28 Days Later

Three surprises from my first month with a newborn

There were many good things about this first month that weren’t really surprises. The doctors and nurses at Saint Michael’s Hospital in Toronto were very competent and very kind during a difficult first few days. Friends and family have been warm and supportive, sending gifts, bringing over food, and providing help and good vibes in countless ways. It’s been a delight watching my wife become a mother and seeing our relationship transform.

And the baby? Zoe sleeps, cries, eats, pees, farts, poops, burps, spits up, and sometimes stares at her parents with a skeptical expression. She howls when she has gas pain, grunts during “tummy time”, and dozes when rocked. Newborn 101, straight out of the User’s Manual.

Three things were unexpected, though.

1. How little else I’ve gotten done

My wife and I split the babywatching, and since newborns sleep most of the time, I figured that this would leave me many hours each day to work. And I do have things to do: I’m not on leave until the fall, and I’m teaching a seminar, editing an academic journal, and working on several research projects. And, of course, there’s this Substack.

But I’m barely keeping my head above water. Most of it is the lack of sleep. I knew it was coming, of course, but hadn’t fully realized how stupid it would make me, how hard it would be to focus. About a week in, I decided to roll with it and let the work slide a bit. My non-Zoe activities include regular Zoom calls with friends, keeping up with the Lindy West discourse, and reading novels. (I’m on a big David Szalay binge.)

2. How little I mind the sleep deprivation

This is a weird one. I’ve long been an insomniac, and a bad night often leaves me angry and bitter the next day. So I expected newborn sleep deprivation to make me miserable. But it hasn’t. I’m tired—and, yes, stupid—but still pretty cheerful.

I think the difference is that my usual insomnia feels like failure: I’ve ruined the next day, and it’s my own fault. But being awake because you have to keep your tiny baby alive feels purposeful, even virtuous—like your legs burning after a long run.

3. How much I love Zoe

I had my two boys a few decades ago, and being their father has been—and continues to be—one of the great joys of my life. But as best I can remember, the affection kicked in once they started smiling, cooing, and giggling; once there was peek-a-boo, tickling, and airplane rides.

With Zoe, by contrast, I’ve been smitten from the start.

I’m not sure what explains the difference. A friend, unkindly but maybe accurately, credits this to declining testosterone levels with age. Another suggests that there is a big difference between being the father of sons and the father of a daughter. My wife thinks it’s because my life is very different from how it was thirty years ago, and I’m just not the same person.

Whatever it is, I’m in love.