Life with a baby who acts like an international superstar — and I’m her agent with a stroller—
I don’t claim to be an expert on women.
In fact, the exact opposite.
If there’s ever been a man in human history who understood women less than I do, I’d like to meet him — just to shake his hand and admit defeat.
I say this with zero shame: the more I meet women, the less I understand them.
But if we’re supposed to trust what other people “know” — supposedly — beautiful women tend to have a lot of confidence. They allow themselves things that less beautiful women might hesitate to do.
I’m not sure whether that’s a real observation or just a stereotype.
But there’s one thing I can say with absolute certainty:
It’s definitely true when it comes to babies.
I know it sounds ridiculous.
How can a three-month-old baby girl be aware of her own beauty?
Well… at home, I provide full-time service to a baby who’s so used to turning heads, it almost seems like she genuinely can’t understand how anyone could walk past her without stopping — and surrendering to the soft, round sweetness in front of them.
It’s hard to resist Sara.
And she’s already smart enough to know it — and return a polite little smile…
Maybe just to avoid coming off as a snob.
And me?
I’m her father.
A man who, for years, has walked through the world as if he were invisible.
And somehow, I created this tiny, adorable creature who pulls in strangers like a moth to a flame.
The Dad of a Celebrity
As stupid as it sounds, sometimes I feel like the dad of a celebrity.
Like… Madonna’s dad.
Honestly? Based on the size of Sara’s wardrobe, Madonna still has something to aspire to.
And the resemblance doesn’t end there.
Just like Madonna performs nonstop, sweats, and changes outfits again and again — Sara also changes outfits at a dizzying pace.
Only in her case, it’s less about choreography…
And more about bodily fluids of every possible kind.
Surprisingly, I don’t mind suddenly being “the dad of.”
The one standing next to the star.
Some of the smiles and attention are obviously meant for her — but some of them land on me too.
As if I’m walking beside an international icon…
Only with a stroller and a pacifier instead of a production crew.
I Almost Made Her an Instagram Star
To be honest, when I first thought about having a presence online, I didn’t imagine I’d start a blog.
I wanted to open an Instagram page where Sara would star alongside me.
Because the internet is obsessed with cute babies — and if you do it right, maybe she becomes a little star.
A two-day-old influencer.
I won’t pretend I didn’t fantasize about it.
Mostly because ever since I started the surrogacy journey, one fear has lived in the back of my mind:
What if the fact that Sara is growing up without a mother causes her pain one day? Shame? Judgment? A feeling that she’s “less than”?
I told myself that if she were loved and admired, maybe it would soften reality for her.
Maybe it would even give her an advantage — in a world built on likes, views, and shares.
There was also a practical thought:
If someone can make a living off Instagram just by existing… maybe we could too.
Maybe I could even save money for her future.
Sara is blessed with beauty, sweetness, and charisma (and once again, I ask you to trust my complete objectivity), and our family story isn’t exactly your standard, everyday story.
I almost took it all the way.
I even looked for someone who understands Instagram.
In my imagination, Sara was already an international brand, putting the Kardashian-Jenner empire to shame.
And then… every time I looked at her, something inside me shut down.
Why I Stopped
Who am I to decide she should be a social media star?
What right do I have to steal her privacy before she even understands what privacy is?
And beyond that — what right do I have to invite the world (especially the ugliest parts of it) to feel like they’re entitled to an opinion about my daughter?
Because online, alongside the opportunities, there are real dangers.
Dark places.
Unstable people.
And complete loss of control over where a photo can end up… and who might develop an unhealthy sense of closeness to a little girl they’ve never met.
In the end, I reached the only simple conclusion I could live with:
At least for now — until Sara reaches an age where she can understand, choose, and decide for herself — I won’t expose her in any way.
Her fans will have to wait patiently.
I believe and hope Sara will be able to handle the challenges of growing up without a mother even without becoming an Instagram star.
And at the same time, I’m convinced that even without a “brand,” she’ll succeed and thrive in whatever she chooses to do when the time comes.
For now, she’ll keep starring locally:
collecting admirers at the neighborhood park, at her checkups, at the mall — and soon, at daycare too.
There’s only one Madonna.
But in my home — there’s only one Sara.
And it’s a daily performance I can’t take my eyes off.
Follow Sara & Me
If you enjoyed this post, feel free to subscribe by email—so you’ll automatically get a notification whenever a new post goes live.
No spam, no ads—just the posts.
Read Next
If you’d like to read more about Sara and our life together, here are two more posts you might enjoy:
The Dictator and the Devoted Servant
Beyond the Blog
Alongside this blog, I also give talks about late fatherhood, surrogacy, and the emotional journey of becoming a parent later in life.
Sara and Me 
“This piece surprised me in the best way. It starts with a playful, almost absurd idea — being mistaken for ‘Madonna’s dad’ — but slowly turns into something much more thoughtful. What I appreciated most is that the author doesn’t rush to make a point. He lets the discomfort, the pride, and the doubt coexist.
There’s a quiet tension throughout the essay: the pull between enjoying attention and protecting something fragile. The writing never feels preachy, yet by the end I found myself questioning my own relationship with sharing personal moments online. It’s intimate without being sentimental, funny without trying too hard, and honest in a way that lingers after you’re done reading.
This isn’t just a parenting story — it’s a reflection on visibility, responsibility, and how easily love can get tangled up with validation.”
LikeLike
“I read this expecting a light, funny anecdote, and ended up with something far more layered. What stands out is the restraint. The writer resists turning his child into a symbol or a spectacle, even though the world around him seems eager to do exactly that.
The humor works because it’s understated, but the real strength of the piece is its self-awareness. The narrator admits to the temptation of attention and approval, then quietly steps back from it. That moment of choice feels rare and refreshingly honest in a culture that usually rewards oversharing.
It’s a short essay, but it carries weight. Not because it tries to teach a lesson, but because it models a pause — a moment of asking whether just because we can share everything, we actually should.”
LikeLike
“What makes ‘Madonna’s Dad’ so compelling is how effortlessly it moves from humor to quiet reflection. Lines like ‘Like… Madonna’s dad’ are genuinely funny, but they also reveal how absurd it feels when a child is suddenly treated like a public figure.
I was especially struck by the honesty in ‘She doesn’t know she’s Madonna’. That sentence alone captures the entire tension of the piece — the gap between how the world projects meaning onto a child and how innocent that child actually is.
The moment where the author admits he almost turned her into an Instagram star, only to stop and ask ‘Who am I to decide that for her?’, feels like the emotional core of the essay. It’s rare to see a parent openly acknowledge that temptation without either glorifying it or condemning it outright.
This isn’t a story about fame or parenting hacks. It’s about restraint, responsibility, and choosing presence over applause. A thoughtful, quietly powerful read.”
LikeLike