Milk, Poop, and Panic: Confessions of a New Father

  •   Fri, Mar 13 2026
  •   By Ankith S Kumar

March 13, 2026

Nobody tells you that fatherhood begins not with a baby’s cry but with Google search history and ChatGPT question that you will never emotionally recover from. Your search history will be filled with questions like:

“Is green poop normal for newborn?”
“Baby hasn’t pooped in 6 hours should I call ambulance?”
“Why is baby crying after feeding but before sleeping but after pooping but during breathing?”

And your Instagram will be filled with reels on what to expect and how to raise a child

Welcome to fatherhood.

You thought you were ready. You read articles. You watched YouTube videos. You attended prenatal classes. You nodded seriously when the doctor spoke and then the baby arrived, and suddenly your engineering degree, MBA, job title, and life experience became absolutely useless in front of 3 kilograms of unpredictable milk-processing machinery.

The First Shock: Milk the Mystery continues

Before the baby came to your life, you thought milk is a drink. After the baby: Milk is not just some liquid anymore. It is a schedule, a science, a mood, a political debate, and a family discussion topic.

Your entire day revolves around questions like: Did the baby drink enough? Was that too much? Why is the baby hungry again after 7 minutes? Is this cluster feeding or a personal attack?

Every two hours you realize the baby’s life runs on only three things:

Milk → Poop → Sleep → Repeat

And your life runs on:

Panic → Google → Advice from others → Confusion → Repeat

The Second Shock: Poop Has Personalities

You never imagined in your life that you would: Inspect poop like it’s a crime scene Discuss poop colour with your family and WhatsApp group. Compare poop photos on parenting forums, Feel proud when the baby poops regularly. You now know shades of poop that even artists don’t know. Mustard yellow? Good. Green? Panic.

Black? Emergency. No poop? Apocalypse. You have officially become a Poop Analyst without salary. You pray that poop doesn’t explode on your face every time you go to change the diaper. 

The Third Shock: The Cry That Has a million Meanings

The baby cries. You freeze. Because this is not “crying”. This is a multiple-choice question with no options. Is it I am Hungry cry? Sleepy cry? Gas cry? Poop cry? Bored cry? “Hold me like royalty” cry? You pick one randomly and it’s always the wrong one.

The Real Panic: When Baby Sleeps Too Quietly

When the baby cries, panic. When the baby sleeps peacefully, bigger panic. You go near the baby. You check breathing. You put finger under nose. You nudge gently, Baby moves. You sigh like you just defused a bomb.

The Indian Father Special: Advice From a thousand People

In India, a baby is not raised by parents. It is raised by: Grandparents, Aunts, Neighbors, Random relatives on video call and that one person who says, “In our time…” Everyone has advice. Nobody agrees with each other. You stand there holding the baby thinking: “What in the world is happening here?”

The Diaper Disaster You Were Not Mentally Ready For

No one told you that diapers are not opened. They are defused. You open slowly. Very slowly. Because you don’t know what you’re about to witness. And somehow…
The baby always chooses that exact moment to pee on you like a fountain. Every. Single. Time.

The Beautiful Part Nobody told You About

Between all this chaoses… the baby holds your finger. Falls asleep on your chest. Makes that tiny noise. And suddenly… The milk, the poop, the panic — none of it matters. You realize: You are tired. You are confused. You are under-trained. But you are completely, ridiculously in love.

Final Realization of a New Indian Father

You are not raising the baby. The baby is raising you. Teaching you the Patience you never had, the Love you never knew, the Fear you never imagined, the Joy you never expected, And you finally understand why every father smiles when you ask, “How is fatherhood?” Because there is no way to explain this madness. You have to live through the milk, the poop, and the panic… to earn that smile.

 

 

 
By Ankith S Kumar
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