In an instance, overwhelming happiness was replaced with panic. My wife and I had just watched the pregnancy test turn positive, and after being overtaken with excitement and tears of joy streaming down my cheeks, I was unexpectedly sideswiped by fear. For years I had dreamed about becoming a father, but I never thought about what that meant. In less than a year, I would find out.

Later that day, I found myself in Barnes and Noble examining the parenting bookshelf and proceeding to gather every book I could find on being an expectant father. Eighty-five dollars poorer, I walked out of the bookstore with four new “roadmaps” on pregnancy and fatherhood. When I got home, I opened the first book and began to read about what I could expect over the next nine months. Phrases like morning sickness, trimesters, gestational diabetes, Braxton Hicks contractions, and mucus plug graced the pages in front of my eyes. The next nine months sounded terrifying and I wasn’t even the one pregnant.

As I laid in bed that night, a million thoughts raced through my head. What kind of father would I be? What if I fail? What does my wife need from me? Little did I know that the worrying didn’t magically stop once the baby is born. I had always taken pride in my preparation for the unknown, but at the time I felt no number of books, message boards or Lamaze classes would prepare me for being a father. As I look back on those days, I now know that fear, concern, and caring are some of the most important traits needed to be a good parent.

Each day into my wife’s pregnancy I learned a little more and became increasingly confident. The books helped prepare me for what my wife was going through and with each new experience during the pregnancy we knew what to expect and how to handle it. Now I realize what Heidi Murkoff and Sharon Mazel were thinking when they aptly named their book What to Expect When You’re Expecting. When the heartburn came, I was waiting with the Tums and Rolaids. As soon as my wife began to toss and turn in bed with Restless Leg Syndrome, I was clicking “Buy Now” on Amazon and ordering a body pillow. With each new pregnancy hurdle that came her way, we were ready, and the fear and doubt slowly started to melt away. Unfortunately, it would not be long until they slowly made their way back into my head.

My wife and I had just got back home from a big steak dinner with her parents. My wife was now almost 42 weeks pregnant (yes 42!) and it took everything in her power to stay awake on the 35-minute drive home from the restaurant. As fast as her head hit the pillow, she was out. An hour after she fell asleep, I found myself in the bathroom preparing for bed. A faint knock came from the door and my wife’s voice calmly stated that her water had broken. It was game time. The fear that had been absent for the last few months came back stronger than ever. The next 15 hours would become the most trying time of my life.

Red lights and stop signs became merely suggestions as I raced towards the hospital. A trip that generally took 15 minutes was cut down to a mere 10. We pulled up to the front door of the emergency room and quickly checked in. Our excitement and anticipation disappeared when we found out that the baby would not be making an appearance in the next couple of hours. At less than three centimeters dilated, contractions more than five minutes apart and the baby had yet to drop, we were informed by the doctor it could be another ten plus hours before we would meet our son. Over the next couple of hours, my wife had an epidural and we slowly got settled into our room. Our son was even kind enough to grant us a few hours of sleep before his arrival.

The doctor came into our room around 6:00 am to check on my wife and the status of the labor. The slow-developing labor quickly took a 180 and fear would make a full-time appearance over the next eight hours. Although my wife was feeling well, the doctor became concerned that the baby had yet to drop. Over the next 60 minutes, my wife was put into numerous positions trying to get the baby to shift and a C-section was looking all but inevitable.

An hour after the doctor came into our room is when it was time to hit the panic button. Contractions were becoming closer and closer and much more painful, yet my son would not budge. Along with the issues faced by my wife, it was time for the doctor’s changeover. At this point, the original doctor suggested to her replacement that a C-section was encouraged. Whether it was bravado, ego or both, the new doctor replied, “not necessary, I will get that thing out of there.” Although I had never been to medical school, I felt this was not standard medical jargon. And without attending medical school, I had to trust the doctor’s judgment. If this course of events wasn’t bad enough, it had been six hours since my wife’s epidural, and with each contraction, the relief provided by the injection was slowly fading away. I watched in horror as I could see the pain overtake my wife’s face while listening to the nurse and anesthesiologist argue on if it was too late for another epidural. The anesthesiologist could see my wife was in pain and recommended the epidural, but the nurse adamantly protested it was too late and this birth was going to proceed without the injection. At some point, the anesthesiologist remembered that he had attended medical school, while the nurse like myself had not and made the ultimate decision by providing my wife with the relief she so desperately needed.

The next six hours would be excruciating for my wife and all I could do is watch as she succumbed to unbearable pain. With one doctor and one nurse attending to five mothers in labor concurrently, a majority of the next six hours of intense labor would be spent with my wife alone. With just the two of us in the room and the contractions becoming closer together and more painful, I feared the unknown. Was the baby ok? Was my wife ok? Questions raced through my head as I tried to simultaneously remove the fear from her mind.

