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.

In a few months, I’ll be able to once again hold a newborn in my arms. This time, a sweet little boy. I’m looking forward to the moment I get to meet him. But being the planner I am, I needed to make sure I felt prepared for what that meant. I knew how to be a dad for a girl, but could I do so for a boy?

As someone who’s taken a deep dive into feminist issues to be more conscious of how to raise our daughter, I felt a little intimidated by what it would mean to raise a boy. 

When I bring that up, everyone tells me raising a boy is easier or it should come so much easier for me to father a boy than a girl. A 2018 Gallup poll of Americans even said 2-to-1 that they thought raising a boy is easier. But if that were the case, would men’s mental health issues be as prevalent as they are today? Doesn’t the way society dictates gender norms have a lot to do with the commonality all men feel in our resistance to sharing our true emotions? 

I know how much impact toxic masculinity can have on a child. I know its effects can stay long through adulthood. I’ve worked on my own traumas relating to that in order to make me better for my family. But how can I prevent my child from being damaged by this and repeating a cycle? 

I don’t know the answer yet. I suspect the reason this is even an issue is we are quick to box what we expect from each gender at such an early age. I’m doing it now, but I am trying to learn to parent without expectations of who my children will be. We have to let kids be.

We need to be careful not to persuade them to like certain things simply because they are male or female. As responsible parents, we must give them the environment to explore whether it’s playing in the dirt or with dolls. Kids like what they like (I tried preventing my daughter from liking princesses, for example, but she’s all about it now).

Also, I know that the learnings I’ve had regarding feminism and raising my daughter should only be amplified for my son. Raising a child on empathy and respect should be a priority, regardless.

Finally, I know that there’s so much more to learn. I’ll need to keep up my self-education. By learning more about men’s health, feminism, gender identity issues, and doing more self-work, I hope that I can continuously be better, for both my son and my daughter. 

A version of ‘Raising a Boy’ first appeared on Being Papa. Photo: © kieferpix / Adobe Stock.

Three years ago, my daughter was born. The magical (screaming, agonizing and exhausting) miracle of birth ends with cutting the umbilical cord. I’m aware some dads do this themselves. I am not one of those dads.

Blood grosses me out. Cutting an actual flesh-tether connecting my wife to my daughter … um, yuck. Hard pass.

Come to think of it, how the heck did we, as a species, used to do this birthing thing before modern medicine? Did cavebabies stay attached, waiting for cavedoctors to invent a surgical knife? 

But I digress.

I didn’t cut the umbilical cord. Didn’t watch too closely as the doctors did either. And … maybe I should have. Because years later, I’m pretty sure that moment wasn’t done right. The umbilical is still there. 

Not literally, of course. But there’s more than flesh in those bonds.

Daddy’s little girl still attached to her mom

I’m a stay-at-home dad, so my kid is my responsibility alone for most of the day. Yet, for the first six months, I was not-the-mama.

My daughter wouldn’t let me feed her. Kid, let me feed you! Nope. No bottles. No hugs.

Wouldn’t let me change her. I know I’m not Mommy, but this is my job!

Not a smile or a kind word for six months. Fun times. Aren’t babies supposed to naturally love both parents? I think this kid missed a memo.

The umbilical tie to her mom proved to be stronger than just a preference. My wife works from home. If she wasn’t nearby, I’m not certain we would have survived those early months with my daughter. Some birds chuck their chicks out of the nest to watch them fly. Well, that wasn’t an option for us.

The year after that first one grew better. I became tolerated.

She knew Bandit Heeler, from the show Bluey, as “Dad” before she was willing to call me that word. Then again, Bandit’s introduced with song and dance shouting “Dad” whereas I was just … there.

And clearly, I was not Mom.

No quick way to cutting the cord with mom

So how did I do it? How did I finally cut the cord? My daughter’s 3 years old, and oh, she’s still attached to her mother, don’t get me wrong. And I’m grateful they’re close. But guess who else she’s attached to?

Yep, that’s right … still mom. But also, most times, this guy right here.   

