I always swore that if I ever had a kid, I would not talk ad nauseam about being a dad. And here I am, trying to coerce you into reading 3,500 words about how I experienced the "journey" through pregnancy.
So I apologize for that. And as a know-nothing guy, I apologize for choosing to write about pregnancy at all.
But as my wife Cara and I shuffled toward childbirth, I couldn't help but be amazed by how many "birth professionals" had shingles hanging along the way: massage therapists, yoga teachers, doulas, midwives, even photographers who specialize in belly pictures. It was a "natural" world I never knew existed.
And when I nearly assaulted a nurse who had the audacity to suggest that our newborn take formula — instead of breast milk — while spending a couple nights in the neonatal intensive care unit, I realized how strong its pull can be. I hope that I illustrate at least that point.
Oddly enough, on the day we finished this story, Indy reporter Anthony Lane and his wife Abby had a little one of their own, a 6-pound, 15-ounce boy they named Haven Nicholas. We wish them the best, and on a personal note, I welcome them to a world that seems just as fraught with uncontrollable apprehension and mystery as the one they just left behind.
— Kirk Woundy