You know when you’re innocently talking to a child and they open a whole new avenue from where you were planning on going with the conversation? I related it to America’s road system.

Sometimes it’s a simple cul-de-sac. The conversation goes round and round. Other times, it takes a “merging on to the highway” warp-speed jump from innocent to “hold me tightly, I need a moment.” This recent talk with one of my sons about where babies come from combines the two types of streets.

We were on a Georgia highway. My son was talking about some of his friends who were going to or had just returned from Walt Disney World. I reminded him he was there three years ago, but that carried very little street cred to a 5-year-old.

I tried steering the conversation another way.

“You know, Daddy used to work at Walt Disney World,” I said.

“Was Mommy a baby back then?”

For the record, I am older than my wife, but it is nowhere near that kind of age difference.

“No, that was before I met Mommy,” I said.

“Was I a baby then?”

“No …”

“Was Charlie a baby then?”

“No … he …”

“Daddy, where do babies come from,” said the 5-year-old who had just been talking about Mickey Mouse and Goofy.

“Well, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much they’ll have a baby. It’s important to have that because …,” I started to say before he cut me off.

“No, I mean how are they made?”

Is it time for the ‘birds and bees talk’ already?

Well, here is where our ever-expanding cul-de-sac of a conversation veered onto an on-ramp and started to rev up. My son is very detail-oriented, always wanting to know “why” and “how” things happen. I knew what he meant and thought for a moment about how to respond.

“It’s like chemistry,” I clumsily started. “Daddies have a special chemical that they combine with chemicals that mommies have — and that is what makes a baby.” As you can see, my initial foray into sex education went over swimmingly.

Right after I said that last word I knew it sounded odd and inauthentic. In my mind, I thought about telling him about how willies work with girls’ private parts, the pregnancy, doula, placenta, birth canal and epidural. But I was tired, driving and frustrated with myself for stumbling over the initial answer.

I need an off-ramp from this conversation and the closest thing was a golf range.

“Cool, check out that golf range,” I said.

“Daddy, we’ve seen that before. It’s right next to the video game place,” he said with all of the smarm and know-it-all-ness a 5-year-old could muster.

Then he went on to talk about something else.

That topic escapes me. I know that it wasn’t about reproduction. Since that trip, my wife and I have sorted out what he should call his private parts and we planned a basic overview of how to address the “where do babies come from” talk. I certainly didn’t expect to start this conversation when he was 5, though.

A friend of mine had their 6-year-old ask them what sodomy was. He was listening to the news and the child heard a new word he didn’t know. I guess my wife and I should prepare talking points for that possible query another time.

+ + +

A version of Where Babies Come From first appeared on Daddy Mojo and then on this blog in 2015. It has since been updated. Photo: ©New Africa / Adobe Stock.

This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

It has been said that when children are born, instructions are not included with them. I, however, have evidence to the contrary.

In the months since the birth of our daughter, we have accumulated enough manuals and instruction booklets to keep a small team from Ikea busy assembling and running safety checks until she starts kindergarten.

We have three strollers, each with a set of instructions save one. That stroller came with four separate manuals.

Our car seat, which came essentially fully assembled, still included a 66-page instruction book. This car seat is so durable that you can strap a watermelon inside, drop it from a skyscraper and your fruit would still hit the ground fully intact.

We have several contraptions to hold our baby at different angles and heights. Instructions are not NOT included with any of them. Thank God because these devices have multiple settings and options so they sing, swing, soothe, rock, turn, swivel and tilt in various combinations and speeds. Our early favorite, a rocker, included all of the aforementioned. We call it “The Flying Saucer.” You place it under a sunny window and your baby rocks to a soothing beat until they drift off for hours of uninterrupted nap time. The instructions for this item mimic a kid’s “choose your own adventure” coloring book because of the many options for the rocker’s final use. Other seats simply sit and hold your child in one place just above ground level. Those multipage-instruction books all boil down to one simple demand: “Place seatbelt on the child.”

We have four baby carriers/slings: two for outside travels and two for in-house use. One outside option I use to take our daughter to the park daily. This baby carrier also comes with a sleeping bag attachment to keep her warm in the severe weather; those instructions are drawn in pictures on the tag. The other outdoor baby carrier is so structured and has so much storage space that I could take my child and a week’s worth of survival gear up through the Himalayas. The manuals for that, oddly, are fairly basic and straightforward.