Guess who she runs to, and clings to? Who she sits on as a chair? Who she pours water on? Guess who she smears with markers? Who she tries to share her favorite food (her own boogers) with? Guess who gets invite to every tea party? And, of course, guess who gets used as a personal wagon to get places?

Cutting the umbilical cord took time. Oh, we tried the quick, surgical approach. This involved letting a babysitter inside the house before running as fast as we possibly could out the door without turning back. Imagine the loudest, most desperate scream session you can possibly envision. Maybe a billion decibels?

Yeah, we wish it had been like that. It was so much worse. The entire Earth caved in and I’m pretty sure flames came out of my daughter’s ears when we tried that.

The “spend time with dad” approach wasn’t a clean-cut success either. For example, as a former teacher, I always try to incorporate education into my time with our kids. I use themes like “colors” or “space” and so on to focus the kids’ attention. Well, I kid you not, we spent a week of necessary education around a single lesson: “Dad exists.”

Again and again, I’d emphasize this one concept. Puppet shows. Songs. Even good-old peekaboo. I think that week did help. A little.

I’m not exaggerating when I say my daughter’s love had to be earned and won.

Create a unique bond with your child

Ultimately, what worked best was not working on cutting the cord between my daughter and wife, but instead working on creating a new one — a true emotional attachment — between us.

In his book, The Ultimate Stay-At-Home Dad, fellow SAHD Shannon Carpenter talks about the importance of “Dadventures” — the journeys fathers take with their kids. This was a turning point my daughter and I. We started going on at least one Dadventure a week: a hike in the woods, a trip to the zoo, a visit to the children’s museum, and so on.

These are moments of pure joy for both of us, and it is through these deep, meaningful connections that a new umbilical began to grow. Not the icky blood-and-fluid kind, but the emotional tether that now bonds my daughter and I together.

Once, while navigating the packs of unsmiling moms at the children’s museum, my daughter kept running back to me and asking to be picked up. She put her hands on either side of my head and pulled me close, to kiss me on the cheek. This was a signal. I wasn’t Mom, born attached. I was Dad, and through hard work, play, and constant, constant love … I’d finally earned my own umbilical.

A cord I will always cherish.

Photo: © Kirill Gorlov / Adobe Stock.

As we got closer to the hospital, it all started to come back to me.

The bike trail that runs parallel to the Potomac River.

That Citibank sign at the intersection.

The quiet, picturesque street lined with 19th century single-family homes that led us to our destination. 

Prior to this particular Sunday evening, I hadn’t been to this part of town in a while. Yet, it somehow felt like just the other day.

About 90 minutes earlier, my wife started to go into labor. We’d timed the contractions and once they got close enough together, we called her doctor. Then we loaded up our bags and began the nearly 20-mile drive to the hospital where our baby girl would be delivered.

Once we made our way into the hospital lobby, a sense of deja vu came over me. A little over three years earlier we made the same drive, parked in the same garage and walked down the same hallway on our way to becoming parents for the first time with our son, Emory.

Here we were again, the second time around at fatherhood.

While the familiarity made the trip to the hospital less stressful, it also put me at ease as we got situated in the room and prepared for our daughter’s arrival. It was as if I was a seasoned veteran about to play a big game. I was experienced. I’d been here before. I knew the routine.

Doubt, uncertainty become confidence

With all the uncertainty that had flooded my brain in the previous months leading up to the transition from being a parent of one, to having multiple kids, going through the birthing process for the second time presented a calmness that was a bit surprising, yet very welcomed.

Don’t get me wrong. It was still a stressful experience. Watching my wife go through the physical strain of trying to safely bring a child into the world is nothing to be taken lightly. Especially since there was nothing I could do other than hold her hand and be as encouraging with my words as possible. And sure enough, like the first time, it was a long labor. As the day progressed, the intensity increased.

But having gone through something before sort of eliminates most of the shock value, even if it’s watching your wife give birth. That was me as Sunday turned into Monday. I was ready this time around when the anesthesiologist came in and administered the epidural. And when it was time to push, I knew exactly what I needed to do and where I needed to be to help the nurses out. Our baby girl, Eden, finally arrived at 5:23 p.m., on Dec. 27. That familiar feeling of pride when you first hold your child was back.

