The First Time Daddy

Being Your Daddy

2013-02-28T13:01:00.001-08:00

I hold you up above me and you laugh, a rich chortle that builds into squealing giggles as I raise you high again and again, then hold you close to me. You wriggle and breathe in my ear as your laughter fades. We go out, and I proudly wheel your pram through familiar streets which are the only streets you have ever known, while this city is still a little alien to me. I am from another city further north, and I want to take you there again soon. You were too young to notice much when we went for the first time.

I wait at a crossing with you and tell you we must wait for the green man to light up. You grin at me from beneath layers of coat and hat, your tiny face a shining beacon that makes me feel so much stronger. I see your mummy's face mingled with my own features in you. I see her strength and determination in you already.

We go home and you wait patiently for me to get you out of your outdoor things so you can play with your toys in the living room. I put on the TV and we cuddle a bit while I play you old cartoons from my own childhood. We play, you stand up a few times, and one time I am too late to catch you when you fall. Your tears hurt me. I hold you and tell you I'm sorry I didn't catch you, and that I love you. You turn to me and sniff, then kick your legs against me and laugh. All is well again. You're perfect, and I am once again astounded that I helped to create you.

I sit you in your high chair and struggle to get the straps from underneath your bottom so I can slip your arms through them. I should have thought of that before, but you don't mind me lifting you a bit to get to them as your favourite show is on TV and your little eyes are glued to animated antics. I call your name once you're safely strapped in and you have a bib on.

You look at me and say “Da-da-nanana-da-sheee” while I scoop a spoonful of dinner up ready for you. You take it from the spoon and a little ends up on your cheek. You are so beautiful, my son. You sit there enjoying your dinner with me, and I resist the urge to admire the adorable fact you have only got one sock on, as I should be concentrating on feeding you.

I read your bedtime story to you later on, and you watch me from beneath heavy eyelids before you drift off into dreams. I check on you in the night. Maybe too often. I can't help it. I love you my boy, and being your daddy is the most wonderful experience of my life. I am so grateful for you my son. I hope you know. I really hope you know.

It's okay, little man

2013-02-11T14:08:00.002-08:00

It breaks my heart when my son has a bad dream. Holding him close while it passes, with his tears against me and his little voice in my ears, I realise he sees a strength and safety in me that I've never seen in myself. Being a daddy is a series of daunting realisations, as well as a series of moments that no amount of wealth could ever buy.

Dream Feed

2013-02-11T14:07:00.003-08:00

My son's dream-feed. Precious silent minutes holding my son in the semi-darkness, listening to him drink his milk and breathe softly, minutes where nothing else matters but his warmth and the reassuring weight of him upon my lap. I never tire of his serene little face, wondering what dreams cross the mind of my baby boy. Moments I savour. Moments I will always treasure.

Seems like a good time to come back.

2012-12-10T21:26:00.001-08:00

Hey. I've been up since 3am with my son, now 7 months old, who has a cold which has been keeping him awake and very upset. I'm downstairs now, and he's asleep under a blanket beside me while I write this.

The past seven months have been a revelation. So much happiness mixed with so much stress and so little sleep. It's time I came back to this project and picked up where I left off. I'll take you through his life so far, month by month, in forthcoming posts.

Right now I just needed to reach out a bit and let you know that, apart from the cold tonight and some baby eczema, all is well.

That is, now that I've got used to the giant lack of rest, very little free time, the massive amount of cash being spent, the constant worry and the catalogue of unexpected bodily explosions.

But he's worth every second of it.

That's something people don't tell you when you become a parent. They tell you all about how awful you'll feel, how poor and how run-down, but the thing that 99% of people fail to mention is the fact that it's all worth it.

You change as a person. Your priorities change massively, with your child becoming the centre of your world very quickly and shoving everything else you used to do aside. But that's okay. It's fine, as instead you will raise a healthy and happy baby, rather than focussing on things that never really mattered all that much anyway.

Your social life and hobbies don't disappear completely, but they do have to take a back seat, as no matter how much they meant at one time, now there is something so much more important in your life.

I love my son more than anything, and it is a bond which continues to strengthen with the more he grows and understands.

Every day has been difficult and beautiful in almost equal measure, and once I can think straight, I'll bring you up to speed on what the hell has been going on for the past seven months.

