamorphosis from ‘Married Guy’ to ‘Dad’.”

There I lay—asleep in the bed—completely unaware of what was taking place in the room next to me. I’d say I found myself completely unprepared for what happened next, but I wasn’t even conscious enough to find myself much of anything. My physical body was present, but my subconscious was so deep in the dream realm that I didn’t even know I was dreaming. I believe this it the part were Arthur shows up and announces, “With the slightest disturbance, the dream’s going to collapse.”

Cue the kick. In a flash, my world was thrown from the bed, jarred back to life, and I fell back on the pillows without the faintest clue as to what had happened. Slowly, my blurry eyes attempted to focus—A face? A landscape? Hills? No, a comforter. A person? Laying in bed next to me?… My wife works nights, so it’s not usual for me to wake-up face-to-face with someone staring me right in the eyes.

After having experienced such a jarring awakening, I automatically feared the worst. Only one other time in my life had I been brought to reality so quickly: the morning my wife called me after crawling out of the window of her car… It was upside down. Juxtapose that feeling of absolute terror with the beaming face currently staring me in the eyes, and you’d have some idea of my complete inability to process the situation.

On the morning of January 15th, I received the most life changing news I would ever receive. “Guess what,” she calmly whispered. “We’re going to have a baby.” I couldn’t believe it. I suddenly found myself to be wide awake, all TOO coherent. My mind raced. So did hers. We lay there in bed for the next few hours smiling… Just smiling.

Fast forward about a month. We didn’t want to tell anyone until after my wife’s first OB appointment. There’s something about working in Labor in Delivery at a hospital that makes news of your pregnancy something valuable to hang onto (especially when all of your coworkers have been pressuring you to conceive for nearly 5 years). We decided that before anybody found out through random  Facebook comments, both of our families had to hear it from us directly.

Being a designer, I needed a unique way to communicate the message of our pregnancy to our parents. After brainstorming for a while, I came up with the following image based on Apple’s iPod ads (it was just the blue/green version on the left, and included the month and year of our due date). It was perfect. It carried with the energy & life of those dancing to the music in their commercials; an entire life of potential, known only to itself until the appropriate time (You can download the following images to use as your desktop wallpaper here).

We put the image in a picture frame, and wrapped it. Having been just past both of our mother’s birthdays, we played it off that we forgot to give them one of their birthday presents. It had the desired effect as our parents looked at the illustration for a moment thinking, “Okay… what the heck is th—”. Watching their faces as the message suddenly struck them is something that I will never in my life forget. We were in a restaurant both times the announcement sunk in, and I’m pretty sure everyone in those places still remembers that one time when a family started making all kinds of noise, jumping around and hugging each other for whatever reason in the middle of their dinner.

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*NOTE: This is the third post in a series titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent.” For an introduction to the series, as well as links to each post in the series, please begin with the post titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent: A Series Documenting My Metamorphosis from ‘Married Guy’ to ‘Dad’.”

Fast forward a few years from the false alarm. After working for too long at a job that I wasn’t thrilled with (which as a result became a job that I performed poorly), my wife was gracious enough to support me as I went back to school to switch careers. Halfway through a 2 year degree studying web design my life felt like it had completely turned around—I was happy. The more we looked at the calendar, the closer we saw the 5 year mark coming and continually went back & forth as to whether or not it was time to add a child to our family pictures—preferably our own child, otherwise it might be awkward.

Beginning to seriously consider having a baby also meant constant, nagging fears. Was this a good idea? What were we getting ourselves into? What if I’m not a good father? How am I supposed to raise a child? How do I even change a diaper?! As we thought about all the different factors of having children, surprisingly money was never one of them—I would likely be done with school by the time our child made an appearance, and God has always met our needs in more ways than I can recount here.

Thankfully, one factor seemed to at least give us some direction on timing: the child’s birthday. My wife’s family has all of their birthday’s between December & February, while my family’s are all between May & July. We determined that sometime around August, Sept, or October were good months for adding another party to the calendar every year.

In the movie Marley & Me, there’s a scene where John Grogan is speaking with his boss about having kids and his boss comments about him “pulling the goalie”; they were not intentionally striving to have a baby, nor were they doing anything to prevent it. That was us. Around the month of November, my wife stopped taking her pills—we pulled the goalie.

At this point I could no longer deny that I wanted to be a father. My days were filled with dreaming about what our new lives might be like—so many unknowns lie ahead, so much undiscovered territory lay before me, and I couldn’t wait for this new adventure of being a dad!

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*NOTE: This is the second post in a series titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent.” For an introduction to the series, as well as links to each post in the series, please begin with the post titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent: A Series Documenting My Metamorphosis from ‘Married Guy’ to ‘Dad’.”

As we left the house, we sat in silence. My wife & I were on our way to visit with her college suite-mates & their husbands. We all had this unofficial pool going as to who would have the first baby in the group (of course, I’m not sure that one of the couples even knew about this pool since they were the ones we all figured would ‘win’ and didn’t want to admit it to them). My wife and I sat lost in thought as we considered the possibility that we might actually be winning the pool.