As 1:35 pm approached, my wife gave one last push and my son entered the world. Stress from the delivery took a toll on my son and he was whisked away and examined by the nurses. For that next five seconds, the world stood still. Finally, from the corner of the room came the cry of a baby, and with emotions overflowing, I hugged my wife and we both broke down.

Starting over is never easy. As he signed the last page of the stack papers in front of him, he knew life would never be the same. He didn’t care about the house, the car or the alimony, he just wanted his old life back. That wasn’t going to happen. They hugged like two people who didn’t know each other, said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. He got into his car and drove off without a destination in mind.

He had moved to Stamford nine years ago to be closer to his wife’s family and fell in love with Connecticut. He became familiar with every store, restaurant and side street in Stamford, but for some reason during his drive it all felt foreign. As he drove around aimlessly, he found himself in front of his favorite restaurant. For the first time in 12 years, he would only need one menu. He used the time to reflect on the past and think about what may become. The waitress stopped by and asked him what he would be drinking. When he was married, his wife hated when he would drink alcohol during the day. Although he didn’t drink often, he loved the house margaritas at the restaurant. In the past when he ordered one, he would get an endless lecture on how only alcoholics drink at lunch. Now he was finally free to do whatever he wants. His first taste of freedom would be a large house margarita. By the time his meal was done, and the check had been paid, he had indulged in two of the 22-ounce tequila infused margaritas. He walked out of the restaurant and knew he would not be driving. Lucky for him, his new studio apartment bachelor pad was less than a mile away. Instead of ordering an Uber or Lyft, he decided to make the trip on foot.

When he walked into his partially furnished home, he realized that no one was home waiting for him. This feeling would be something he would have to get used to. He had rented the apartment two weeks prior but had yet to spend a night there. The last two weeks involved dividing belongings and making trips back and forth from his old house to his new apartment. For over a year, his wife and him had been sleeping in separate rooms and during the move he slept in the guest room as he waited for electricity and cable to be set up at his new apartment. So here he was, all alone. He sat down on his used couch he bought last week on Craigslist and turned on the TV. He still had a decent buzz from his lunch and thought he would either take a nap or continue the party. The thought of sitting at home alone all day did not appeal to him, so he texted one friend after another. After four attempts, he finally found an interested participant. They agreed to meet in an hour at the Irish pub down the street from his apartment. He jumped into the shower to wash the divorce off and then grabbed a t-shirt and jeans for his night out. He knew he was in no mood to try to impress anyone as comfort was of utmost priority.

An hour quickly passed, and he made his way out the door a few minutes before 5:00pm. The bar was empty, aside from the old man at the end of the bar nursing his beer and the bartender who looked to be restocking the coolers. As he pulled the chair out from the bar, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and saw his wingman for the night. They grabbed their seats at the bar and before he could open the drink menu, he heard his buddy yell at the bartender, “two Jamison whiskey shots, and make them doubles.” With a look of horror on his face he looked at his buddy and before he could scold him the bartender dropped two rocks glasses filled to the top with Irish whiskey. “Don’t say anything. You have had a tough day and your best thing to do is forget about it. The whiskey will help you with that.” Although he was not excited about the gallon of liquor sitting in front of him, he knew the alcohol would help him forget. They toasted glasses, tapped them on the table and gulped down the shots. He held back the impulse to regurgitate the liquid memory eraser on the bar and finished the last gulp. To get the whiskey taste out of his mouth he ordered a double IPA. Tonight, he would not have to listen to anyone tell him he was an alcoholic and would keep the drinks flowing. The combination of the previous margaritas and the large quantity of whiskey put him in an altered state.

Before his friend could even ask, the conversation quickly turned to his newly assigned ex-wife. He talked about how they met, when they fell in love, how he proposed and their wedding. His whiskey loving friend had heard all the stories before, but he still listened as if the events were new to him. When he talked about her, one could tell that there was a time he was madly in love with her, but it was apparent that the love they once had was lost. “I loved her more than anything, but people and circumstances change.” He expressed his frustration with her new-found love in her career and he pointed out that it didn’t take long for him to become second fiddle to her job. Along with her commitment to her career, the idea of having children quickly disappeared. Having a family was something they talked about on their third date and continued until they were married. It wasn’t till the beginning of her new love that she decided that kids would hinder any professional aspirations she had. His friend quickly realized that the divorce was inevitable. In a weird way, they both knew the divorce was tough, but was absolutely the right decision.

As the alcohol kept coming, he opened up even more. He talked about how they slept in different bedrooms and hadn’t had sex in over 18 months. Although the separation was finalized only hours before, the marriage had died long before today. After over an hour of sad stories and depressing anecdotes, his friend replied, “the best way to get over someone, is to get under someone.” It wasn’t till this point that he had ever thought of dating anyone, let alone sleeping with someone. His friend had gone through a divorce three years prior and emphatically tried to convince him to find someone else. The hypothetical mystery woman did not have to be marriage material, but finding companionship was the best way his friend made it through his divorce. Almost as a reflex he blurted out, “I am not ready to date.” His buddy responded that he had said the same thing immediately after his divorce, but a friend of his set him up on a blind date less than 48 hours after his divorce had been finalized. Although the two ended up only having one more dates afterwards, he indicated that after that first date he knew he was going to be ok.