As we made our way back home two days later, again, it all came back to me. I knew what I’d be facing once we walked in and settled in as a family of four. As father of a newborn, I knew I’d be on call in the wee hours of the morning to give my wife some relief. Changing diapers and swaddling? Not a problem. I even created a folder on my iPhone for the thousands of pictures I’ll be taking as my daughter goes through her many changes. 

I’m more confident now than I was three years ago. Will things be exactly as they were with Emory? Of course not. But at least I have some idea of what I’m doing.

There’s comfort in knowing that the second time around at fatherhood I’m at least prepared. Prepared to be the best dad I can be for not one, but two now.

By the time you read this, I’ll be at the two-minute warning before our baby girl arrives. Unless, of course, she decides to arrive early to help with our Christmas shopping.

Either way, it’s getting really real.

To use another sports analogy, we’re just waiting for game time to arrive. In the NFL, for example, teams spend an entire week preparing their game plan for what’s to come following that opening kickoff. The good teams make sure every “I” is dotted and every “T” is crossed so that when Sunday comes, they’re in the best possible position to be successful when they take the field.

As I count down the days until my wife’s due date, I’m finally locked in and in full preparation mode. I’m going over all the Xs and Os to make sure this next chapter of fatherhood will be a winning one.

The nursery is almost done. The old infant car seat that was collecting dust in the basement has been cleaned out. The clothes we’ve been given by friends have been sorted. After months of feeling less than prepared and not enthusiastic about becoming a dad two times over, I can finally say I’m all in. I can’t wait to meet her.

Ready for more as clock ticks

With the anticipation, excitement and nervousness that comes with preparing for a second child also comes the realization that going from a dad of one to a dad of two is life-changing. Yes, becoming a first-time parent was a huge adjustment, but now adding everything you’ve experienced times two?! That’s another level.

I’ve had to learn how to be a more patient person as a father of one. It’s being tested more than ever now that my son is becoming a “threenager” and going through his tantrum phase. And just as I’m finally finding my rhythm and figuring out how to properly put my patience into practice, I have to add another layer to deal with what comes with a newborn.

A newborn that will cost, I might add.

Two kids will be life-changing when it comes to money as well. Being a parent has forced me to monitor my finances more than ever. I’ve had to really focus on my spending habits and be aware of everything that comes in and out of our accounts. It’s something that I’ve always kept an eye on, but with the responsibility of providing the best possible life for two kids now, making sure my wife and I are being smart with our finances is something that will be magnified even more from this point on. I’m soliciting all your thoughts and prayers.

But like teams that rely on their hours of preparation to be successful, I’m going into this chapter of fatherhood confident. I’m sure the lessons I’ve learned over the past three years and the counsel I’ve sought from my friends who are girl dads have me ready to be the best dad to my daughter that I can be. The preparation will meet the opportunity very soon, and I’ll be ready when the game time arrives.

Game time photo: ©AMR Studio / Adobe Stock.

We live in an age in which we can’t survive without our phones. We rely on them for everything.

Communication.

Banking.

Exercise.

Music.

You name it.

I’m no different. Throughout the day I’m constantly scrolling, checking my text messages, email, social media and stocks. Every day. Rinse and repeat.

One of my favorite pastimes is looking at the thousands of pictures I have of my son in my phone. I’m constantly taken aback at how time has flown by and how much he has changed in a few short years. He’s approaching his third birthday yet it seems like yesterday when it was my turn to get up in the middle of the night to soothe his crying during those first few weeks of his life. I have photos of it all. I have no doubt I’ll be taking just as many, if not more, pictures when our second baby, our baby girl, arrives later this year.

A few weeks ago during my usual scrolling, I came across some photos from three years ago of me putting my son’s crib together. As a soon-to-be first-time father at the time, I was beyond excited about his arrival. Through these pics, I tried my best to document the process from the time we found out we were pregnant up until birth.

I should be jumping for joy, right?

