Curveballs. As most first-time dads well know, fatherhood brings many... and that's after the heady nine-month build-up.
Raucous 3am wailing. Testy, hormone-imbalanced, sleep-deprived wives or girlfriends. Breast-milk-splattered shirts. Raucous 5am wailing (now harmonised by your partner's cries of frustration). Caramel-sundae-like poo on your fingers.
Not forgetting: foot cramps from tiptoeing around the house; non-existent intimacy and freedom; aching back; regular, slightly-crazed text messages from slightly-crazed partner during the working day.
And finally, there's the Facebook-induced anguish: “Another one sleeping through in my mother's group! Why do they have to tell the world?”
Why indeed. Mark Zuckerberg has much to answer for.
But when our beautiful – and unplanned – Edie came along, my girlfriend and I realised that joining the beleaguered parental community also bestowed a certain status. A sort-of 'key to the city' – regardless of whether we wanted it or not.
I'd be out pushing the pram and little old ladies would proffer me looks of warmth rather than fear and/or loathing. Local cafes started handing out little freebies – babycinos, muffins – or allowed credit for coffees because, “I understand, bringing your wallet was the last thing on your mind.”
Other cafe-going patrons, meanwhile, would offer to move tables, or hold the door open, or even pick up the books, toys and half-gnawed boxes of sultanas that Edie tossed out of her pram.
Most pertitently, other parents – from respective L-platers to those with multiple school-aged tyrants – started talking to us. While I could talk anyone's ear off as a wayward twentysomething, I'm not really much of a 'real' conversationalist in the 'adult' world. (Unless alcohol is involved, which, of course, has me thinking I'm being a real conversationalist.)
So this was somewhat of an unplanned test. I hadn't realised that having a baby not only invited chats with strangers also saddled with the new-found responsibilty of parenthood, but there was something of an expectation to do so.
At first there were the other dads on early-morning walks. There'd be a knowing smile as we crossed paths, then a cheerful, “The wife having a lie in, eh?”
I'd snigger a little “yeah” as I continued on.
“You getting much sleep?” he'd yell over his shoulder.
“Some... but it's never enough”, I'd yell back. More laughter.
Next came our trips to the local park, where other bleary-eyed parents and their kids in our area congregated. Previously, these people had barely given us a second look – now we were in 'the gang’. The 'in-crowd'. But this was a new type of ‘in-crowd’ to which I’d become accustomed. These weren’t trendsetters frequenting trendsetting places. They didn't do as they wanted every weekend, nor did they wear the finest and coolest clothing money could buy. No, they were more likely to be found in baggy tracksuit pants or outdated jeans at said park or cafe, or at the supermarket on a Sunday. Because that stuff just didn’t matter anymore.
Edie's in the stroller now, her bright blue eyes and joyous smile inviting more and more people – of all ages – to stop us in the street. “She's so beautiful,” they exclaim. “Are you enjoying being out with Daddy?”
While I've always appreciated the compliments, I hadn't been prepared for them. I had no idea just how positive an impact my little girl would have on the local community. Now I'm learning to give people want they want, which is often just a little sunshine in their days. “Have you got a smile Edie?” I say, knowing that even though I’m talking to the person by proxy, it suffices. “Wave goodbye, Edie!”
Fatherhood has certainly changed me – I once despised the word 'normal', for example; now I revel in the fact that Edie's in the healthy percentile for height and weight – and I've accepted, to an extent, parenting status, even if don't necessarily believe I've moved up in the world. Yes, I've grown to appreciate chatting with other dads and mums about their experiences (even at the park at 8am on Sunday mornings), but I haven't forgetten about my single mates who are happily disengaged from the world I now find myself in.
Some of them may never have kids, and I don't begrudge them one bit. In fact, the more they don't change, the saner I stay.
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