Now on occasion, when I have chance I like to take a few days off work for a break. I work hard, and want to be able to enjoy these early days with darling daughter, as more often than not, the weekend isn’t long enough.
There appears to be some sort of cultural problem with this. Be it on a Saturday or during the week for me to take the baby out on my own. Society seems to frown on it. Why?
Is this traditional? For dads to not be as involved? As a modern man, well man child, I’m very much involved. Have been from day 1. Wouldn’t change it.
But if I step out the house with the buggy on my own, I get odd looks from people. What exactly is the issue with being a hands on Dad who is chatting utter rubbish to his 9 month old daughter?
I’m not a Saturday dad. I’m a dad. This job comes with no manual, job description or danger pay.
Maybe it’s my perception. Maybe it isn’t. But there definitely seems to be a certain section of society who want to look down at their nose at me for what I’m doing. Yeah? Go on then.
Because my life started the day she was born and we have some great fun together.
As a new parent, crying children fill me with dread.
“What do you want from me crying tiny human?” This was a constant in my early days as a dad. But then you get to notice those tiny nuances between needs.
This is all well and good in theory. Yep, that cry : food. That one : pain. Fine.
Then we meet my daughter. He arrived without a manual. And she loves a cry. And a laugh, don’t get me wrong.
My main concern with the crying issue is night time. It’s dark. I’m tired. I’m disorientated. And my tiny human is having night terrors. Uncontrollable crying. No amount of cuddles soothe this.
Enter: Mickey Mouse. He is my saviour. Within seconds. Calm. Like a hypnotic rodent. I love him.
Now the real tears only come out when she won’t give in and sleep. But daddy solves that. Special cuddles soothe tears.
I’ve always loved beards. I finally reached a stage where I can grow a half decent one. My daughter has never known me to have anything but a hairy face. Much to her delight as she swings off it whilst not giving in to sleep. After a misjudgement whilst trimming I’m now beardless and it took my daughter a good half a day to accept that I was definitely her dad.
My life has revolved around bottles for 8 months now. But not the beer filled ones of old, but ones filled with overly sweet baby formula stuff. My mind constantly trying to remember how many we have/need/may need/have lost.
The Internet is a dangerous thing. Filled with bullshit. Especially when it comes to raising children. On the one hand people want us to raise our children as individuals and other offer very prescriptive advice on a variety of subjects. But not all children are the same. Yes it ‘MAY’ have worked for you to put sweetcorn between little Kylie ‘s toes to stop her coughing or to continously boil the kettle to get Jimmy to sleep. Not everything works for every kid.
Parenthood so far has taught me to trust my instincts. As if deep in my memory is the answer to a lot of the questions I see people using search engines for.
I’ll raise my kid. You raise yours.
Cut the bullshit and let me get on with being a beardless, bottle obsessed, brave, best I can be Dad.