I'm sorry I haven't written here much. I've been learning to be a first time daddy. I don't think I'll ever get the hang of it, but I'm doing my best. For him. For my boy. My beautiful boy.

He's still asleep beside me, and that look of serenity on his face after hours of being upset - that's wonderful.

I hope you first time parents are doing well.

So then...

2012-06-20T13:00:00.001-07:00

I have so much to tell you. I'll be back soon.

And then everything changed.

2012-04-23T04:44:00.001-07:00

Welcome to the world, my beautiful son.

=====

The blog will continue shortly, with lots of new content for dads like me, including much more on the pregnancy itself and a hefty reality check regarding the delivery.

I hope you're all well.

I am so proud to be a daddy.

Breastfeeding Doesn't Freak Me Out

2012-04-05T14:17:00.000-07:00

Am I weird? Am I some kind of freak? It seems that, amongst the men I know, I appear to be the only one who isn't freaked out by Breastfeeding. I actually think it's quite lovely, and not just because I get to see some flesh. I'm shallow, but I'm not that shallow.

The notion that once our son is here, my girl will continue to provide sustenance for him for a while is quite humbling. I'm a bloke. We do our bit at the beginning and then have none of the physical effects of pregnancy to deal with, even though we do have to undergo some pretty apocalyptic stress issues (well, I am doing anyway).

At the Antenatal classes, we were told a little about breastfeeding, but I've learned more from other sources, and the process doesn't unnerve me at all. I think it's lovely. Does that make me odd? I'm no 'new man' or whatever the term is for someone terrified of being politically incorrect once in a while. I'm Northern and I like bacon. I also think breastfeeding is a natural and lovely thing to do, and am looking forward to seeing my son doing what is natural.

Somewhere deep inside my being, the fifteen-year-old me is screaming; “But dude... boobs!”

Growing up is weird.

Antenatal Adventures: “Will I always have a WHAT?”

2012-03-31T03:01:00.000-07:00

The two of us (three, counting our ever-growing unborn son) have been going to antenatal classes for the past couple of weeks. These classes, as well as being informative, reassuring and enjoyable, have been somewhat hilarious. Thanks to the presense of people with, erm, a bit less restraint than us in the vocal department, we have been blessed with some delightful anecdotes with which we shall one day horrify our child.

The midwife and student midwife who have taken our group through these two lessons have been wonderful, telling us the basics about the birth, the pain relief, methods of relaxation, breastfeeding, life with a newborn, exercises, complications and a great deal else, all delivered (pun intended) with a friendly smile and a marvellously calming air of Everything Will Be Fine. That demeanour of cool professionalism has been a breath of fresh air, as has the fact that we were sat in a room with a bunch of other couples going through the ame things that we are, with the same fears and insecurities.

Oh, and the girl next to us who asked how long she'd have “A baggy fanny”, exclaimed “I don't want black nipples!” and yelled “Cameltoe” at one point.

She was amazing. I was most amused by the comment about black nipples, actually, as there was a black girl nearby who, in a delightfully dry tone added “Well my husband hasn't noticed...”

Thankfully the rest of the assembled throng were a little less comedic and seeing that everyone was nervous about what is to come was refreshing. Pregnancy often seems like it's only happening to the two of you, so seeing others in the same boat (a big, sturdy boat full of snacks and people with backache) is a nice wake-up call. We're not alone. It's not just us. That's a hell of a relief.

A lot of the things that are covered in the Antenatal classes may seem like common sense when the midwives go through them with you, but you may not think of them yourself. It's easy to panic, to wonder what the hell you'd do in the event of an emergency, so it's good to know what the options are, how to cope, and what will happen at each stage of labour, the delivery, and afterwards.

I'll not go into the details here, as I am far from qualified to tell you what you need to know. I urge you to go to these classes when your time to do so comes, fellas. Get the time off work. Make the effort to go along. Listen to the experts there, and ask questions. Don't worry of those questions make you sound stupid. They don't. Everyone in this situation wants to know the same things. You're not alone. Remember that. You. Are. Not. Alone.

Just try to ignore the lady asking about her baggy fanny.

