First-time father Brian Murphy preps with mix of excitement, fear | Idaho Statesman

My son is due in late April, a fact that thrills and terrifies in equal measure.

For the past seven months, since the day I heard his furious heartbeat at the doctor’s office, I’ve seesawed between those opposing emotions — balancing bravado and fear in equal measure.

We can do this!

We can do this.

Can we do this?

One day or hour or minute, it’s: We’ve got this. Our kid is going to be the best — a smart, vibrant child with terrific sleeping and eating habits who just happens to throw a baseball 100 mph with pinpoint control.

The next: Dear God, just let him be healthy. And let my wife be healthy. And don’t let us screw him up. And let me live long enough to see him grow up and become a father himself.

Of all the things I wasn’t prepared for during this pregnancy — and that list is long and ever expanding — the most surprising has been how much I think about mortality. His, of course. My own, much more.

I’m 38. A bit old to be a first-time dad. During the bravado stage, I chalk it up as a positive. I’m mature enough to handle this. Financially stable. In a good place in life. Smart enough to know what I don’t know.

And during the scared times: This kid is going to run me ragged. Where will I find the energy to keep up with him? I have to get in better shape.

So it goes, constant vacillation between unbridled confidence and unrealistic fear.

We’ve prepared. We’ve gone to the baby classes. We’ve read the baby book. (In truth, my wife has read them; I’ve skimmed a few.) The baby’s room is nearly ready.

Our friends and family have stocked us well through a series of showers. My in-laws have booked their flight. Everyone is pumping us full of confidence about what wonderful parents we’ll be.

We can do this!

Oh, wait: We can’t even pick a name! How can we make all the decisions that will follow? Can I figure out how to install the car seat? Can I handle the certain sleep deprivation?

My swaddle game needs work. What if he gets one of those terrible rashes they showed in the baby classes? I should have read the baby books. I am going to be the biggest pushover.

We can do this.

And that’s the easy stuff, right? That’s before he gets mobile, before he needs to be potty trained or tie his shoes or learn his multiplication tables.

That’s before I have to answer the really tough questions — about girls, about the double-switch in baseball, about President Trump?

Can we do this?

I’m sure we can. I’m sure I’ll muddle through.

Some days I’ll reach the loftiest of goals I’ve set for myself. Some days I’ll actually earn those hokey dad of the year plaques I hope to rack up.

Other days, I fear, I’ll fail spectacularly — and I’ll pray that I didn’t do any lasting damage, that I haven’t wrecked him in some meaningful way.

Kids are resilient, right?

Provide them with the essentials and shower them with enough love to smooth over the rough patches.

It’s a plan. Maybe not a great one, but a plan.

I’m sure there will be tears. Of joy. Of pride. Of pain. Of sorrow. I’m certain there will be laughs, too.

So let’s do this. I mean, stay in there as long as you need to. No need to rush out into the real world, son.

I’ll be ready — and thrilled and scared — whenever it’s your time. We’ll do it together. I can’t wait to meet you.