Nothing Could Ever Prepare You

Nothing could ever prepare you for bringing a newborn child home for the first time. Not the parenting books, the endless articles online written by experienced parents and experts alike. Not even the medical professionals that guide you along the way from the first ultrasound to the sign-off of the discharge papers, postpartum. From the moment I first looked into my daughter's eyes, the birthing room lights glistening off her radiant blues, the sound of my wife, Melissa, sobbing as the baby was placed on her bare skin, I knew I would do whatever it took to protect my child and offer her the world. It was instinctual. We went back and forth on the name but finally settled on Evelynn, two N's for my mother, Lynn. I wasn't quite sold on the name until I saw her face. She couldn't have been any one else other than Evelynn. The overwhelming feeling of pride, the endless amount of fear that provoked me all at once made me want to show the world what my wife had accomplished, yet I wanted to shield her away. All the emotions one man could experience, were experienced in that split second. Somehow though, I was left knowing less after that moment than I ever had in my short thirty years. Then we brought her home. Anxious to adjust to our new life with a newborn, we rushed into the house - well, I rushed into the house with my daughter tightly bundled in the highest graded car seat, only to circle back to my wife as she gingerly stepped out of the car onto the driveway. Melissa smiled at me. I smiled back timidly as I could sense that she wasn't appreciative of me leaving her in the dust as my daughter and I planned to start settling in. Nevertheless, I assisted her through our front door and into the main foyer. A variety of presents from the family were lined up across the wooden floor, some wrapped with pristine bows and others in bags with a senseless amount of pink tissue paper vomiting out the top. My Mylar pink balloons still hung from the banister that overlooked where we were standing. Hung was the right word. I didn't account for the extra days in the hospital so they looked more like decrepit pears hanging from a tree left to die. Melissa still welled up from all the love and support despite my bad attempt at decorating. She hugged me then crouched down to give our daughter a kiss on the white knitted hat my grandmother made. We were in the winter months, so every inch of her body was covered in thickly knitted garments except for her red, pudgy face. Our grandmother was popular in her nursing home, her and her friends made all sorts of clothing for the baby. And as she would never let me forget, I'd be disowned if I didn't provide a picture of the baby in every single one of the outfits.

Melissa and I were a few hours into having the baby home, resting on the couch as we took turns holding Evelynn and passing her back and forth, both waiting eagerly until we got to hold her again. It was the perfect moment - our daughter in our arms, the late afternoon sun flowing through the sliding glass doors, engulfing the room with welcoming warmth. The novelty had yet to wear off until Melissa's face contorted and her nose crinkled. It wasn't too long after until I shared the same sentiment.

"Do you smell that?" I asked foolishly, covering my nose with my hand. I knew the answer, it was very apparent Melissa smelt the same thing.

"Unfortunately, yes," she replied with a chuckle. How could something so small, so perfect, so delicate, produce something as foul smelling as a chicken coup baking under the hot, summer sun? "This is all you, Babe." I looked at Melissa with a side-long stare, jokingly, knowing that I owed my life to her after the strength she portrayed in the hospital. She was a Super Hero.

"No problem," I said timidly as I reached over to grab my daughter. As I previously found out, the books never taught you about the emotional roller coaster you experience when first meeting your child. They also didn't prepare you well for the first time you place your hands on the wet, mushy backside of an infant. I instantly wanted to vomit, trying to picture what my hand looked like, let alone her backside. Judging just by the surface area, I was already contemplating throwing the Welcome Home onesie that Melissa and I thought we'd cherish for years to come. Nope. It was nothing more than a compromised rag to me, a vessel that held the most vile substance I have encountered to date. Carefully making my way up the stairs, strategically holding Evelynn away from my body as to prevent contamination. Were there any books on navigating a stairwell while holding a dead weight infant with outstretched arms? No.

"Everything okay?" Melissa asked, her voice echoing from downstairs. She must've heard the plethora of snorts and grunts to know something was amiss. Or perhaps noticed that I carried our newborn up the stairs like a bomb about to set off.

