My husband appeared on the baby monitor every night at 2 a.m. carrying a mysterious paper bag—when I finally watched him open it, I gasped

at once.

“I know.”

“I think you do too.”

He laughed through a sniffle.

“Yeah.”

The next morning, after a few hours of sleep and one extremely loud burp from Noah, I called my doctor. Ethan called his. He found a counselor who specialized in anxiety among new fathers. He later admitted he had experienced smaller versions of the same anxiety for years without continue reading …