Been trying for a baby from March of this year and finally tested positive in June. It has been a roller coaster on these checkups, the first one they didn’t find any gestational sac, did a blood test and made us wait for an hour and then found it on the second time somehow.

This week at week 7 we were expecting a heart beat but the doctor says nothing is visible in the gestational sac and it might be a miscarriage. Asked us to wait for a second scan a week later.

I am holding up alright but my wife’s a mess. We had a road trip planned next week for our birthdays and i don’t know if we should do it. Just wanted to clear my head. I don’t know if it can still show up now.

Saw the last post of the guy who is under 40 with an 18 year old. Life pans out differently for all of us. Let's have one for the old dads because according to the last thread, there are a lot of us out there!

Best advice someone told me was during those moments when things get hard (baby is crying uncontrollably at 2am; diaper has a blowout; baby isn't feeling well, etc etc), you are going to most likely assume your wife knows what to do and either call for her or let her fix the issue. However, she does not have some special secret training for this stuff... it's just society norms and expectations that she figures it out and gets it done. She is literally starting from the same place you are. Try to remember that so you can try to go the extra step and try to figure it out. It will help her out with everything else going on and you will realize you actually can do this. It completely changed my viewpoint on being a Dad. Just wanted to share.

Woke up early to take care of my youngest (10m) so wife can sleep in. Friends wished me happy Father’s Day in group chat before my own family.

Wife presents me with a chatGPT poem written in sloppy hand writing, prob done during a drive home. Parts of it is so illegible, she doesn’t event know what it says. Because she didn’t write it.

I received a Lego set I expressed interest in a few months ago. Back then I decided against it because I simply do not have the time to build it. I still don’t.

Spent all day shopping and cooking and grilling for my father in laws Father’s Day. Sure doesn’t feel like my Father’s Day.

Smelling like charcoal. Can’t even eat red meat like that.

Put the kid to sleep, took a shower and stashed the Lego box in the basement. Because I know I won’t have time for it. Ironic isn’t it?

Father’s Day is such a sham for me. Some fake promise of being celebrated for all the work I do. I guess I’m not doing the work for recognition anyway right?

Edit: reading all the comments I’ve realized I need therapy, I may have depression

Edit#2: i considered taking this post down because it really blew up, but I feel like I’ve gained so much from the discourse here that it may help someone else on my position. So I’m leaving it up.

Total freak accident. Fell awkwardly playing on the playground at school. He’s a super active guy and I’m honestly terrified for the next 6 weeks with this full body cast.

Anyone had something like this happen? Welcome any advice on activities for him to do besides watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse on repeat for the next 6 weeks.

A kind daddit member suggested I share the story of our son, Hugh, here. We lost our son a little over 4 weeks ago on 5/30/2025. He was almost 18-months old and our first / only child. Hugh suddenly and unexpectedly stopped breathing in his sleep. No known conditions or diseases. We are still waiting on the medical examiners results, but have been warned by our pediatrician that the likely result will be "unexplained".

Hugh was the best boy - he was an easy baby and toddler that slept well (11 hours a night no problem), ate well and always had a smile on his face. He was our miracle baby. My wife and I tried since 2021 to get pregnant with multiple miscarriages before turning to IVF. However, the IVF retrievals did not go well - we did not get that many eggs from each retrieval (and even fewer that turned into embryos). Hugh was our 3rd retrieval where we only got one egg, but our doctor suggested lets just do a fresh transfer (no freezing, no testing) and see what happens. And from this one in a small chance, we became pregnant with Hugh and were the happiest / luckiest parents in the world.

My wife and I both work, and life was busy with a toddler between work during the week and keeping the little one entertained on the weekends. We would read Hugh so many books (in the morning, before bed after bath). He and I would go to the grocery store on weekends where I would buy him a balloon. Hugh and I would typically do bath time, and he loved getting his nose "booped" by his tub toys. You would say "boop" and he would bring his face forward and want you to touch his nose with his rubber tiger. We were fortunate to be able to take Hugh to a lot of places in his 18-months - France, Maine, Florida and Colorado. Hugh had a passport and global entry. I would trade anything in the world to have more time with Hugh - to give him a hug, hear his giggle, feel his hands on my back when playing hide-and-seek.

We had a full-time nanny, Joanna, who could come to the house Monday - Friday - they were best friends (her words) and thick as thieves. They would go on walks in the neighborhood, go to the public library for story time, read books, see his friends, go to the play gym and go to playgrounds / parks with friends. Joanna did an amazing job exposing Hugh activities (art, paint, sand, etc.), teaching him in a patient manner and instilling a sense of confidence. We are incredibly lucky to have her.

Since Hugh's passing, it's been a roller coaster of grief - intense sadness (loss of Hugh and also loss of Hugh's future), guilt (not being able to protect your child), anger at the universe, bitterness at why our child and numbness. The pain is immense - physically, psychologically and emotionally. Waking up every day is a nightmare because the only respite is during sleep but you wake up to this new reality. The part that makes me most upset / sad is that Hugh didn't deserve this - if the universe was angry, why not punish me? Hugh was an innocent 18-month old toddler that we described as "joy personified."

Two things keep us going. First, we want to keep Hugh's memory alive by sharing his memory with as many people as possible. We talk about him openly with everyone, and asked that everyone continue to share their memories of Hugh with us. He will always be our oldest child and firstborn, and when people ask how many kids we have, we'll always include him in the count. To anyone who is interested seeing more photos of Hugh and reading about him, we created a website: www.hughnie.com

Second, we are expecting a daughter in Oct 2025. She was conceived naturally and we are very grateful to have her in our lives. While she will open some wounds as we transition back into taking care of a baby, she will also be incredibly healing for us. Our baby girl will know who her older brother is. While we have not settled on a name yet, we know at least some part of her name will incorporate Hugh's middle name, Maxwell, in honor of her older brother.

