"...more than Die Hard."

I love my son.

"Well, duh" you might think, but there's more to it than that. Let me explain. 

I've loved things before, loved people before. I love my wife, I love my family, I love a good meal, a perfect cup of tea and a great [I couldn't think of a third example]. I love Die Hard. But until my son was born I didn't think it would be possible to love something or someone as much as I love him. He's increased my capacity to love something. 

He's increased it and filled it easily. 

Aaaaaand...I'm crying. 

It would be impossible for him to do anything that wouldn't make me love him with all of my heart. Not that he does anything anyway. He's just over three months old now and has almost mastered the art of rolling over. That's the extent of his abilities right now, besides pooing, peeing and smiling. Yet I don't think (although I'm sure I'll be proved wrong when he starts doing something else new) that I could love him any more than I currently do. 

As is their wont, babies tend to wake up in the middle of the night for a variety of reasons. Yet no matter how many times I'm up during the night, no matter how little sleep we get because he's yelling, no matter how long and loud he's cries for no reason we can decipher I'll not and I'll never love him any less. Yes, being a parent can be incredibly frustrating at times, but when I look at his silly little face and he looks back at me with his big blue eyes, it's all I can do not to burst into tears with happiness. Writing this now is almost pushing me over the edge if I'm honest. He's recently started laughing - or at least trying to laugh - and every time he does that, I can feel myself welling up. When I come home from work and he sees me for the first time and he smiles; it's the best part of my day. 

My hand is the one on the right. 

I'm not going to say if you don't have a child, you don't understand because horses for courses and all that, but I know in my whole life I've never experienced happiness like this. That's not to say the folks in my life pre-Isaac didn't make me happy. Of course they did. Sometimes I think I love him even more than I love my wife. Well, no, not more, but in a different way. But I think it's more that my son, our son is something no-one else had a part in creating. He literally couldn't be any more mine/ours. And that is what I think makes me so happy. We made him. I love him more than you could possibly imagine. 

I love him more than anything I've ever seen or experienced. 

I love him more than anyone I've ever known.

I love him more than Die Hard.

And I LOVE Die Hard. 

Don't cry, Bruce.

Competing Babies

Since little Isaac has been born, and especially since I’ve been back to work, I’ve been faced with a barrage of questions, similar in frequency to those I mentioned here pre-baby, but of an altogether different variety.

Everyone has been asking questions about the little dude, but in stark contrast to the ‘Before’ questions I don’t mind answering them because I love talking about the little man. I’m hugely proud and swell with paternal pride whenever I get the chance to talk about him. But I’ve noticed a trend with some of the people I’ve been talking to, in that no matter how bad your own experience with your child has been (not that mine has, he’s been pretty chilled out and easy going so far) theirs will always be infinitely worse.

So if, for example, you say that he wakes up every three hours at night time for a feed, someone will pipe up with the fact that their child was up every two hours, and that their burden was greater and although you may be tired they had it much harder than you do. And if there’s another parent in earshot they’ll no doubt chime in with even worse horror story, designed to make you - the new parent - feel like you’re getting an easy ride, when you obviously know yourself that you’re not. I’m not saying these people are lying but for the love of God, can you let me enjoy this time without chipping in with your tales of woe, that make you seem like you’re the better parent for enduring more hardship than I currently am? 

"I'm worse than you." "Am not."

The stories seems to get exponentially worse the more often these people tell them and often end up with me leaving the conversation with the idea that their baby is possibly the Antichrist.

- “Oh, he’s sleeping pretty well at nights. Sometimes in four hour stretches, so I can’t really complain too much.”

- “Well, you’re lucky, both of my two were up every two hours and needed a 6oz feed to get them back to sleep. And even then it was only for another two hours.”

- “You think that’s hard? My little girl had the worst colic you could imagine, and regularly threw up everywhere.”

- “Pfft, that’s nothing. My boy was up screaming bloody murder every night and wouldn’t go back to sleep unless he had 10oz feed every hour and a half, which I had to go and milk the cow for, just to fill the bottle.”

- “*scoffs* Well, my boy wouldn’t shut up for three months straight and eventually we had to gag him and put him in a straight jacket just so we could get some sleep.”