Looking at the pics of the half-built crib, I did the math in my head to calculate when I was working on it in relation to how far along my wife was at the time. It hit me that in terms of preparation, we haven’t really done nearly as much at this stage of her pregnancy compared to what had been done during our first. The crib hasn’t been built. The nursery hasn’t been painted. The baby shower hasn’t been planned. In many ways, I’m walking around as if a baby is not coming for many months.

This has been bothering me for some time. I should be jumping for joy about this second baby, right? After all, I’m about to be a girl dad. I even told my wife I felt like I wasn’t holding her belly as much as I did the first time around. She’d definitely noticed. The excitement is there, but it’s not where I feel it should be. And where it should be, I’m not exactly sure.

As I admittedly struggle with this, I’m doing my best to give myself some grace. I’m understanding that things don’t exactly have to be like they were with my son. Just as life was different then, life is different now, and that matters. I wasn’t a parent three years ago. As we prepare for our daughter’s arrival, I still have to parent my son as he works his way through his own development. My wife isn’t the same as she was yesterday and that matters as well. 

We don’t often talk about the psychological challenges that fathers go through during pregnancy, but they are very real. The feeling of uncertainty, the irritability, the stress of wondering will everything get done — and will it be paid for. The excitement of being a new dad has been replaced by the indifference of becoming a father of two. And that’s OK. I’ve been reassured by other parents that they’ve experienced similar feelings in their respective journeys.

I have plans to start painting the nursey soon. Once that’s done, I’ll get the crib together. Only this time, I go at my own pace, and not feel bad if I don’t meet some mythical deadline.

And I’ll be sure to take pictures of it all.

Second baby photo: © Rido / Adobe Stock.

Dear Dads-To-Be,

Being with your significant other when she delivers your baby is a slippery slope. It’s an incredible experience but, at the same time, being in the delivery room during the birth offers many opportunities for a dad-to-be to make a fool of himself.

Don’t be that dad.

Before the big day, you need to understand some unwritten rules, a protocol of sorts, for delivery room dads. While a few may be common sense, most I had to learn the hard way. As a three-time father, I’m here to help. Follow these Do’s and Don’ts for Delivery Room Dads and you will be well on your way to Super Dad status.

Before Labor

Do bring an extra layer of clothes. If your wife wants the delivery room thermostat set at 58 degrees, guess what? The room will be 58 degrees. So bundle up.

Don’t ask for anything for yourself. Nurses are there to take care of your wife, not get you a blanket.

Do have your own bag packed ahead of time (your wife likely packed hers a month ago).

Don’t wait until your wife is laboring at home to ask her advice on what you should pack for the hospital.

Do have a car seat ready and properly installed for your baby before you even get to the hospital.

Don’t walk around the halls of the hospital with it still in the box.

Do practice changing a diaper ahead of time (on a doll … with the help of YouTube or a New Dad Boot Camp class, if necessary).

Don’t think you’re less of a man for doing so.

Do bring snacks.

Don’t think the hospital’s “nourishment room” is going to be stocked with all sorts of deliciousness. We’re talking peanut butter or crackers. Both if you’re lucky.

During Labor

Do remain calm.

Don’t say things like, “That’s so gross!” Think it all you want, just DON’T SAY IT ALOUD!

Do bring a camera and politely ask a nurse to take some pictures if that’s what your wife wants.

Don’t take a selfie while your wife is laboring in the background and post it to social media. That’s grounds for removal from the room or the family depending on how lenient your wife is.

Do hold your wife’s hand … BUT ONLY IF SHE ASKS YOU TO!

Don’t rub your wife’s legs and feet if she’s had an epidural … remember she’s numb down there, dummy.

Do be empathetic. Gents, I’m pretty sure it’s a pain we can’t comprehend.

Don’t compare your wife’s labor pain to one you’ve previously experienced like that time you hit your finger with a hammer. And don’t make a sex joke of any kind – remember that’s how you got her into this situation in the first place.

Do stand off to the side of the room and slowly slide down a wall if you’re feeling faint.

Don’t ignore it and pass out in the middle of the delivery room floor. (Delivery room dads — think: Do you really want medical treatment from an OB/GYN?)

Do be in the room the entire time.

