“The Hilarious Journey of Becoming a Dad”

Becoming a father is like signing up for a marathon when you’ve barely walked a mile. You think you know what you’re getting into, but nothing truly prepares you for the reality. My journey into fatherhood started with the classic “Congratulations, you’re going to be a dad!” followed by my brain screaming, “Wait, what?!”

The news hit me like a rogue wave. My wife told me she was pregnant, and I nodded, trying to look calm, like I was fully prepared. Inside, I was in full panic mode. Did I even know how to change a diaper? Could I handle sleepless nights? Was I emotionally ready to deal with something that cries all the time and can’t explain why? (Spoiler: I wasn’t.)

From the moment we found out, my life became a series of tiny, hilarious moments where I realized how woefully underprepared I was. The first thing I did? I downloaded every parenting app imaginable. “This one tracks the baby’s size relative to fruit!” I exclaimed proudly, showing my wife that our baby was now the size of a lime. I started referring to my child as “Baby Lime” and gave it updates every week. “Honey, guess what? Baby Lime just became Baby Avocado!” It was all fun and games until Baby Avocado became Baby Watermelon, and the reality of impending fatherhood loomed larger than ever.

Pregnancy also introduced me to the concept of “sympathy cravings.” I thought it was a myth, but no—my wife would mention craving ice cream, and suddenly, I was also in the kitchen, digging through the freezer like my life depended on it. I gained a solid 10 pounds during her pregnancy, all in the name of being a supportive husband. Every craving was a shared adventure, with me acting as the food delivery service. I’d like to say I handled this gracefully, but after the tenth 2 a.m. trip for pickles, I realized that this was only the beginning of my sleep deprivation training.

Speaking of sleep, the baby classes were a whole new world. My wife and I took a “birthing class” that promised to prepare us for delivery day. I figured I’d show up, listen, and walk out fully knowledgeable. Easy, right? Wrong. The instructor started talking about things like “transition labor” and “dilation,” and my brain promptly checked out. At one point, they passed around a baby doll for us to practice holding. I grabbed it confidently, only for the plastic head to immediately flop backward. “This is fine,” I muttered, as the doll’s head dangled, my wife laughing next to me. Clearly, I had some work to do.

Fast forward to the big day. I thought I’d be calm, cool, and collected when labor started. Instead, I freaked out like a character in a sitcom. “Is it time? Should I boil water? Isn’t that what people do?!” I yelled, grabbing things like socks and a blender (why the blender? I have no idea). My wife, the actual pregnant person, was far more composed, telling me to relax as we made our way to the hospital.

When we arrived, I quickly learned that birth is not a swift process, like in the movies. Instead, it’s hours of waiting around while your wife goes through something that looks like it should involve an exorcism. I tried to be supportive, but every time I said, “You’re doing great, babe,” she’d glare at me like I was the one responsible for all the pain (technically, she wasn’t wrong). At one point, I offered her a snack, which she rejected with such force that I considered hiding for a bit.

And then, finally, the baby arrived. I was standing there, staring at this tiny, wrinkled human who looked simultaneously fragile and furious at having been evicted from their comfy spot. “So… what do I do now?” I whispered to myself as the nurse handed me the baby. My first instinct was to not drop it—seemed like a solid start to fatherhood.

The first few weeks were a blur of sleepless nights, diaper changes, and trying to understand why my baby was crying. There’s nothing more humbling than holding a screaming infant and trying to guess if they’re hungry, tired, or just angry at the world. I tried every trick in the book—rocking, singing, making weird faces—yet nothing worked consistently. At one point, I even Googled “how to speak baby,” hoping for some magical guide. Spoiler alert: there’s no Rosetta Stone for baby talk.

Then came the diapers. I thought changing a diaper would be easy—just remove, wipe, replace, right? Wrong. Babies, it turns out, have an impeccable sense of timing. The moment you unfasten that diaper, they unleash chaos. I was hit with an unexpected spray more than once, standing there like a deer in headlights while my wife tried not to laugh too hard. I learned quickly to keep a shield (a.k.a. another diaper) at the ready, like a seasoned warrior.

As time went on, I started getting the hang of things—kind of. There’s a certain rhythm to fatherhood, one that involves a lot of improvisation and hoping for the best. I learned how to swaddle with military precision, how to make goofy faces that elicited the first real smiles, and how to catch up on sleep in 15-minute increments. Every day brought new challenges, but also moments of pure joy. The first time my baby laughed, it felt like I had won the lottery, even though I was still covered in spit-up.

Now, several months into this journey, I’ve come to realize that fatherhood is a lot like a stand-up comedy routine. You think you’ve got a solid plan, but life throws curveballs, and you have to roll with the punches—sometimes literally, when your baby flails during diaper changes. There are moments of pure chaos, mixed with moments of hilarity, and underneath it all is a deep sense of love and awe for this tiny human who somehow has you wrapped around their tiny, sticky finger.

In the end, becoming a father isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing up, making mistakes, laughing at yourself, and figuring it out as you go. Sure, I’ve messed up plenty—like the time I accidentally put the diaper on backward—but every misstep has led to a story that I’ll be telling for years. Fatherhood, I’ve learned, is equal parts absurdity and magic, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Truong minh dang 28/12/2023 ❤️