Max Littman, LCSW
November 24, 2025
In the past month, I became a father to a newborn daughter. My universe has expanded in amazing, mind-blowing ways. Yet this article is not about fatherhood. It is about my parts’ adjustment to it. Their own small “big bang.” In these early days, I keep noticing the familiar tug of my parts to return to my meditation practice, which has been sidelined by the full-bodied demands of caring for a newborn. Lately, it feels like a door I pass by while carrying a car seat and a half-used bottle of formula mixed with water.
Some mornings, I watch the meditation door go by and feel a small pull of longing. Other mornings, I barely notice it at all. Parenthood has a way of rearranging the house of the mind without asking permission. It is a force of nature.
What surprises me is that the practice of interoception (enhanced by meditation) has not vanished. It has only changed shape. Some parts are content with this shift. Others bristle. A few feel relieved.
There are parts that are delighted by fatherhood. They step forward eagerly each day and take pride in the responsibilities that were once theoretical. They love the sound of bottles clicking into place after sanitizing. They love the tiny stack of folded onesies. They love the steady rhythm of restocking wipes, preparing for bottle feeding, and checking that the diaper bag has everything we might need while out in the world. There is pleasure in the preparedness. Pleasure in becoming a caregiver in a literal sense. Not only the emotional kind. The keeping alive kind.
I can feel a kind of competence, mastery, and confidence settling in. A part of me enjoys collaborating with the pediatrician and understands the importance of knowing which insurance form goes where. Another notices the moment our dog needs a new physical barrier so she does not wander too close to baby during a feeding. Another keeps track of who is coming to help, when to shower, when to rest, and when to make sure my husband gets time for himself. It is a soft administrative hum that runs underneath everything. It is a subtle, but powerful joy. I am grateful for this small committee of organizers. They seem to know exactly when and where to insert themselves.
There are also parts that miss my old rhythms. They miss the slow unfolding of a quiet morning. They miss the focused inner listening. They miss having long stretches of uninterrupted attention. They miss alone time in bed watching a show with my husband and my dog. Sometimes they compete with the needs of a two week old who measures time in minutes, not hours. They have opinions about this. They speak up while I wash bottles at one in the morning or while I try to stretch my body back into something that feels like mine.
And then there are parts that welcome the shift away from constant self examination. They like the simplicity of loving someone who cannot yet speak. They like the immediacy of caring for a being who needs warmth, milk, sleep, cleanliness, and presence. They like how straightforward it feels. They like having something so precious that the world narrows down to a single point of focus. These parts do not miss the meditations. They like that the familiar internal corridors are quieter. They prefer this new gravitational pull toward the baby.
Despite stepping away from my traditional, formal daily parts meditation practice, it has not disappeared. It has simply moved into the moments between tasks. The pauses while waiting for water to boil. The soft breathing I fall into when rocking the baby at night. The quiet awareness that flickers through me while folding another burp cloth. These spaces feel like small vessels for me to connect with my parts. Unplanned. Sufficient for some parts, but not all. My parts seem to understand this in their own ways. Not all of them like it, but most get it.
Parenthood is a new inner landscape. It has surprising invitations. Some days feel spacious. Some feel thin. And somewhere inside the cacophony of schedules, feedings, cries, coos, and the soft weight of a newborn on my chest, I can still sense the familiar practice of interoception, connecting with parts, forming itself anew: not in the way I expected, but in the way that fits this moment in my life.
For feedback and comments, I can be reached at max@maxlittman.com.
I provide consultation and therapy for therapists.
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