In the weeks and months leading up to the birth of our daughter, one of the favorite, friendly warnings people gave us was “Everything changes” in the sing-songy tone of voice that one would use when saying “I told you so.” And they would say this every time the subject of parenthood came up, which was a lot, because as expecting parents, that’s what you talk about.

Well, our daughter is now just over a week old, and so far, that friendly warning has not been all that true. A lot of things change. And not just the waking up at night to feed or change or comfort the baby, or the nervousness of driving anywhere with her in the car seat. Little things have changed, though. There is a lot more laundry; we’re using cloth diapers (no big deal). There are a lot more smiles and “aww”s. And we are catching ourselves feeling more generally tired.

But the major things haven’t changed. I still feel like I did a week, a month, and a year before our daughter was born. I still like playing video games and watching cartoons, and I still like drawing and writing. I have to take more frequent breaks from these things to take care of the baby, but overall, I feel the same. Which leads me to a couple of possible conclusions.

I was really ready for this baby. Now, I don’t know that anyone is really ready to have a baby. It’s a huge life change. Very suddenly, you go from impatiently waiting for the baby to arrive to disbelief that they let you go home from the hospital with another human life to take care of. No one that has a baby really feels all that different as a person. Everyone that has ever had kids goes on about their daily lives like they did before, just with a kid in tow. I don’t know that this fits either. We have a running joke at work; a woman I work with got pregnant very young, and we would make up scenarios of her friends calling to see if she wanted to do fun things. “Hey Michelle, want to go skydiving?”

“Yea- oh, wait…I can’t. I have this kid.” “Hey Michelle, what to go bear baiting?”

“Yea- oh, wait…I can’t. I have this kid.” Finally, maybe my parents just gave me a really, really good example of how to be a parent. I tend to lean toward this conclusion as the one that explains how I feel now that Dottie is finally here and not just an idea, or a bundle of tissue, or a fetus kicking and elbow dropping on my wife’s bladder. I won’t claim to have perfect parents. Nobody’s perfect. But I’m beginning to see that my parents did a really good job at raising the four of us kids. My dad always told us that family will always be there for you. And he was right. In this first week, we have received a lot of support from both of my brothers and our sisters-in-law, and from my aunt who is an International Board Certified Lactation Consultant; we’re exclusively breast feeding (no big deal).

The most important thing my parents taught us, though, is love. My parents have shown what it means to love each other, and us kids. My dad tells us stories of walking through the door after work, picking up one or two of us kids, and holding us the whole evening through. My mom and dad get into little arguments here and there, but they never got into fights where they tried to hurt each other. My parents showed all four of us kids the same amount of love, even if it looked a little different from our perspectives. That love is what has made me feel the same as I did last week, last month, and last year. I knew that when my wife and I started talking about having kids, I would love them without question. When she told me she was pregnant, I loved that baby. When she went into labor and Dottie first came out all blue (something they don’t teach you in high school health class) and covered in goop, I loved that baby. When Dottie poops and it squirts out the sides of her diaper and I have to clean it up and change her little onesie, I love that baby.

Now, as a dad, I get to teach my daughter the same lessons. My wife and I get to be the example of love for her. Maybe one day, she’ll look down into the eyes of her own child and think to herself “You know, I don’t feel all that different.”