Your Daddy and You

2012-03-19T16:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Son,

Me again. Your mum is asleep right now and you've been wriggling about in her tummy a bit less than usual today. I think we're arriving at the point where you move around less as there is less room in there now. You're almost ready to make your grand entrance into the world, and we're both massively excited to meet you on the outside of a placenta at last. If I can talk to you, man to man, for a while, I'd appreciate it.

You see, I'm kinda scared, to be honest. I look at our friends who have babies who are growing up into fine young people and I envy them. I want to know what they know. Of course, I will know it, but I'll have to live it first. No matter what advice people give us, no matter what the websites and books tell us, we know that the experience of bringing you into the world and raising you will be unique, because you're the baby involved and nobody else knows you like we will.

However, it's scary, and what I'm trying to say here is that it's okay to be scared sometimes. A little fear is a big step towards understanding that you're working your way through an unfamiliar situation or set of circumstances. Sometimes that work can be very hard indeed, but soon you find that fear will fade if you face it as best you can.

I will no doubt regale you with stories of my adventures before I met your mother, the silly choices I made, the scary things I did, the concerts I performed, seeing my name in print, the friends I had and lost and the new friends I found and much more.

As I cross over from being the child to being the adult and parent myself, I find myself looking at the person I am more and more, and seeing how I can be better for you. A better person for you and your mum. A better dad. Your dad.

I want you to love me and let me make you laugh. I want to play with you and tell you stories, fetch you biscuits and chase monsters out of your room at night.

It will be very hard – through no fault of yours, my son – but every second will be worth it. I want you to be happy, and to grow up to think of your dad fondly, even when I've annoyed you or vice-versa. You see, we're very similar indeed, your daddy and you – we're just different ages. Believe me, the world doesn't make a great deal more sense when you're a grown up.

I want to write more soon for you. There's so much I want to say, but right now I need to go and join your mummy in bed, and lay my hand on the tummy which you are inside while I sleep. I'll dream of you, my son. I'll dream of making you happy and proud, and then I hope I can dream up the courage and strength to make it a reality.

I am so looking forward to meeting you.

Love,
Dad

We Could Never Be Ready Enough

2012-03-19T16:07:00.004-07:00

Our son's arrival is getting ever closer, but are we ready? Not quite. We're getting there, but with such a momentous occasion, can you ever be ready enough? Bg things have happened in recent weeks which will make life so much better for our new family, and it feels like pieces are slotting together at a pleasant enough rate.

However, we are keeping in mind the fact that, no matter how much we plan and prepare, we'll forget something. That's how it goes. We could buy all of the baby stuff in the world and still not have the right things, depending on the individual wants and needs of our own sproglet. Such is life.

Good things have been happening though, and while they have made me feel way older than I am, they are for the best. Myself and my lady have now given up the semi-glamourous city lifestyle we had lived for the past two and a half years, left our “Professional couple” flat and have become homeowners.

In the past two weeks we (well, mostly me as I'd rather knacker myself up than my heavily pregnant lady) have been emptying boxes, arranging the house, buying and building furniture and discussing what next at great length.

The nursery is about to come to fruition, with a bedroom being planned to be repainted and modified in the coming couple of weeks, baby furniture on its way and space having to be found for the stuff we haven't unpacked yet which is still in there.

It's been chaos for weeks, but as everyone and their mothers seems to want to tell us at great length, the chaos won't stop ever again. This is it. Our lives as we knew them are over, and now we need to get ready for the next chapter. Despite the endless horror stories of delivery, sleepless nights and luminous poo, we're looking forward to our baby's arrival.

Are we ready? Not quite, but thankfully, neither is he just yet. Phew.

Scary Times At An Evacuated Hospital

2012-02-07T13:53:00.000-08:00

I had a text message from my girl yesterday while she was working at home and I was at my dayjob. She told me she had been having pains and to be warned that we may have to go to hospital. As I work two minutes' walk away from where we currently live, I rushed home at the first available opportunity to check on her. She was in a lot of pain and was feeling sick, but had talked to NHS direct and a midwife and was apparently going through a normal part of the third trimester.

If the pain persisted or got worse, we were to go to hospital and get it checked out. I kissed her and hugged her and returned to work, only to get a phone call half an hour later from her, very distraught, as the pain had indeed increased. I rushed home again, and good friends of ours jumped in with an offer of a lift to hospital.

