Our Little Trophy!

A very personal update, with an unexpected connection to sport

They say it’s a cliché, but clichés exist for a reason.

When I held our daughter in my arms for the first time, I fell in love.

That part was expected.

What I didn’t expect was what happened after.

Over the next few days, every time my wife and I looked at our daughter, we would just… smile. Not the polite, Instagram kind. The kind that comes from somewhere deep inside. A quiet, goofy, uncontrollable smile. As if we had achieved something monumental. As if she was our trophy.

And suddenly, without trying, my mind went back to sport.

Back to my younger days in the US, playing elite-level football (soccer), lucky enough to be part of a really good club team. We won a few championships back then. And after every win, the trophy would sit proudly in the clubhouse.

It wasn’t a particularly fancy object. Some metal. Some engraving. Nothing magical about it on its own.

But every time we looked at it, something happened.

We felt light.

We felt connected.

We felt proud.

That trophy held memories. Pre-season boot camps. Gruelling fitness sessions. Draining technical and tactical strategy meetings. Weekly trainings that felt endless. Sore muscles. Early mornings. Late nights. Incredible highs of winning. Crushing lows of losing. Moments where confidence disappeared… and then somehow returned. A group of individuals slowly learning how to become a team.

Of course the trophy made us feel the way it did. It was a symbol of everything we had been through together.

And then I realized, this is exactly what was happening with our daughter.

Over a year ago, my wife and I decided to try to have a baby. A few months later, Avantika became pregnant. And then began what I can only describe, now, with deep respect, as the longest, toughest, most meaningful “season” of our lives.

The nine months were full of contrast.

The joy of sharing the news with family and friends.

The anxiety of medical complications.           

Excitement over seeing incredibly vivid scans of the baby.

Challenging days spent in hospitals and weeks of house rest for Avantika. 

Fun baby showers.                         

Cancelled holiday plans.            

The delight of learning about pregnancy and babies together.                 

Uncomfortable days and sleepless nights.            

The pleasure of setting up the baby room. 

Quiet sacrifices. Loud fears. Constant hope.

Mostly for my wife.

There were moments of uncertainty, wondering how things would turn out, praying our baby would be healthy, praying that Avantika would be safe. There were strategies and tactics (yes, even here). How do we make this as comfortable as possible? How do we prepare better?

And like any serious season, we had coaches everywhere.

Parents.

Friends.

Doctors.

Hypnobirthing teachers.

Womb wisdom guides.                

Instagram reels.

Podcasts.

Well-meaning WhatsApp forwards.

Then came the final match day.

The intense contractions.

The OT.

And then, suddenly, there she was.

Leela.

Our trophy.

We had won the championship.

And just like those trophies from my football days, we could stare at her endlessly and feel a deep sense of accomplishment, gratitude, and awe. A quiet “we did it”, even though we knew the real MVP was my wife.

I genuinely believe God designed it this way.

But here’s where the analogy shifts, and where it gets even more beautiful.

A trophy represents the past. When you look at it, you relive what was. The effort is complete. The season is over. The story is finished.

A child, on the other hand, is alive.

Dynamic.

Growing.

Evolving minute by minute.

When you look at your child, yes, the past shows up. The long season. The hard work. The perseverance. But because this “trophy” is alive, you’re not just celebrating what was, you’re fully present with what is, and dreaming about what could be.

The past.

The present.

And the future.

All in one tiny human.

So while this post is very much a personal update, I couldn’t help but find a connection to sport, because that’s how I make sense of the world. Whether it’s football or life, the most meaningful wins come from long seasons, shared struggle, trust in the process, and deep teamwork.

And this dream team?

We've only just begun.