Leave the great indoorsnotes on the journey

I have been searching the vast expanses of the Internet (and even the written word) to try to find solid advice on how to be a good father.  Jess is now 37 weeks pregnant with our first daughter, so we are apparently officially on Baby Watch.

In some cases I have been successful in my quest: BabyCenter has been an invaluable resource, despite their continued bizarre practice of measuring our baby’s size and weight in fruits and vegetables no one has ever heard of, much less eaten.  The Know-How Book for Dads has also been extremely useful.  In other cases, my earnest search for knowledge has come up short, like with The Expectant Father, which is apparently a “classic” book about preparing to have a baby, but the only thing classic about this book is its Hitchcockian nature of scaring the crap out of you.  No, not recommended.

Anyway, in desperation I recently turned to an unlikely source for advice: photos from my past.  There is one family photo in particular that I have been staring at for a while now.  Let me show you the photo and then we’ll discuss it on the other side.  Sound ok?  Good.  Here it is:

No, wait, that’s not it.  Sorry, my bad.  Let’s move on people, nothing to see here.  I’m sure I had a very legitimate reason for that outbreak.  Ah — here it is:

That’s better. Once I got past the fact that the photo is out of focus, and I looked closely, I started to see some detail that is teaching me a lot about fatherhood. So here are four observations from this unassuming, random family photo, and what it is teaching me about being a good father:

• I am not happy. I am clearly not in a good mood on this photo.  Although the reason escapes me now (it was a while ago), it’s teaching me lesson #1: sometimes kids are unhappy, and it’s not their parents’ fault. I know this in theory, but I think it will probably take me a while to not feel guilty every time our baby cries.  I read all about how cries are different — they’re hungry, they’re tired, Miley Cirus is on TV and they’re too young to know how to change the channel, etc.  All different reasons.  I just need to make peace with the fact that our baby won’t always be a laughing bundle of joy.
• My mom knows how to hold me. The technique she’s using (I believe after years of study scientists now refer to it as “Cradle Hold”) is something I have never been able to master in my endless attempts at it, holding real as well as imaginary babies.  But this brings me to lesson #2: moms know better at first, and that’s ok.  As much as I try to prepare myself, I am going to mess up that first diaper change (probably with disastrous consequences for my clothes and the walls).  But that’s ok, because Jess will be instinctively brilliant at all the newborn stuff, which means I can relax and just catch up on my own time.  That is good to know.
• I’m reaching out. One of the most amazing things about babies that I haven’t been able to wrap my head around, is how they are able to not only recognize their parents, but need them for security and safety, pretty much from the moment they arrive.  So lesson #3 is this: be there when she needs me. I may fail at diaper-changing and soothing her to sleep, but if she reaches out for me, I better make sure that I’m there.  All my life.
• My dad cares more about me than having the photo come out right. How my dad takes photos is the stuff of family legend, and there is definitely not enough room in this blog post to tell the tale in full.  Let me just say two things: for my dad, there always has to be people in pictures he takes (this should tell you a lot about him…), and it takes him at least 5 minutes before he feels happy with the composition, after which it takes another 2-3 minutes to press the actual button.  (As with most habits of our parents, this used to be annoying, but is now one of my fondest memories of him.)  Anyway, suffice to say that my dad takes photos very seriously.  And that’s what’s so striking to me about this particular photo.  He doesn’t seem to care about how it comes out.  He sees me crying, he’s concerned, and he wants to help.  I think you know where I’m going with this, so I’ll just say that lesson #4 is this: nothing is more important than the safety of my daughter.

And with these four lessons at my side, I think I am ready. We have prepared for this as much as we can over the past 9 months, so now it’s time for our baby to come, because I’m dying to meet her.

Let me also say this. It’s amazing what you can learn from old pictures and memories if you only take the time to stop and think about them for a little while.  I highly recommend you try this.  Go get an old family album, and look at the photos.  I think you’ll be surprised at what you find.