I'm a Dad

New World Daughter

My wife had our daughter 8 weeks ago.

Sienna Madison ✨

Over the previous nine months, it was made clear to me that “we” weren’t pregnant — my wife was.

Now I’m asked to get up and change diapers in the dead of night. I was under the impression she was having the baby but suddenly I’m expected to do 50% of the work?!

There’s a breakdown in the system here and if AI hacks the nuclear codes and rains warheads on society it won’t be a diaper too soon.

Radical transparency: I’ve had poop on my hands a few times in life

My dog. An unnamed patron who shit on the dancefloor in a bar and left me to scoop it up with LMFAO’s “Party Rock Anthem” blaring overhead. Now, my daughter.

Hers is by far the most romantic hand-to-poop experience, though I’d be happy to have experienced none at all if that doesn’t make me a bad parent. I don’t believe holding fecal matter is a measure of love but there may be some of you old-fashioned romantics who disagree, pounding your filthy fingers against your screen in anger, and that’s fine.

I had debated sharing a photo of my daughter but there’s a security camera outside the hospital where she was born. There’s a strong chance her mug entered into global facial recognition software 8.6 seconds after she burst into existence — the damage is already done.

With that said, please reach out if you know of any high-paying baby model searches ($50,000 and up prize money only please), as I’ve got a winner on my hands.

She looks just like me ❤️

Prior to her arrival, I’d prepared for fatherhood by reading a ton of books

Some were even related to parenting (most were not). All of the baby books talked about sleep deprivation. None of my reading material mentioned that sleep deprivation would lead to surreal life-like dreams that blend reality and slumber.

Last week I woke in a panic at 1am, looked down at my wrist and realised I did not have the Wearable Baby Device.

Wanting to avoid a dressing down from my wife, and ensure she had the Wearable Baby Device for her shift with the baby, I got out of bed and hurried to the living room to search. Anxiously tossing aside pillows and looking under couch cushions, it took me several minutes to realise there was no such thing as a Wearable Baby Device.

Maybe the entire pregnancy was a similar fever dream and I’m still on the bar’s dancefloor, living out a fantasy in my head after being kicked in the skull while crawling around hunting for poop nuggets.

Makes you think.

This all feels like a juicy sequel to Christopher Nolan’s Inception and I’ve got half a mind to sit down and write out a rough treatment for his consideration when this baby turns 18 and I finally get time.

After heading back to bed without the Wearable Baby Device, I felt foolish and tired, but thankful not to have baby shit on my hands — a new silver lining in any situation, really.

Real baby. Fake sleep.

I didn’t know what to expect before having a baby

I once had a pet Axolotl (Mexican walking fish) but it ate a bunch of rocks from the tank floor and became too heavy to swim. This was my sole experience raising a living thing and I’m keeping small rocks away from Sienna Madison just in case.

The rest, I’ve been learning as I go.

Up until now, caring for a newborn has felt like pushing a button knowing it’s keeping a light on that you don’t see. No matter how you feel, there’s a job to do. Every day the button must be pressed over and over, while you sit in the dark. It’s beautiful and noble but exhausting and rocks your equilibrium, challenging what it means to be you.

It’s the repetition and routine of caring for something that relies totally on you. An unbalanced relationship, all take and no give.

Press the button. Press the button. Press the button.

Yesterday, my daughter looked up and smiled at me. And not because she was taking a dump. We made eye contact and she burst into a magical, brilliant grin like I’d told the funniest baby joke in existence.

Eight weeks of endless button pushing made sense now.

I could finally see the light, and it was beautiful.

Maybe that button needs to be pushed less as children get older. Maybe parents still push it anyway to keep the light on, even when children can do that themselves. I don’t know what the next 8 months or 18 years will look like.

But that smile is all the light I need.

I’ll keep pushing the button and figure the rest out as I go.

With love,

New World Porter

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, leave a like or comment with the button below (takes 0.46 seconds) so I can think terribly filthy thoughts about you. ❤️