My war story

Some research has been recently published exploring the experience of fathers present at traumatic births.  Broadly, it found that while things are undoubtedly tough for mothers, it's not all plain sailing for fathers either.

Unsurprisingly, some areas of the popular media have sensationalised the issue, while The Independent and The Guardian published excellent opinion pieces.  I was approached by the Mumsnet blogger network to offer my views, so allow me to start by telling you about my experience.

Henry's birth was easier than some, harder than others, in the simple terms of physical complications.  It was a natural delivery with the help of an episiotomy and forceps.  No coneheaded ventouse delivery, no emergency Caeserian, no blood transfusions; a conscious mother, a healthy baby, a normal delivery team.  So far, so good.

This is where I find Ally Fogg's Guardian piece overly simplistic.  I did find the birth of Henry to be one of the more traumatic experiences of my life.  I haven't been haunted by flashbacks and I'm not after sympathy.  But there is something very harrowing about helplessly being beside your partner who is going through considerable pain, while a medical team slice, stretch, inject and, generally, violate an area that is particularly dear to your heart.  The one focus of all of this attention is to deliver your child, a miracle that has been made possible by the magical work of the mother's body, and a tiny bit of goo you provided nine months ago.  You are, in effect, helpless at a time when you want to protect your family the most and the only thing you can do is support, in whatever way is required.  For me, this was hours of rubbing a back, followed by hand-holding and, finally, inspecting the needlework of the obstetrician.  That, if I am honest, is an image I try not to revisit.

So why tell you all this?  As I said, I do not want sympathy - my emotional experience pales into insignificance next to my wife's physical pain, that lasted far longer than those hours of labour and delivery.  I have asked in the safety of my own family whether or not the experience is emotionally more traumatic for men, whilst physically more traumatic for women.  I was not derided or divorced, so perhaps there is something in that.  Whatver, the case may be  I am writing about this because, and at this point I find myself in favour of Ally's article, it is important that fathers are there for many reasons.

Firstly, your child is coming into the world.  No feeling can replace it.  I was the first person to see that Henry was a boy (thank goodness, it's a rubbish name for a girl).  I wept for the pain my wife was in, but also for the magic of seeing and meeting my son for the first time.

Secondly, I had to be my wife's rock during this time.  Until you have seen what women must go through you cannot possibly begin to understand childbirth - much like you have no idea what parenthood is like until you become one.  She needed me there, despite any hardship that I may have faced as a result of being there I would never change it.  I cannot imagine her having to go through that without me, even if all I did was rub and ensure the gas-and-air remained firmly clamped to her mouth.  Heaven help you if the tube falls off the mouthpiece.

Thirdly, you will respect and appreciate your partner in ways you did not realise were possible.  She is terrified of anything creepy or crawly, squeamish around meat, frightened of birds, does not like to be last up the stairs in the dark, and will complain incessantly if she has a bruise.  But never will I feel comfortable calling her a wuss again.

And, finally, because I agree with Mike Higgins in The Independent. There is still an expectation that fathers do not get affected by situations like this.  We do.  It is emotionally tough and it is important that this is recognised.  I have not met another father who thinks differently, but nor have I met one who was not looked after by the delivery team.  By talking about it we can be better prepared because I am sure that everybody wants to do whatever it is that is required of them to help their child enter the world.

Reflections

We have now passed from 2012, the year that I became a father, into 2013, the first year that I have begun as a father.  Henry is now 8.5 months old, crawling, eating mostly what we do, standing, teething and doing a million other things.  So what have I learnt?

Firstly, now that he is crawling, it does not matter how quick I am popping out of the room in the time it takes me to do X Henry will have travelled faster than a speeding bullet to the nearest available thing that I do not want him to play with.  He is incredible and seems to move quicker when nobody is looking.

Secondly, I have given up being anywhere when I think I should be reasonably able to get there.  Rule of thumb - if you think you will be somewhere by Y o'clock - say you'll be there at Y:30.

