I became a dad in September, just a few months after turning 40.
Most of the experience of parenthood so far has been basically what I expected: Feedings at 2 a.m. The feeling of being constantly coated in spit-up. My husband and I wandering our home day and night in an absolute zombie state, having the same conversation over and over again without realizing it. It’s honestly remarkable how much of my life is now occupied with talking to another grown man about someone’s pooping habits.
But there have been some unexpected side effects to becoming a dad. For example, it turns out bringing a baby into my home will cause my mother, whom I both idolize and fear, to visit us every day and say ominous and vague things like, “Oh! That’s an interesting way you’ve chosen to do that!” Also, strangers on the internet have taken it upon themselves to send me alarming, unsolicited parenting advice that directly contradicts virtually everything our pediatrician has told us. And did you know diapers don’t always work? Yes, sometimes we unswaddle the baby to learn his entire body is caked in mustard. We take turns changing him. It’s the most disgusting game of Russian roulette imaginable.
My husband and I have handled the stress of trying to keep a baby alive in completely different ways. He has cleared our bank account, buying every invention that promises to make child-rearing easier. My Google search history is filled with queries such as “baby crying, dangerous?” And “baby not crying, dangerous?” And “dad crying, dangerous?”
My ‘village’
I’ve always heard that it takes a village to raise a child, but I don’t think I ever truly knew what that meant until a village started showing up for mine. The moment we brought our baby home, friends and family began appearing on our doorstep with casseroles like they were on a humanitarian aid mission. Had I known having a baby came with an onslaught of free food I would have done this a decade ago.
We’ve had nearly constant streams of visitors poking their heads into our house to drop off baby clothes and other supplies, and to peek at our son, like parades of peasants paying their respects to an infant prince. The amazing thing about these visits is how little the people stopping by care about my husband and me. I don’t think a single person has made eye contact with me in nearly a month. Last week, my entire family circled the baby in our living room to worship him. I left for an hour to run errands, and when I returned, no one had noticed I was gone.
The greatest gift anyone has ever given me happened about four days after we brought him home. We were so sleep deprived by this point that I think we were technically not considered human anymore. My younger sister called to tell me she was coming to stay the night and be on baby duty so we could catch up on sleep. I nearly started crying just at the offer and made a note to have a star named after her. I slept so well that night I saw the face of God. I was so rested the following morning I could have become fluent in Hungarian just by hearing someone speak it. I’ll go the rest of my life chasing the high of that one night of glorious slumber.
We take him on walks each evening, our two dogs in tow, baby sleeping in the stroller’s bassinet, totally unaware he’s outside or, perhaps, even alive. We’ve embarked on the same walking route for many years now, often passing by the same people we’ve greeted for nearly a decade without ever exchanging names. I’ve been wondering if they’ve tracked my expanding family the way I’ve sometimes tracked theirs with joy. A decade ago, it was just me, alone and lonely, walking through the neighborhood. Eventually, it was a dog and me. Then a dog, a husband and me. Not long after that we each had a leash. And now, a stroller.
I don’t mean to sound like I think I’m the main character of the world. And for all I know, no one has ever paid any attention to me on these walks. But the other day I did choke up at the thought of some stranger seeing our chaos and thinking, “I’m glad that guy doesn’t look so lonely anymore.” Granted, I am a severely sleep-deprived man with a heart bursting from the hard launch of middle-age fatherhood, so nearly anything can make me cry right now.
Like a framed image my husband asked a friend to make of our family dressed as ghosts as a surprise for me. He knows Halloween usually bums me out because I don’t have a child of my own to take trick-or-treating. “This year, you’ll have all of us,” he said as he handed it to me.
Late-night moments
( Amanda Hall) This drawing by Amanda Hall depicts Eli McCann's expanded family — and just in time for Halloween. Eli told his husband, Skylar, that, for years, Halloween had bummed him out because he yearned to have a child to take trick-or-treating.
Last night, the baby woke up around 2 a.m. to eat. It was my turn to feed him, so I gathered him from his bed and took him to another part of the house to rock him with his bottle so as not to disturb my husband.
I don’t think I’ll miss late-night feedings, but I have to confess there’s something about those moments that feels sacred in some way. The darkness. The coziness. The little gremlin sounds that come from his mouth as he devours three ounces of something I haven’t built up the courage to taste myself, even though I am curious.
Before he came, I told people I worried I was going to be bad at all of this. I’ve never been very good with babies. After the feeding, I sat him on a table and set off on a groggy diaper change, and it occurred to me just then how natural this all felt — like it was something I was supposed to be doing all along, but I just didn’t have the baby yet.
What a relief to find out at least some of this is intuitive. That becoming a dad feels more wonderful than odd. Yes, this really does just seem normal.
Then again, it is a pretty strange sensation to change the diaper of someone who one day may be changing mine.
Eli McCann is an attorney, writer and podcaster in Salt Lake City, where he lives with his husband, new baby and their two naughty (yet worshipped) dogs. You can find Eli on X, formerly known as Twitter, at @EliMcCann or at his personal website, www.itjustgetsstranger.com, where he tries to keep the swearing to a minimum so as not to upset his mother.
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