There are certain days in life that divide everything into two parts: before and after. December 19, 1991, was one of those days for me. On that day, my son, Jacob Timothy, entered the world.
Even now, three and a half decades later, I can close my eyes and remember many of the details as if they happened yesterday. Just 50 days earlier, “The Great Halloween Snowstorm of 1991” struck the Upper Midwest over a multi-day period, starting on October 31 and lasting until November 3, 1991. Almost 30 inches of snow fell at our home in Plymouth, MN. I would end up repeatedly shoveling our driveway and the driveways of our neighbors with the help of two other friends.
Cindy and I were both coming from previous relationships, and despite the challenges we faced in our own, there was one thing we were completely united on—we both wanted a family. When we learned that she was pregnant, we welcomed the news with open arms and genuine excitement. Whatever uncertainties existed elsewhere in our lives seemed to fade into the background as we looked forward to becoming parents together.
As the months passed, we prepared for Jake’s arrival. We bought the things first-time parents buy. Crib. Check. Changing Table. Check. Diaper Basket. Check. We made plans. We imagined what he would look like and what kind of person he would become. Like most expectant parents, we had no idea what we were doing, but we were excited to learn.
Then came the morning that changed everything. I was sleeping in the master bedroom when I heard a voice through the intercom system we had in the house. At first, I thought I was dreaming. The voice sounded distant, almost as if it were part of whatever dream I happened to be having.
Then I realized it was Cindy. She ended up sleeping in a different bedroom that night. Her water had broken. It was early—probably around 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning—and suddenly all the preparation became real.
This was it.
Months of waiting had led to this moment. Fortunately, we were ready. The bags had already been packed. We gathered the last few things we needed, loaded the car, and headed to the hospital. It was a Thursday, but the roads were empty at this time of the morning. The air was cold and crisp as one would expect on a December in Minnesota.
I remember feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness during the drive. I knew my life was about to change forever, although I couldn’t yet comprehend exactly how much. What we expected to be a morning delivery turned into something much longer.
And longer.
And longer.
The labor stretched through the morning, into the afternoon, and eventually into the evening. It was a long and difficult day, especially for Cindy. Anyone who has witnessed a prolonged labor knows there is a helpless feeling that comes with it. You want to ease the pain. You want to make things easier. But all you can really do is be present, offer encouragement, and wait.
Cindy’s twin sister, Kim, arrived later in the day to provide support, and together we settled in for what became a marathon rather than a sprint. Hour after hour passed. The anticipation built. The waiting continued. Then finally, late that night, after what felt like an eternity, the moment arrived.
I was standing right beside Cindy. The doctor was first to see him, of course, but I was second. I remember Jake emerging face down and appearing very purple. For a brief moment, it was startling. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Then he turned.
As he rotated and faced me, I watched something miraculous happen. Color suddenly filled his face. Life seemed to rush into him. One second he looked like a tiny, wrinkled little alien—as newborns often do—and the next he looked absolutely beautiful. It’s hard to explain unless you’ve experienced it yourself. You spend months imagining a child you’ve never met.
Then suddenly, there he is. A real person. Your son. Your child. The little life you’ve been waiting for is finally in your arms. I was overwhelmed. Joy. Relief. Wonder. Gratitude. All of it hit me at once.
I remember cutting the umbilical cord, something I had agreed to do without giving it much thought beforehand. What surprised me most was how thick it was. Until that moment, I had never really considered what an umbilical cord looked or felt like. It was much stronger and thicker than I had imagined. It’s funny the little details that stay with you after thirty-plus years. Some memories fade. Others remain crystal clear. That was one of them.
I don’t remember sleeping much that night. I believe Jake stayed in the nursery, allowing Cindy an opportunity to rest after the long labor. Eventually, I headed home at around 1:00 AM for the night, but my mind was racing. I had been awake 21 straight hours, and my adrenaline was still pushing for more.
I had entered the hospital as a husband. I left as a father. The next morning, I couldn’t wait to get back. There he was. Tiny. Peaceful. Perfect. I found myself staring at him constantly, trying to absorb every detail. His face. His hands. His expressions. The way he slept. Everything fascinated me.
Within a few days, it was time to bring him home. That was another milestone entirely. Hospitals are full of nurses, doctors, and professionals who know what they’re doing. Once you walk out those doors carrying your newborn, reality sets in.
They were trusting us to take care of this little human being. No instruction manual. No certification. No guarantees. Just two new parents figuring things out as we went. Like most first-time parents, we discovered quickly that not everything goes according to plan.
One of our first challenges involved feeding. We had decided to use infant formula, and I remember one of the first feedings at home didn’t go particularly well. Jake seemed to throw up nearly everything we had given him.
Naturally, we panicked. Were we feeding him too much? Too little? Was something wrong? Were we doing something wrong? Looking back now, those fears seem almost humorous, but at the time they felt very real.
Eventually, we found a formula that worked better for him, settled into a routine, and gained confidence with each passing week. Parenthood is like that. The first few days feel overwhelming. Then little by little, you find your footing. You learn. You adapt. You grow alongside your child.
As I think back to those early months, I smile remembering what Jake looked like as a baby. For some reason, the comparison that always comes to mind is a young Michael Jordan. He had very little hair. He was dark and tan. He was wonderfully chubby. And he was absolutely adorable.
As the months passed, our lives began revolving around him. Feedings. Diaper changes. Baths. Bedtimes. Doctor visits. Family outings. And all the little moments in between.
Those ordinary moments became some of the most meaningful memories of my life. I remember rocking him to sleep. I remember carrying him around the house. I remember watching him discover the world one day at a time. I remember the feeling of responsibility that came with knowing someone depended on me completely.
At the time, I was working full-time, so my daily routine typically involved taking over baby duties in the evening. From around five o’clock until ten o’clock, I was on duty. Feeding him. Playing with him. Holding him. Changing him. Putting him to bed.
During the night, I helped when I could, and thankfully, as time went on, Jake became better and better at sleeping through the night. Then each morning I would head back to work and do it all over again. Weekends were different. Since I wasn’t working, I could take on more responsibilities and spend more time with him. Those days became precious.
At the time, I probably didn’t realize how quickly those years would pass. Parents always hear older people say, “Enjoy it because they grow up fast.” It’s one of those statements that sounds cliché until you experience it yourself.
Then suddenly, you realize how true it is. The baby becomes a toddler. The toddler becomes a little boy. The little boy becomes a teenager. And before you know it, he’s a grown man. As I write this today, fittingly on Father’s Day, my heart is filled with gratitude. Life hasn’t always unfolded the way I imagined.
There have been joys and heartbreaks, victories and disappointments, successes and setbacks. But becoming Jake’s father remains one of the greatest blessings of my life. When I think about that cold December day in 1991, I don’t just remember the hospital room. I don’t just remember the long labor. I don’t just remember cutting the umbilical cord.
Becoming Jake's father remains one of the defining moments of my life. Every promotion, every project, every accomplishment that came before suddenly found its proper perspective. Life was no longer centered on me. It was centered on him. Of course, every blessing arrives within the context of real life, and the story of our family became far more complicated than either Cindy or I could have imagined.