We have attained three high chair/table seating devices. One is an ordinary A-frame type that we use next to our dinner table. Another is a travel unit that connects to any table. The third one is a “sturdier” (according to my wife) travel unit that she assures me we will need at some point. When we reach that point is anyone’s guess. These items are a bit more in-depth with instructions on how to secure your children and attach them to fixed furniture. Well, you do eat more often than you hike through Nepal.

We also have two night-sleeping units. The master crib, adorned with all of her stuffed animals hanging from each corner, was put together in the early days of pregnancy. The instructions were many, yet straightforward enough to understand the different stages of converting it from a crib to a bed as she grows. We have a co-sleeper unit that, I’m guessing by its name, aids your child in sleeping dependent on the parents. Our daughter slept in it one evening, next to our bed, until my wife decided it was easier just to lay her in our bed. So that may be the end of that. I’m thankful. Should we ever need to explore the different height settings of this co-sleeper unit, the manual and its photos indicate I might need to go back to school for a different degree.

As the seasons have changed and the blooms kick in we have had to utilize the nose suction device that pulls the runny snot from inside your nostrils. Fun for the whole family! This is not a favorite of our little girl but it’s effective. And the pictures in the instruction book are worth a thousand words!

There are, of course, many other useful items — toys, first aid, soothers, and clothing, to name a few — that we regularly use. All are accompanied by pages and pages of words that I keep in a specific drawer. And while I prided myself on never reading instructions on home goods before her birth, I am now certain to follow all manuals to the letter when assuring the safety of our little one.

They keep us all sleeping soundly! Well, most of us …

About the author

Robert Brawley is a West Coast kid who moved out to NYC. He and his wife are the proud parents of a beautiful girl.

“Instructions Not Included” was first published in 2013. Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko via Pexels.

As soldiers of the Dad Army, one of our missions is to become an expert at bottle feeding. No problem, right? It’s part of one of the most important functions of our parenting duties — keeping the kid alive!

When my wife and I had our second child, I knew it was time once again for me to enter the fray. It had been nearly two years since bottle feeding my first child, but you know — the whole “riding the bike” thing. However, the battle lines were drawn rather quickly. 

The first few times went smoothly. My newborn daughter took to the bottle fairly easily. However, last week my wife was out for the day and this daddy was left in charge of his nearly three-month-old. It was a bigger disaster than when Napoleon tried to invade Russia.

My daughter wouldn’t take the bottle at all. She fought me tooth and nail. I fought back with agitation and frustration as she tugged on the frayed ends of my sanity. We were both getting upset. The day ended with an exhausted and hungry baby and an angst-filled father who was ready to grab his own bottle of whatever he could find, down it in an instant, and then for good measure, perhaps smash it over his head.

Why did this happen? Let me use an analogy. Let’s say you were planning to go out with some friends for a delicious steak dinner. You had two options for your meal:

• Option A: A Michelin-star steakhouse with a menu of mouth-watering main courses and sides that puts a rumble in the stomach just thinking about it.
• Option B: A hole-in-the-wall joint between the train station and a crack den where you play Russian roulette with E.coli just by looking in the window.

There’s no question where you would go to dine, right? 

Breast is best, but …

Breastfeeding is the best and most comforting thing for newborns. They get to eat. They are cozy and warm. They are as close to their mother as humanly possible. Breastfeeding releases oxytocin. According to a popular breastfeeding website, La Leche League International, “oxytocin’s role in breastfeeding includes causing nipple erection, increasing blood flow to the breast and to the mother’s skin (to keep the baby warm), enhancing the expression of instinctual behaviors (in mother and baby), contributing to the flow of nutrients from the blood into the mother’s milk, giving the mother a feeling of calmness, increasing tolerance of pain, and enhancing wound healing. Because of the feelings of calmness and emotional connection oxytocin generates in the nursing mother, it is often called ‘the mothering hormone.'” 

When they are first born, children are not privy to the difference between a bottle and the breast. However, at around the 2-month mark, it is quite common for the baby to reject the bottle. There is no substitution for nursing and babies certainly don’t want to downgrade to some artificial nipple substitute. How on earth can we achieve this zen-like state when replacing the real thing with silicone?

I needed to come up with a meaningful plan. 

Through some diligent research on the internet by my wife and my own “aha” findings, I came up with what I like to call “Six Pointers to Keep Calm and Bottle Feed Your Baby”. (Sponsorship from Six Point Brewery is pending).