Thirdly, it is hard to describe how precious his sleep is to me.  When he doesn't sleep, guess who else doesn't?  (the answer is anybody staying in the same house as him).  So Emily and I do anything we can to keep him sleeping at night - obviously we don't induce comas during the day.  I have become Olympic standard at the 'up-the-stairs' dash, followed by a Bourne level of spycraft in getting into his bedroom undetected, followed by back patting specifically designed to clear wind yet be a comforting, soothing presence.  This may sound amusing, but if I could bottle the successful attempts, I would be a millionaire.

Fourthly, I will merrily do the most moronic things to get him to laugh.  I will then video me being a moron and willingly show this film in public because, frankly, I can think of nothing more amazing than Henry giggling.  I have also been heartily impressed by my friends' and colleagues' patience with me.

Fifthly, no matter what item of baby equipment you buy, if you have not had a chance to test-drive a friend's version, you will find it irritating and want to replace it within approximately four weeks of buying it.  This is particularly true of prams...

Sixthly, the rate that he grows is alarming.  I now have six vacuum packed bags of clothes in the loft, some of which he never got to wear because he grew so quick.  This rate of growth does not appear to be in any danger of slowing any time soon and no matter how many clothes you think you have, there will be always be some essential item that you never have enough of (ours seems to be vests).

Seventhly, muslin cloths are a close challenger for the wheel in terms of most useful invention ever.

Eighthly, becoming a parent introduces you to a club that you did not know existed before you had a child.  We have just seen in the new year with friends that we did not even know at the last new year.  Having a child creates a common thread with people that you may never have spoken to previously, and unites you in the tears, jubilation and day-to-day survival that raising a child creates.  It is a wonderful club to be a part of and I would recommend it...

...providing, at number 9, you have some dedicated support in your corner.  Neither Emily nor I could have done this without each other, and may have had a nervous breakdown if not for our parents and friends.  It is impossible to describe how amazing becoming a parent is, yet how utterly unprepared you will be.  It is the hardest thing either of us have ever had to do.  Yet, it is by far the most incredible.

And, finally, no matter how closely you watch your child, they disappear in front of your eyes, and they are always one step ahead.  But it is mightly fun to try and second guess what they will do next - they never fail to surprise, and more often than not, the surprise is delightful.  Unless it's a nappy.  That is rarely pleasant.

Happy new year everybody!

I'm a parent too!

I've just posted my last blog and it has occurred to me that it would be useful to quickly vent my spleen.

I used to work for a Children's Centre (a hub of staff and activities for families with children under five) and we ran a Dad's Club every week.  Currently, in my city, there are two monthly Dad's Clubs run.  Despite increased awareness of our role we remain a very neglected part of service provider's considerations.

During Emily's pregnancy the midwives treated me as useful, or interesting but entirely surplus to requirements.  They were never rude or dismissive, but nor did they attempt to really engage me.  And I am confident professional; heaven knows what it would be like for somebody without my background and experience.

Now that Henry is here I continue to be left out.  I work so none of the normal weekday activities are possible.  Evenings, I'll grant you, would be out of the question.  But a couple of hours on a Saturday to have somewhere to go and meet other dads?  Apparently this is too much to ask.

And Henry recently had a minor health scare and we spent a night in hospital.  They tried to get me to leave, arguing that only one parent could stay as any more presented a fire risk if the floor had to be evacuated.  At the time it was obvious that this was service led, rather than patient led rules, with no basis whatsoever in fire regulations.  'Luckily' Henry was still undergoing assessment, so decisions needed to be made so I was never forced to leave, or to make a stand.  But when a child is that young, to ask one of the parents to leave is cruel.  We live quite close to the hospital, but it is a regional servant to a large swathe of Devon and Cornwall.  What if something did happen suddenly and home was an hour's drive away?  This is a terrible state of affairs and one that I thought we had moved on from.

Dads are important; services need to actually take that on board now and stop paying lip service to the idea.

Everything changes

It's been far too long since I last visited here.  But that is a definite feature of parenthood - caring for Henry is so incredibly time consuming.  We run half an hour late for most events, and evenings are written off as we try to establish a routine that Henry is resisting with every ounce of his being.