It was now 7:30pm and the bar was quickly starting to fill up. Between the margaritas from earlier, the Irish whiskey and a couple IPAs, he was feeling good. The only issue he had was that the mass quantity of alcohol had filled his bladder and it was time to “break the seal.” He stepped off his chair with a slight stumble and quickly caught his balance and made his way to the bathroom. Upon completion of answering nature’s call, he washed his hands and with a failed attempt to use the broken hand dryer, he did what most men did in that situation and dried his hands on his pants.

When he returned to his seat he was met with an unwelcome surprise, his seat had been taken. While in the bathroom, his buddy had struck up a conversation with the woman next to him and had turned his back to his friend’s chair, now occupied by a brunette stranger. He tapped the woman on the shoulder, while simultaneously exclaiming that she had taken his chair. When she turned around, she apologized for the stealing his seat and began to get up from the chair. Once he made eye contact with the woman, her beautiful face and bright green eyes left him paralyzed. It took all of his power to get the words out, “its ok you can stay, I have been sitting all day and need to stand.” She asked if he was sure and he furiously shook his head yes.

Right then the advice from his friend popped into his head that his best way to get over his ex-wife was to find someone new. He knew this woman was out of his league, but after the events of earlier today, he had nothing to lose. He turned to the woman and asked if he could buy her a drink. She laughed and said, “I stole your seat, the least I could do is buy you a drink. What are you drinking?” Although he had a beer in his hand, he felt the need to act more sophisticated and ordered an old fashion. The look on her face indicated she approved of his drink choice and confirmed his thoughts when she said, “I will have the same thing.”

The drinks arrived and they toasted glasses and before he could take his first sip she said, “to new friends.” After fifteen minutes of small talk the seat to her left opened up and he quickly saddled up to the bar. Generally, on a first interaction with a potential mate, bringing up an ex is maybe the biggest red flag a man, or woman, could make, yet within the first few minutes of finding a seat at the bar he spilled out his guts. He told her that he had been divorced for less than half a day and went into intimate details of his makeshift studio apartment. As the words spilled out, he counted down the seconds it would take for her to thank him for the chair and be on her way. To his surprise, she hung on his every word and after a ten-minute monologue, she confided in him that she was freshly divorced and knew exactly what he was going through. They talked about good times and how at some point everything changed, and the love disappeared. She said that she knew it was for the best, but it doesn’t mean there is no pain. For the first time in a long time, he felt a connection to someone and was actually being listened to.

After an hour of agonizing about failed marriages, they turned the conversation to dreams, aspirations, hobbies and what to do with the newly acquired free time. Almost as the bartender had set a timer, a fresh old fashion appeared every 20 minutes. A quick glance at his phone indicated that 10:00pm was only minutes away. He knew at this pace, things could go south quickly if he continued to drink, but he didn’t care. His new friend caught him with his phone out and remarked, “do you have to be somewhere?” He joked that he should probably be in bed, but would rather much be here talking to her. Whether it was the witty line or convenience, she hinted that since he had his phone out there would be no better time to take her phone number. At that moment, the divorce, the crappy studio apartment and all the other bad memories disappeared and now he was solely focused on her. He entered her name and phone number into his phone. He immediately sent her a text to share his information as well, along with a winking emoji that he immediately regretted.

As he finished his fourth or fifth Old Fashion, he knew if he had one more the toilet would become his friend for the night. By this point he was drunk and knew if he stayed things could only get worse. He told the green-eyed woman that he was going to head home but had a wonderful time tonight. Trying to not sound too creepy, he told her she was exactly what he needed, and her words provided the guidance and closure he needed. She looked slightly disappointed, but he promised that he would call and could not wait for a first date. The disappointment on her face quickly turned to one of intrigue and excitement and she told him that she was looking forward to it. He took a quick look for his friend but did not see him. At this point of the night, he didn’t have the stamina or wherewithal to search for him, so he called it a night and headed home.

On his walk home, he found a moment of clarity. He knew that there was a reason he loved his ex-wife and reflected on all the good times. He then turned his thoughts onto her hyper career focus, not wanting kids and how the marriage had turned loveless for the last 18 months. Before arriving home, he glanced at his phone and saw a text from his new friend. It read, “thank you for a lovely night and I look forward to continuing the conversation. good night!” He didn’t know if they would have one date or if they would spend the rest of their lives together, but he did know that he was going to be ok and was excited about what the future might bring. New beginnings can be hard, but sometimes uncertainty can be a good thing.