1. Set the mood

Find a calm place to give your baby the bottle. Look for a place in the house where it’s quiet and dimly lit with a comfortable chair/couch for you to sit on. You want it to be a different place from where your partner or wife usually breastfeeds. Babies have an uncanny sense of things and if you try and give a bottle in the chair they usually breastfeed in it might throw them off. 

Have everything you need handy before you sit down. Burp cloth and bibs for baby, and water and a snack for yourself. Turn off your phone. You don’t want any distractions during this time. (This includes your partner/wife asking you, “How’s it going?”) If you have another child in the house, find something to keep them occupied as well. A calm place for bottle feeding is imperative to success.

2. Calm your mind and body

If you are stressed or in a poor mindset, you’re setting yourself up for imminent failure. Take a few deep breaths before you sit down with your baby. Put on some calming music. Do whatever you need to do to relax yourself. 

3. Smile and have fun

When you finally sit down and get situated, look at your baby and smile. This is a wonderful bonding moment and shouldn’t be a stressful war. Sing a quiet song or a silly nursery rhyme or limerick. This will put your baby at ease and make it enjoyable for both of you. Talk to your baby and let them know that this bottle they are about to have is going to be the best thing ever. Positivity goes a long way and your baby will sense it (like a Jedi does the force).

4. Be positively persistent

Your baby may reject your initial attempts to give the bottle. Be prepared for this and don’t freak out. Persist. Hold the bottle gently, but firmly, to your baby’s lips even when they shake their head and arch away. If it doesn’t work after a few minutes, put the bottle down and move it out of sight. Take this time to regroup yourself, keep calm, and remind yourself that it’s not your fault. After a few minutes, return, cuddle with your baby, tell them a joke or even make a funny fart sound. Then, again happily offer the bottle. It may take an hour for your baby to drink four ounces of milk the first time, but it will get better over time.

5. Stick to your guns

There are more brands and types of bottles on the market than there are parodies of the latest teeny-bopper hit. The key is to continue with the same bottle once you find one that works! Be consistent, and stick with it. Don’t get frustrated and start changing through bottles like Lady Gaga does outfits! 

6. Cut your losses 

There may be a point where your baby will not take the bottle despite all of your loving attempts. If the baby doesn’t want the bottle then, leave it be. I would recommend trying at least three times for at least 10 minutes each time to get the baby to take the bottle. Now, if your partner or wife is around, DO NOT give the baby to them to breastfeed immediately after a failed bottle feeding. This pretty much tells your baby that you’re waving the white flag and they have won. The best thing to do is to do something else for about 10 to 15 minutes. You can do tummy time, read a book or even bathe your baby. This break in the feeding action will disassociate the bottle from the breast.

There you have it Dad Army. I certainly hope this helps.

This article was first published in 2013 and recently updated. Father bottle feeding baby photo: © o_lypa / Adobe Stock.

A fellow stay-at-home dad/native of Cincinnati and I recently took our little girls into what we thought would be hostile territory to watch a Reds/Mets baseball game at New York’s Citi Field. It probably didn’t help our cause much with my wearing a Yankees cap.

However, everybody was very polite and nobody said anything.

At least not to our faces.

Given it was around naptime for my Little One when we got off the subway in Queens, I tried to stroller her into a nap. After 10 minutes, I succeeded. Since we could use the strollers in Citi Field, my friend and I decided to push her right inside.

I pulled my diaper bag out of the bottom of the stroller in advance of the gate and unzipped it so the security personnel could inspect the innards to ensure that I wasn’t toting in C4 with my Burt’s Bees Diaper Ointment. With half a glance at the bag, the security guy then asked me to take my baby (she’s really a toddler) out of the stroller, please.

A sleeping baby (um, toddler).

Wake the baby or make a break for it?

Now, as everybody knows, you are asking for a huge world of hurt if you rouse a sleeping baby — toddler — even for baseball. But what was I to do?

My friend was already inside and to turn around at the security checkpoint to hang out in the parking lot until she woke up 35 minutes later likely would have only brought suspicion down on my head. Which might have resulted in my not being allowed into the game at all. And then I would have come to Queens for no reason.

Trust me, if you ever go to Queens, you really ought to have a reason for doing it.

So I pulled her out. She immediately woke up. Satisfied that there wasn’t a grenade strapped to the ass of my kid, the guard waved us through.