"I'm great. Doing great," I answered unconvincingly as I placed Evelynn on the changing table, which was covered with a white cloth by the way. Another piece of fabric sullied by the never ending mess that my seven pound daughter created. It wasn't until she looked up at me as she lay on the table, almost studying me, that I forgot about the mess, the smell, the mush between my fingers. "I got this, Evelynn, don't you worry." I felt I needed to show her I was confident, yet deep down, I was terrified to change a single diaper. I could never explain the panic of being left alone with a human that was completely dependent upon me. I felt helpless. Even with Melissa downstairs, I was out of my element. I needed to step it up as a father, as a husband, and as this baby's only chance of being freed from its own filth. Thankfully, the onesie had breakaway buttons on the side, just the thought of pulling the disastrous mess over her head and tarnishing her beautifully straight blonde hair, was devastating. Even with the buttons, removing the clothing was about as easy as taking off a wet bathing suit. It suctioned itself to her baby soft skin and made a sort of whooshing sound as I finally freed her from it. Removing the diaper was easy though, I counted that as a win. Still, Evelynn continued to study me, acknowledging that like her, I had no clue what I was doing. About twenty wipes later, a new diaper, and five ounces of hand sanitizer, my mission was complete. I contemplated putting another onesie on, but her neck seemed so fragile that I decided I wasn't ready to advance to the next level of parenting. So, I wrapped her in yet another knitted item from my grandmother, this time a thick, cotton blanket with tiny farm animals stitched upon it. As childish as it seemed, all I could think about was wrapping myself into the blanket, swaddled by a giant that was about twenty times the size of myself. I was sleep deprived at that point after a long stay in the hospital with Melissa, but was this what I fantasized about now?

However long that singular changing took, it seemed to take a lot of out Evelynn and me as she began to doze off as I reached the bottom of the stairs. I expected Melissa to razz me about my efforts upstairs, yet she lay there on our brown leather couch, feet up on the arm rest and sprawled across all three cushions. She needed the rest far more than me. I couldn't help but look back and forth between my daughter and my wife, so proud of where my life lead me. I placed Evelynn gently in the white bassinet at the end of the couch, just between the entrance from the living room to the kitchen. A faint smell of lavender wafted in from the kitchen, Melissa's favorite, that lured me into an even deeper level of exhaustion. Slipping off my shoes, I sunk into our recliner that sat against the adjacent wall of the couch my wife was on, and fought against the heaviness that overcame my eyes. I didn't want to fall asleep. What if Evelynn needed me? What if she cried and I didn't hear her? I asked myself similar questions over and over again until a screeching cry pulled me from my trance and back into reality. It took awhile for my eyes to adjust, noticing that sunlight no longer filled the room, but an off-yellow light from the lamp placed on the coffee table next to me. I didn't think I fell asleep, but judging by the nightfall, it had to at least have been two hours. Melissa was sitting up, now in pajamas, rocking Evelynn back and forth as she sang lines from several different lullabies. It was almost as if she wanted her to hear all of them to see which one soothed her the most. Evelynn persisted to cry, though. The books did prepare of this, thankfully, but they never really touched upon the decibels that a tiny infant could reach. They also didn't quite tell us about how long it could last. The baby ate, napped, went to the bathroom...again. Both of us were stumped as to what could be bothering her. It wasn't just me feeling helpless this time, my wife was too. We walked her around the house, rocked her back and forth, sang, even struck up a conversation as some sort of distraction. Nothing was working. Evelynn was red in the face as she screamed at the top of her lungs. I was half expecting the house alarm to go off with how loud she was getting, worried that our neighbors would come rushing over to see what was causing the raucous.

"Should we call the doctor?" I frantically asked as I searched for my phone.

"Why?" Melissa responded, moving the pacifier around in Evelynn's mouth, seemingly as another way to amuse her.

"I don't know, maybe because she's crying?"

"So, a baby cries and your first thought is to bring her to the doctor? We'd be there every day."

"What do you suggest?" Even though my plea to call the doctor was really an empty proposition, I still found myself searching for my phone, taking the cushions up from the couch and digging into each crevice. Realizing that my phone may as well have been across the country at that point, I stood up and reset myself. I was clearly frazzled yet Melissa was as peaceful as a nun in prayer. She didn't seem to hear the same crying I was any more. As helpless as she looked a moment ago, there must've been a switch that occurred as I was cramming my hands into the couches. Her whole demeanor changed. As if someone whispered it in her ear, Melissa propped Evelynn up in her arms and pressed her cheek against hers. She began to hum softly, melodiously. Even I began to sway in unison with them, feeling a sense of comfort taking over me. Evelynn stopped crying, I stopped panicking. A mother always knows. As much as I regret admitting it, the distress and exasperation I felt over an infant crying, was a distant memory. The second I looked upon my daughter snug against my wife, I forgot about the panic, the tiredness, the effort. I approached the both of them and held them tightly. I rocked back and forth with them as Melissa continued to hum. In that moment, nothing else mattered. We were yet to complete the first day at home with a newborn, and I couldn't wait to do it all over again. The crying, the diaper changing, the lack of sleep, it wasn't a concern. The experts may write about the euphoria of bringing home a newborn, but their words only serve as a gateway to the most fulfilling experience you will have in a lifetime. I'm happy they didn't prepare me for that.