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Illustration by Rania Abdallah
Two months after returning to work following 14 months of parental leave, I find myself navigating unfamiliar territory.
During meetings, I check my phone for updates. Is Juliette okay? Did she sleep? Try a new food? This minutia is as compelling as any breaking news.
At the same time, I relish adult conversations.
I’m now a father, but that’s layered on top of everything I was before. I’m a professional, but also a parent. It’s a revision of identity, an entirely new chapter; one that brings both longing and liberation.
Becoming fathers on Dec. 14, 2023, was never a given. This outcome was the most joyful of moments. A culmination of patience, vulnerability and persistence, manifested in the life-giving generosity of our dear friend turned gestational carrier.
Unlike someone carrying a child, as fathers we built our parental bonds differently, intentionally. We accompanied our surrogate to appointments, witnessed ultrasounds and found ways to be close, despite physical distance.
The love we felt at Juliette’s arrival was met with the sorrow of my mother’s cancer diagnosis. Almost overnight, we had a new baby in the nursery and my parents in the guestroom.
Funnily enough, now I know the true meaning of a grace period. A pause. Time slowed.
Watching my mother, exhausted from treatments, cradle my daughter in her arms, breathing in her newborn scent, was an extraordinary gift. With that gentle rocking, I saw two generations connect across time, sharing a silent language of love.
It broke my heart when Dad asked me, ‘Was I important?’
Nearly every day, I carried Juliette against my chest as we walked through changing seasons – her tiny face taking in the world from the safety of her carrier. Together we witnessed winter melt into spring, summer bloom into fall, these natural cycles becoming the backdrop of our growing relationship.
My husband and I melded our lives around Juliette, rather than subscribing to a wholesale transformation. We embarked on road trips, camped beneath mountain skies, fell asleep to ocean waves and even braved international travel.
The daily rituals mattered equally: skin-to-skin contact, late-night feedings, learning to interpret every tiny sound. This immersive connection taught me that the bond between daughter and father grows through unwavering presence.
As gay fathers, we expected the practical complexities of creating our family. But more surprising was the unspoken pressure to be exemplary parents – as if we had to wear our gratitude and worthiness like capes – proving our super-dad status.
The pressure to be perfect manifested in hypervigilance. Every developmental milestone carried an added weight. Is she rolling over on time? How many words does she have?
We found ourselves measuring our child against every chart and guideline – each one a test of our parental abilities, instead of an honest observation of Juliette’s own journey.
With time, we gave ourselves more grace, celebrating Juliette’s progress on her own terms, instead of against an external standard of excellence.
Many non-traditional families will relate to this prove-your-worth mentality. But the truth is, it’s vulnerability, not perfection, that makes for authentic parenting.
Regardless of how your family comes into being, there’s no manual for parenthood. And with that immense responsibility comes loss – the loss of my former self, the spontaneous freedom we once had, the life we knew before.
Sometimes, I’ll glance at my nightstand and gaze longingly at an abandoned novel. I’ll imagine losing myself in its pages, only to be interrupted by a wail or giggle, yanking me firmly down to earth.
Making plans with friends is no longer spontaneous, but an exercise in careful planning. My carefree days are behind me, not on a brief pause, but indeterminately. There is grief in knowing this.
But it’s not regret that my husband and I feel when we exchange a knowing smile – it’s recognition that whatever we’ve lost has been repaid a hundredfold by what we’ve gained.
It’s been liberating to hold my infinite gratitude for Juliette alongside mourning an earlier iteration of myself. We are all works in progress, and it’s the carefree college student and the optimistic young husband that have brought me to this path – culminating in this newest version, known most frequently as papa.
Unlike previous evolutions, parenthood happens with sudden intensity. Only now, with time and space, can I see this reality more clearly in the rearview mirror.
Yet, this grief doesn’t diminish my fulfilment. It deepens it.
My mother is now in remission, my daughter is thriving, and I am back at work. It’s not the same as it once was. It’s better. Because joy comes from navigating the spaces in between – between professional and parent, between who I was and who I’m becoming.
As I adjust to this new balance, I carry these truths: Family is created through love as much as circumstance; connection grows most deeply when challenged; and life’s most profound journeys require us to redefine ourselves.
The space between miracles – between birth and growth, between joy and grief, between leaving and returning – this is where life truly unfolds.
Samuel Breau lives in La Pêche, Que.
