Our journey of your lifetime

Every Mummy will, at some point, develop a sizeable collection of bodily-fluid war stories. We can reasonably expect that this will be the first of many. – Daddy

Alfie’s gag reflex works well. Mummy fed him swede for the third time. He’s not a massive fan, but ate it anyway. After a couple of coughs, combined with a cold, his gag reflex got put to the test and up came his lunch and his milk. Mummy caught it in one hand whilst unbuckling his harness with the other hand. She managed to get a plate in reach to pour the vomit in to, just as he threw up again, this time catching it in his bib. He proceeded to grab said bib and rub it in his eyes and hair.

With potatoes in his lashes, carrot up his nose and swede in his hair, Mummy comforted him, gently rubbing his back whilst walking up the stairs to change him. He let out a big fart.

Mummy put him on the changing table, undid his baby grow to see poo leaking on to his vest. Great. He proceeded to vomit again, so Mummy turned him on his side to let it out. His baby grow was sodden. He now had carrots in his ears too.

Mummy cleaned the sick into a bowl and removed his clothes for incineration. He offered his sicky hands for Mummy to chew on. Yum. She declined.

Mummy undid the nappy. He grabbed the nappy and smeared poo up his side.

Argh! What orifice or body function is left?! May as well just wee on Mummy too! So he did.

He started heaving again.

Mummy did what any loving mother would do in this situation. She gently picked him up, reassured him, patted his back with one hand, cupped his bottom in the other. He vomited on mummy and had a poo at the same time.

Mummy and Alfie had a shower.

He giggled, seemingly none the worst for wear, but hungry.

Amongst the most popular questions asked of a new parent are, surely, “What’s it like?” and “How does it feel?” The difficulty in answering is the lack of a frame of reference.

Beyond the obvious – I feel more tired, and perhaps more generally worried for the future – it’s hard to express how different everything now is. This is perhaps even more strange precisely because everything is so alien. Yet we find a way of adapting and coping.

My life up to 22nd September 2016 comprised variations on a routine established over a period of more than fifteen years. My life after that date no longer fits into those established patterns. Yet the adaptation was instant and easy. I cannot meaningfully say that I missed work particularly. Nor was it especially difficult returning to work, even though by then the new routine was fairly well-entrenched. As I turn up in the office each day, it often doesn’t really feel like life has undergone a seismic shift, and that we will never be the same again.

This is encouraging. We know that there is another step-change in routine due in a few months when Mummy returns to work, but I am able to look back at the previous changes and feel less daunted. If we could make it through the birth experience unscathed, then the future seems reasonably straightforward.

There is one huge lesson that every new parent must learn. It is the lesson that looking after a small child, utterly dependent on us, is a 24-hour business. There are no holidays. We can’t call in sick. We can’t start half-heartedly turning up each day while secretly updating our LinkedIn profiles. We aren’t even guaranteed a bathroom break when we need one. This makes me even more awed by the courage and resilience of single parents.

Mummy, who hasn’t returned to work yet, is bearing the brunt of this. The one small mitigation is that Alfie isn’t very mobile yet; he generally stays where he is placed. This will not last long.

How does this make me feel? Like an adult with responsibilities, of course; and proud of my Little One; but fundamentally the same person as I was a year ago. In contrast, I can look back on the person I was at the age of 25 and confidently say that I have changed. That 25-year-old would have said the same thing about his 21-year-old self; and the 21-year-old would have been pretty dismissive of his 18-year-old self. My rate of personal growth has significantly decreased, and I am comfortable with that.

But perhaps I am in denial; for, on further contemplation, a number of my core beliefs have quite simply changed overnight – mainly, the way I feel about other people’s children.

“A cleaner noticed the bin felt heavy and heard muffled squeaking and opened it to discover the newborn was still in the foetal position.”

Stories of bad parenting or hurt caused to children now often affect me profoundly, where before they might have elicited mild disapproval. Headlines such as Mum who dumped newborn baby in Wigan hospital toilets spared jail have me weeping into my desk at work. It seems that I subconsciously link the pain inflicted on an innocent stranger with the horrific possibility of harm coming to my own child.

My attitude to children in public has changed dramatically, too. To my shame, a crying child in a pub or on a bus used to make me immediately stressed. Now I’m likely not only to be sympathetic, but actually want to intervene and help. A crying child is not the same thing as an anti-social adult: he is a tiny human being in pain, with overwhelming emotions and a frustrating lack of ways to communicate his needs.

(As an aside: when Alfie cries, I get an involuntary rushing sound in my ears. Is this normal? It’s the same sound I get when I go from a very loud environment to somewhere quieter, or when I wake up from a nightmare and my heart is pounding. It seems to be physical and unrelated to my actual levels of stress. That is, I can’t feel myself tensing at the same time.)

There are more changes, of course. I follow baby blogs. I am scrupulously interested in the quality of baby products and facilities. I have a low tolerance for people who express anti-child viewpoints, and for those parents who seem disengaged from their offspring. I am much more comfortable and confident interacting with the children of friends. I am actively interested in building financial security for my family. I keep a more watchful eye for bad drivers. I am concerned about the state of the NHS. I have a marginally more relaxed attitude towards bodily fluids (I need to work on this).

And what have I lost in return? I think time will tell. I don’t feel that my social life has been severely restricted, but that’s largely because I didn’t have one of any significance. I have concerns about the practicality of travelling abroad with a small child, but I am willing to try. And my attitude to work may have shifted slightly, but that is more affected by the period of absence than because I now have a family. (My perspective on work would have similarly reset had I simply had a sabbatical.)

My life is not the same as it was, and nor would I wish it to be. But the changes have been more positive than I imagined, and despite some fears, I am optimistic for the future.