While our friends were on their way with the car (as we don't currently have one), we hurriedly got ready for a hospital visit, even going so far as to take the birthing bag we had already assembled for just such emergencies (birthing bags are a great idea folks – look them up and what you should take for when it happens to you – they're essential). Soon we were whisked away to the hospital we have chosen to be our son's birthplace to get my lady and our wriggling offspring checked out.

Upon arrival at the hospital, we discovered a bizarre welcome party – about two hundred people rammed up against each other outside the hospital entrance. A fire alarm had been triggered, and everyone was waiting for the all-clear to be sounded. Thankfully, there were medical staff on hand who were very helpful in rushing us and our precious cargo through the crowd and into the building so we could head to Antenatal Triage and have my lady tested to see if she was in labour.

The hospital was deserted, and me being a fan of horror movies, my thoughts turned to Halloween II and Resident Evil. It was more than creepy, and our rushed footsteps matched our thunderous heartbeats in volume as we went deeper into its labyrinthine corridors.

As we made our way to triage, we both prayed that we weren't about to meet our son just yet, as there's two months to go! Once we were seen by a doctor and a nurse, tests began. We held hands tightly and I tried to reassure my lady through her pain and the waves of sickness, and we both waited with concern for the doctor's findings.

Thankfully, those findings were that my girl is suffering from Braxton-Hicks, i.e. practice contractions. Baby is still where he should be and there are no signs of him attempting to make an entrance just yet. This is most reassuring, as his premature arrival is one of our biggest fears. It's too early. Too much is going on. It's not time yet. There is so much still to prepare.

We are most grateful to the doctor and the nurse who tended to us, and hope it's a good long while before we have to see them for the real thing. On the upside, it meant that we knew roughly how long it would take to get to hospital and to where we needed to be when the time does come. Since this happened, my girl has still been very unwell, with sickness and discomfort, but we are told this will pass. I'm glad all is relatively well, but am approaching the coming weeks and months with caution. I'm not afraid to admit that I am scared. I want it known. I want people to know how much I care. I want all to be well. Yesterday was scary, but necessary.

A Filling And A Realisation

2012-02-05T08:42:00.000-08:00

I had my first ever filling on Friday, which is quite an achievement considering I'm 33 and consume vast quantities of carbonated soft drinks. It was a weird experience, doing something so normal that I've never needed to have done before, but it made me realise something else entirely. While my lady's baby bump continues to grow in size and our son continues to kick and wriggle and make his presence felt, we are becoming the people he will remember when he looks back at his childhood in years to come.

To him, I will always have had this filling. To him, his mummy's hair will have always been the length it is now, and not the oceans of long black tresses that greeted me when I met her for the first time. He will remember the people we are starting to become now. Both myself and my lady are dressing a little more conservative than we once did, with our days as denizens of the alternative clubbing scene and its associated fashions giving way to a somewhat more subdued (but still suitably 'us') style of attire.

To our son, we will have always written for magazines and had books out, I will always have been a grumpy sci-fi and comic geek who harps on about how good things used to be, and his mummy will always have been a columnist for a top crafting publication. My collection of vintage genre VHS tapes will become the antiques that he will have no interest in but will accept as part of what dad likes. To him, I will have always been balding.

Our whole lives up to now will become the strange netherworld that is the Pre-Child era we find so odd about our own parents. I find that very strange, but also exciting.

You see, with such a momentous occasion hurtling towards us as such an alarming speed, I am finding this final stage of my child-free life winding down in a most pleasant fashion. Big things are taking place around me and involving me that will help to define the person that my son will know me as. All I hope over everything else is that I can be a good dad for him and hope that he loves me. I worry. I'm a parent now. That's what we do, isn't it?

Getting Ready For Baby

2012-01-15T06:50:00.000-08:00

The two of us are becoming ever more excited about the arrival of our son, which is now only a few months away. Preparations are well underway for his grand entrance, but we do have an added level of stress on top of the pregnancy. We need a new home. We're currently in a professional apartment block which doesn't take kindly to babies, and thus we are in the midst of searching for a new home, which will see us make the move into relative suburbia.

This is rather unnerving to me, as I've always wanted to live in the city and have been having a wonderful time doing so. The sudden shift to a place of less convenience is going to be a big change for me, but it is one that I await with a mixture of pleasure and excitement as well as trepidation.

