There’s a special kind of exhaustion that comes with being a new parent. It’s not just tired—it’s like your body is in the room, but your soul is somewhere out in the hallway wondering what just happened.
Our son arrived healthy and full of fire—but our first two weeks at home were anything but peaceful. My wife and I caught COVID at the hospital, or somewhere in that whirlwind. No family visits. No takeout runs. No help. Just the three of us, sick and scared, figuring out how to keep a newborn alive on breast milk and well ventilated air.
The first few nights were a blur. I remember holding him, swaddled and screaming, while my fever pulsed and my vision swam. I remember changing diapers with shaking hands. I remember my wife, barely able to speak, guiding me through nursing holds between coughs. We were broken open—and yet somehow functioning.
The Myth of “Sleeping When the Baby Sleeps”
Whoever said that clearly never had a baby who only slept in 23-minute stretches while attached to a moving body.
I didn’t sleep when the baby slept. I hovered when he slept. I checked his breathing. I Googled things. I disinfected bottles. I panicked about everything I couldn’t control—and silently mourned the version of rest I didn’t know I had taken for granted.
When You’re the Older Dad in the Room
I’ll be honest: being a dad in my 40s meant I didn’t bounce back. I creaked back.
My knees weren’t made for endless squats with a newborn. My mind wasn’t trained for full cognitive function on sub-REM sleep. And yet—I found a new gear. Not because I’m strong. But because I had to be soft.
What Got Us Through
- Lowering the bar: We didn’t aim for “thriving”—we aimed for “alive and fed.” That was the win.
- Tag-teaming everything: Even five minutes of stillness between us mattered.
- Laughing when we could: At ourselves. At the absurdity. At the fact that babies somehow poop upward.
- Crying without shame: Sleep deprivation strips your ego—and sometimes that’s what opens your heart.
What I’d Say to Any New Parent (Especially the Tired Ones)
You’re not weak. You’re not failing. You’re just in the part of the story where the hero gets wrecked before he finds his footing.
There’s no right way to do this. Just your way, one foggy, love-soaked, sleep-deprived moment at a time.
Journey on!
Noah