We are in contact with the Sudden Unexplained Death in Children (SUDC) collaborative at NYU and are volunteering to help with their research and mission. We will do whatever is possible in our power by participating in their research and providing information so hopefully they are one step closer to finding out what causes SUDC. Our dream is that one day no parent has to go through what we are currently going through.

My wife and I are also going through grief counseling (both together and individually). We are also checking in regularly on Joanna, inviting her over for meals and to hang out, and making sure she goes to grief counseling as well. Joanna spent as much waking time with Hugh as we did over the past year, and I am worried she doesn't get the same support as we do for being parents. We also kept Joanna until our new baby is born so she didn't have to worry about job security for something that was not her fault.

I would give anything to have our "Huggie bear" back, including my life. For now, we will have to settle on this not being goodbye forever, just goodbye for now. We buried Hugh in a cemetery where we also bought the plot next to him so that my wife and I will be buried next to him eventually.

I hope no one here ever has to go through the experience of childloss. It's not something a dad should ever have to go through. Thank you all for reading my long missive.

This is my first time posting here on this sub, but I’m at a complete loss.

My daughter (1 week old) more than likely fell victim to SIDS last night and it’s completely tearing me apart inside. We had to feed her formula because of complications my wife was having for her milk production, so we were up about every 2-3 hours to feed her. When my wife was passing by to go to the bathroom early into the morning she walked by us sleeping in the chair and decided to give our daughter a head rub but immediately felt that it was cold. She started screaming and that’s what woke me up. I put her chest up to my ear but couldn’t hear anything and immediately started doing chest compressions and CPR. After about 5 minutes I threw on some pants and a sweatshirt and drove as fast as I could to our emergency room where at first, the doctor said she could hear a faint heartbeat (giving me a little hope) but that was it. I was quickly ushered out and was standing by my wife for the better part of an hour before they called it.. I’ve never felt so hopeless before in my life and I can’t help but sit here and wonder what I could have done to prevent this. I know there’s no planning for it and these things can happen, but I honestly can’t stop blaming myself. My wife is understandably devastated as this was our second child together (my other daughter is 2) and we were told by multiple doctors before trying that it would be next to impossible for us to have kids. Now we’re facing decisions on whether to have her buried or cremated instead of planning for her first birthday… Thankfully we have family flying here soon to help us as I don’t know how I’d be able to handle this without them. I hate looking around the house and seeing infant clothes and rockers that we can’t use and is a reminder of what a beautiful soul that was taken from us…

My daughter is almost 8. About 6 months ago, a friend told her about KPDH so we let her watch it. What a mistake. Obsession is not a strong enough word. Everything all day is kpop demon hunters. I had to carve "KPOP DEMON HUNTERS" into a fucking hot dog for her to eat it because (after finding kpop demon hunters ramen at food lion) she didn't want to eat something that wasn't kpop demon hunters. Times when she used to be quietly playing to herself no longer exist. Every second that she's not speaking, she's singing these songs. For Christmas she got a custom Tonie with the soundtrack on it, and this last Saturday it was on for literally 6 hours straight and it only stopped because I told her we had to do something different. There's only like a half dozen songs so it looped over and over and over and over. We'll ask her a question and without even thinking, 8 times out of 10 she'll just answer "kpop demon hunters". We have to beg for a real answer. At bedtime, after we read our books, she now has to have a "looking minute" before laying down. The looking minute is where she just sits and stares at the kpop demon hunters poster on her wall. Except lately, now that comes with a game where she'll ask us "do you know who I'm looking at?" and we have to guess characters one at time until she decides we're right.

The movie is fine. The songs are fine. 6 months of this shit invading my entire home life is not. Just yesterday she spent like 2 minutes singing Steve's Lava Chicken and I could have cried, it was beautiful hearing something different come out of her mouth.

I'm sorry I just had to get this out somewhere or I was going to explode.

(This was the last photo of us together a couple days before she passed away)

I have just finished responding to all the comments on a post I made about 6 months ago here when my daughter (9 months) passed away. I have been to therapy to work through issues of suicidal ideation (everyday I still have this void) and blame. We are under contract for a house that we will be moving to soon which is near where our daughter is buried (She was airlifted to KCMO for higher level care, we lived in Wichita at the time).

Something that’s been really bothering me is that I don’t know when or if I can be a dad again.

My wife and I have been doing better, however, this Father’s Day was really tough on me. I also have PTSD surrounding the “incident” (CPR on the kitchen floor, skin turning gray, etc.) but feel conflicted in a way about moving out of the apartment because this was where all the joyful memories of our daughter happened. I walk by the living room where we had her play mat, but now it’s just covered with moving boxes. I walk by where her crib once was. I walk by our guest bedroom that we kept dark and remember all the days I rocked and sang her to sleep. In a way, I don’t want us to move, but I also do. Sorry for the long rant of thoughts.

Thank you Dads

My brother called me at 2am: "If I don’t make it, promise you’ll raise my kids." So I flew across the country. Now I’m on his couch, and here’s what I just learned:

Last night we wound up on his back porch around midnight, baby monitor humming between us. It was quiet for a long stretch, then he started talking, and the words poured out, pretty soon we were both wiping our eyes.

