I spend countless days explaining to people in my daily life who are childless that your perspective, priorities, and realizations of what truly matters drastically change after having a child.
I do not know why or how my perspective on so much has shifted so suddenly after having children, but my life is no longer about Kevin, and I’m okay with that.
Sometimes, people in my life (also the thoughts that rumble through my mind) urge me to stress over what I feel are meaningless things. When this happens, I experience a metaphorical speed bump that follows a stop sign that isn’t more than two feet away, guarding me from entertaining such unwanted and unneeded stressors. Unintentionally and without warning, on January 10th, 2023, I suddenly grew up overnight, which is when the speedbump magically showed up, protecting me from added stressors.
I’m living a life that follows a straightforward rule: if whatever is bothersome isn’t more critical or impedes my son (which I have yet to discover anything that is), then it simply isn’t worth my energy. My friends often hear me saying, “I don’t know what to tell you.” or “If that doesn’t work for you, then that’s fine…” and sure, maybe this isn’t the kindest thing to say, I admit that, but again, its a speedbump followed by a full stop to protect the only bit of energy I have left after being a fulltime single dad.
If you follow me on Instagram or YouTube, you know how I became a single father. However, because I disclose little of how the role of daddy came into my life here on Medium, some of what I write may seem vague and parsed together. Let me explain.
In short, I am a pre-adoptive father. In its simplest explanation, this means that I am in the process of adopting my son.
However, that’s all I’m sharing. There is a lot of sensitivity around the matter, so I don’t get into the nitty-gritty. As stated in every article, I write about my life as a single father, not my son’s.
On February 4th, 2021, the first baby brought to me showed up to my front door. Twenty-three months later, I am in the process of adoption. During those months, I have experienced as much joy in meeting newborns as I have, grief in having to say goodbye, and never knowing if I will see them again. However, this is what the process of fostering children is like; this is the ultimate test of selflessness. On January 10th, 2023, I met the little boy who will soon wear my last name. I can recall walking into the hospital with excitement and comfort. I found parking and grabbed the car seat from the back seat of my SUV, then walked to the hospital entrance to check in at the security desk. The hospital’s exterior was under construction, so things were discombobulated. Nonetheless, I found where I needed to be. Walking into a hospital, knowing that I am about to meet a sweet, darling child, is nerve-racking enough, so shifting around construction with no clear signage of where to go didn’t help the situation.
“Hi, I’m here for [name redacted], in the NICU.”
“Are you the baby’s father?”
“Yes.” I swiftly replied. — What else am I going to say?
Once the security officer made a quick phone call to the hospital’s NICU, I was given a visitor’s badge (I still have it today), and they instructed me to walk through a security checkpoint. I grabbed my items and went to an elevator down the hall. As I entered with my iPhone in front of my face, I started vlogging for my YouTube channel. It took less than one minute for the elevator to reach the third floor; however, this would be an elevator ride that would change my life. No, I didn’t get stuck for hours while the Los Angeles Fire Department had to pry the doors open, saving me while hospital staff stood by, ready to treat my limp body after ten hours without food or water. What happened was much faster and more impactful than that. In that minute inside the elevator, my priorities changed forever. A brief moment of calm came over me; things made sense. For the second time in my life, God spoke to me. While I have been experiencing bits of selflessness over the last few years, in this moment, it became real life.
God said, “Kevin, put your phone down. This experience is for you and him.” A baby I hadn’t even met yet, I was already connected to.
I ended the video without a second thought, and for the next six months, I didn’t “Vlog” at all. Regarding my YouTube channel, I know those who subscribe enjoy watching me meet an infant. And I’ve always loved sharing those moments while unintentionally educating thousands about the foster-to-adopt process. However, I know one thing: when God speaks to you, you listen. And so I did. In the following weeks and months, it was difficult not to feel as though I was hiding all this from everyone (not only online but from many in my life who had no idea this little boy was here). I worried that statistically, everything I worked to achieve with my YouTube channel (being a YouTube Partner especially) would crash and burn to the ground; however, clear perspective and shifting priorities, two things that were missing in the past, are now at the forefront of life.
All that matters is being the best dad I can be. What I wanted wasn’t the most important anymore; someone else had come into my life and flipped everything upside down and around. This feeling was unlike anything I’ve ever felt with any child yet. A genuinely loving child magically shifts everything you thought you knew about life. When a tiny human life rests in your hands (literally and theoretically), you can grow up or throw up. Thank God I grew up. I like the axiom, suit up and show up. I’ve been doing that since walking into that NICU room seven months ago.
I’d find myself in a difficult place in the months that proceeded. My downstairs neighbor had been causing a lot of issues for me. Living directly above her made my life practically a living stress ball. So, after only six months into my lease, I decided that rather than play the charades she wanted, I would take the high road and move out. As Michelle Obama said, “When they go low, we go high.” Today, I live in a one-bedroom apartment. In past articles, I’ve explained that I do not have parking at our new home, so I park on the street. If you live in Los Angeles, you know that assigned parking spaces are a highly valued luxury. I miss not having to worry about street cleaning and parking tickets. While I knew that the community I was moving into was crowded and parking would be a daily challenge, this was the last thing I was concerned with. I was on a mission to protect the process I and this little boy were going through. The toxic environment is no longer a part of our lives.
When the social worker came to my new home to inspect and approve it, he asked me about my parking situation, to which I explained that I didn’t have onsite parking. He followed with (and to be sure I specify, he had no undertone of anything other than general concern), “So you are going to have to park on the street? Isn’t that going to be difficult around here?” My reply: “Yes, it will be, but [social worker’s name] I have bigger things in life to worry about, and that is [my son].”
