Becoming a Father

The terrifying truth of becoming a father

If you’re about to venture into fatherhood, you’ve probably been told that being a dad is the most magical experience that you will ever have, and they’re not wrong… It’s frickin’ incredible.

As I was handed my very own little bundle of joy for the first time, her gorgeous little eyes stared back at me as I slowly came to the realisation that I was holding the biggest responsibility of my life. The baby that I had been so excited to meet was finally here. The hell-ish, pregnant, hormonal, pain in the arse girlfriend had finally given birth (In case she ends up reading this… I was actually dead proud of her). The torturous 9 months were over.

All throughout the pregnancy I had fallen to my girlfriends every whim in an attempt to keep her happy. I followed command after command after command and had been screamed at for reasons that I am still not aware of. I would fear for my life as she would fire awkward un-answerable questions at me, like ‘Do I look fat?’ Or ‘Does my arse look too big’. I wanted her to return to the same sane woman that she once was. Her weird cravings for prawn cocktail and gingernuts were out of control. I was fed up of hearing the endless amount of ‘psychic’ predictions from idiots that thought they could tell the sex of the baby from a spinning ring on a piece of string, it was getting too much. Then the baby arrived! She was finally here! The struggles were over, right? I could relax?

WRONG… Dead wrong… I couldn’t have been more f***king wrong…

The first thing I learnt about being a dad, is that I had no f**king idea about how to be a dad. Everything was new. It took me about 20 minutes just to figure out how to attach the friggin’ car seat. Seriously… every task was a ball ache. Life didn’t get any easier once the pregnancy phase was over, it was just the beginning. I was in for a lot more nagging and a lot less sex.

Once home and settled from the hospital, the struggles continue. Babies have the power to get whatever they want, whenever they want it. They do it with cuteness. That’s how they trick you. You think you’re in charge? Think again… Your baby f***king owns you. They sh*t themselves? You have to clean it up… They want feeding? You have to feed them… You’re finally going to get some sexy-time with the missus? No you’re not…

The first month is the worst. Hell in fact. Nights are no longer for sleeping, and no, it’s not because you’ve been enjoying a night of passion with the girlfriend. You’re f**ked, and I mean COMPLETELY f**ked. As you lie in bed with your newborn baby in the Moses basket beside you, you listen out for their every breath. Sometimes they stop, just for a second and it scares the living shit out of you.

The amount they piss and crap themselves is mind boggling, I have no idea how so much can come out of such a tiny human being. Don’t get me started on its shitty stench and slimy brown-ness (If you’re really unlucky, it’ll also mix with a slight tint of green). It’s f**king disgusting… and just a tip… Make sure you buy a reliable brand of wipe; otherwise you’re in for a nasty surprise…

The nappies are more complex than an algebra equation. The fight to keep your baby still enough to allow you to untangle the shit filled nappy from under their arse is hard enough, let alone the struggle to get them dressed again. Trying to align each individual popper of the sleep suit to its assigned hole is near on impossible. Who the f**k designs those things? Probably a kid hater that wanted to punish the stupidity of anybody that ever wanted to become a parent…

Bath time becomes a highly planned operation. The water needs to be the perfect temperature, the depth needs to be precise and the towel must be laid straight. The changing mat must be perfectly organised. The nappy, sleep suit, talcum powder and cream MUST be in close proximity to each other. Any interruption will make your efforts a million times more difficult. You will end up with a naggy girlfriend, stressy baby and one hell of a headache. So please… For your sake… Do it right.

It’s almost inevitable that in the middle of every night for at least the first month, you be violently awoken by the high pitched screech of your babies cry. You will lie there, in the hope that your partner will volunteer herself for the nightly feed whilst you pretend to be asleep. However, little do you know, she will be doing the exact same ‘pretending to be asleep’ routine on the opposite side of the bed. You have no choice but to get up and feed the baby. It’s either that or listen to your girlfriend nagging in your ear. It’s such a pain in the arse job to do. Sterilising the bottles, boiling the water, measuring the exact amount of formula and then waiting for it all to cool down enough to a temperature that is appropriate for the baby. I swear, by the time it’s ready, it’s almost the sodding morning……

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