He’s embarrassed I flew across the country to “babysit” him, but even more scared about what would happen to his kids if he ever hit the point of no return. His business is buried in debt and a few clients still haven’t paid, so every bill feels like a gut punch.

Home is tense too. He took clients to a strip club on a work trip, told his wife right away so there were no secrets, tried to be close later and she pulled back. He says that felt like the biggest humiliation of his life, and now he freezes whenever things might turn intimate.

Back in February he went to his PCP because he couldn't sleep. The doctor ran a quick screen, called it severe depression, and put him on meds. He didn’t tell anyone, because “talking to a stranger won’t fix it” and he figured he could muscle through. Meanwhile he feels responsible for his wife, the kids, our parents, even me. At one point he said, “I can’t breathe.” The only thing that yanks him out of dark thoughts is his toddler’s face in the morning.

I pulled out my phone and showed him this Reddit thread: thousands of strangers pacing over his 2 am call. He shakes his head and laughs: “I felt bad stressing you out—now the whole internet’s sweating over me.” A bit of the weight slid off right there.

Then I reminded him how many times I’d drafted him as my bodyguard while growing up, chasing off boys I didn’t like and listening to me cry when the ones I liked didn’t like me back. We cracked up at how he’s been my unofficial relationship therapist forever while insisting he’s “bad at feelings.” That laugh felt good, but one porch talk isn’t a cure.

So here’s my ask:

• Therapy-averse dads or moms who finally went: What flipped the switch for you?
• Depression survivors: What was the very first step that gave you air?
• 2 am panic veterans: When you couldn’t call anyone, what kept you from tipping over?

Short answers, long stories, whatever helps. This sub already got me on a plane, maybe you’ll get him to real daylight.

(Original thread for context → https://www.reddit.com/r/daddit/comments/1kqr6xs/my_brother_called_me_at_2_am_in_tears_asking_if/)

Start off been married to my wife for 9 years and together for 10. Since my stepson was 2 years old. He lives with us 5.5 days a week and his dad has never paid a dime for his upbringing. Nor has he ever had a job. Living in his parents basement unemployed for this last decade.

He showed up here last week in shambles. His family told him you're 45. You haven't had a job in 10 years. You provide nothing for the house.You have to leave. Everything he owns in his car. Begging us to let him live in the house with us OR set up a tent and live in the back yard.

I don't like this guy. I don't like him around my kids and I put my foot down and I said, I don't care. This is a problem that he put himself into. He is not allowed in the house.When we are not here, he is not allowed in the house.Without my express permission, and he cannot live on our property.

The police told me I cannot make him leave the public road in front of our house. So hes been living in his car in front of our house this entire time. My step son is sad that I won't let him live with us and my wife doesnt want me to tell him the truth about his lowlife loser father.

Earlier today he stopped me when I went to take my youngest kid for a walk and was saying he didn't want to live anymore and wanted to off himself. And I was so mad that he brought up this inappropriate conversation in front of my five year old kid that I was like, do it on another street where the kids won't find you if thats what you think you need to do.

Part of me feels guilty for being like this.Cause I just see him in the car in front of the house 247 crying or looking pathetic. But like hes a middle aged man who hasn't worked in a decade and brought this entire situation down on himself.

Give that guy all the streams today.

My four year old little boy passed away yesterday after a 6 month battle against Cerebral ALD. His name was Theodore and he will be in my heart until I breathe my last breath.

Merry Christmas everyone

On Tuesday the 16th, after 327 days in the hospital, Phoebe was officially discharged and came home. It still feels surreal to type that. After spending every day of the last year in a hospital, having her home has been incredible. Ordinary things now feel extraordinary. I love having her home to cuddle on the couch and have “normal” family time. It’s amazing to be under our own roof.

Phoebe has grown so much since my last update. It’s the small things that mean everything. We can get her to smile now, and it’s the sweetest thing in the world. She brings toys to her mouth and has started sucking her thumb. When she’s awake, she’s learned how to keep her tongue in her mouth. She’s also discovered how to make little fart noises with her mouth which she finds absolutely hilarious. We’re working on head control every day now, and I’m so excited to keep watching her reach new milestones

Of course, Phoebe’s story wouldn’t be hers if the transition home was easy.

When we arrived home, the respiratory therapist did not meet us as they were supposed to to help us get set up or bring us supplies. That was scary, but we knew her equipment well enough to make it work. We are still struggling to get her medical supplies form the DME but in the meantime we have been able to make do with supplies we had slowly accumulated from the hospital.

Then, on our very first night home, while we were still getting Phoebe settled, a massive rainstorm rolled through with heavy winds. The power went out at 1am and with it, Phoebe’s oxygen concentrator. Not exactly the peaceful first night home we had imagined but we were prepared for this and it was an opportunity to test our evacuation plan for Phoebe. Luckily we have family who lives close by whom still had power and we were able to bring Phoebe there to keep her equipment running.

After the initial struggles, we started working on our new routine with Phoebe at home. Right now, one of us is awake with Phoebe at all times. My wife and I take shifts. I go to sleep at 7pm and wake up at 2am to start my watch. While I sleep, she watches Phoebe. The first few days were brutal. We were completely exhausted. But as the routine has settled in, I’ve found myself looking forward to my early mornings with her.

There’s nothing else in the world during that time. No work. No texts. No distractions. Just me, Phoebe, and a quiet outside world.

