It's a funny thing...being a Dad

Fatherhood, it's a journey...

You know, being a Dad, is, well, mysterious. There are no rule books, At least I don't think there are. I certainly cannot recall being handed one at the hospital following the two occasions of my children's birth. Maybe, however, there was a rule book, but only one. Maybe I missed it when they were giving them out at the anti natal classes? More than likely, I no doubt missed the handing out of this holy grail to fatherhood shortly after my fist born, when I popped out for a quick smoke, under the guise I should imagine of needing to declare the good news to others via text message. I did smoke back then, before I knew any better.

Don't get me wrong, of course I knew, deep down within me, that with each drag, my lungs were dying just that little bit more, little alveoli sacks gasping like wheezy asthmatic pensioners. But, I didn't really appreciate or even give second thought to the impact such a habit could potentially have on my children. I am digressing slightly here, but needless to say, the one who I affectionately name as my sensibility, the dolly to my mixture, the flower to my pot, my wife. She in no uncertain terms, in her usual matter of fact way stated that if I ever wanted to cuddle my second child, I will have to quit smoking. The observant amongst you, will be thinking, what about when his first child was born, did he not quit then? Er, well, no. I didn't. Although my son never knew, or saw me smoke, as I didn't smoke in the house, or around him, at the time, I thought it was ok. It wasn't really. But I am not writing this to invite criticism upon myself, although I think I can sense the raised eyebrows, and if I listen extremely carefully, I think I can hear some tutting. No, I am merely sharing some of my past experiences that have brought me to where I am tonight on this exponentially mysterious journey, fatherhood, it's a journey, you know?

This rule book, the one I was never handed, would have been leafed through so regularly by now, I think I would be perusing Amazon or the like searching for a replacement or a new edition.

The experiences on this journey of fatherhood, have taught me, you have to become less selfish, a great degree less selfish. Which on 99% of days, is fine by me. There are days I guess, which would make up the other 1% where I just want to do things for me. And I have learnt that is fine too. 

You see, as a father, you do your bit at the start, and wait for 9 months! Then, all of a sudden, and in a mans mind, it is all of a sudden, despite having 9 months to prepare, you are presented with this miniature person, who relies on you, completely, unconditionally. The things you thought important, and you thought  you knew their importance, you forget. The aspects of life you took for granted and accepted as normal, disappear. I would like to recall to you what these things were before I set off on this journey, but I can't remember, as this journey, for me at least, has used a lot of processing power in the grey matter room. Needless to say, being almost 11 years on the tarmac of fatherhood, I have been moulded. You become malleable, hammered and bent into shape. My shape, I think, hopefully resembles some form of father to my two beautiful children.

I recently embarked on a journey within the journey of fatherhood, literally. My youngest has lost her comforter, known in my household as "Lamby" To her, Lamby is like a conjoined twin, he / she, the sex of I am unsure, goes everywhere with her, and I do not exaggerate when I say everywhere. 

I arrived home from a day at work, to be met by the matter of fact one, whose mood seem slightly elevated, and not in a "welcome home from work" way. Call me Sherlock, I sensed all was not well. It was then I discovered the loss of the 5th family member. My daughter had by this point, 18.30, been without Lamby for many hours, lost earlier in the day, we think on a visit to the cinema. 

A search party was hastily formed, and another frantic search resumed, in the house, in the matter of fact one's car, to no avail. The thought of Lamby being lost, possibly laying somewhere, unloved and cold, scared even, were not good thoughts. Did I mention, you also go a bit soft in the head on this journey of fatherhood?

I had just arrived home, a 16 mile journey, to then, get back in the car and drive 17.7 miles to be exact in search of Lamby, back to the cinema. Maybe in this elusive rule book of fatherhood, there is a paragraph on how to approach complete strangers and ask them with a deadly serious look on your face if they have seen Lamby? 

No Lamby at the cinema. Maybe Lamby, once he / she discovered they had been left behind, embarked on his / her own journey? An adventure maybe?

I realised I must have mellowed throughout this journey of fatherhood as I abandoned my car in the city centre, and not in a parking space, to retrace the steps of my family earlier in the day. I, of course had to guess these steps, as when the 5th family member was abandoned, I was at work, I must have mellowed, or something within the workings of me has altered. I had no ill thoughts towards my daughters carelessness as I pounded the city streets. Hoping for glimpse of a forlorn pitifully sad Lamby, looking up at me with relief in his / her eyes as I bend down to pick him / her up.

Now I would like to end this by saying there was a joyful reunion. No, however, as I was walking back to my abandoned car, dejected, I thought to myself, I'd do anything for my daughter.

Fatherhood, it's a journey. I am still searching for that elusive hand book, and of course...Lamby!

(©) Dom Giddy 2017