This is going to be a disaster, I thought. She was groggy, blurry eyed and cranky. She immediately started with her patented “Go! Go!” that she uses when she doesn’t want to be someplace.

I had made a terrible mistake. And I hated that security guard.

We settled into our seats, which were excellent, by the way: three rows back from the left field wall where home run balls are a real concern when you’ve got a baby (ugh – toddler) on your lap. The seats, had they been crosstown at Yankee Stadium in The Bronx (if you go to The Bronx — brother, you REALLY better have a reason) would have gone for something like $350. Here, they cost only $19 on StubHub. Little One kept up with her “Go! Go!” but then they started to turn into “Yay! Yay!” and clapped her hands with everybody else once the game started.

She actually stayed in her seat and let me put on her hat (pink, Yankees – sorry) and she let me put on her sunglasses (pink), apply sunblock (chalky), and change her out of her pants and into her (pink) shorts when it got hot. My baby — TODDLER — even tracked the baseball that Cincinnati’s Joey Votto hit into the seats about 15 feet from us (in the ESPN SportsCenter highlight of Votto’s home run blast later that night, she appeared as the light pink blur that doesn’t move while everybody else around her stands up and leans left).

Life lessons learned

She also learned from dear ol’ dad that you never throw the baseball back. Never, ever toss it back on the field! No matter how many home fans around you are clamoring for you to do so. Why? Because:

1. You might hit and injure a player who isn’t expecting a baseball to come from behind him, and
2. This will very likely never happen to you ever again.

You keep the ball. No matter what. Always. The bozo kid who caught the ball in the next section over from us tossed it back, much to the delight of the 30,000 Mets fans on hand. What are parents teaching kids these days?

Little One, it turned out, was great. In fact, both babies — dammit, TODDLERS — were great. Much better than ever could have been hoped for. They even let us stay through the entire game (Reds won 7-4). Who could ask for more than that? A perfect game on a perfect day with the perfect effing offspring? Who could want more than that?

Well, if Joey Votto had smacked that ball about 14 or 15 feet farther to the left and about three rows up, that would’ve been all right, too.

About the author

Jason Duncan (holding Little One in the photo) is a full-time stay-at-home dad, writer, blogger, fly fisher and terrier owner.

Baby and baseball photo: © Katrina Brown / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one comes from 2014.

Never did I think the person holding a screaming baby on a cross-country flight taking off at 5:30 a.m. would be me.

Yet there I was, returning to New York City with body odor ripening as my deodorant quickly vanished under the stress of what would be the flight from hell.

Ah, the joys of flying with your baby.

“Why me, God? What did I do to deserve this?” I thought while people searched for their seats and visibly prayed it wasn’t next to this dude with a 1-year-old screaming for freedom from his Baby Bjorn.

When the couple sitting next to me realized they were stuck with us, I apologized in an attempt to win some sympathy. It didn’t work. All I got in return was a look of disapproval.

After everyone buckled in and the lights dimmed for the takeoff of our five-hour flight, I followed our pediatrician’s advice and gave my son an eight-ounce bottle of milk. It was the first time since I woke him at 4 a.m. that he was silent. During those brief 10 minutes, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and calmed down.

It was then I realized nobody was going to say anything to my face and, besides, who cares what other people are thinking? If someone said something about me and my caterwauling baby son it would made them look like an ass. We were simply trying to get home.

Once I calmed down I could feel my son, who was strapped facing forward on my chest, fall asleep. I took another deep breath, closed my eyes, and slept for about an hour.

That’s when I had to use the bathroom.

The screaming baby airplane bathroom blues

When I closed the bathroom door the only thing I was thankful for was that I am not claustrophobic. Have airplane bathrooms shrunk? Maneuvering inside such a small space with a 22-pound kid strapped to you is like doing yoga inside a box.

My first option was to take my son out and place him on the floor while I peed. That thought went down the toilet when I looked down and saw water. And probably worse.

The second option: pee with him still strapped on. I hate to admit it but this wasn’t the first time I’ve done this. So how bad could it be?

I had to maneuver around to avoid peeing all over my son. Wailing soon ensued and my nerves shot through the low, slanted roof as I attempted to relieve myself. I was astonished that I managed to shoot in the right direction. “Damn I’m good,” I thought as I zipped up.

Now, time to change my screaming baby boy.