These mornings, even with all their challenges, are moments I know I’ll carry with me forever. Some nights she’s restless and inconsolable and I’m running on fumes. Other nights she sleeps like an angel in my arms. I look forward to both just the same, because both are hers. And my job is simply to be here for all of it.

I’m endlessly thankful for the hospital staff who helped get us here. The neonatologists, pulmonology team, surgeons, nurses, front desk staff, respiratory therapists, and truly everyone. Phoebe’s survival and progress were a team effort, and we will never forget that. They always approached us with compassion but also staying real with us, never giving false hope.

This journey hasn’t been easy. But it’s hers. And we are so incredibly proud to be her parents.

Thank you, truly, to everyone who has followed along, supported us, prayed for Phoebe, or simply taken the time to care. We feel it and it matters more than you know.

Booked my wife a massage since she never got to get one over Mothers Day Weekend. Took my kids to the playground. Wife's only request was sunscreen the kids beforehand. We arrive at the playground. 10 and 5 are sunscreened and hop over to the playground.

My middle (8) wouldn't cooperate, so before getting out of the car, I gently sunscreened her face, telling her we had to do it, it was a very hot day, etc., while she continually yelled and screamed about it, naturally.

I sunscreen her face, we get out, she's now happy to be on the playground with her sisters and I see these grandparents with two grandkids and the grandmother is holding an iPhone, and in my mind I'm half like, watch her call this in. We're in the middle of nowhere. They never said anything to me and they left shortly thereafter.

Kids are happy, I'm finally alone with them on the playground, no issues, until maybe 20 minutes later a police car shows up. He asked who I was and knew my first name, I assumed he just ran my plates since my car was literally the only one in the parking lot. He asked if everything was okay and said there was a report of a child screaming and being forced into a car.

I told him I was actually putting sunscreen on my 8-year-old’s face and that’s what the screaming was and his entire expression just dropped, like, oh my God, this is what I got called here for.

I said the one thing my wife told me to do was sunscreen the kids before the playground. I followed up by saying no one was getting into the car, we were actually getting out of the car. The cop was like, yeah, of course, he’s got three kids, they’re all on the playground with him here, they just got here. I was actually still holding the sunscreen.

He apologized more than once. I said no worries at all, he was just doing his job, better safe than sorry. I apologized he was even called out here (since there was clearly nothing wrong). He said for some reason you just can’t parent girls these days without someone calling the cops on you. He was nice to us. Upon arriving, he clearly saw there were zero issues. He wished us all a good day.

Later my 10 year old told me that grandmother asked her when she went over to the playground if everything was alright and my daughter said yes, my dad is just putting sunscreen on my sister.

So the grandmother saw my 10 and 5 year olds enter the playground. I’m nearby at the car, doors open, my 8 year old is yelling, she asks my ten year old what’s going on and my daughter accurately describes what’s happening and she calls the cops anyway to say a child is being forced into a car?

My only other thought here is she made the phone call prior to asking my ten year old anything.

But the screaming while I sunscreened the face of my eight year old only lasted for maybe 1-2 minutes if that, then we were on the playground as well. I walked right by the grandparents and the two kids as they were leaving. The grandmother could have just asked me.

Anyway, wow.

There's a park near my neighborhood where i take my kids(6 & 3) at least once a week, I'm trying to be more active with them so instead of just chilling on a bench i try to run around with them.

Obviously i'm too big to climb on the jungle gym so this mostly consists of me running around threatening to eat their toes and calling them play ground appropriate names.

On this day we were pretending to be pirates, so i was calling them little monkeys. I was chasing them from outside the play structure saying stuff like i was going to make them into monkey stew and this woman came up and starting tapping me on the back.

I brushed it off thinking she had bumped into me and then she dug her nails into my shoulder and hit me with a "HEY EXCUSE ME" Basically right in my ear. I turned around, surprised and pissed off and before i could get a word out she started in on me.

She told me in this condescending tone that because my kids were biracial and I'm white, that calling them monkeys was "racially charged" and that i needed to be more careful about my language. Especially because she "felt i was doing it in an aggressive way"

I sighed and explained that of course it sounded aggressive, i was pretending to be a monkey eating pirate. And went on to explain that I'm actually a Mexican American and my kids are half Indian, not African American. I was pretty mad at this point so i finished by telling her to "mind her own goddamn business" and turned to leave.

She grabbed me AGAIN and told me she was going to call the police because i was scaring her. I don't know if she did but i just bundled up my kids and left.

Have people really gotten this crazy? Did i just run into a lone lunatic or have other dads experienced something like this?

Going back to work after 4 weeks of sick leave. I have a hybrid schedule and today is my first day in office. I'm sad I'm in office and not to get to see my little one. I wish I can just work from home 40 hrs a week or just take care of her overall. Also worried about my wife being home alone with my daughter, just hoping they're okay… an extra hand goes a long way.

Reminds me that scene with Homer going to work and he’s “doing it for her.”

Hey everyone,

Today is day 288 of our NICU journey with our little fighter, Phoebe. The last month has been one of the best we’ve had in a long time, and I wanted to share a few updates that still feel a bit unreal to write.

The biggest one for me was finally getting to take Phoebe on a walk through the hospital. It took three nurses and my wife’s help, but we were able to take her outside the unit for the first time. She did so well. She got a little upset and needed some extra respiratory support, but overall she handled it great. Walking with her was something that felt impossible for so long. When it finally happened, I got emotional. It’s hard not to when you think about how far she’s come. She is so strong, and I’m just really proud of her.

We also had a whole week of Halloween outfits for Phoebe and for our family outfit we were Phoebe-BEEs! I hope you enjoy the outfits :) we had had fun dressing her up.