We were about 2 years into the 5-year plan & my wife had been throwing-up that morning, but nobody that we knew of could have gotten her sick. TMI Warning: She was on the pill so she only had a period once every three months, which makes it even harder to know if you’ve missed a period. We didn’t have any pregnancy tests as that was one of the last things on our radar prior to this particular morning. About ten minutes down the road, we finally voiced our thoughts allowed. While the prospect of being parents was incredibly scary, we both agreed that if it happened we’d be okay with it.

Many of the people around us who’d recently had kids weren’t exactly in what we would consider the ideal scenarios. Some got pregnant outside of marriage & as a result got married sooner than anticipated. Others were struggling financially as one or both of the parents were jobless (whether by choice or by unfortunate circumstances). My wife and I were actually beginning to worry that we could never be happy for someone who got pregnant because it seemed that any time someone we knew would announce “We’re having a baby!” and our first thought was typically, “That’s not good.”

Back in the car, we agreed that if God chose to bless us with a child, then we’d gladly accept. We both had decent jobs, insurance, a place to live that could house a family of three, etc. Both of my siblings had had children by this point, and I loved being an uncle (nothing like getting a child all rowdy and hopped-up on sugar and handing them off when things hit the fan). Being around babies wasn’t something completely foreign to me any longer.

Later, after we couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer we stopped at a gas station & my wife bought a pregnancy test—Notta. Turns out it was just a false alarm & we got ourselves worked-up for nothing. Funny, because after an entire day of thinking of what could be, I was actually a little disappointed in the results. I certainly didn’t feel ready for parenting, but this had marked a turning point for us: parenthood was a possibility I could actually consider.

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*NOTE: This is the first post in a series titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent.” For an introduction to the series, as well as links to each post in the series, please begin with the post titled, “The Evolution of a Frayed Parent: A Series Documenting My Metamorphosis from ‘Married Guy’ to ‘Dad’.”

Image © Jamin Garoutte.

As I was standing in the hospital room with my sister and her brand new family of three, thanks to the newest addition of my day-old niece, the infamous moment arrived. “Do you want to hold her?” Did I want to hold her?! Of course I did. The trouble was trying to figure out how to the hand-off was going to go. Sure, my brother had recently had a baby girl the month before, but that meant I hadn’t had very long to gain enough baby-holding experience to be considered a baby-holding-ninja-master.

Growing-up I never spent time around babies. I was the youngest in my family, spending all of my days going to my older siblings’ basketball games, volleyball games and band competitions. My parents were typically involved with the youth at our church, and I always found myself around people older than me, not younger. The thought of a human life being 150% dependent upon me for everything was overwhelming.

As my brother-in-law, turned first-time-father, went to pass his beautiful baby girl off to me, I awkwardly reached to take her. Neither one of us seemed to know how to hand off a fragile human life, and you would’ve thought we were trying to pass a nuclear bomb, primed to explode at the slightest hint of movement. Of course, the rest of the family in the room worked incredibly hard to hide their laughter—they weren’t very successful. To this day, it’s one of my wife’s all time favorite moments which she uses to embarrass me.

Not only is my wife the oldest child in her family, but she regularly babysat for people in their church or worked in the nursery growing-up. Add to that the fact that she chose labor & delivery as her dream job, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. I didn’t want any kids; she wanted a hundred!

To be honest, that’s not completely true. What you’re about to read stays completely between you and I, but while I proclaimed from the rooftops that I would never want kids in my entire life, I secretly felt in my heart that the greatest accomplishment of my life would be in raising a child. While the thought of having kids was nice, I was scared to death at the ramifications: so many factors in raising kids seem completely beyond your control, how on earth could you ever successfully bring-up a child that exhibits integrity, doesn’t get arrested, and isn’t completely messed-up as a result of being under your care?!

I couldn’t do it. No way. I was incapable, and there was no chance whatsoever that I would ever have kids… At least, that’s what I told everyone. Ultimately, I had come to terms with my wife that we would likely have kids someday, when we were ready: no less than 2 (as we didn’t want to risk raising a selfish, spoiled, only-child… no offense to all you non-selfish, non-spoiled, only-children reading this), and possibly 3 or even more. We were on the five year plan—you know the one that nearly every married couple that doesn’t want kids agrees to. Nobody expected us to make it that long; I didn’t think it was long enough!

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I’m horrible with journals. HORRIBLE! My problem is that I always start one and after writing on a few pages decide that I have a different purpose in mind for it. You can’t change the purpose of a journal part way through because that would be confusing. So I end up tossing that one aside and getting a new one, only to have the cycle repeat itself again & again. In the days after discovering that my wife was pregnant I decided that I wanted a place to share my thoughts—clearly getting a new journal was going to be a wasted effort. As the idea for starting Frayed Parent began to grow faster than the blob in our ultrasound images, I thought sharing my own journey into parenting might be a good way to kick things off.

Over the next week, I will be sharing a handful of experiences my wife & I had prior to, during, and after the birth of our son. While my original intent was to document all of this as we went, unfortunately another fault of mine is that I’m a massive procrastinator when it comes to a new personal project. Instead of writing about these things as I experienced them, I sat down at the coffee shop when my son was about 18-months old and wrote everything I could remember. I’ve added a list of links to each article in the series below. I hope you enjoy reading it!

The Evolution of a Frayed Parent

Part. 1: NO KIDS!
Part. 2: False Alarm
Part. 3: Pulling the Goalie
Part. 4: iComing
Part. 5: Delivery
Part. 5: Delivery (continued)
Part. 6: Two Years later