We moved on to other topics, but it felt nice to experience the peace and comfort of being confident in my decision to move and where it was. And yet again, the magic of loving a child does something to one’s perspective and passion. Moving to a tiny one-bedroom from a large two-bedroom apartment has been an adjustment, but I know that had I not gotten us away from the toxicity of the past, things would have only gotten worse, and that was not something I had any interest in.
I will stray off course, but not too far off that; we wouldn’t return on topic. At this point, this article has taken me over a week to write. Thinking back, I can identify only two reasons for taking so long.
(1) It has been a somewhat difficult week — month, in fact.
(2) Sleep is important to me. If you read my article, “Early Mornings, Endless Love: My 5 AM Bonding Ritual with My 7-Month-Old Son,” you already know that to keep to a healthy rhythm, I have to go to bed no later than 10:00 PM. Well, this week, that has yet to happen; it’s been more like 12:00 AM to 1:30 AM bedtimes for me. I haven’t gotten much sleep. Los Angeles is a shit-show of a city to survive in, and oh yeah, I’m a full-time single father — I’m tired.
While being a dad requires the willingness to put yourself second, again and again, I am learning that I also need to be willing to say no. No, I will not hang out tonight. No, I cannot hike this morning or see an 8:00 PM movie that will get out at 10:00 PM. I’d still have a baby to put to bed well past bedtime. I’m sorry, but no. I am learning to say no — even you, Medium. You have to wait, too. I must remember that if my focus is quantity, it’s easy to jeopardize the quality, and professionally, I must remain authentic in my storytelling.
It is life-giving for me to express myself in a way that can simultaneously be mysterious yet authentic and beautiful. However, to effectively achieve this, I must sleep. Sleep allows me to care for my son. So, while life is no longer about me, oddly enough, it is about me. Selflessness something means being selfish. I can’t forget me — to a degree. If I lose Kevin, I can not put my son first. It’s cyclical.
Before having children, my life was completely different. I was able to date how and when I wanted to. And now, dating has been complicated and, most of the time, not worth the added headache. I often want to wait until my son is in elementary school to date again. At the moment, I’d prefer working on things like “Tummy time” and baby sit-ups with him. I may meet another single father through school drop-offs and pickups or at a Little League team game.
Prior to being a father, I had been working out five days a week, and my body was in the best shape of my life. I still look at photos of myself at that time, wishing so badly to get back to that place. Something inside me believes that no matter how much desire or effort I put into entering the gym again, it will be 100 times harder than it was in 2020. The last 2.5 years have been one long journey of taking the focus off of myself and being of service to others (most specifically, the children who’ve come through my home). Most would say I can be self-centered and mean if you ask my friends. As I process this daily, I feel misunderstood because I believe I am loyal and loving.
Being a single parent takes a lot of time and focus devoted to your children. Having additional energy to deal with trivial things, especially from grown adults, is something I have no room for in my life. Some may call it self-centered, but I call it self-preservation.
I remember the first time it hit me that I was a parent and that it was time to grow up and do it quickly! The first time a social worker knocked at my door holding a car seat with a tiny baby boy inside, I was through the roof with nerves and excitement. I signed some paperwork, and off the social worker went. I looked at my new buddy and said to him, “Well, homie, I guess it’s you and me now.” And we were off to the races. The first week was fantastic; we spent our days walking around our neighborhood day in and day out. It was 2021 when the COVID-19 pandemic was still strongly affecting the world, so work for me was very slow, which made it easy to pass our time enjoying our days just the two of us. It was a beautiful first week. And then something hit me the following week. On Wednesday night, a baby boy was sleeping in his crib in what was now our bedroom (I was now spending the nights on the sofa every night). He was crying incessantly. I woke up and tended to him as I brought him to the couch, rocking and attempting to calm him back to sleep. By now, I felt like a zombie. It was as though my tank was on E. Out of nowhere, as he wailed in my arms, I found myself audibly saying…
“Kevin, this little boy is incapable of caring for himself. He needs you to keep him alive!” And this is where my first dose of selflessness washed over me.
Something clicked a second time. I got up, prepared a bottle, and from that moment, I never looked back. I became a father and would do anything to protect this boy to the best of my ability. I took on this responsibility, and now it was time to suit up and show up. And that’s just what I did. He would be with me for three months until I had to say goodbye tearfully. Years later, I still don’t know anything about him. All I can do is pray that he is safe and happy — which I am sure he is.
My ultimate test of selflessness has been being willing to love seven babies over two years while knowing that the chances of saying goodbye to them were extremely high. It took care, love, humanity, and prayer to get where I am today. While I experienced a lot of heartache over the years, I wouldn’t have changed a thing because all that time brought me the boy I would give my life for today. And he’s sleeping peacefully in the room on the other side of the wall beside me.
And now, it’s time for me to give him this nightly kiss and declaration. I do this every night as he is sleeping. I kiss him on the cheek and say…
Je t’aime mon fils. I love you, my son.
…
Hey, little man, today I was blessed with the feeling that God knew that you were meant for me and me for you. That is more than enough.
I love you, buddy.
Daddy.
*Side note: This is my story. Not my sons, mine. No details about him will be shared. Just me being a father.
—
This post was previously published on medium.com.
***
From The Good Men Project on Medium
 |
 |
 |
 |
***
Join The Good Men Project as a Premium Member today.
All Premium Members get to view The Good Men Project with NO ADS.
A $50 annual membership gives you an all access pass. You can be a part of every call, group, class and community.
A $25 annual membership gives you access to one class, one Social Interest group and our online communities.
A $12 annual membership gives you access to our Friday calls with the publisher, our online community.
Register New Account
Need more info? A complete list of benefits is here.
—–
Photo by Juan Pablo Serrano Arenas on Pexels
