Prenatal Panic: When Father Fears He May Not Know Best by Jay Sauls I can do this. I can be a father and a protector and a nurturer.

Men, for the most part, don't worry about fear. No, we're all tough guys and "ain't afraid of nothin'," as my friends put it. To show how nothing bothers us we scribble it across the front of our cars. "Fear this!" proclaims the windshield of a 1982 Chevrolet Chevette in my neighborhood. Rats, mice, snakes -- just animals to be caught and harassed. We watch "Friday the 13th" and boast, "Yeah, let's see how long he would have lasted at one of our family reunions! We'd take that stupid hockey mask off and feed it to him!" That's the way we are made. Tough, ornery, chest-beaters. That's not to say that there aren't things that make us flinch. Being left alone in the lingerie department gives me a serious case of the willies. But there are larger issues that do nag at our independence. This issue is not of invasion from a foreign race from space. Or even of the possibility of a television blackout of a baseball game during the pennant race. That one's almost too scary to write about! But even as large as this fear is for men, there's one other worry that strikes deep into the heart of all guys. It's worse than, "Honey, I wrecked the car," or even, "My mother's coming to live with us!" Those aren't even close. Standing out away from and beyond any other statement, gliding just past our ability to see like a shadow on the evening sky, hover those three little words: "Honey, I'm pregnant!"

This isn't to say that we're not happy -- because we're dangerously bordering on a joy-induced coma! By and large, we spend the next few hours grinning like a monkey in a banana factory. But we are also scared to death! Oh sure, for the first couple of months we're the King. We walk around all pumped up, slapping other guys on the back. Heck, we even slap guys we don't like. It's not because we're so jazzed up that we want to make amends. We just take the opportunity to hit them without fear of retribution. "Hey buddy!" (smack!) "Gonna be a dad!" (smack, smack.) He can't get mad because he'd be doing the same thing if the situation were reversed. Smiling broadly, we strut on across the room looking for more backs to slap. Women talk and hug when they're happy; we slug each other. It's a guy thing.

To be honest, it takes a while for the word "daddy" to sink in. When you're in your late teens or early 20s, the word "daddy" followed by your name will place you in a catatonic state! Now, though, it's okay. It's like when someone gives you a strange nick-name and you put up with it because it's cool and new. So "daddy" is kind of strange for the first couple of months. But it also feels good. It delivers you from husband to father. You're still glowing and happy. There's nothing that can bring you down -- at first. It's usually when someone says, "Yeah, wait until you mix strained carrots with formula! Boy, the long distance vomit attacks can last for hours! Hope you plan on painting." The first twinge of doubt worms its way into your brain.

Then someone mentions how much fun it is to be in line at the bank and have your little cherub start screaming like a wild banshee. "Oh, yeah, man, there's no place to hide! Even the security cameras zoom in on you. You just try to ignore it while your child starts stabbing you with the pen! Luckily, it's on a chain so it can't do any real damage." Now you have patience to worry about. Since the dog's scratching bothers you, how can you handle something as fragile as a child?

Slowly, an unsettled feeling starts to eat away at your previous bravado. All that talk about being ready-as-ready-can-be sounds weak in you mind. Your comments about kids being easier to take care of than hunting dogs truly sounds absurd. And the clock is ticking.

Some time between now and four months from now, daddyhood will come roaring in upon you. No matter how hard you try, you can't retrieve all those back-slaps. A child is coming into the world soon and you will have to raise, protect and love it. At least the loving will be easy, but the other two parts could be quite daunting.

With the majestic beauty and strength of the sun rising through the early morning dawn and chasing away the stars, your little life is delivered to the world. Here, lying swaddled in a soft cotton blanket, is your child. All 10 toes and 10 fingers along with hands, feet and eyes await your care. A gaze as pure as angel wings conveys a look of ultimate faith in you as nurturer and protector. Suddenly an infinite stream of thoughts, worries and joys blooms throughout your heart and soul as you gaze upon this tiny little person for the very first time.

"Don't touch the soft spot; support the neck; hold her close; keep her warm; feed when hungry; change when wet" resonates in your mind. "Love when mad; comfort when hurt; protect when afraid" glows within your heart. "Defend when attacked; rescue when out of control; stand beside when accused" courses through your muscles. You tremble from joy and reasons you can't control. For in your arms lay 7 pounds of delicate, defenseless love. Soft little jelly-like fingers entwine the hair on your arms as dark little eyes search your face. She feels weightless, as if created from the early morning dew. Your hands shake as you promise a thousand times to never let any harm come to this baby.

I don't know how many nights I stood over the crib, watching the tiny chest slowly rise and fall. Listening to the almost imperceptible sound of her breathing, fearing that if it stopped, I wouldn't know what to do. All it takes is one small cough and I'm through the door to her nursery, checking on my little one. Seeing my child sleeping peacefully makes all my previous worries seem so petty.

I still worry practically every day. Slowly, I'm learning to temper my fears with ideas for her future. I know that eventually my little girl will be off on her own, living her own life, starting her own family. But for now I hover nearby, always alert, ever so vigil. Like a hawk scanning the fields below, I watch and wait, intercepting trouble long before it actually arrives.

At least I have finally put one fear to rest. I can do this. I can be a father and a protector and a nurturer. My favorite part of the day is about to begin. I can hear my daughter stirring, waking from her nap. I can now relax a bit and settle into my favorite role -- daddy and playmate.

About the Author: Jay Sauls is a professional stand-up comic whose shows are southern- and family-based. He quit a 15-year insurance career to embark on his new job of daughter raising. He lives with his wife, an attorney, daughter, Dakota, two dogs and four fish far enough from Atlanta, GA to be considered countryside. He can be reached at JokerjayGA@aol.com.