I’m super excited to announce that I am officially part of the Discovering Dad writing team!

Jeremy, of Discovering Dad, made the announcement last night!

If you’re a dad, or a parent in general, head over there to read some great posts about all things parenthood!

For some time now I’ve been becoming more and more active in the fatherhood/parenting online communities. I’ve been following several fellow dad bloggers like Jeremy of Discovering Dad, Derek of The Man Page, Cory from A Good Husband and many others, both through blogs, Dad Daily and Twitter. I’ve also been following some mom bloggers like Mr Lady of Whiskey In My Sippy Cup.

I’ve even had the pleasure of writing guest posts for The Man Page and Discovering Dad.

Today, Jeremy over at Discovering Dad announced the launch of a new site he and Cory have collaborated on called “Husbands & Dads“.

Click here to learn more about this new site!

Dan’s Note: This post is incredibly personal. In the past, I’ve usually kept very personal matters off this blog. This, however, is a time when writing will not only help me, personally, but I think may possibly help others as well. Due to the subject matter, this will be a multi-post series. Not to boost readership or stats, but because I don’t think I could handle sitting down to write it all out at once.

Photo: Efrén Díaz

Writing is a bittersweet thing. It’s easy to write when things are fine and your mind is clear and focused.

But what happens when your mind is foggy and your heart and soul is devastated? When you become dependent upon writing to help you sort out your feelings and help make sense of life, being unable to focus and write pours salt on the open wound.

Some of you who know me, know how close my sister and I have always been. My sister and I have been there for each other when life has thrown massive curve balls at us: from her first troubled marriage and divorce, to my many mistakes as a young father and husband with my own family. We’ve been there to pick the other up, dust them off, and help them get back on track. We’ve been there to talk each other off the proverbial ledge several times.

My sister told me months ago that she was pregnant with her 4th child. Everything was going fine and there were jokes that with this new baby they’d have a big enough family to have their own sports team. On July 7th, when my sister and her husband went for a routine ultrasound, at five and a half months into the pregnancy, to find out the gender of their baby.

That’s when the dark came swirling in.

If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be traveling on, now,
cause there’s too many places I’ve got to see.
But, if I stayed here with you, girl,
Things just couldn’t be the same.
cause I’m as free as a bird now,
And this bird you can not change.
Lord knows, I can’t change.

They were told that something wasn’t right. After what I’m sure felt like an eternity, doctors and nurses consulted and many phone calls were made, and they found out that their baby had a massive infection, which caused so much swelling that they weren’t sure if the baby was still alive.

I was at work, on that Monday, when my sister called me. I could tell immediately that she had been crying and had bad news. She told me that the doctors and nurses found that the baby had so much swelling, that its heart was slowly being pinched, which was causing the reduced heart rate. They also found that the baby’s head was twice the size it should normally be, and that the baby’s lungs were not developing past the extremely early stages. An appointment was set up for later that week for them to go in and do some more in-depth testing to find out exactly what the prognosis was.

After the additional tests later that week, my sister called me with more bad news: The swelling was much worse than they had originally thought. The baby’s lungs would never develop, the swelling had increased and the heartbeat was barely registering, and the only part of the baby’s body that was not marred by infection and swelling was its fingers. Through DNA testing of the placenta, they were able to determine that the baby was, indeed, a boy, but that his fragile little body was besieged by Downs Syndrome, hydrops fetalist, and tubal sclerosis.

Through this testing they were able to tell my sister and brother-in-law that this was not something anybody could have prevented, as several ultrasounds and routine exams did not find it, and was not anything they caused. This was one of those “rare situations” where “it just wasn’t meant to be.” They were also assured that they could try again to have another pregnancy in the future and that the odds of this nightmare repeating were virtually impossible.

Some people I’ve talked to about this have looked at me in an almost dumbfounded manner, as if to say “what’s the big deal? The baby wasn’t even born yet…” The big deal, to us all, was that this baby was a part of our lives even while it was in utero. The baby was kicking and moving. They had gone to hear their unborn baby’s heartbeats in previous appointments. I’ve always tried to be an involved uncle and would do anything for any one of my three nephews and to know that there was nothing I could do to help save this little baby, was more than I could take.

When my wife was pregnant with our first child, if the baby turned out to be a boy, we agreed to name him “Ethan Daniel”. In what turned out to be for the best, our first child was a girl. Then our second baby arrived, a boy, and we decided to name something different than “Ethan” - much to my dismay. If my sister’s new baby turned out to be a boy, she had asked if they could use the name “Ethan Daniel”. Needless to say, I was ecstatic to not only have the honor of them giving the baby my name, but also that there would still be an Ethan in the family.

So, as I was saying, even though this child was not born yet, it had already meant so much to all of us.

That week seemed as if it would never end for any of us. While I was at work I talked with my sister over instant messaging during the day, as I used all my energy to focus on not breaking down. After work, on the way home, inevitably our mother would call because she needed to talk to someone. When I’d get home, then, I’d have to update my wife on the latest.

One afternoon, we were talking online, and my sister asked me what I thought of the name “Ethan Samuel” for the baby. Half joking, I asked her “What, my name isn’t good enough for the baby anymore?!” She went on to tell me that she hoped I would still allow them to give my name to the boy, but that under the circumstances, they didn’t know if I would want to give my name to a nephew I’d never get to know. I told her that, unless they had changed their minds, I would still be just as honored.

Ethan Daniel. My baby nephew that I’ll never get to hold or hug, see smile or hear giggle, chase through the house or cheer on in a Little League game.

More To Come…

Related:
Cause I’m As Free As a Bird Now… Part Two

Photo: Capt Kodak

Steve Olson wrote a great post entitled “Giving Children Freedom and Self-Control“. As a father of a 7-year-old and a 3-year-old I could relate very closely with the subject matter of Steve’s post.

I have to admit, I sometimes have difficulty acknowledging the line between controlling my children and letting them control themselves. As each long day drags on, that line gets blurrier and fuzzier and I’ll usually find myself getting irritated with my oldest when, for example, I ask her to do her nighttime routine — which includes picking out clothes for the next day, brushing her teeth, picking out her night-time music, getting into her PJs and getting her book ready to be read.

The nights when I feel I have extra patience and ask her to do it with a general request, such as “do the usual bedtime stuff,” without initially cracking the parental whip. It more often than not ends up with me regretting the attempt to allow her to manage herself. So what usually ends up happening is I get irritated and have to micromanage her time.

“Why aren’t your teeth brushed yet?”
“Have come you still have not picked out your jammies?”
“I’ve asked you three times already to pick out your book and music! Please just go do it!”

Steve Olson’s post was a great reminder that this is all part of parenting.

So the only real control is self-control, and that is what I believe parenting is about, instilling self-control and helping them understand that they own their decisions. There is no one to blame. I will teach them that you control your destiny through your decisions. If you are afraid a friend will call you a pussy unless you steal, the decision to steal is still yours. If your teacher tells says you will fail unless you turn in your assignments, the decision to turn in the assignment is yours.

I agree with Steve and my hope is that I’ll be more fluid and realize that a big part of parenting is being persistent in teaching your children that “…the only legitimate form of control, self-control.” When you think of it, none of us want to live in a totalitarian environment, so what makes us think our children could thrive in that same type of environment?

I highly recommend you go and read Steve’s post. Let him know what you think!