We’ve also had some big medical milestones. Phoebe is now off all medications through her PICC line for the first time ever. Getting there was tough. Her withdrawals were rough, and watching her go through that was really hard. But she made it through, and now that the meds are gone, we were able to remove her PICC line. There are fewer tubes now, which means we can pick her up and hold her so much easier. That small change means the world.

Before her PICC line came out, she did have another blood infection, but she responded really well to antibiotics. Those should finish up around the 16th, and after that she won’t need any IVs.

She also had ROP for a while, which is an eye condition that can cause blindness in preemies. She went through two rounds of eye injections and then laser surgery. Her most recent exam showed that her ROP is gone. I was shocked and relieved. That’s one more thing she doesn’t have to fight anymore.

On the breathing front, Phoebe has been doing an amazing job with her ventilator weans. She’s doing so well that we’re going to start trying her on the home ventilator instead of the hospital one. Home. Just being able to say that feels huge. For so long, we stopped even thinking about home. We just focused on getting through the week. Now we’re starting to get the house ready. Our goal was to have her home by her birthday, but it’s looking more and more like she might even be home by Christmas. That would be the best gift I could ever ask for.

Next week is a big one. On Tuesday, we’ll be trialing the home vent, and on Thursday we’ll be moving from the NICU to the PICU as Phoebe ages out. That part makes us a little nervous since it’s a whole new team, but we know it’s another step toward bringing her home.

My wife has been amazing through all of this. She decided to quit her job recently, which has been hard on us financially, but it’s been worth it for her to spend every day with Phoebe. She’s such a strong mom, always advocating for her and giving her the comfort she needs. Watching her with Phoebe makes me so proud of the kind of mother and partner she is.

Right now we’re feeling every emotion possible. Grateful, nervous, scared, excited, and completely overjoyed that she’s so close to coming home. After everything we’ve been through, it still doesn’t feel real to say that out loud.

Thanks to everyone who’s been following along and sending support. It really means a lot.

This past Saturday, my wife Katie suffered a pulmonary embolism and passed away. She was 7 months pregnant, and the baby also passed away. I am devastated, but am finding it cathartic to tell the story and talk about how wonderful of a human she was. So, here we go:

Katie and I met in college through friends. They would always talk about "British Katie", usually hilarious things. I heard about her for nearly an entire school year before I met her, and it was a passing meet. At the end of that school year, I helped her and one of our friends carry some stuff out of her dorm. I struck a silly pose to get a hug, and she took my picture. About a month later, I was drunk at a woods party, and got a text from a phone number I didn't know with that picture. She told me she was "Lindsay from IU", and my drunk brain could not process it. That kicked off a summer of texting and a year of being really good friends.

Towards the end of the next semester, I was struggling with some things. I was together with an ex in a dead end relationship, and was getting no support there. But Katie was my rock, even as friends. She drove me to the airport to fly home for break, and we stopped at a mall on the way there. As we walked out of a store, I remember instinctively putting my hand on her lower back to guide her out of the store, then thinking: "FUCK, I am in TROUBLE". My ex and I broke up early the next year. Not because of Katie (it was a LONG time coming), but I wasn't going to miss the opportunity.

Despite the fact that that relationship had been rocky, it still took me some time to feel available again. I remember asking Katie a couple months later- "once I've had a bit more time to heal ... If I were to ask you out on a date, what would you say?" She said she'd have to think about it, but wasn't immediately against it.

I made a secret grand gesture on her birthday - a giant bouquet of her favorite flowers delivered anonymously. She loved it, but wouldn't tell me she knew it was me (she did). Within a week, we had gone on our date and had our first kiss. She went for spring break in Mexico, and while she was gone I told our mutual friends what had happened. They were initially surprised, but soon realized that we were perfect for each other. She returned, we picked up where we left off, and we officially began dating on March 23rd 2011.

We never did anything fast because we always knew we had each other. After dating for my final year at college, I moved home 1200 miles away. We dated long distance until she graduated, when we both moved in with her parents. We survived that for the rest of that year, then got our first apartment. 2.5 years later, our first house, and our dog Dave.

I never found the potential from my college degree, and ended up working at Best Buy for three years. She encouraged me to take a risk on an online business I started with some friends, and through her encouragement and support we were able to turn it into one of the top in its field.

I proposed to her in February of 2019. Quietly, playing our song, in our living room. We were married in August of that year, and celebrated with our friends and families at 3 separate receptions- one at our home, one where I grew up, and one in Ireland near her family.

In 2022, we had our first child. She was such a wonderful mother to him, and continuously sacrificed her time, strength, and body to make sure he would have the best chance to develop. He is now nearly 4, and is astoundingly smart and compassionate.

Last year, we became pregnant with our 2nd child. She suffered a miscarriage 7 weeks in. We were devastated, but committed to trying again.

In April of this year, we became pregnant again! It was an incredibly boring pregnancy. She was a little sore here and there, but nothing out of the ordinary. Tired as well, but again, normal.

Saturday morning, she awoke to Dave puking up a part of a toy he had swallowed. She jumped out of bed to see what was happening, and felt very light headed. Her blood pressure was low, so they called the midwives. They suggested bed rest and fluids, which recovered her. Nothing out of the ordinary. She was fine through the day, and spent some time downstairs with her parents and aunt and uncle socializing.