Last night it really hit home how urgent our search is right now, when my lady was showing me just how visible our son's kicks now are. Her tummy now clearly pulses when he kicks, like a metronome ticking down the minutes until he's in our arms. I have been feeling galvanised into action, and we have been throwing junk out and looking for houses and viewing houses and making plans galore.

While I am very much aware that I will get no sleep once he's here (thanks to dozens upon dozens of people telling me so. I GET THE PICTURE, OKAY?), I really could do with a lie down. Getting ready for baby is more than just making sure there are nappies and talcum powder in massive quantities – it's also a case of mentally preparing yourself to take care of a small creature who has no experience of anything whatsoever in the world.

It won't have heard your jokes before, it won't have seen every episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation before, it won't have heard you sing karaoke or have suffered your cooking. Yet. Getting ready to look after a small person who is essentially a blank canvas is one of the biggest challenges I'm facing right now. I'm looking forward to it all, but I'm scared too. See, kids? Grown-ups get scared too.

The People You Won't Meet

2012-01-07T13:16:00.000-08:00

Dear son of mine,

Something that has occurred to me is that there are some wonderful people who you will sadly never be able to meet. My late aunty and my three late grandparents come to mind, as they were big influences on me and shaped the person I would become.

Not as much as my own mum and dad have (or Grandma D and Grandad M to you), but without the presence of those other people in my life I would have grown up very differently, and possibly without some very positive traits.

These are people I miss greatly, and people that I have lots of happy memories of which I will share with you once you are old enough to understand that they are no longer with us. I learned some very powerful things from these people, lessons which have stuck with me for years and which I hope will stay with me for the rest of my life.

My aunty, for example, taught me about keeping going no matter what life throws at you. Right up until she died, she was good humoured, strong and caring.

No doubt by the time you are literate enough to read this and take it in, I will have already told you many stories of her and my grandparents. It's important for them to be remembered, as they helped me become me, and thus shaped who you are too.

Love,
Daddy

You Get Around, Kid

2012-01-07T13:11:00.000-08:00

Dear son of mine,

I'm on a train as I type this, son. We're on our way to visit your grandad, off in the wilds of Lancashire. If I look out to my left I can see the rolling expanse of the English countryside, beautiful despite the heavy grey sky over it, and I have been thinking bout how much travelling you have already done, even before you're out here in the outside world with your mummy and myself.

Right now, mummy is six months pregnant, and the bump in her tummy which you are inside is growing at an incredible rate. She has been travelling a lot for work lately, visiting some of the biggest cities in the country in order to carry out her day-to-day tasks as someone with a lot of responsibility and an intellect that makes the sun itself seem a bit dim. She is doing all of this with you inside her, kicking her and making your presence felt on a very regular basis.

I find it quite sweet that the two of you have already seen so much of the country together, even if there was no way of getting you an ice cream on the way. Mummy and I are rather different in our origins, in that she is from a picturesque little Lancashire town while I was born and raised in a big city in South Yorkshire (which - don't tell mum I said this - is far prettier than Lancashire).

We do have a lot of common ground though, as while neither of our home towns are much to write home about, we are still proud of them. It's important to have some pride in where you're from, and while neither of us was born in the city that you will be born in, we hope you will feel the same kind of pride towards it once you are able to.

We are both very excited to show you where we grew up, and while you might not find it that interesting, you must come to understand, as we did as kids, that it's one of the weird little things parents do when the pull of nostalgia becomes to much to bear. Parents are odd like that.

Love,
Daddy

It Seems Like Only Yesterday...

2012-01-04T03:01:00.000-08:00

Wow, this is odd. It seems like only yesterday we were sat in the bathroom hugging each other after discovering that we were going to have a baby, and now the realization is setting in that we don't have long to go before our son is here.

My lady's bump is growing at an astonishing rate, and the little fellow is proving to be very active in there, responding to outside sounds, our voices and music with ripples of movement galore. Or, alternatively kicking my lady in the bladder, by her account.

What strikes me is just how long pregnancy seems before it happens. Once it's underway, it seems to go by in a flash. Well, it does for me as I'm not the one carrying another human around inside me. We have been keeping track of what baby is up to in there, how big he is, what he can do, and it is all speeding up and heading for a crescendo in a few months. Three and a half months or so, to be exact.

