John Stringfield: I’m learning how to juggle babies, bottles and briefs

Our daughter, Levi, arrived on July 16, 2025, about three weeks earlier than expected.

That morning, I was on my way out the door for a deposition. I had several others scheduled for the following week, including out-of-town travel, plus upcoming expert disclosures and a reply brief deadline.

I was no busier than any other litigation associate six years in; my calendar was full, yet manageable—at least I thought so at the time.

Then my wife called as I was walking out the door. She said something seemed off and that she thought we should call the doctor. We were not completely sure what was happening but wondered if her water broke. It wasn’t like you see in the movies—it wasn’t obvious. We both assumed we would be sent home within an hour.

We were wrong.

Within 30 minutes of being checked in, the nurse came in and said, “you’re having a baby today.” Our hearts dropped, and our jaws hit the floor. Labor started soon after, and just under 12 hours later, Levi was born.

She had some early complications with breathing and swallowing. It was a difficult and slightly traumatic first night, and one that put other concerns out of mind. Fortunately, seven days in, she is doing well.

Those early days in the hospital were filled with all the usual first-time parenting adjustments—sleep deprivation, paperwork, bottles, random visitors, uncertainty—and layered on top of it was the constant hum of work.

I had depositions I needed to reschedule, experts I needed to call and opposing counsel to notify. I was emailing from the labor and delivery room, revising a scheduling order from the hospital bed and trying to remember if I had filed a motion I had intended to finish the day before.

I work at a small to mid-sized firm. We have amazing support staff and associates; but when something needs to get done on one of your cases, there is no department or bench of associates sitting around waiting to take it on. There is no “out of office” button that actually stops anything.

We plan ahead as much as we can, but as every litigator knows, our clients’ needs do not pause and deadlines do not tend to move without effort. When personal life and legal practice collide, there is not much choice but to figure it out.

To be clear, my firm was incredibly supportive. Nobody asked me to work. Nobody expected it. The pressure I felt came entirely from me. I wanted to stay on top of things because that is what I am used to doing. And truthfully, having some small tasks to focus on helped me feel anchored in the middle of an otherwise chaotic and unfamiliar experience.

Some of that figuring out was logistical—rebooking travel, asking for short extensions and relying on colleagues for quick coverage.

But a lot of it was internal. I am used to being fully accountable for the status of my cases; I pride myself on showing up, availability. Letting go of even a little bit of control—especially at a time where I had no point of reference—did not come naturally. Even when my daughter was in my arms, I found myself wondering if I had followed up with a treating physician or finalized a deposition outline.

That tension is not unique to me. Most lawyers I know in litigation operate with a constant awareness that if they step away, even briefly, work can fall behind. It can be difficult to acknowledge that some things can wait, and that others will simply have to.

I was fortunate. Opposing counsel were generally understanding. A few even offered congratulations.

I am not sure there is a clear moral to this story. I’m not the first lawyer to have a kid. I’m not the first person to have a child early. Life happens. Sometimes it happens in the middle of a week packed with deadlines and hearings. You adjust. You lean on the people around you. And you realize that, somehow, the work continues to get done.

Levi is home now. She is doing great. I am back to reviewing transcripts and preparing for depositions. I am still behind on sleep and occasionally writing sections of briefs with one hand while holding a bottle in the other. There is no balance yet, just a new rhythm that I am still trying to learn.•

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John Stringfield is senior litigation associate at Clendening Johnson & Bohrer and serves on the board of directors of DTCI. Opinions expressed are those of the author.