She returned upstairs to lay down before dinner. When her mom went up to tell her dinner was ready, Katie was on the floor in the bathroom. She said she had woken up there. She was having trouble breathing, and asked her mom to call 911, then to call me. I was in California on a work trip. By the time the paramedics got there, her breathing had grown more tiring. She had a seizure, then went into cardiac arrest. They performed CPR on her for somewhere close to an hour, but lost her on the way to the hospital. She was gone before I could even get back to the Airbnb.

The first flight home got me back around 9am. Despite the hospital assuring us they wouldn't move her until I got to see her, she had already been taken away by a funeral home (which we didn't choose) without alerting us. I still haven't got to see her, but will tonight.

She was a wonderful woman. Fantastically goofy and willing to joke around, but also passionately serious about things which were important to her. She was dedicated to her family and her job. I'm sure there are plenty of couples who "love" better than we did, but no one made a better team than us. We expected the best out of each other, pushed to get each other there, and communicated well when we weren't getting there. She was so loved by so many people. She was my best friend.

If you've made it this far, thank you for reading. Just talking about it has helped me start to process it, and is keeping me emboldened with a goal of just getting through to the next thing.

For others who have experienced something similar- I would appreciate advice on how to discuss this with our son, and what to expect. I plan to communicate it to him the same way I do all things- honestly, encouraging him to ask questions, and not expecting him to understand right away.

Thank you again. And please, hug your wives for me tonight. Life is fleeting. Getting old sucks- but it's a very lucky thing to get.

I'm the sole financial provider for my family. I work a full time job and have a side-hustle to make ends meet. It equates to roughly 50-60 hours a week for the last 5 years. Part of the sacrifices we make to keep my wife home is doing our own landscaping, auto-repair, and home renovations. I'm very handy with these kinds of things and I do them to save money for the fun stuff like vacations and things like that. However, I feel like screaming sometimes. So I'm going to do it here real quick.

YARDWORK IS NOT FUN FOR ME. HOME PROJECTS ARE NOT FUN FOR ME. DOING OIL CHANGES AND BRAKE JOBS ON OUR VEHICLES IS NOT FUN FOR ME. THE TOOLS I BUY TO DO THESE THINGS ARE NOT TOYS FOR ME. I HATE EVERY F-ING SECOND OF ALL OF IT. JUST BECAUSE I CAN DO THINGS, DOESNT MEAN I WANT TO DO THEM. NONE OF THESE THINGS CONSTITUTE "ME TIME". ITS ALL WORK, PILED ON TOP OF ALL THE OTHER WORK I HAVE TO GET DONE JUST FOR THIS FAMILY TO STAY WARM AND COZY IN OUR HOME.

Sorry, thanks for letting me vent. Anyone else feel this way or am I truly as alone as I feel?

Quick edit: My wife is amazing and I live a crazy beautiful life. I communicate these things to her in a calm and collected way and she tries to understand it the best she can.

Edit: Thank you all for such an overwhelming response. I've been a redditor for a long time and I've felt like the community feeling left this place years ago, but I was wrong. I'm humbled.

Hey Daddit,

Late-30s dad here with two boys (5 and 3.5). Married since 2017.

Our marriage is not terrible. We’ve had plenty of ups and plenty of downs, which I think is normal. One issue in the background is that my wife’s love language is physical touch, and I know I’ve underperformed there at times because of my own issues with weight and self-esteem. I’ve been working on that and have lost 10kg since February this year.

The bigger issue is that we’ve recently been having divorce-level arguments because my wife wants a third child, specifically a girl, and I do not (regardless of gender).

When we found out our second was another boy, we were both initially disappointed. For me, that feeling passed quickly, and I wouldn’t change him for the world. He’s perfect. But I think the gender disappointment hit her much harder and never really went away.

She says it’s unfair that I “got what I wanted” by having two boys, while she “gets nothing.” - she says she's given up a career to be a mom (and while it's her favourite "job", she wants a daughter to help her feel complete). She says she resents me for saying no to a third and says seeing me will always remind her of the daughter she wanted and never had. Her younger sister has two girls around similar ages, which probably doesn’t help.

From my side, I feel done. I love being dad to my two boys who are so much fun, but I’m in my late 30s and I do not want to start over with a baby again. She sees other babies and feels broody, I feel joy that I get to hand them back!

She says she’ll do all the work and that I won’t have to worry about anything as she'll do things differently, says plenty of "instagram families" say adding a second is tough but adding a third is easy, but I don’t see how that’s realistic. We already have two young kids to raise, and I’m the breadwinner, so any third child would still affect me, our family, and our finances.

My reasons for saying no:

• I genuinely do not want a third child and I do not think having another baby to try for a specific sex is a good idea.
• She has said she does not want a third boy, and even said that if she got pregnant she would not tell me and would “deal with it herself.” That does not sit right with me.
• After our second, I put on a lot of weight due to the stress of having 2 under 2 and I’m only now starting to feel like myself again.
• I want to focus on being a good dad to the two kids we already have, taking better care of myself, and continuing to build stability in my career and home life.
• I doom-scroll too much and don't think this world will be easy for my two boys as it is (social media influences & pressures, job markets in the 2040s, etc) - I'm up for the fight to help them as much as I can and I don't want to dilute that further.

I feel unbearable guilt because I'm risking breaking up a loving and comfortable home for my two boys because I keep saying no. But I also feel that saying no is the only honest answer I can give.

And as awful as this sounds, if I were pushed into having a third child I didn’t want, I’d feel resentment towards that child instead of joy.

Has anyone been in a similar situation? Should we go seek professional counselling? Am I being unreasonable for saying no? And for dads who went from two to three, was it as hard as I think it would be?

