You know, it's hard being your dad, and your mum's husband, and trying to keep my
I try, I really do... But sometimes I kind of get so far towards the end of my tether that I find myself grasping at thin air...
But now that that's out of the way, let me tell you about the first couple of months;
It's been an experience, that's for sure... You came out, spent a day in special care, then the rest of the week ensuring that we weren't being too heavy on the sleep. But you know, it wasn't so challenging (for me) in hospital, it was when we got you home that I had that 'OH S#$@!' moment.
So it's been here and there since then. I always had this intention to write letters once every week or two to you and your mum. That may, or more likely may not, have succeeded. But I thought about it the other day, and realised that these may be the things from your childhood that you treasure later in life, and whether you choose to use them as a memory or a fire lighter, I wanted you to have them none the less...
Parenting isn't as easy as people make it look. It isn't until you have kids of your own that you realise that the 'I have it all together' face, is carefully crafted in what I am pretty sure is a volatile combination of No-Doz and red wine. Saying that, there is a joy and undeniable happiness that having a beautiful little girl brings.
To be honest, I had no idea what was going to happen. You ask your mum, I'm (shall we say...) not the most relaxed of people. That would be the PC way to say it anyhow. So coming into having you, I'm not sure that either she or I really had a lot of faith that I wasn't going to lose it, and become fully mentally unstable (it was always a precarious balance). But, to my surprise (and the dubious looks from your mother), I seem to have relaxed (slightly) into it.
So how were the first few months, when I was too busy procrastinating to write any of these posts? They were great, busy, intense, amazing, terrifying, and a number of other things that would start to make this a little too long winded for anyone's good. I couldn't have ever imagined being a dad, but it's awesome. I mean, projectile poop, lots of gas (still can't put it past your mum when i try and blame mine on you), lots, and I mean lots, of crying (sometimes). But apart from that, everything has been super easy. That could of course be because mum has done a lot, or most, of the work. And she has done a heck of a job.
It was a fairly impressive occasion when you first smiled. I think it was gas, but we'll take what we can get. It did, however, get better from there. There were more smiles, definitely more gas, but some of them even came without the inevitable sound effects of previous attempts. We have tried to catch you every day for a photo (when you play ball) so that we have a record of you growing, and smiling, seeing as it goes so fast. I do, however, love the fact that you smile at me (or is that laugh at me?). Either way, thanks for making me feel better sometimes.
I made this fantastic decision to take another job before you were born (well, I thought it was fantastic, apparently your mother thought that it turned me into a complete sod). I wanted to bring in a little more cash to help out. Unfortunately, it seems that more cash also creates a slightly less helpful husband. And seeing as I'm not bringing in enough money to pay for a full time (or even part time) housekeeper, I cut back my hours. But, on the plus side, I get free coffee, and have met some great people (some of whom you have already met).
Now, to address something... The car seat.
We were told, by so many people I can't even remember now, that if nothing else worked, we could always put you in the car seat and go for a drive, and that 'always' works to calm down an upset child. Uh-huh. Sure. Always huh? Not so much for you. By the sound of it, I swear there is someone in the back of the car trying to give you a tattoo every time we put you in the car. Now, I'll give it to you, you have started to be better, when the car is moving, although as soon as I brake, you seem to notice, in a very uncomfortable way. So, I've finally figured it out. You're either going to be a F1 driver, or we're going to have to invest in a pair of good industrial ear plugs. Guess we'll wait and find out.
So here's hoping my penchant for procrastination has waned enough to keep these letters coming for you.
All my Love
Dad
