3 months of you
Reflections on 90 days of being a Dad
It’s been 3 months of Xander. 13 weeks to be exact.
The last 90 days have been the most violently transformative period of my life. I’ve loved it, but I won’t claim to have loved every single second. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that this experience has nothing to do with Xander, he’s perfect, it’s all to do with me.
I think we’re probably supposed to start counting down in months now, not weeks, but I’ll stay in weeks for as long as I can. Holding onto them like I’m holding onto those baby-grows he’s already too big for.
I’ve come down from the high I was on. I’m swimming deep into the normality of bottles, nappies, night feeds and witching hour.
It’s the daily wrestle of how to get him down, the moment by moment conundrum of working out what a 3 month old baby needs.
I feel a little bit more able to allow myself to have some harder feelings about all this. After losing a baby I didn’t feel like I could dare begrudge any part of this process. As if any criticism of my current experience of parenthood was sacrilege towards the baby we lost.
3 months in and I can admit. It’s amazing, but let’s be real, it isn’t all amazing.
The same words are bandied about by new parents; “hard” “tired” “tough”. Yet these words are unhelpful to prospective parents or those alongside you. They’re not colourful enough.
The tiredness, at times, is overwhelming. It consumes you and gets into your bones. Affecting everything you see and do.
I find that it’s more than being tired. It’s being depleted. Being weary. I notice I’m not just physically tired. I’m overwhelmed by the constant not knowing what to do, or how to navigate this radically new stage of my life. This constant newness is exhausting.
The “hardness” is a constant fight with the uncertainty and fragility of a baby who you love very much.
I know that when I find myself dropping my shoulders and saying to others that “it’s hard” - I’m 1) doing this weird thing that British parents do where we compete and wallow in how tough it all is. 2) I’m actually saying (but not saying) “I’m finding this hard and I need help”
The “toughness” is all of it. How such a small being can now dictate your whole solar system. It’s not just the baby that’s “tough”. It’s the bickering you now have with your partner. It’s the sink full of dishes. It’s the untidy house. It’s how it used to be you, you two - two fairly well rounded and self-sustaining individuals. Now it’s you three and he’s slap bang in the middle.
And, it’s “hard” because all of these feelings begin bubbling up inside you. Feelings that you only have a moment at 3am to deal with. Anger. Frustration. Boredom. And Love. Deep deep love that comes from a pit in your stomach you didn’t even know existed. So you’re left wondering, how deep does this well go?
Who am I now? Who am I if I love this person this much?
I said before that I could tell I was discovering unexplored parts of me. That, is so true. I feel as if there is a whole world of love, care and parenting in me that I’m still to venture into.
It’s hard, but this level of change is hard. You don’t just breeze up a mountain.
The final thing I’m learning after 3 months is that none of this really has anything to do with Xander. He’s absolutely perfect. As, I believe, are all babies.
This. Whatever this experience of parenting is. Is absolutely all to do with me. My response. My relationship to him and to my new life as a parent. He is perfect. He is innocent. He is a baby. I’m the complex, broken adult filled with a lifetime of conditioning that’s been hard wired into me.
Of course, babies are different. When I say they are perfect. I mean, they just are. They are pure being. Therefore, all I can do is respond, relate and try, try my best to make conscious choices that aren’t based on some limiting belief or frustration.
This level of change and transformation on a personal level is violent. I mean that word. I’ve personally never felt this level of change in my life. The closest I came was founding a business. There is a reason people make analogies between babies and business (the business is your baby). There’s a vicious amount of change coming through you that is unstoppable. This change permeates your practical day-to-day life and your identity. It’s cellular. There is no escape from a full, violent transformation of you and your whole life.
I can feel it in me. I am becoming someone totally new.
When I wake in the morning. I don’t just think about my work. I don’t just think about me (which honestly, I’ve spent my life doing). I think about what I need to do for Xander and Sarah.
And the truth is, I don’t always want to think like that. This new part of me is absolutely pummelling the old me. The old me is reeling, ouch. Old me is wondering when he’s going to play Padel again?
You’re not playing Padel for a while buddy, you’re a dad now. Deal with it.
When people say “it’s hard”. They’re not just talking about being tired, they are talking about a total identity shift. A violent, beautiful transformation. A hurricane of change. Now, that’s hard. A lot harder than disrupted sleep.
I’ll check back in at the 6 month mark. Which somehow feels like half way. I don’t know why.
Cheers,
James x
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