As I searched aimlessly around the small space for a changing table, I started to think I was still half-asleep. I splashed some water in my face to try and snap out of it. After another fruitless attempt, I opened the door to ask the flight attendant for help.

“This particular plane doesn’t have baby changing tables,” he said.

I closed the door, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. All I have to do is be quick about this, I thought. Piece of cake.

I took my son out of the Baby Bjorn and turned him toward me. “Sorry. There is no changing table so we’re going to have to do this old school on the toilet,” I said. I hugged him, placed the changing pad on the toilet lid then placed him on top. He had this look on his face of “what the hell are you doing to me?” that reminded me of Stewie from Family Guy.

Then he slipped off the toilet seat.

I imagined people in the last 10 rows of the plane hearing his screeching and thinking the worst. Sweat dripped from my forehead while I got him off the pee-covered floor. I cursed United Airlines.

After finally changing my son, I looked at myself squarely in the mirror and vowed out loud to myself, “Never again will I fly alone with my child.”

I know one thing is for sure, next time I see a father flying alone with a screaming baby I will go out of my way to say hello, tell him what my experience was like, and offer whatever assistance I can.

Photo: © Irina Schmidt / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: Mental health issues are among the many things most people, men in particular, are reluctant to discuss. Former Boston Dads Group co-organizer James Mahaffey has no such fear. In this 2013 post from our archives, he writes frankly about the male postpartum depression he experienced following the birth of his daughter.

Once, possibly twice, during my first three months of parenthood, I found myself huddled in my home office, secretly and somewhat reluctantly shedding a tear in the dark. A very dignified and manly tear, that is. The kind that wells up and glosses over just the bottom half of the eye before stoically leaping like a cliff diver descending in a super quick, unquestionably deliberate, straight line down the cheek, never to be seen again.

This tear was brought on by a combination of things.

My newborn’s constant piercing screams.

The unexpected disagreements with her mother on what to do during those times.

My guilt for the occasional “bad” thought many parents have felt at some time but rarely admit.

I remember wondering if I was “depressed a little.” I had been feeling this way for longer than I cared to admit. It was a feeling I couldn’t seem to shake.

And, as a man, I didn’t necessarily know what to do except secretly cry in the dark.

It wasn’t until we were at the first post-birth checkup that I even thought about my manly tear incident again. Typically at this appointment, women fill out the Edinburgh Depression Scale to find out if they are experiencing “signs or symptoms associated with postpartum depression.” After reading the questions I started uncomfortably laughing. I began to feel like someone should be asking me the same questions.

I didn’t carry or give birth to a 7-pound human being. However, I have been there from day one and every day since our daughter was born. It’s not like the shrieks and cries of an inconsolable baby or the physically and emotionally draining late nights and resulting sleep deprivation were her mother’s to experience alone. I was up with her, helping out (and suffering just the same) as much as I could through all of those early tests of parenthood.

But maybe it wasn’t male postpartum depression I was experiencing. Maybe something else was going on inside of me. The first three months are one of those stages where I do believe certain mothers are better equipped than fathers to withstand the irritability of their newborn. CJ didn’t seem to be as emotionally affected as I was.

So when CJ was filling out the form, I made a column for myself next to her’s so I could also answer the questions. We went in and I, of course, made light of my little “cry for help” that manifested itself in the form of a drawn-in column on a post-partum questionnaire. She laughed a little, too. In fact, we all laughed and then we got back to focusing on CJ.

But should we have?

The issue is real. A 2010 study published in the Journal of the American Medical Association found that about 10 percent of fathers become depressed before or just after their baby is born. This is more than double the rate of depression in the general male population.

Men’s mental health is rarely discussed and is almost taboo in some scenarios. This is another reason why I grew a mustache in November to raise awareness and funds for the Movember movement. For two decades, the movement has raised funds and awareness to combat prostate and testicular cancer make people. In more recent years, Movember has added a special focus on mental health.

Please help others worse off than me. Raise awareness of paternal depression and keep an eye on your father friends, especially those with newborns. No dad needs to suffer in silence anymore.

About the author

After nearly being “shhh-ed” to death while his daughter napped, filmmaker James Mahaffey decided to vlog about his journey at “Becoming a Ninja: Freedom to Fatherhood,” where a version of this post originally appeared.

Male postpartum depression photo: © pololia / Adobe Stock.

“Push on my belly.”

It seemed like such a simple request from my wife. Once I complied with it, I’d never seen her in so much pain, and I had previously witnessed her giving birth to our two children.