- “Well, my son is the reincarnated Adolf Hitler”

- “We had to get a priest in who confirmed our little bundle of joy was actually the physical earthly manifestation of Lucifer himself, born to wreck havoc on humanity and bring about the apocalypse.”

Take a goddamn chill pill, you lot. It’s not a competition, so don’t make me feel inferior by telling me I’m on easy street with my son. Please don’t diminish my own experience when I’m still experiencing it.

UPDATE

Hey folks

Sorry for the lack of updates to the blog. I know y'all love reading it. I promise there'll be more hilarious musings on the trials and tribulations of fatherhood/parenthood once I get over BEING SO GODDAMN TIRED ALL THE TIME.

Thanks for your patience.

The little man is doing fine and we're loving every second of it.

Even the 4AM feeds.

INTRODUCING. ..

Little man arrived on Friday 18th July at 11.25am.

8lbs 5oz.

Isaac Nathan Cardwell. 

Couldn't be happier.

I'm going to get a sign

I’m going to get a sign. It’s going to have about 4 statements on it that whenever anyone in work comes up to ask my about the impending birth, I’m just going to Wil E Coyote them, say nothing and raise my sign.

1. No, baby’s not here yet.
2. Jenny’s doing fine.
3. It’s just a matter of waiting now.
4. A wee bit nervous, yes.

Now, before you think I’m just being my usual dickish self – and I partly agree, I am – I get asked these questions every single day. By the same four people. I don’t mind them once or twice in a week, but five days a week, without fail is beginning to grate. 

Like this, but with "Eff aff!" on the sign.

I’ll address the points head on by giving the answers I’d actually love to give…

1. If the baby had been born between you asking me yesterday and now, do you think I’d still be in work?
2. No, she’s actually got terrible aches and pains, and is increasingly tired as she’s not getting much sleep.
3. Well, I tried shouting at the baby to come out of Jenny’s belly, but nothing happened so I guess we’ll just have to keep waiting. Bloody babies, eh? Not arriving when you want them to.
4. Of course I’m fucking nervous. What do you think?

Sometimes I hate people.

Sorry for the splurge.

....said the actress to the bishop.

I'd a load of posts saved up and not published for some reason.

So, imagine these have been trickling out over the past month.

Cheers

The Fear

I think the fear – sorry, The Fear – has finally hit me.

Last night we talked about how our due date is only 17 days away. (I originally wrote this on 19/06/2014) That’s not very long at all. This whole pregnancy, while I obviously understood that it was very real, seemed like something that was waaaaaaay in the future, and I’d almost become accustomed to Jenny being pregnant that I assumed she’d just always be walking around with the bump and that would be it.

But no, baby has to come out.

And he’s/she’s coming soon.

When I say the fear – sorry, The Fear - I don’t mean I’m terrified. Not all the time anyway. When I properly take the time to think about the impending birth and everything afterwards, I can be pragmatic and calm and I’m fine with it. It’s those moments where I’m caught unawares – when I’m sitting in work or driving home or writing an blog post – when a thought dawns on me all of a sudden and I get that feeling in the pit of my stomach, and sometimes I make an involuntary “Guhhhh” sound.

It feels like that moment when you’re just about to go over the big drop on a roller coaster, or the fear you feel when you worry that you’ve just got your head stuck in something. That momentary panic that’s gone as quickly as it arrived. I get that twenty times a day. I don’t know how my wife is able to get through the day, with a constant reminder (one that stops her from seeing her feet) that soon she’ll have to push this little bambino out. Of her body. Through her lady parts. Frankly, if I were her I’d be a wreck, curled up in the corner, ironically, in the foetal position. That she and all pregnant women throughout the ages haven’t is a testament to her, and your, strength. Women, you are awesome.

But the truth is its not real terror. I guess calling it the fear – sorry, The Fear – is a bit much. I mean, I am scared but it’s a happy scared. I’ll have a baby soon. We’ll have a baby soon. And that’s great.

‘Nervous apprehension’ would be a better term.

But the fear – sorry, The Fear – is catchier.