Don’t wander. Side note: I almost missed the delivery of our third baby while I was in the waiting room telling my mom to go home because I didn’t think my wife was going to have a baby that night. I am not an expert in labor time management and neither are you.

During and After Delivery

Do participate in the delivery.

Don’t mistake the umbilical cord for “other” anatomy and shout, “IT’S A BOY!”

Do cut the cord if you’re asked.

Don’t be gentle with the scissors. You’ve gotta squeeze those things hard – that cord is like a garden hose.

Do offer to wash the baby when the time comes.

Don’t be afraid of the meconium – it won’t last forever. If you don’t know what meconium is, Google it. But not at mealtime.

Oh, and I almost forgot one final thing … Do cry your eyes out. The day your child is born is the most amazing day of your life.

A version of Delivery Room Dads first appeared in Indy’s Child. Photo: © Gorodenkoff / Adobe Stock.

EDITOR’S NOTE: City Dads Group is working with longtime partner Dove Men+Care to create “how to” videos for the grooming products company’s “Dads Care” campaign. We will be featuring the videos and scripts our members appear in. This one features Marlon Gutierrez of our Orlando Dads Group talking about how to support your pregnant partner.

My wife is nine months pregnant and she’s due at any time now with our second baby. It’s been a very stressful time to say the least. There’s a lot of things that have happened (like COVID-19, my suffering a dislocated shoulder and more) that we could have never planned for. While there’s nothing we dads can do to take away all the stress and anxiety that comes with this very difficult time, there are some things that we can do to provide better support for our pregnant partner or spouse.

Get educated on pregnancy (and more)

It’s important for you to not only get educated on what pregnancy is all about but also on the labor, the delivery and also what happens postpartum. It may seem overwhelming to find a lot of this information, but thankfully there’s a lot of resources that you can tap into. There’s books written by other dads for you to get a clear picture of what’s going on. There’s also some courses you can take, with or without your partner, online or in person.  We found doing ones together really helped prepare us and put us in the right mindset for everything coming our way. It helped us feel like we had a little bit more control about the whole situation.

Prepare your home for baby

Put some time into a creative outlet like building the nursery and gather baby supplies so everything is ready when your child arrives. Order things early just in case there’s a shipping delay so your not scrambling at the last minute. Create a nursery environment that’s going to feel very safe and nurturing. After we created ours, we found it to be a place we could both go to break away from all the stress. Make it a place you can go to disconnect from the news of the world and just think about your baby and the hopes and aspirations you have for him or her.

Give physical support to your pregnant partner

Ask your partner if there’s anything you can take off her plate: if there’s a big decision that needs to be made or things around the house to get done so there is one less thing she needs to worry about. With the pregnancy, there comes a lot of hormonal imbalances and other things that create stress. Your being present and helpful are great ways to help with those things.

Offer emotional support, too

You have to be a friend. Make sure you’re open and you’re flexible to hearing anything your partner may say without having to react to it. Right now your partner just needs a support person they can talk to about whatever fears and apprehensions she may have.

Take care of yourself

If you’re gonna be the person that your partner needs and the dad you want to be, you have to make sure that you’re taking care of yourself. With everything going on in your home and the world, there’s a lot of stress and anxiety you are feeling. There’s a lot of things that you probably don’t share with your partner because you don’t want to add on to her stress. One thing I have found really helps me is to connect with other dads. Whether it is through an online group or in person, it has worked really well.

Support your pregnant partner photo: © Rido / Adobe Stock.

Blissful. That’s pretty much how it felt to hold my baby son in my arms after such a stressful 37 weeks of a pandemic pregnancy.

He is here, healthy and strong, and my wife, Stef, is doing well after having a beautiful labor experience in the comfort of our own home. His birth was a sigh of relief from so much anguish and worry that kept me from exhaling for so long.

We went through so many challenges during this pandemic pregnancy. First, we thought our baby wasn’t going to make it full-term. What started as weird pregnancy symptoms eventually became a medical concern for pre-term labor. Coupled with my wife’s lupus, we thought perhaps he wasn’t going to be able to make it.