After a little more pushing and prodding, it was clear something needed to be done. Was all the pain and nausea simply symptoms of her first trimester of pregnancy? Could it be something more serious, like appendicitis? A doctor needed to access the situation.

We hopped in the car and drove 20 bumpy and agonizing minutes to the hospital. We arrived, checked in, and were sent to triage.

After receiving a CT scan, it was time to sit … and wait. There was not much else to do while the doctors checked the results. Over the course of the next few hours, we flipped through several TV channels and finally landed on the movie Fight Club. It had been well over a decade since I’d last seen this movie. I’d passed it up while flipping through channels many times before, but for some reason that night I was drawn to it. I clearly remember one scene where Brad Pitt’s character (Tyler Durdin) holds a gun to the back of a guy’s head and threatens to shoot him. After a few minutes, Tyler lets the man go. He then goes on to talk about the new appreciation that the man will have for his life:

“Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of Raymond K. Hessel’s life. His breakfast will taste better than any meal you and I have ever tasted.” 

This struck me as a deranged but somewhat understandable comment. 

Answers and more worries

Three hours later, the answer was clear. My wife had appendicitis. An appendectomy is a relatively simple procedure (at least that is what I was told) but everything becomes a little more complicated when your wife is 14 weeks pregnant. And things become a lot more complicated when the part of the body where the surgery will be taking place is essentially right next to an unborn child. As scary and dangerous as the possibilities were, the surgery was necessary. An untreated and ruptured appendix would certainly mean the loss of a baby and potentially terrible consequences for my wife as well.

At 1 in the morning, she was wheeled away for surgery.

She returned to the room at 4 a.m. She was not doing well coming off the anesthesia. My wife began alternating between thinking she was the doctor and giving orders to the nurses about her care, dropping F-bombs about the entire situation, and vomiting into a bucket next to her in the hospital bed. Finally, things calmed down. Off to sleep she and I went.

After a few hours of sleep, the next day was quickly upon us. It was time to see what type of stress the surgery had put on the baby and check the baby’s heartbeat. Our doctor that morning was someone that had our complete trust. Just a year earlier he’d delivered our second child and once someone delivers your baby, there is a lifelong bond you carry with that person. Our doctor arrived in the room wheeling in a Doppler machine. He pressed the microphone to my wife’s belly, no sounds were heard.

“Don’t panic, don’t panic,” was all I could say to myself, over and over.

I gauged our obstetrician’s behavior to help me know how to react. He was calm, so I stayed calm. Maybe there was something wrong with the machine. In came the ultrasound machine. After a minute of fumbling around to get it set up, we could see the baby.

The baby was not moving and no heartbeat could be seen or heard. Panic began.

Waiting on a sign of life

So many thoughts raced around in my head. “Calm down, be strong for your wife,” I told myself. “Stay calm, stay calm.”

Again, I looked at the doctor to help measure my own reaction, this time I could see the fear and sadness in his eyes. I gripped my wife’s hand even tighter. What happened next was the saddest moment of my life. The doctor removed his hands from the machine, looked into our tired eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry.”   

There was nothing left to do but cry.

While this was going on, another doctor, a close friend of my wife’s, ran to grab a different type of ultrasound probe. They decided to try a different probe, hoping for different results. Through the tears in our eyes and pain in our hearts, we barely even paid attention to what she was doing.

Then, suddenly, the ultrasound showed MOVEMENT!  

Wonderful, beautiful movement!

Our little baby was fine and kicking away. I have never felt a greater range of emotions than I felt that morning. From the deepest darkest place I didn’t even know existed to a mountaintop high feeling of pure joy. Amazing! Unbelievable! Miraculous! 

We continued to cry, but now it was for different reasons. Once the doctor left the room, we spent a great deal of time trying to come to grips with all that had happened in the last 24 hours. One thing that kept flashing back in my mind was the scene from the movie Fight Club we’d watched the night before. 

Tyler Durden made a good point. Never in my life have I appreciated the joy that is watching a baby move inside my wife’s belly quite like I experienced that morning. And even though it was a stale bagel with a plastic tub of peanut butter smeared on it, Tyler got it right … my breakfast tasted better than any meal I have ever tasted.

A version of this first appeared on Indy’s Child. Photo: © serhiibobyk / Adobe Stock.

