The Parallel Bars
A father does not give birth.
He does not carry the physical weight for nine months, nor does he feel the internal shifting of organs or the years of physical recovery.
But as the child is born, a different kind of weight falls—a boulder dropped from a mountain peak, landing squarely on his shoulders.
The weight of provision.
If he has been grinding, if he has been preparing, he will feel the impact and he will brace to hold it. But if he has no idea of the gravity that fatherhood demands, that weight will crush him. It is in that pressure where a man decides to stay and stand, or to break and leave because he doesn't know how to support the sheer mass of it all.
While the mother thrashes through the waves—the tides of emotion, the physical trauma, the raw pain of healing—the father begins to calculate.
He calculates the safety of the car and the fit of the car seat.
He calculates the security of the home and the rising cost of the groceries.
He calculates insurance policies he never thought much about before, the distant reality of college funds, the necessity of retirement, the weight of the mortgage, and the emergency funds for the things that haven't even broken yet.
He begins to think—not just about providing—but about what will remain if he ever cannot.
He becomes a silent architect of safety.
For nine months, he watched the woman he loves become less independent, growing and changing until the day she pushed her body to the brink. Now, she is different. Her mind has found a new depth from the experience of childbirth; she is a protector, expectant and hurting, fiercely strong and dangerously fragile all at once.
His arms must become the parallel bars for her recovery. He is stepping into a role that demands perfection and complete support, even as he navigates his own metamorphosis. He is the stable mountain, holding the world steady as they both grow and evolve into a deeper, purposeful version of who they now know they were always meant to be.
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Monique Jones
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The Parallel Bars
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