We started the second trimester with my wife on medical-ordered bed rest. It was a moment in my life where I was really struggling to be OK amidst everything going on. I needed to be there not only for my wife, our unborn child, and our preschooler daughter, but also for myself and my responsibilities. Many times I questioned the timing of everything.

We went through other sad moments during this time, like the death of two people close to our family. And the struggles of mental health, as I was learning to cope with generalized anxiety and seeking therapy for what I had noticed become unhealthy behaviors in my thinking and increasing patterns of worrying. Then amidst a move to a new house and a job change for me, we got hit with the pandemic.

A pandemic pregnancy. Reports from China showed that COVID-19 affected pregnant women by causing pre-term labor, something Stef was already at-risk for. Then when the virus was ravaging through New York, we were so uncomfortable with the stories of mothers having to labor alone – or worse; having to be separated from their children because they were born with the virus.

Stress, anxiety, a dislocated shoulder

We had just bought a house and I had started a new job that now didn’t seem guaranteed. Our rental properties had tenants who were getting laid off and couldn’t pay rent. We chose to have an extensive self-quarantine. No grocery trips. No visitations. We had midwives come to check up on the baby instead of going to a clinic for appointments. And in the span of 13 weeks of self-quarantine, we had to learn how to be OK in a home that we couldn’t finish furnishing and with a preschooler that has always enjoyed socializing and being anywhere BUT home now having to do online classes at age 3. I became obsessed with the virus, at one point worrying if I was to catch it from just being outside in our yard.

But alas. 37 weeks. That’s the magic number they give for a pregnancy to be considered full-term and for it to be legally OK in Florida to have a baby at home. Then, the day after we get the all-clear, I dislocated my shoulder during an at-home workout. I had such a fear of the hospital that we first tried to pop it back using YouTube videos to teach me how. I ended up having to go to the ER, where I thought I would for sure I’f be bringing back the infection and possibly miss out on my son’s birth.

But something happened in that ER. I was there alone. Not only did it ease my fear of exposure to the virus, but it also reminded me that there was a world outside our home. That soon it was my job to raise a little boy in a way he deserved.

I thought of conversations I had with my wife regarding the mental impact this must be having on our daughter – and that soon she was about to go through a major change in her life as she became one of two kids. I don’t know what it was, but it clicked for me that I just needed to enjoy whatever was in front of me, regardless of a situation I couldn’t control. Being this affected hadn’t allowed me to enjoy the moment. My wife had hit 37 weeks. Both she and the baby were healthy. My daughter was happy and an incredible being. And that in itself should have been enough. I got my shoulder popped back in, with good wishes from the amazing medical staff who together had given me more social interaction than I had in months.

From then on, my outlook changed on everything. We left our house for the first time. We decided to go to a plant nursery and see what it was like to go to a place with other patrons. We became OK with walking on a golf course in our neighborhood. We recorded our first TikTok video, which was a great deal of fun and got us enjoying the beauty that was my wife being pregnant. Each day was the last we could be as a family of three, and we were milking it.

Pandemic pregnancy to beautiful birth

Just five days after my shoulder injury, our little boy made his debut to the world in a crazy short two-hour labor. The labor was beautiful. Stef woke up to strong contractions around 1:30 on the morning of May 24. I called the labor team of two midwives, our doula, and a doula-photographer who were going to be making their way over from all parts of Orlando.

At 3:32 a.m., I had the opportunity to catch him as he made his way to the world. The oxytocin that must’ve formed after seeing my wife lovingly breathe our baby out could have been why my shoulder and arm seem to work fine and all I could feel at that moment was the silence of the world as I laid eyes with my son.

I had not enjoyed this pregnancy the same way as I did our first. I didn’t bond with my baby in utero as I did with my daughter. I was worried most of the time, in fear of missing out on the moment of being able to ever hold him. And here he was, all 6.4 lbs of human in my hands. It was one of those moments where everything stops and the meaning of life gets just so simple. The world stops spinning amidst things happening right in front of you, but instead of the past flashing before your eyes, it’s little glimpses of all your dreams of the future, bundled in a physical manifestation of love.

None of the worries I had seemed to matter. Not the quarantine, not the effects of labor, or the stresses of the pregnancy. It was bliss. A moment of perfection where everything just seems to be right.

