I'm Launching a Paid Tier
With all of the money going to charity. Read on.
Hey,
So first off, thanks to all of you for subscribing, sharing, and interacting with me over the course of this newsletter. It’s been an amazing thing to share this journey with you all.
I’ve decided to launch a paid subscription tier, the proceeds from which I will donate to the Pregnancy Justice nonprofit, who, as women’s bodies are ever more criminalized, help people facing pregnancy-related charges.
You can read more about the organization here. And considering as much, I would really love it if you shared this with your friends and followers. It’s the season of giving, so please, help me help a much-needed organization.
“Donations are great, Mike. But what am I paying for?! Do I get a sweet tote like from NPR?!”
No. No totes. The world has too many totes. But I have to give you something! And so, beyond donating to a great cause, I’m going to give you a story that is very near and dear to my heart.
Throughout my Emily’s first pregnancy, I kept a journal documenting my insecurities and expectations, my anxieties and fascinations, my hopes and fears. I wondered how true the other dads’ horror stories were about sleep and exhaustion. I wondered whether Emily would still see in me whatever it is she sees in me after endless sleepless nights and how long it might take for my son to need me. I wondered how Emily and I might do this without mothers of our own. I wondered if my wife’s love for me would be intrinsic to my success or failure as a father.
As time wore on and my Emily’s belly grew, the journal evolved into a long-form letter to my not-yet-son, trying to explain to him as much as I could about life, about who he is, who I am, and what it means to be a person in the world.
For research, I scoured the stacks at my local library, bookstores and on Amazon, but could find nothing resembling an earnest, honest, and literary take on new fatherhood. It was not for lack of quantity on the subject, however, as the shelves bulged with books about being a dad. But everything I could find was either self-help or humor and the closest I came in my search was a single memoir on early fatherhood, not pregnancy. It’s since become one of my favorite books.
Anyway, realizing the dearth of stories on the subject led me turn my journal into a full-fledged essay (and, later, led to me starting this very Substack).
The essay is called A Million Billion Trillion Tiny Feelings: A Father’s First Pregnancy and is around 45,000 words. Don’t worry. I’m not going to send you a 45,000-word email. I’m going to serialize it over the course of next year so that you’ll get an installment every other week or so. And don’t worry; I’m still going to publish the regular Wednesday iteration, which includes Dad Talks and Fucked Up Moments in Fatherhood.
I’m asking for a $3/month or a $30 one-time contribution for the essay, all of which will go to the Pregnancy Justice organization.
I hope you’ll consider subscribing and sharing with your friends, families, and loved ones.
Please enjoy the first part of the first part below.
Prologue
February 10, 2018
4:25am
I was asleep on the hard couch, lulled by the rhythm of his amplified heartbeat for a few hours when the nurse tapped my shoulder.
“You might wanna wake up, daddy,” she said in a buttery North Carolina drawl. “You’re about to have this baby.”
The couch was positioned alongside a window that ran the length of the room and I rose to see the darkness outside. The lights flickered in Chapel Hill as our university town stretched below us. The room hummed with activity behind me as the nurse’s words settled into my brain.
“You’re about to have this baby.”
A million thoughts roared through my head, the first of which was how completely and absolutely unprepared I was to be a father.
All of the thoughts I had, the feelings I felt, the preparations Emily and I had made in the nine months leading up to this night flew out the room-length window and all I could think was how terrified I was by the nurse’s simple, declarative and very imminent statement.
“You’re about to have this baby.”
I’m not ready yet.
It didn’t matter because he was coming.
But I thought I was.
It didn’t matter because he was coming.
How on Earth were we going to take care of this baby?
It didn’t matter, because he was coming.
I have no clue what I’m doing.
It didn’t matter, because he was coming.
Could Emily just rest for a few more hours?
It didn’t matter, because he was coming.
I thought of my father, how elated he’d be to have a new grandson, and of Emily’s father, one building over in the psych lockdown, battling the demons that have plagued him for over a decade.
I thought of our mothers, both dead, and how this boy would never know a grandmother’s love.
It didn’t matter, because he was coming.
I wondered how we might do this without their guidance. I wondered what would happen to all of the questions that only our mothers could remedy. I wondered what he might miss out on as a boy without grandmas.
But it didn’t matter, because he was coming.