As I approach two weeks of fatherhood, I wanted to process some thoughts. Some emotions.

This really is a rollercoaster. I’m someone who is generally seen — I think fairly — as calm and measured by friends and acquaintances. I don’t tend to feel extreme emotions, though I often experience frustration and a vague longing for purpose. Those close to me will sense when my mood drops. Still, I’d agree: I’m relatively stable in my character.

Fatherhood has made me more acutely aware of the ups and downs each day brings. Perhaps for good reason, given the stresses of a newborn. And yet I feel those fluctuations were always there — they’re just magnified now. Not wholly new. As to why that is, I can only theorise based on 12 days of experience. Maybe it’s the stress. The lack of sleep. The intensity of caring so deeply for my partner and baby. The sheer act of giving birth is powerful. Simply being there and supporting my partner, without doing anything else, could have been enough to change my life.

I love the little guy. His wellbeing is everything to me. He makes me smile and laugh with funny expressions, noises, and tiny glimpses of the character he’ll become. He’s adorable when he sleeps. When he feeds. When he grunts like a little pig rooting for milk on my neck while I prepare his bottle. I love the way he smells — always — but especially now that his stinky umbilical stump has finally fallen off! When he’s calm and happy, I feel the same.

He has his ups and downs too, and I go through them with him. He struggles with reflux, and I feel a deep frustration. I also feel shame and guilt — maybe it’s my fault he’s in pain. But on top of that, I sometimes feel resentment. Why won’t he stop crying? Why is he rooting for more milk when he really needs burping? I question whether I’m happy. Whether it’s worth it.

Am I feeling those first emotions — shame, guilt, sympathy — because I’m a compassionate father? Or am I just a man selfishly wanting to relax with his son, only to feel robbed of that chance when he needs me entirely? Or am I more the second set — the anger, the impatience, the selfish, egotistical man I fear I am?

Honestly, I don’t know. I can be selfish — I see that in myself — but I also genuinely want to do better. I guess I’m both, and I have to accept that. It’s possible to be the compassionate father and the immature man. And I don’t think I’m alone in that. Maybe I lean more toward one side than some men, and less than others. Who knows. We’re not always honest about these things — even with ourselves.

It’s hard to accept the more difficult emotions, but I want to understand my reactions to the stress. And, hopefully, improve.

Caspar just had his first bath. Total disaster for him — adorable chaos for us. And so the rollercoaster continues. I think that’s the point: I can love him completely, even as I wrestle with frustration. I can be both the man I want to be and the one I fear I am. Somewhere in between, life is happening. It’s beautiful. And hard. And mine.