It didn’t make sense. And I guess it didn’t have to. Life really does its own thing sometimes. One moment you’re just living, and the next — you’re waiting.
Waiting for the biggest news of your life, while the woman you met one month ago is in the bathroom, peeing on a stick.
“Oh my God… I’m pregnant.”
It was surprising — and scarily exciting — until the emotional weight of what it all meant… hit me. Like a gut punch. A cold shower. A kind of pressure I couldn’t name but had always felt. It woke me up.
I was literally just five seconds ago a bachelor. Free. Untethered. And in that moment, I realized maybe I’d never be that again. And that did not sit well with me.
Going into our first ultrasound… it was real. I had to figure it all out, fast — while navigating a brand new relationship under the most stressful circumstances. But I could do it. I had to do it.
Turns out delusional optimism isn’t a strategy. Full disclosure — I never really figured it out.
The saga of Dava and I was a crash landing in slow motion. Beautiful, chaotic, intense, poetic. We fell in love with the idea of what we could be before we even knew who we were — separately or together.
On our third date, we both said we wanted kids. For me, my first. For her, another. She already had the shining light of a 12-year-old daughter who stole my heart the second I met her.
I always said I wanted a child. Or two. Or three. Just with the right person. Someone who’d be an amazing mom above all else. Watching Dava love Etta — it reminded me of the only person who’s ever truly been my rock: my mom.
Something about Dava and I felt inevitable. Like we were just catching up to a story already written.
I think I know the night it happened. It’s one I replay often. The perfect playlist. No rush. No fear. Just us — dissolving into each other.
Yeah… that’s the night my little guys bypassed birth control — and logic — and created life.
Some people debate whether to give a child a shot in this world. For me, that was never the question. This kid wanted a shot. I would never deny him that.
The real question was: how the hell was I going to be the man I needed to be — for this baby, for these women, and for myself?
It wasn’t easy. Dava had terrible HG for months. We were scared. We got evicted. Insurance denied us. I maxed out every credit card. Took out a loan. We had no doctor.
The system was broken. But somehow, we still laughed. We made memories. We made it to the next day.
We moved into a new home — one that made us feel like we had a real shot. And that baby kept growing.
And then we found out — it was a boy.
I wasn’t just going to be a dad. I was going to be a father to a son.
Suddenly the questions shifted. How will he see me? How do I love him without passing him all my sh*t? How do I teach him to be a man while still figuring it out myself?
I couldn’t run anymore.
I wanted to be everything I had — and everything I didn’t — for that boy.
I still haven’t figured it all out. But here we are — ready or not.
He arrived. More to come.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Kevin Ache On Unsplash