This is at once terrifying and thrilling, as there is so much to do before we're in that room, her screaming and swearing and me fiddling with a camera with one hand while having my other hand crushed by my girl. I asked the other night when would be a good time for us to start packing bags for the hospital, just in case. Now plans are being made, and a massive list of things to include in our emergency supplies is starting to make me wonder how I can find a TARDIS to fit it all into.

New Year's Day has come and gone, and it amazes me to think that this is the year it happens. This is the year I hold my son in my arms. This is the year my family begins. Here and now. Wow. What an amazing thought. This is it, he's coming soon. It seems like only yesterday we found out he was coming, but these last few months can't go fast enough for me.

My son, your daddy is not perfect.

2011-12-26T15:29:00.000-08:00

You are a long way from being able to read this, my son. As I type these words on a cutting-edge computer that you will one day see as an antique, you are currently kicking your mum from the inside.

Something else you are doing is being very responsive to my voice – you become very active in there when I speak to you through her tummy. It must sound like thunder in there. Sorry about that, lad.

I wanted to tell you a bit about your dad. Me. I want you to know that, while you are a child, I may seem tall, strong and omnipotent. I may seem able to solve any problem and answer any question. I may seem odd and scary and strange and funny and happy and sad. I'm bits of all these things, but what I am not is perfect. I try my best, though. I will continue to do so once you're out here in the world, and will do everything I possibly can to ensure you are safe, loved and brought up to be a good person.

I am not perfect, but I will be the best dad that I can be. Remember, I've never done this before and I will no doubt make a lot of mistakes along the way, but I love you and will always do so. What I am not trying to do here is offer an excuse for being a bit rubbish at life.

I just want you to know I'll always do my best and be there for you, not because people have let me down in the past - which they have massively – but because I want to. I have to. You and your mum are the most important things in my world. Yes, more than the junk I collect and the stuff I talk about which probably bores you stupid. More than that old black guitar that I keep talking about. More than the CDs and books and magazines with my name on them.

I haven't even met you yet my boy, and yet you're the most important person I have ever had in my life. I'm not a millionaire or a scientist, a hero or an adventurer. I'm just me, a bloke bumbling from one ay to the next like everyone else. My son, your daddy is not perfect. However, I try my best. Love you, lad.

Can You Hear Me In There?

2011-12-17T17:53:00.001-08:00

I have been informed that our baby can now hear our voices from inside the womb. This is at once amazing and distressing. On one hand it has meant that I have started talking to my lady's belly, singing to it, playing my guitars to it, and aiming music at her tummy with lovely results (our son seems to be very fond of old Def Leppard songs).

He seems to wriggle and make his presence felt during these moments of interaction. The thing is, the flipside of this is that we are trying to clean up our language.

Of course, it would be silly of us to expect our unborn soon to understand words like ****, ****, ****, **** or ******, or even to hear anything other than a muffled jumble of noises with our tone of voice, but we are doing our best to become sensible parents long before he is born.

My lady has even taken to coming up with her own swear words to use around him once he is out here in the big, noisy world. These are inoffensive outbursts that are all but meaningless to other grown ups, but in reality to us they signify some of the most brutally rude words in the English language.

So, to you my son, I hope you appreciate the fact that your impending arrival has already had an effect on how we talk and the way we live our lives. Mind you, no matter the hassle, no matter the difficulty, it will all be worth it just to be with you, my little boy. If you can hear me in there, hear me now: Your daddy loves you.

Our Amazing Friends

2011-12-17T17:40:00.001-08:00

We have some truly amazing friends. This is being brought home by the sheer amount of advice and the many offers of baby gear that have been coming our way of late. As my lady's pregnancy continues to grow (and my god, it's growing fast), we are being inundated with baby stuff from friends far and wide, and we can't thank them enough.

We are extremely grateful for every bit of advice and every sleep suit that people have been kind enough to hand us. Of course, we have been going mad buying a huge amount of stuff in order to prepare for the arrival of our son, but these gifts of advice and gear are massively appreciated.

It has been this outpouring of well-wishing and helpful knowledge that has helped to put me at ease a little of late. I know I'm not alone in what I'm going through as a first time dad, and my lady is justifiably getting way more help and advice from friends. After all, she's the one carrying our little boy around in her belly.

