There’s a version of me that meant to get ahead of this.
Before baby arrived, I had this quiet plan in the back of my mind: get in better shape, drop some weight, fix the nagging chronic pain stuff that I’d been carrying around like extra luggage I just learned to ignore. I told myself I’d do it “soon.” Like a lot of dads, I assumed soon would eventually become now.
Then life happened in the best and most demanding way possible.
A baby changes your calendar, your sleep, your priorities, and honestly your sense of urgency about your own body. Suddenly, health isn’t abstract anymore. It’s not about looking better or feeling a little lighter on your feet in some vague future. It’s about being able to pick up your kid without thinking about your back. It’s about getting down on the floor and back up again without negotiating with your knees. It’s about having enough energy left at the end of the day to actually be there.
That’s where I found myself looking into GLP-1 medications.
I didn’t jump in lightly. There’s a lot of noise around them, a lot of opinions, and honestly a lot of misunderstanding. But at a simple level, I needed something that could help me break through a plateau I’d been stuck on for a long time—weight that wasn’t moving, habits that weren’t sticking, and pain that was starting to feel like part of the identity instead of something temporary.
What I can say is this: they work.
The weight comes off. Not magically, not effortlessly, but in a way that finally feels like the direction is changing after a long stretch of standing still.
But it’s not a free ride.
There are side effects. For me, that has included things like nausea at times, occasional fatigue, and just an overall feeling that my system is adjusting to something new. It’s not always comfortable. There are days where you question it.
But then I zoom out.
I think about what I’m actually trying to buy back.
I’m not chasing a number on a scale. I’m chasing the ability to run after my son when he starts moving faster than I can react. I’m chasing the kind of energy where I’m not sitting on the sidelines because my body feels like it’s negotiating every movement. I’m chasing consistency—being the kind of dad who can show up physically, not just emotionally.
And when I frame it like that, the trade-offs feel different. The discomfort starts to feel temporary instead of defining.
What’s interesting is the timing of all of this.
I do wish I had started earlier. That’s the honest part. Before the baby, I had more space, more flexibility, more time to experiment and build habits without the pressure of exhaustion or unpredictability.
But I also have to be honest about something else: the motivation just wasn’t the same.
It’s easy to delay change when the stakes are abstract. When health is “for later.” When pain is “manageable enough.” When weight is “something I’ll deal with eventually.”
A new human in your hands changes the definition of eventually.
Now it’s immediate. Now it’s personal. Now it’s not about me in isolation—it’s about me being present, capable, and active for someone else who doesn’t care about my excuses and definitely doesn’t wait for my body to catch up.
So this is where I am in the Dad log.
Not perfect. Not fully optimized. Not finished.
Just actively trying.
Using tools where they make sense. Accepting that some days will feel off. Acknowledging that discomfort is part of the process, not a sign that I’m doing something wrong.
And slowly building toward a version of myself that can keep up with the life I already have.
Because at the end of the day, the goal isn’t just longevity.
It’s participation.
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