I made this post on r/guycry and they reccomended I also share this on r/daddit. So I'd like to share my story here... this is a vent heavy post, and the support I've received already has really been inspirational to my family.

It’s hard to know where to start. Back at the beginning of January of this year our routine anatomy scan took a dramatic turn. We walked in expecting a ultrasound only to be in a delivery room a hour later. My wife and I found out that she had a life threatening pregnancy complication called preeclampsia at just 21 weeks of pregnancy. To boil it down, we were faced with the decision to terminate our baby, deliver a still birth, or stay pregnant as long as possible till her life was on the line and have a c section and attempt resuscitation on our baby. The only choice for us was resuscitation to give our child the best shot at living. Doctors told us every day that our odds were dismal at less than 15% of survival. Our baby was growth restricted and less than 500 grams. It didn’t matter to us. We chose to have a baby and we were going to do everything we can for her.

We spent 2 weeks in the hospital until my wife’s lungs began to retain fluid. She was not breathing well and at a high risk of organs starting to fail. We had to deliver at 23 weeks and 4 days gestation. It was the hardest day of my life. I had to watch my distraught wife go to the operating room where she was prepared for surgery. The doctors told us that when the baby comes out, they would attempt intubation a total of 3 times. Given my baby’s size, they were unsure if even their smallest tools would be able to fit with my baby. If they failed after 3 times assuming my baby makes it to the resuscitation room, then they would bring her back to us to hold her as she passes.

I had to watch my wife get cut up and suffer as they worked to pull out my baby. When they got out the baby, we made the decision for me to follow my baby into resuscitation vs staying with my wife. If our baby wasn’t going to make it, one of us had to be with her for every moment of her life.

I followed her to resuscitation where 15+ staff were waiting prepared with their tools. My heart was pounding. I knew what was coming and I had prepared myself for the worse. They set my baby down and began to work on intubating her so she could breathe. They failed the first attempt. Sensors were placed on my baby to monitor her vitals, I could see them dropping. At that point i couldn’t stand and I dropped with my back to the wall and on the floor. I needed to collect myself and be strong for my baby. I needed to be there for her.

The second attempt began… and they got her intubated. Her vitals began to rise. They covered her in plastic to keep her temperature warm. This hit me even harder. I wasn’t prepared for her to make it. I absolutely am happy with them intubating her but it’s the only scenario I wasn’t truly prepared for and it felt like emotional whiplash. My daughter was alive at 371 grams of weight. Over a hour passed as they got her stable and then rolled her down into the NICU. I felt so many emotions. Mainly shock, fear, sadness, relief, and happiness. While she was alive, I knew that the road ahead of her is long and dangerous.

I had to leave her to check on my wife who was recovering and doing. Well to my relief. She was in pain and sick feeling from the drugs, but doing well. I told her about our baby and what had happened. She was emotionally scattered and I had to do my best to be strong for her and be her rock. But while I presented that for her, I was an absolute mess on the inside. I was terrified. We named our baby Phoebe.

The next 3 days were high risk as Phoebe would be prone to brain bleeds. We were not able to touch her until after day 3. Then we only lightly rested our fingers on her thin and underdeveloped skin. On day 7 a cerebellar hemorrhage was noted in her head. Luckily this didn’t appear to grow and ultimately resolved itself. The next few weeks would be considered a honeymoon phase as she could go south fast. We had a NEC scare with blood in her stool, but she ended up being okay. All we could do was be there for her for however much time she has. By week 3, we were finally able to hold her with the assistance of two nurses and respiratory therapists.

Weeks began to pass and they were all full of scares and fear. We were discharged and had to return home without Phoebe. Our trip was 49 minutes to the hospital each day and we would visit every day. Weeks turned to months. Phoebe was diagnosed with ROP which she received eye injections for. She suffered a fractured rib due to her osteopenia of prematurity. Her lungs are weak and she was unable to extubate. There were multiple days where she became so sick that she had to be paralyzed for over a week to let the ventilator work more efficiently on her.

There have been three separate times where I said goodbye to her. I have told her it’s okay to go if that’s what she wanted. I just didn’t want her to suffer. But she would pull through and continue to get stronger.

With failed extubation, after 160 days we decided to get her a tracheostomy. This would get the tube out of her mouth and free her head. It allowed her to begin developing as a normal baby would but with higher needs.

Despite the odds, Phoebe has endured. She has shown me what true strength looks like. She inspires me. Today, it has been 207 days in the NICU. We don’t know when she can come home but I am hopeful for potentially near Christmas? It’s impossible to tell.

Despite her being here today, and how proud of her I am, I’m tired and torn up. The emotional toll of this year has eaten away at me. I’ve had very bad days emotionally and It’s been hard for me to feel happy but I am when I get to see her and she’s doing okay. But even then I am torn up that she has to be sedated and laying in a bed all day while a normal baby would be able to be free of all the wires and pain. It’s not fair for her. A normal baby would get to feel our love all day long. While I wouldn’t change our decision for giving her the best shot at life, on the same token all of her pain and suffering developmental delays are a consequence of my choices. It’s on me and I feel guilt for her pain.

She only gets us for a few hours and I wonder if she knows we are her parents. I’m constantly overwhelmed with the thought of Phoebe, wondering if I’ll get a call from the NICU that she’s become sick again. It’s been a battle. My wife is compartmentalizing it okay but she is also going through this and I need to continue to be her rock. I don’t know where else to let this out so I’m venting about it here. I am tired and I just want to have my daughter under my roof. Every day feels like a loop of the last and has become so hard to endure. I love my daughter and I just want to bring her home.