My point here is that you should not turn down help from friends at this turbulent time in your life, folks. Don't be too proud or headstrong to say “Yes, actually I have no idea what I'm supposed to do and some pointers would be grand.” This is a time where it's actually feeling good to be growing up a bit at last.

Important things are happening, life is changing, preparations are being made and the old me is being left behind somewhere. The thing is, despite the chaos, the uncertainty and all of the worries that we're facing, we are constantly being reminded of our amazing friends, and just how much they mean to us. Thanks, you guys. I hope we can do you justice and be halfway as decent parents as you. You may never know how much I admire you all.

I See You, My Son

2011-12-03T14:20:00.001-08:00

Dear world: We are having a son. Yesterday myself and my lady were witness once again to one of the most wonderful technological marvels of our age – the Ultrasound scan. This was our second scan and it was thrilling, from the moment we arrived and waited until the final moments of the scan when we discovered that the shape we had been referring to by an affectionate nickname could now be referred to by the name we had chosen for a little boy.

Once again I was mesmerised by the level of detail that was visible on the crystal clear LCD screens that the delightfully pleasant midwife was working from. Hand in hand with my other half, we watched in awe as each part of our baby's body was examined, catalogued and checked for abnormalities.

We gasped in even more awe as we watched the baby, our beautiful son, moving around inside his mummy's tummy. One of the defining moments of our lives had arrived, and it was so much better than I could ever have hoped. Technology is marvellous, but at that moment it really did seem like magic.

Plus, it wasn't just a fuzzy image of a vaguely baby-shaped conglomeration of pixels. It was a baby. Our baby. Our son. We saw him, getting comfortable, moving his arms, arranging his legs into a new position. We saw his brain, his heart beating strong, his bones through his precious skin. We saw our son and we held hands ever tighter.

We left the hospital soon afterwards, clutching new scan photos and marvelling over them on the bus back to town. We celebrated with hot food from the Christmas market in the town square and lots of laughter, many meaningful glances and a swelling of pride that could rival the swelling of my lady's belly. Seeing him there, much bigger than before, growing perfectly as he should, gave me a heady cocktail of emotions. At once elated and scared, bringing it all home ever more that I'm about to be a daddy for the first time.

Well, my dear son, I will do all that I can to make you proud. I see you, my boy, and I look forward to you seeing me for the first time.

Tomorrow we will know

2011-12-01T15:33:00.001-08:00

Tomorrow is going to be a big day in the chronicles of our lives as individuals, a couple and a family. Tomorrow we will (hopefully) find out whether our baby is a boy or a girl. It's time for our second scan, and will (hopefully) take place at a moment when the little 'un is willing to display itself in all its glory to the Ultrasound monitor. It's a strange moment to consider.

This is a moment that has always seemed vague and far away in the distant future until right here and now. It's one of those moments that you think about when younger as being a million years off, not tomorrow. Tomorrow is a very real prospect.

It's weird, that sense of strange displacement. The realisation that one of the moments you briefly pondered as a kid is about to come to pass, and the sudden dawning that you still feel like the same kid that pondered it. I do still feel about 18 in my head, despite what my 33 year-old body is telling me.

Tomorrow is going to be scary and wonderful, and I am very excited indeed. Excited and terrified. This is becoming more and more real with each passing day, and the enormity of it all is starting to seep in.

More than anything though, I am looking forward to finding out what I have to look forward to. Baby, whichever you are, and whoever you grow up to be, I am very much looking forward to learning more about you tomorrow. Love, daddy.

Will I Be Good Enough?

2011-11-23T00:11:00.001-08:00

Something that I expect a lot of expectant fathers go through is the worry that they may not be a good enough dad. This is foremost on my mind at the moment. I know I won't be the perfect parent, but I want to try and be the best I can for baby.

I want to be good enough. A good dad.

Something that has been playing on my mind of late is that I want my baby to be proud of me. I want it to look back in later life with fondness. I know that by the time my child is capable of reminiscing it will have completely forgotten about its early life, but I want to do the best I possibly can from day one.

People are telling me, endlessly, about sleepless nights to come. About the tiredness and the stress and everything else that goes hand in hand with raising a baby, and I am trying to prepare myself for it. I want to face these challenges head-on and do my very best for this brand new person.