Did you know that what we call the “fall colors” of leaves are actually their glorious “true” colors? The leaves don’t change to new colors in autumn but instead revert to their original colors. I learned this years ago when my oldest daughter asked why the leaves change color.

As a way to bond (and hide my ignorance), I suggested we search the internet together for information. We found that, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, “the four primary pigments that produce color within a leaf are chlorophyll (green); xanthophylls (yellow); carotenoids (orange); and anthocyanins (reds and purples). During the warmer growing seasons, leaves produce chlorophyll to help plants create energy from light. The green pigment becomes dominant and masks the other pigments. … As days get shorter and nights become longer … the fading green allows a leaf’s true colors to emerge, producing the dazzling array of orange, yellow, red and purple pigments we refer to as fall foliage.”

Equipped with this knowledge, we annually observe the emergence of fall colors differently. It’s a richer, more wonder-filled experience for our family. I thought of this phenomenon and its relationship to parenting while reading Alexandra Horowitz’s recent book, On Looking: A Walker’s Guide to the Art of Observation.

In the book, Horowitz takes 11 neighborhood walks with different experts to experience the same scenes with different eyes. The results are remarkable. Horowitz realizes “I had become a sleepwalker on the sidewalk. What I saw and attended to was exactly what I expected to see” and nothing else.

From a geologist, she learns “limestone, a popular building material, is full of the shells, remains, and other traces of ancient animals. … Taking this in, my view of the street was entirely changed: no longer was it passive rock; it was a sea graveyard.” From a field naturalist, she learns “even when you see no bugs before you, even when the ground looks still and the air looks clear, they are there.”

Learn through how children observe the world

Most relevant to parenting is what Horowitz learns about observation from her 19-month-old son. For him, a walk is “an investigatory exercise that begins with energy and ends when (and only when) exhausted.” An infant “has no expectations, so he is not closed off from experiencing something anew.” Also, the relative absence of language enables very young children to “sense the world at a different granularity, attending to parts of the visual world we gloss over; to sounds we have dismissed as irrelevant.”

Horowitz views a child’s acquisition of language in paradoxical terms. She acknowledges that language is key to a child’s development and navigation of the world. Hence, language could be compared to the necessary green pigment that fosters growth on leaves. But Horowitz also laments that the naming of objects in a child’s environment gradually limits his or her ability to observe and perceive additional aspects — or what might be called the environment’s true (and masked) colors — more fully.

She notes the bittersweet onset of language for her growing toddler. “I knew I did not have long before words, enablers of thoughts but also stealers of idiosyncrasies, muted his theatricality. And so our family had together created a fluid vocabulary of expressions, facial and bodily, that could be applied to a new situation,” she writes.

This poignant passage no doubt triggers every parent’s memories of those infant-to-toddler days when sounds were not yet words. One of my daughters at that age would repeat the sound “ta-doo” in varying tones. For weeks the family tried to discern the meaning of the sound. Then, one day, an older cousin simply said: “Maybe it just means ‘ta-doo.’” Somehow that settled the debate.

Improve your observational skills  

Every parent also remembers entertaining formulations from their children’s early language days. My older daughter once told me: “Dad, I’m a little bit big and a little bit little.” My younger daughter once wrote in her journal: “My dad has hair on both sides of his head and nothing in the middle.” That last one burned a little bit.

Selective attention is necessary for life, but parents should try not to narrow their attention too rigidly. Follow the example of very young children before language development. Try to maintain an open mind that does not allow habit and expectation to become blinders that restrict understanding.

A great way to embody this message might be a family nature walk this fall. Slow down and inspect the surroundings together. Keep a sense of wonder about all that reveals itself — like those “true colors” in the trees that the pandemic cannot cancel. Try to keep seeing the world with fresh, unmasked eyes.

Observe autumn photo: © Volodymyr / Adobe Stock.

September is National Infant Mortality Awareness Month. It focuses on children who lose their lives before their first birthday and the causes of those deaths. According to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the infant mortality rate in the United States is 5.4 deaths per every 1,000 live births. In 2020, that amounted to just under 20,000 infant deaths.

Twenty thousand.

Twenty thousand who will never speak their first words, walk their first steps or make their first friends. Children who will never go to school, form families of their own, work, play or experience the trials and joys that make up our world.

