To My Brother On The Birth Of His First Child

Hello, Matt. I got word while I was working that you had entered the League of Parenthood today. Mom said that you had endured 36 sleepless hours culminating with the safe appearance of little Samantha. I know what you felt and saw.

The fear for your woman’s safety, the lurking guilt that somehow you had caused her discomfort.

The adrenaline, the feeling of being helpless to lessen her pain and fear.

The awareness that you stood upon the edge of no return, about to be thrust into a new reality unknown to you.

The exhaustion, the relentless waiting out the hours, where the clock seems to stand cruelly still in defiance of your wanting the labour to be mercifully quick.

The compulsion to not leave her side even for a second, despite suggestions from nurses and Mom to go eat, take a walking break, perhaps even to nap.

Trying to keep her spirits buoyed and focused on positives.

The brief moments of tenderness and love expressed between you and your woman between contractions, between her small lapses into sleep, giving focus and light like the sun shining momentarily through breaks in the clouds on a stormy afternoon, reminding you that beyond the turbulence is a greater and permanent strength.

Amniotic fluid. Blood.

The appearance of your baby’s head, the first glimpse of her wet hair and face, shock of wonder as she emerged, making three out of what was formerly only two; seeing for the first time the real little person, who for so long had been kept secret from you safely nestled within Erica’s tummy.

The sudden and total nullification of your importance by a small, pink, wet newborn, the joyous, soul-cutting sound of her first cry, proclaiming her being and protesting her having been hurled from her familiar warm, dark abode into this realm of sharp sounds, smells, bright light, alien colours and chilly air.

The crash of emotions. Your breath arresting in your chest as your eyes begin to fill with tears of relief, of amazement, of being blown totally away from what has happened, of feeling the former You sliding away into memory, because you are now irrevocably changed, both of you, and bound together more tightly from this wondrous thing.

The strangeness of now being Dad. A greater appreciation of your own dad. Wondering if your wife still loves you after all that. (She does, and needs you now more than ever.)

Then later, sitting next to your sleeping wife, holding Samantha, talking quietly to her in adoration, taking in the magic of her soft breathing, her eyes, her tiny hands and feet… wondering about the future – feeling hopes and dreams begin to coalesce, seeing fleeting images of times to come and the years ahead. The mantle of responsibility. Wondering how on earth a schmuck like yourself can raise her, see her through it all safely.

You will, dear brother, you and Erica together. The first few months are the hardest for both of you, but you’ll get through it. The ride has just begun.

A kiss to Erica and little Samantha; to you a hug, a handshake and a cigar.

Welcome to the fold of Parenthood.