It occurred to me, after sharing my previous blog a month or two ago, that it may have come across as a little self-indulgent. As I said in that blog, I’m certainly entitled to find being a dad hard going at times, and by Christ I do, but it was all about me and my problems. I guess personal blogs, by their definition, will always be a little self-indulgent – they are meant to be about the writer’s own life and experience, after all – but if it did came across as a touch narcissistic, or it seemed like I was not giving enough credit to people who deserve it more than me, then I apologise, that certainly wasn’t my intention.
Here’s a handy link to that blog, by the way, just in case, you know, you didn’t get a chance to read it before and think your life might not be complete without doing so: https://www.lifeofdad.com/at-base-camp-in-just-my-pants/
Anyway, with that in mind, this time I’ve decided to write about everybody else (mostly).
Before I begin, though, I should point out that when I first started this particular blog it began to develop into a long, meandering essay discussing all the various people who have helped us over the last year or so. It quickly became clear, however, that it was going to end up about twenty pages long, and who has the time for that? (Certainly not me, I’m busy being a Dad).
So I decided, instead, to just write a list… everybody loves a list.
And here it is. A list of people I either want to thank, or have a new found respect for, since becoming a father.
No, that’s not right actually. That makes it sound like I didn’t have respect for them before.
Okay, it’s a list of people I either want to thank, or for whom my respect has either swelled or been rediscovered since becoming a father. So, it’s not really new found respect, it’s more dusty, old respect which I’ve found in the attic of my mind and given a long overdue polish:
First up, of course, my wife. You went through hell girl, and all I could do was watch and hold your hand. You are a warrior, a trooper, a soldier, a conqueror of pain. I hope you know how grateful I am to you for going through that to complete our little family. Six months down the line and you are an amazing mum, and you will continue to be amazing as he grows up. I promise to never take either of you for granted.
My mum. You went through hell too, and I never appreciated just how hard that must have been until now. By all accounts I was a little bastard as a baby, and I can only thank you for getting through that without drowning me in a canal or just leaving me on the steps of an orphanage (and you didn’t have anywhere near as much support from your parents as you give us). I was even more of a bastard when I was in my teens (and I knew I was doing it then), but you were always there for me, no matter what. I understand why now, having had George, because I would do the same for him, but nonetheless, thanks… I didn’t make it easy for you.
Mothers. All of them. If you’ve been through that and lived to tell the tale, then respect to you. It is brutal and you are all warriors who deserve much more credit than you get. Men like to pretend they don’t complain as much as women, but the shit you all go through just to keep the human race from becoming extinct is incomprehensible to us. Betty White once said: “Why do people always say “grow some balls”? Balls are weak and sensitive. If you wanna be tough, grow a vagina. Those things can take a pounding.” I didn’t fully understand that quote until seeing labour up close and, well, Jesus… Respect. To all of you.
Mums. Like I said, respect to anyone who went through the fucking warzone that is childbirth and came out the other side, but even bigger respect to all the mums. Anyone with the right equipment can become a mother, in theory, but it takes something extra to be a mum. Once labour’s over, it’s over, but being a mum is forever, and it’s the hardest job in the world. So, if you do that job, day in and day out, and do the best you can by the creature or creatures that caused you all that aggravation and pain, then double respect to you. Triple respect. Maximum respect, whatever that may be.
My dad. I never really understood how difficult it is to be a father, but I do now (and it’s only just begun). There are some aspects of it where I think you might have done slightly better, but you could have done much, much worse. And, like my mum, you were always there for me (and probably talked her out of leaving me at an orphanage once or twice in those early years), even when I must have made it really hard for you to like me. For that, and for everything, thanks and respect.
My parents in law. You have helped us in innumerable ways, for which I hope you know how grateful I am. Thanks also for going through all the accumulated hard work of raising a baby – hard work we’re currently struggling through with George – with Hannah, but probably without anywhere near the level of support we get from you. If you hadn’t done that, well, I wouldn’t be writing this.
Dads. Not fathers. Dads. Any idiot with a working pair of balls can become a father; it takes hard work and commitment to be a dad. And you can certainly be a dad to kids your balls played no part in creating. So, if you’re there for your kids, like my dad was, and if you work your ass off to make sure they get everything they need, like my dad did, and if you can say to yourself that you are doing the best possible job you can, then respect to you… it’s not easy. If you’re not doing that, then maybe it’s time to reassess. There are no excuses.
Anyone, male or female, who has lost a child, of any age. I cannot even begin to comprehend what that must be like, and I wouldn’t want to undermine the pain you must feel by trying to compare it to something trivial in my own life. All I know is that life can be a cruel motherfucker at times, and if you’ve been through that sort of pain, if you’ve dealt with that sort of grief, and you still manage to get out of bed each morning and face the world, then respect to you. I’d like to think I’d be brave enough to be able to do that, but I honestly don’t know.
Nurses. That is one hard job. Over worked, under paid and seemingly being persistently bummed by whichever shower of slime balls happen to be in government. The vast majority of those who helped us in hospital did so with a smile on their face, never showing how tired and fed up they almost certainly were, and for that, respect.
Sir Robert G. Edwards, the inventor of IVF. Without you, no George. Thanks for being a goddamn genius… you deserved that Nobel Prize.
Ninjas. I wish I could be as quiet as you are when I’ve just put George down and I’m trying to get out of the room without waking him up. I’m convinced that it must be the pinnacle of ninja training; once they’ve learnt all the martial arts and ninja-star skills, they just have to get out of a creaky-floored bedroom without waking up a sleeping baby then they can truly call themselves ninjas.
The inventor of disposable nappies. Good work. Not quite in the same league as old Bobby Edwards, but respect. It’s hard to get my head around the fact that people used to have to wash them, I just can’t imagine how much of a nightmare that must have been. Disposable nappy inventor, whoever you may be, respect to you. (Honourable mentions also to the inventors of bottle sterilisers, foldable push-chairs, epidurals (I didn’t have one of those, obviously, but it certainly seemed to do the trick), dummies, baby bouncers, and countless other things which make the act of having a kid just a little bit easier).
Everyone else. I can’t list everyone, because we’d be here for days, so this is my handy catch-all. Anyone, literally anyone, who has helped us in any way; whether it was buying some clothes, a cot, a high chair, baby books, toys or anything else; or whether it was just giving us some small piece of advice, thank you and respect to you. It takes a village, apparently, and we have one, so cheers to you all.
Okay, that’s nearly everyone, so if I could just talk about myself again for a second. Because I think I should be on this list as well; having George has undoubtedly given me a new found respect for myself. There really is no way of knowing how hard it will be, or how you will cope when you become a dad, but I think I’ve done okay. There is no scale of quality when it comes to this job, you don’t get a grade, or a pay rise, or a pat on the back from your boss. You can’t phone in sick either, or have a lazy day, or pass your work on to someone else. You just have to do it, tirelessly, day by day, and try your best not to fuck it up. And, well, so far so good on that front I think, so respect to me.
And last, but by no means least, George. You are nowhere near old enough to understand this, but respect to you anyway kid. We are unbelievably lucky to have you and there just aren’t really the words to fully describe how happy you make us. If you’re anything like I was as a kid then I’m sure you will test our patience to its absolute limit in the coming years, but I know it will all be worth it. I can’t wait to watch you grow up son, it’s gonna be ace.