Here are some more startling facts:

• The U.S. infant mortality rate ranks among the worst among wealthy nations.
• Maternal mortality rates in the United States, defined as the death of a mother during pregnancy, delivery, or the first 42 days following delivery/termination, are also among the worst globally.
• Black women in the United States are three times as likely to die from pregnancy-related causes as white women. 

In simple terms, it’s more dangerous to give birth in the United States than in many other nations. It’s also more dangerous to be a baby. And it’s even more dangerous to be a mother or child if you’re a person of color.

But what can dads do about it?

On a broad level, it starts with policies.

Paid family leave helps babies, parents, families

One major reason behind these sobering statistics is the lack of paid leave for working parents. America lags behind just about every other nation in terms of paid family and medical leave. Researchers at the National Institutes of Health note: “Mothers’ and fathers’ leave-taking may improve child health by decreasing postpartum depression among mothers, improving maternal mental health, increasing the time spent with a child, and increasing the likelihood of child medical checkup.”

Paid family leave gives parents time to bond as a family as well as care for an infant and each other during those intense, early times. When I became a first-time father, my teaching job offered just three days of paid leave. That wasn’t nearly enough time to help my new son or my wife or to become a family. It’s a big reason I chose to become an at-home dad. Some states have started implementing paid leave policies, but we have a long way to go. Advocating for paid leave policies is a big first step.

And perhaps paid family leave should start before birth. During the COVID-19 lockdowns, an interesting thing happened globally. Premature births, the second leading cause of infant mortality in the United States, declined dramatically. Is it possible that being home before birth helped lower stress and create healthier births? Research from the University of California, Berkeley, suggests that paid leave before birth may decrease the number of premature births in women.

Paid leave is a no-brainer. It is a significant step forward to decrease infant mortality and maternal mortality, not to mention a step toward economic, racial, and gender justice.

Support new mothers from the start

However, dads can do more than just advocating for leave, or take all the leave available to them. Supporting mothers during those early weeks and months is vital.

For example, breastfeeding is one of the best ways to increase a child’s health. However, it isn’t easy for many mothers and isn’t possible for some. Do you know how to make a good oatmeal that supports breastfeeding? I do. I made it for my wife almost every morning after she gave birth to our son.

However, being there for mothers is about more than just physically being around. Take time to listen to your partner. Know how her postpartum healing is supposed to progress and help monitor it. Learn the warning signs of postpartum depression. Check in with your partner often about how they’re feeling and if something seems off, make sure they get to a doctor.

Thousands of babies and mothers are dying. We need to do better for them.

We need policies in America to change this situation.

And we need dads to support and nurture their partners and families.

Yes, being a dad is a life-saving activity.

And a life-altering one.

And still the best job there is.

Infant mortality photo: © Prostock-studio / Adobe Stock.

The best thing my wife ever did for me after my son was born was nothing.

Let me explain.

Babies were a mystery to me when my son was born. Lamaze classes are great, but once you’re holding that squirming and peeing baby, everything goes out the window. The only thing I was confident doing when my son was born was changing diapers. I used to work with developmentally disabled adults and had changed thousands of diapers, so I had diapering down.

Everything else? Clueless.

Clueless, but fearless. I was completely confident that I was going to “get it.” And I was determined to do so.

My wife was equally confident I would be able to understand how to go about taking care of a baby. She would leave me alone with our new baby without worry.

Within days of our baby’s birth, I was alone with a crying little guy who I had no idea how to quiet. I walked around, danced, bobbed, did everything I could to help calm him, but time and again I failed. I tried to give him a bottle, but that also didn’t work. He was unhappy and I didn’t know how to hold him.

So there we were: two guys who didn’t know one another.

But my wife left us alone, and we figured it out.

My wife never yanked him from my arms and said, “Hold him this way.”

She never yelled, “You’re doing it wrong!”

She let me figure it out on my own.

My wife understands how I learn things. I’m like a lot of guys, I learn from being in the moment. I learn by doing things with my hands. Looking back, it must have been frustrating for her to watch the two of us struggle, but those struggles were important so that we could understand one another.

All too often I hear from new dads whose wives make them feel incompetent. This makes them not want to bond with the baby, let alone be unable to bond. Constantly fearing you’re doing it wrong and you’ll be scolded for doing so is not the way to start a parenting partnership. I don’t know if my wife consciously did this for me or if it was simply the result of being exhausted from delivering and breastfeeding.

Whatever the reason was, what she did was good for me.

A version of this first appeared on One Good Dad. Photo: Contributed by Greene Family.