It is difficult to even think what to write - the last (nearly) eight weeks have been tumultuous.  Henry is growing at a rate I did not believe possible.  I was looking at him lying in his carrycot yesterday thinking "you know...he's not going to be in that in two months time.  I'm not even sure he'll be in it in a month's time".  You can almost see him grow.  He has gone from a gangly (midwife's actual description) tiny scrap of baby to a bit of a chunk!  We have not had him weighed for a while, but his cheeks and arms have a reassuring thickness to them now.

And joy of joys - he is smiling!  It is simply the most beautiful, life-affirming sight and I find myself prepared to do anything to get him to smile.  So far, I think, it is largely pot-luck - Henry smiles at what amuses him, which is occasionally mummy and daddy, but can also be a picture on a wall, wind, baby dreams... Current favourites are incy-wincy spider and this little piggy.  The smiles happen most in the morning, which is a bit tough because five of seven I am in work.

I have settled into a routine of being his evening bather.  I would not say that he enjoys having a bath, but for the most part he gets to stare at the window (he is attracted to light) or me and allows me to pretend this is a wonderful bonding time for the pair of us.  He will soon let me know when he has had enough and wants out.  To be honest getting him out is the best part because he then gets double-wrapped in towels and snuggled up and then we do get some quality bonding time.  Unless he cries.  Or fills the towels with poo.  Which has happened.  Back into the bath with you sunshine...


One thing I will note here is how principled we were before becoming parents in what we thought was appropriate, and those things we would never do.  Try very hard never to set those principles in stone. Henry has had a pacifier (one of the few Americanisms I think is actually worthwhile).  That is the big one for us.  We swore that we would never use one, but when he has been crying for an hour, is not hungry, does not need changing and cannot get to sleep because he is so upset you resort to what will help him, and abandon your high ideals.  Do not beat yourself up about it; be aware of the sacrifice you are making and why you are doing it and ensure you do not forget that principle, but the uppermost principle is your baby's well-being.  Everything else is secondary.

On that note, I will share very briefly my checklist to run through when a baby is crying.  Conveniently they all start with a B - I try to use this as an aide memoire, trust me we have needed reminding of some of these things from time to time.

Breast or bottle - am I hungry? (or thirsty - we just had a very hot spell and Henry upped his intake, but, as always, Emily's breasts responded miraculously and produced more fore-milk, which is the lighter watery milk)
Bed - am I tired? (a difficult one - Henry fights going to sleep in the evening.  A lot.  For ages.)
Burp - have I got wind? (Henry likes on the shoulder, or bent over my hand.  But we have learned, repeatedly and to our cost, that if you feed him too much or wind too aggressively after a feed, it all fountains out in a glorious geyser of milk.  This normally results in having to strip and redress the bed at 3am whilst drying the mattress with a towel.  Oh and you can never have too many muslin squares.)
Bottom - do I need changing? (somehow, this is the one we commonly forget, and we always assume that if he is not settling it is because he is hungry or 'over-tired' (which I personally think is a ridiculous concept).  Suddenly, it will occur to us that he may be comfortable.  A quick change = relaxed Henry.  This has changed in the last three weeks - at first he didn't realise or care what was in his nappy.  Now he does)
Bored - do I need entertaining? (I think this one is becoming more important for Henry, he is considerably more interactive in the last couple of weeks, so the need to stimulate is becoming more salient).

What is most difficult to capture here is, well, everything.  The emotions, which are no doubt heightened by exhaustion despite him being reasonably forgiving at night, the changes, the learning, the bonding.  All of it happening and evolving on a minute-by-minute basis.  I started this blog hoping to record my thoughts and experiences as I went on my personal journey of fatherhood, but I now realise that fatherhood is actually just an extension of Henry and I cannot keep up with him!  It is so exciting, so rewarding, so incredibly hard but wow.  Just look at what you get.  This makes every struggle worthwhile, and somehow it does just enough to make you forget the screaming and the bad dreams and the tiredness.  That little boy smiling is my panacea and I love him.