Hello?...
Is there anyone there?...
Oh, hello, it's you! Good. It's my first time in blog world and I wondered who I might find in here - there are some weird sorts around you know.
So, apparently my name in here is DH. That's not my name. It's not even my initials (although I have been called things with those initials before) but it seems that there is a different language here, with strange acronyms for otherwise simple concepts - seemingly to protect the innocent. I do feel that I should try to speak in the local dialect (and should certainly protect the innocent) but am entirely ignorant as to the correct acronym for the correct innocent - so I'll make up my own as we go.
Still with me? Good.
You're probably wondering when things changed. It's true that things have always changed and will always change (so you could, quite legitimately, pick any point in time as your answer, close this blog and go look at some videos of cats acting suspiciously like they always have, and always will, know more than they're letting on) but some changes are bigger than others, more significant, more unexpected.
This particular change started with a dream - a dream that MOOB (Mother Of Our Baby) had leant over me in the early hours of the morning and told me that her waters had broken. Being a dream, I was somewhat detached from the emotions of such an announcement. I should have felt abject terror and shortness of breath - the sort of panic usually reserved for the split second when you realise that the seat that you're expecting your backside to land on isn't actually there and that a hard, painful crash to the ground is both imminent and inevitable. Instead I just felt a mild sense of confusion, which is a state I am familiar and comfortable with in equal measure.
I awoke from this dream shortly afterwards. MOOB was also awake. She was jibber-jabbering at me. Although the conversation was difficult to pick up due the length of time it takes me to make the journey from sleep to full consciousness, it was clear that she had been jibber-jabbering at me for some time. It wasn't long before she told me that her waters had broken. She wanted to know why I wasn't listening the first time she told me. Thankfully I had just practiced this - mild confusion was the answer, no need for abject terror. Regular readers of her blog might have already worked out that she's pretty chilled out about stuff, so it didn't take us long to agree that labour takes time and that the best thing for everyone concerned was for me to go back to sleep and save my energy for later. The change had begun. The abject terror I had expected and prepared for had been replaced by mild confusion and 'everyone concerned' suddenly meant more than just me and MOOB. Soon there would be an ODBOJ (Our Darling Bundle Of Joy).
I won't go into the details of labour - suffice to say that, from this side of the fence at least, it was relatively painless. It did end in theatre though and, because it ended in theatre, when ODBOJ was born he was thrust into the arms of MOOB for the briefest of moments before being whisked away to be checked by one of the army of blue gown wearing onlookers. As the only remaining parent who still had the use of their legs I was soon summoned over to 'say hello' to ODBOJ. There he was. He was quiet. The initial screams had lasted less than a minute. This is good I thought, not being a fan of screaming.
So, what do you say when you're confronted with your own son for the first time and MOOB, who's supposed to know what to do in these situations, is busy trying to demonstrate the YMCA dance with her legs? I went with something like this...
"Hey, little fella. Welcome to what we call 'The World' - sorry about the entrance. Don't worry, it's not as scary as it looks. I'm called Daddy and I'll be your guardian and your guide."
ODBOJ looked mildly confused. We already had something in common.
As the days and weeks went on, we began to realise that ODBOJ was either the perfect baby (particularly for someone as baby averse as me) or everything everyone had told us about babies was a lie. He rarely cried - and when he did it was quickly remedied by a visit to the boob lady or a brief rendition of the nipple and boob song (the lyrics are very simple). He slept remarkably well, allowing MOOB to maintain her good humour and me to throw my energies into inventing silly songs. He also shunned the concept of pooing, except when absolutely necessary, going for days at a time without creating any undue unpleasantness. It turns out this is quite normal for a breast fed baby. Either way, three of the things I'd been looking forward to the least were not even an issue thanks to ODBOJ.
Then came the smiles. The start of the end of the change (at least this particular change). A full two weeks before he deigned to smile at anyone else (and I mean proper, full on ear-to-ear smiles), he smiled at me. Mildly confused had become extremely happy and I couldn't help being dragged along for the ride. It was infectious. It still is, and he smiles a LOT every day. Fear and worry has become joy and silliness (with a particular emphasis on the silliness). Now a boring trip to a department store is actually a trip to a pram racetrack - complete with chicanes, hairpins and, to the confusion of other shoppers, the odd round-about.
And there you go, that's when things changed. What advice would I give to expectant fathers? Here's my top tips, in no particular order...
- Embrace the silliness. This is actually your chance to act like a child and do stupid stuff whilst onlookers think it's good parenting rather than self indulgent madness.
- Expecting the worst isn't actually a bad thing - you can only be pleasantly surprised.
- Traditional nursery rhymes are evil. They'll infect your brain and slowly eat away at your soul. Check out Rockabye Baby for some nursery rhyme versions of proper music.
- Sing. Sing a lot.
- You still need to do your own thing. The start of a new life isn't the end of yours and no-one's going to thank you when you end up resentful and twisted because you sacrificed all the things that you enjoy.
OK. Right. Well, nice to see you but I've got to run - the tickle monster has an urgent appointment with an ODBOJ :-D
