Daddy Dazed

My paterntity leave has ended.

I have been in the privileged position of being able to take time off for the birth and first two months of our new baby girl. But all things must end and this week I I had to return to work. I was not looking forward to it.

I love my job (I am a television producer/director) but I didn’t want to leave my beloved baby.  I was also worried how wifey would cope with no extra pair of hands. Up until now we tag teamed. But now she will be home alone.

On my first day back at work I got up with baby, bathed her, fed her and played with her until it was time to leave. Walking to the tube I had a whole new perspective on going to work. I was now going off to work  to earn money to feed my wife and baby. I am now a provider, I thought. I am man. I am part cave man part farmer / miner / fisherman. I am doing what men do. What they have done since the dawn of time.  Leaving the family to go off to work, to work hard so they can fill the mouths of their little ones. The reality is I am a media ponce going off to sit in an edit suite and make tv shows, but on that 7 minute walk to the underground station I felt in tune with my fellow men, my fellow fathers throughout the centuries. I walked proud I walked tall. “Get out the way I have to feed my baby” I wanted to yell as I fought with the tourists and the commuters to get on the train.

It was nice to go back to work to see the crew and get my brain working again. But I did miss my baby. I kept sneaking at pics of baby on my laptop and coming over all misty eyed.

I couldn’t wait to come home.

I left early so eager was I to see baby.

I walked in the door, kissed wifey and said hello to baby. She smiled back. And I felt wonderful. “Man has returned. With food and things for his family” I said in my best caveman voice. Not out loud just in my head. This is what life is about, I thought. Man returning home to his family after a hard days work.

After 40 years I have finally become a family man.

Full of joy I picked up baby and cuddled her.

She looked at me and then started crying. And crying. And screaming. Inconsolable she was.

“She must be hungry:” I said.
“Don’t think so she was just fed.”  says wifey.

I speak to baby, I rock her, I try and calm her down. But she is having none of it. I reluctantly hand her back to wifey, knowing what will come. And sure enough in wifey’s arms baby immediately stops crying.

In that moment my heart is smashed in two.

I go away for 9 hours and already she hates me.  I go to bed early heartbroken.

Bloody kids.

Flicking through wife’s Harper’s Bazaar I read an article on Brazilian supermodel Gisele and her recent birthing experience.

She says that she meditated throughout her eight-hour labour – no doubt purring like a sex kitten between contractions – and that she got back her bikini body in just 6 weeks thanks to breastfeeding. She says ‘I think breastfeeding really helped. Some people here [in the US] think they don’t have to breastfeed, and I think, “Are you going to give chemical food to your child when they are so little?” I think there should be a worldwide law, in my opinion, that mothers should breastfeed their babies for six months.’

Now I am an advocate of “breast is best” and quite possibly Gisele’s breasts are the best in the world but that last sentence is ridiculous.

“A worldwide law on breastfeeding.”

This is typical celebrity la la nonsense. Did it not occur to her that some women through circumstances or health issues perhaps can’t breastfeed? And how would you implement the law Gisele? Would there be breast police  (now there’s an idea)? Would you throw people in jail if they were caught with a baby bottle?

This is militant lactivism taken to its ridiculous conclusion.

When baby was born and turned out to be a girl I was overjoyed. I have a great relationship with my nieces. I like girls they are more communicative. More cute. More fun. Less likely to punch you and force you to run round a field for hours kicking balls. Don’t get me wrong I love football. But as a spectator sport.

So I got a girl. And I was overjoyed. She can be daddy’s girl. We can have that special bond that fathers and daughters have. But today I saw a cute 18 year old walking down the street. I might be happily married but ….I AM MAN.

I cant help myself looking. And thinking. And imagining. And that’s when it hit me. Oh my god. In 15/16 years time, dirty old men, just like me, will be thinking their lustful thoughts about MY little girl. MY precious little daughter.

Unless she grows up to be a minger. Or a lesbian. Now there’s a thought ……might have to start introducing her to dungarees.

A new word has entered the household – engorged. As in “my breasts are engorged”. Or more commonly used by wifey as “aggghhh my breasts hurt they are so engorged”.

Wifey and I go on a date to the cinema. Its our first date since baby was born.

We go to see Inception. I want to go because I have read the previews and it sounds like a cracking sci-fi movie by the bloke who made Batman. Wifey wants to go because its got Tom Hardy and Leonardo DiCaprio in it.

We leave baby with mum-in-law. We dress up, we hold hands, we buy popcorn. We settle into our seats and kiss during the trailers. Its lovely. Just us two. It’s like old times. Like when we were dating. Although unlike back then I know that there is absolutely no chance of getting to second or third base. Both areas are still strictly out of bounds and one area is exclusively promised to another.

The movie starts and its great, if a little confusing.

What follows is a spoiler. Kind of, but probably won’t make much sense unless you have seen the movie.

There’s a dream then another dream and they are inside this dream which is inside this bloke’s head and they are crashing cars and fighting  and skiing and blowing things up so they can plant an idea inside this man’s  head but they have to disguise the idea or else it won’t work and even tho its just a dream if they get killed they get stuck in a place for a long time where minutes are years or decades or something  (I got really confused at this point) but hang on DiCaprio is going to a beach in another dream, to kill his wife who is already dead so he can live. And he’s taking along the girl from Juno. Who is a quite foxy but he doesn’t get the horn for her cos he is still in love with his wife who once played Edith Piaf and weirdly it’s a song by Edith Piaf which is used as the music which synchronises their journey through all the dreams. And then they are in the real world and they wake on the plane and DiCaprio meets Michael Caine and goes home to his kids and its all lovely except maybe it was all a dream.

So we are at the cinema (although am I sure I was at the cinema or maybe I was just dreaming it?) and wifey spends half the movie gazing longingly at Tom Hardy – who is “such a good actor” and physically squirming in her seat when he and DiCaprio are on screen. Normally at the cinema she wants to hold my hand but I think she forgets I am there and just stares at the screen and munches at the popcorn. She only remembers I am there when I have to physically wrestle the popcorn away from her.

I enjoyed the movie for its clever blend of action emotion and mind-f**king ideas and wifey liked it because it had Tom Hardy in it, who is “so dreamy”.

I tell her I was a bit upset that she seemed to forget about me and posit the idea that maybe she fancies Hardy more than me. She says “don’t be silly darling, its just a movie”.

We go home she feeds baby and is now sleeping. But how do I know that Tom Hardy isn’t in her dreams now along with DiCaprio? And if they are how do I get into her dreams and kick their asses?

Spent the evening assembling a breast pump. What an amazing piece of apparatus.
Mum-in-law walks in as I am trying out the pump on my own nipple.
“Its got amazing sucking power” I say.
She looks at me and walks out again without saying a word.

Baby’s day today – Food. Sucking breasts. Cuddles. Sleep.
Oh to be a baby.

Watched some chick flick with wifey last night and found myself crying.Thats not like me. I never cry. And I don’t normally watch romantic movies either. I prefer action and thrillers. What’s all that about ?

I was so concerned that I consulted Dr Google and discovered that  I am turning into a girl. Really.

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