When my kids were born, I couldn’t wait to become a proud, loving dad, gently guiding them through this big, wide world. Then as the hard, long nights began and the frustration set in, reality came crashing down.
I always thought being a dad would come naturally to me. It’d be an intuitive thing. I’d love my kids to within an inch of my life, I’d do anything for them. We’d laugh, sing and play our way through their golden childhood. You know, the best years of their life, the formative years when they don’t have a care in the world. And I’d be standing behind them with infinite patience, a quiet wisdom and a twinkle in my eye.
That’s the dad I thought I’d be, and I the dad I am most of the time. But sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I’m the dad I never thought I’d be.
A dad who breaks down
I was crying. My son was in bed and I’d spent hours begging him to be quiet so I could go clean the kitchen. Mum was out of action. She’d spent the day in bed trying not to vomit. She was pregnant, and had been like this for weeks. And he just wouldn’t f***ing sleep. And I was crying, trying to stop, trying to be a strong man for my son and just get a grip. But I couldn’t.
The day hadn’t gone well. I’d yelled. I’d been caught up in trying to run the house and I was over it.
I never thought I’d be a father who broke down while his one-year-old needed him, but there I was. Exhausted. Spent. And, looking back, I’m glad it happened because crying is a way to release that pent-up emotion that isn’t destructive or harmful. I took a break, let it out, and then went back in.
He eventually went to sleep, and so did I. When I woke up, I was in love with him all over again.
A dad who gets scared
I was outside the door, eyes closed as I breathed deeply to myself. I couldn’t do it. I’d managed in the hospital with a nurse there, but I couldn’t bring myself to put that tiny baby boy in the basin for a bath. The water was too deep, too hot or too cold – regardless something was wrong with it. Or me. I was convinced that if I bathed him, it would all go wrong. I’d slip, he’d fall or I’d bang his head on the spout. Nightmare scenarios kept flashing across my mind. Fear, and I couldn’t stop the fear.
I never thought I’d be a father who got afraid, but there I was, paralysed by my own self doubt. So I watched as his mum bathed our little boy, who still had his umbilical cord clamp on, couldn’t hold his head up and was still so small and vulnerable.
It took a little while to get my confidence up, but eventually I did bathe him. I forgave myself for being scared, and worked my way through it. Now, I am the master of bath-time, shampoo hair-styling and brusher of teeth (which can be a whole other struggle).
A dad who’s too tired to care
I was pacing up and down, cutting laps of our bed as I watched his face. There was no love, no tenderness in my heart, and barely a conscious thought. I lost count of how many laps I’d walked that night, how many minutes, or maybe hours, I’d spent treading three sides of a rectangle over and over and over again. I felt stretched thin, hollow on the inside. I wanted his eyes to close, his breathing to slow and for him to fall asleep so I could put him down and lie down. That was all I wanted. I was too tired to care.
I never thought I’d be so cold with him and take holding him for granted. I walked my son up and down for hours to settle him, before collapsing. There were times when I hated it, but there were also times where I was just numb. But, in spite of it all, I was still there, I was still holding him and I was still doing it all for him.
Looking back, I miss it, that little baby and that walk around the bed. Even now my son’s a little older, I still switch into auto-pilot; I find myself swaying from side to side like I’m rocking a baby when I’m standing alone in the queue for the checkout at the supermarket. Crazy how the subconscious works, isn’t it?
You’ll never always be the dad you thought you’d be. You’ll have moments of terror, exhaustion and anger and there will be times when you just need to cry, scream or breathe very, very deeply. That’s okay, it’s all part of parenting, and I wouldn’t change any of it for quids. They all made me a better father, and a better man.