And now here we are – still in a chaotic, non-ideal planet for so many reasons, but in a state of happiness with our boy. We’re getting ready to reintegrate into society once more. And while we don’t know how that looks like yet, we are enjoying this little bundle of joy, seeing my daughter take on her role of big sister, and experiencing everything that comes forth as I become a dad once more to another living being. Another little miracle. One with the potential to leave his own mark on the world.

A version of this pandemic pregnancy story first appeared on Being Papa. All photos contributed by Marlon Gutierrez.

Jerusalem’s snowstorm of the century began with a toast. My mother-in-law, Jean, was visiting us, and I had bought a bottle of her favorite local wine and a bouquet of flowers to mark the occasion.

As Jean and I partook a second glass of a delicious pinot noir, my wife, Debbie, was hit by a pint-sized rocket.

“It’s OK,” she said. “The contractions are far … ahh!”

Our unborn daughter’s hand had left a deep imprint on Debbie’s belly.

In the seconds following that monster contraction Jean moved with all the swiftness of a cheetah. She called for a taxi, packed up Debbie’s hospital bag, called her husband, e-mailed half of the Jewish population of her hometown, and watered the red cactus we had on our terrace.

Cut to Debbie and me in a fast-moving taxi, being driven by a sullen young man. “Just breathe, I said. “It took Tamar (our daughter) 26 hours to be born. Hold my hand.” Debbie and the taxi driver exchanged a glance that communicated miles: “This schmuck has no clue he’s gonna become a father before that traffic light turns red.”

The hyperventilating cabby blew into the ER entrance. “Get her a wheelchair!” he yelled. I leaped out of the taxi and returned in eight seconds flat with a wheelchair. The taxi driver floored it, racing off into the suddenly blustery night.

With the cab’s exhaust fumes still lingering in the chilly night air Debbie gave birth in her tights to our second daughter, Yarden Tilli Lotte.

Following the snowstorm birth

Elated, I walked all the way home to our four-story Jerusalem walk-up. I was sleeping the deep sleep of a happy, relieved father of a healthy newborn when my cell phone rang.

“If you don’t get me out of here now, I’ll go insane.”

It was Debbie. She was trapped in a room with an orthodox Jewish woman whose father-in-law had bellowed nonstop all day, calling everyone and his uncle, looking for a way to get his daughter-in-law, and latest grandchild transported out of the hospital back home to the city of Bnei Brak about 40 miles away. The fact that the Israeli Ministry of Transportation had announced that all roads in and out of Jerusalem were closed was little more than a detail to work around.

Now it was dusk, and this grandfather of 16 had shifted from yelling in English to whispering frantically in Yiddish about God knows what. Debbie had pleaded to be transferred to another room, but with Jerusalem about to reap the whirlwind, the entire city was in lock down, and every hospital bed taken.

I had to move, right quick. The roads were impassable, so I trudged through the snow-covered streets of our neighborhood, carrying an empty bassinet, sticking my thumb out for a lift to the hospital. The streets were empty, except for one intrepid, or seriously confused, traveler who had braved the elements, saw me, saw my bassinet, and gave me a ride all the way to the hospital.

I rushed into Debbie’s room, bundled her up, picked up our baby girl, and the three of us made tracks.

The arrival of our beautiful, round baby girl with the big brown eyes and forearms like a sailor ushered in the storm of the century. Yet Yarden Tilli Lotte’s entrance onto the world stage wasn’t completely chaotic: she was born 46 years to the day after her grandparents, my wife’s mom and dad, had created the beginnings of a storied love affair by swapping ‘I dos’ at the Highlands North Synagogue in Johannesburg, South Africa.

Sometimes, the line between chaos and creation can be blurry – but it sure is beautiful.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Gidon Ben-Zvi left behind Hollywood starlight for Jerusalem, where he and his wife are raising their four children to speak fluent English – with an Israeli accent. Ben-Zvi’s work has appeared in The Jerusalem Post, Times of Israel, Algemeiner, American Thinker and Jewish Journal.

Snowstorm birth photo: © v_sot / Adobe Stock.