I’m a project manager. I track things. Spreadsheets, burndown charts, KPIs — it’s how I make sense of the world. So when Owen turned one last month, I did what any self-respecting dad with a clipboard mentality would do: I ran the numbers.
What I found was equal parts horrifying and hilarious. Here’s Year One, by the data.
The Basics
Let’s start with the stuff nobody talks about at baby showers. The logistics. The supply chain of parenthood.
diapers changed (yes, I counted)
wipes used (conservative estimate — some days were war zones)
bottles washed (and rewashed, and rewashed)
That’s roughly 12 diapers a day for 365 days. Twelve. I could have built a diaper fort. A very smelly fort.
Sleep — or Lack Thereof
Before Owen, I thought I understood tired. I did not. The numbers don’t lie.
hours of sleep lost (I tracked it — don’t judge)
3am wake-ups (the witching hour is real)
Google searches at 3am (“is baby poop supposed to be green” — it was)
That last one? I’m not proud. But at 3:14am, when your kid’s diaper looks like something from a sci-fi movie, you need answers. Fast.
The Wallet
We budgeted. We had a plan. The plan laughed at us.
total spent on baby stuff (formula, gear, clothes, medical, the works)
Amazon orders (Prime was our third parent)
coffees consumed (mostly by me, to stay human)
That coffee number might be low. There were weeks where I lost count. The barista at the drive-thru knows my order by heart now. We’re on a first-name basis.
The Emotional Spreadsheet
Not everything fits in a cell. But some of it does.
times I called my own dad for advice (“Dad, he won’t stop crying — what do I do?”)
times I cried (the first smile, first word, first steps, first birthday cake)
time my dad said “you’re doing great” and I actually believed him
That last one doesn’t have a dollar value. But it’s the most important number on this page.
The Numbers That Don’t Fit in a Chart
Here’s the thing about data: it captures the what, but not the why. It can’t measure the weight of Owen falling asleep on my chest at 2am. It can’t quantify the first time he reached for me instead of his mom. It doesn’t track the stupid grin I get every time he does something new.
So yeah — 4,380 diapers. 287 hours of sleep. $18,427. Those numbers are real. They’re funny (and a little terrifying). But the number that actually matters?
days I got to be his dad
And I’d do every single one of them again. Even the 3am ones. Especially the 3am ones.
— Drew