But the question remains – Will I be good enough? Will I be able to be the father that I want to be? I hope I'm not alone in these concerns, and if you're going through something similar, I can relate. Sadly, until the actual event and the subsequent years of fatherhood, I doubt there'll be a proper answer for anyone.

Friends are telling me, because I am concerned about being a good enough daddy right now, then in all likelihood I'll do well once baby is here. I am not convinced, but not because I don't respect the opinions of my friends and loved ones. Not at all.

I am not convinced because this is a whole new world for me, uncharted territory, an all-new experience. I have no experience that compares to this, and as such I can't help but be concerned. Will I be a good enough daddy? I don't know, but I'm going to try. I promise.

The Night I Heard My Baby's Heart

2011-11-22T23:53:00.001-08:00

Hmm, that sounds like an old blues song, but it's true. The night before last I heard our child's heartbeat, thanks to using a gadget a close friend of ours has passed onto us. It's called a Doppler (or a Fetal Heart Detector), and to be honest I had never heard of the thing before yesterday. It looks like a toy, but when pressed against my lady's belly it allowed us to hear what's going on inside her.

I listen to a lot of stuff with headphones, but when I plugged mine into the Doppler and heard my baby's heart for the first time, I swear I've never heard anything quite so beautiful. It was a little difficult finding baby at first, but it was worth the effort.

First we found my lady's heartbeat, which is a beautiful sound in itself, but I wasn't quite prepared for hearing baby's heart beating deep inside her. It brought to mind our first scan, when we saw our baby for the first time as the Ultrasound image formed on a crystal clear LCD screen.

We didn't say a word as we saw our child for the first time. We didn't cry, didn't move, didn't exclaim at all. We were holding hands, and as that image became real in front of us we clutched each other tighter. This was repeated when we heard baby's heart the other night. It felt like magic was real.

I guess Arthur C. Clarke was right all along - “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

On the strength of hearing our unborn baby's heart beating, and baby moving around inside its mummy, I would have to agree. I love technology, I follow science and advanced in modern thinking, but that sound could only be described as magic.

The Bump Is Growing

2011-11-20T12:26:00.001-08:00

We're at seventeen weeks now, so I have some catching up to do in terms of going through all of the many emotional states that have passed through me in recent months, but something very tangible is happening that I must tell you about. The bump is growing, and it is already starting to pick up pace in its expansion.

Now, while I was fully aware of the physical chaos going on inside my girlfriend's middle, but it was when the bump started to show that everything started to crash into place in my mind and become a bit more real. We're having a baby. It's in there. It's growing. Soon we will be able to feel it moving around and kick.

My lady just went away for the weekend with a group of friends, and a friend of ours who is mother to a beautiful little boy helped my girl try to find our baby's heartbeat. She managed it, and I was so moved to hear about it.

We're going to see if I can find it for myself tonight. It is moments like these that are starting to make me feel like my fatherly tendencies are kicking in. You see, it's all too easy to say 'yeah, we're expecting. It's amazing', but until there is some kind of physical manifestation of this equally exciting and terrifying process, it doesn't quite feel real.

But there it is. A bump. A bump with our baby inside it. It's coming, and I'll never get any sleep again. I can't complain though, as I will still be able to see my feet in the coming months.

"We're having a baby!"

2011-11-18T09:07:00.001-08:00

Those were the words my girlfriend said to me the moment we found out we were going to be parents, sat on the floor of our bathroom waiting to see if two lines would appear in the window of the pregnancy test.

We tried not to think about how the test had been done (it's hardly all that appealing, is it?) and concentrated on the two little windows. The test window filled with a line, swiftly followed by a line in the 'Pregnant' window.

"You're... pregnant!" I exclaimed, and we threw our arms around each other. To be sure we'd not got a duff test, we did the other one in the box. Lo and behold, that too was positive. We're pregnant. Well, my girlfriend is, but you get the idea.

We were ecstatic, and rang our mothers in order to tell them the good news. We held off telling anyone else until we'd spoken to a doctor and got everything checked out by a qualified person and not a little plastic tube covered in wee. It seemed the polite thing to do.

That's how it began, and that's how I'll start here.

If you're in a similar situation, I hope you find some use here. If not advice, then at least the knowledge that you're not alone in your fears and your excitement.

Hello. I'm going to be a daddy.