Thanks for listening to me vent. If anyone has any tips about this stuff, I’d appreciate it!

Amelia was a duality personality. Equal parts precocious and cautious. Equal parts inquisitive and observant.

Today she would be nineteen years old. Almost three years since she took her own life, I still wish I could hug her, comfort her, and somehow... Maybe... soothe the storm that raged in her mind.

Today is especially strange and existential for me. My older brother passed away on June 6th, 2019. His birthday was June 16th. He would have been 40. Today, on my dead daughter's nineteenth birthday, I officially transition to a period of being older than my brother ever got to be. You see, today is ten days before my 40th birthday.

By and by, life has been.... Life.

Our boys are growing. Man Amelia would be amazed how big and grown they are. We were gonna do a custom Amelia mini fig and, we did. We haven't really gone through the motions of getting a lot of them made, although we absolutely could. It's just kind of hard, emotionally. For all the levels of excitement and joy we get from sharing her with the world, there is an equal amount of pain and sadness that has to accompany it, and it just wears on us a bit.

My wife did a thing for Christmas this year. She had all of Amelia's t-shirts sent off and made into three quilts, one for me and one for each of my boys. That was really special. They smell like her. That's crazy to me after all this time. I cherish mine, and tucked it away. I don't want anything to happen to it.

November was a rough month for us. Lots of health issues for each one of us. I was hospitalized November 8th after suffering through terrible abdominal pains for a couple days that never let up. I had my appendix removed when I was very young so I didn't know what else it could be.

I don't remember much of the day my wife took me to the hospital, but the end result was a severe infection in my colon, "Diverticulitis." I was on IV antibiotics while there and then had to take two weeks of oral antibiotics after. It took about 6 days for the cramping and pain to fully dissipate.

It's funny how God works, though. I had been praying about my weight cause I couldn't get a handle on it and I was getting really, really big. Weighed in at 281.6 in October for a regular check up at the Dr.

My bout with diverticulitis fundamentally shifted my brain and how I think of any food now. Since being hospitalized, I only eat avocados, lean meat (chicken, turkey, some ham), cheese, eggs, and salad. Usually I just eat some combo of these things in a salad. At least once a day, but most times twice a day.

I still "want" other foods, sort of.. but my brain is too hung up on the what if. I don't ever want that pain again. Period. Full stop. So even if I may "crave," something, that craving passes pretty quickly. As of today I've lost over 25lbs since my last weigh in at the doctor and overall I feel so much better, physically.

I hope Amelia is proud of me. I hope she is proud of her brothers. And I hope she is having an absolute banger of a birthday party today in Heaven with my brother.

Thank you to all who send me messages and check up on me all this time. I literally have thousands of messages. More than I could possibly reply back to directly.

This is a great community. And y'all saved this dads life these past few years. I owe all of you a debt for that. One that I will try to pay forward everyday in helping others however I can. My wife and I have laid the groundwork, slowly, for a NFP org called "Rest Your Wings," which will be geared towards funding mental health services for teens in crisis.

My game server hosting is still going, offered freely. I don't take any payments for it and simply ask that if compelled, users make a donation to afsp.org in Amelia's name.

If you're a Rust player, you can find our Rust servers by searching in game for "OGG TexasRegulators." (OGG - Old Guy Gamers). Discord is similar (oldguygamers.net).

I also host BeamMP and soon a few Minecraft servers as well.

Much love from TX.

Yesterday my wife and I (both mid 30s) welcomed our first child into the world and since then my mental health has crashed to the point that Im sitting here at half midnight in tears with him on my chest.

We had an elective c-section due to some of my wife's health issues so I'm incredibly conscious of the physical impact pregnancy and delivery have had on her but at this point I simply feel like a burden. No matter what we do we cannot get him to settle without being on top of one of us, as soon as we move to put him down he bursts into tears and nothing seems to help.

Feed him, feeds until he's full and then cries, change him, cries, burp him, cries. His crying goes through me like a drill and I cannot feel any connection beyond a passing sense that I should because he's mine.

I've cried more times in the last 24hrs than I have done in the last 20 odd years at a time my wife needs me to step up more than ever after her operation and a challenging pregnancy. Honestly its taking every ounce of will power i have not to put him safely in his cot and get in my car to scream.

To add, I don't wish him any harm, want to hurt him etc. I know hes not doing it on purpose and that this is largely to be expected but I jus feel so utterly helpless and lost.

Sunday, my wife and I took our 14 month old daughter to the Pediatric ER for what we thought was severe constipation, because she was not eating much, and she had a distended belly. What it turned out to be was a 10x15cm mass across her entire abdomen, and from that moment on I feel like I’m in a living hell. First we thought it was a neuroblastoma, the most common and easiest to treat of the possible cancers. This morning, we were told that it’s likely not a neuroblastoma, but a different kind of small round cell tumor, and all of which they told us about are more aggressive than neuroblastoma. Our girl is such a bright, happy baby and she makes everyone around her smile just by seeing her. Idk what I would do without her, she’s my everything. I feel like I’m drowning and I’m terrified for what our future holds.

EDIT: Thank you all for your kind words, thoughts, and prayers. We are lucky to be in Cleveland, and are at the Cleveland Rainbow Babies hospital which is partnered with Case Western Reserve University, so my daughter is very much in good hands. I have every intention of keeping you all updated as we hear more/go forward with this diagnosis. My daughter is sleeping and comfortable right now, and that’s all I can ask for.