I’m two weeks(ish) away from becoming a dad for the second - and definitely last - time. And, like a second-year university student who’s taken a brief moment away from getting pissed and throwing up on his carpet to think about their upcoming exams, I’m getting that creeping sense of doom that only expectant parents can really know.
Well, when I say that, I actually mean expectant parents who are already parents.
Since publishing one of my previous issues about the post-birth existential crisis I fell into with our first child, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the process of preparing for a tiny little bundle of skin, bones, wee and poo and how this time around it bears very little in resemblance to the first. Humour me, if you will, and allow me to outline exactly how I’ve noticed it to be so.
Let me take you back to the heady days of Summer 2019: Theresa May’s just fucked off from Number 10, the phrase ‘Wuhan Wet Market’ sounds like nothing more than a disgusting sex position, and I’m a proud little father-to-be, with bright-eyes and a head full of thin air.
Maybe that’s unfair. The best thing I can say about myself around this time, three months or so before Baby arrived, is that I was well intentioned.
I’d read the baby books. Well, I’d bought one, written by one of those sickly-sweet Certified Good Dads ©. It had a cheesy stock photo of a dad and baby for its front cover, and was full of what I’m sure was genuinely good Advice, but was just delivered in such a condescending fashion. Like someone bought you a brand new three-piece suit with a note attached reading “I got you this because you look like shit all the time :)”.
In amongst swallowing cold lumps of “dadvice” (yes, that’s what it actually called it) from that book one fortnight at a time, I attended all the ante-natal classes; even the breast-feeding ones with the little knitted nipples. We just did the NHS ones, though - each to their own with NCT groups in the UK, but I hate WhatsApp group chats at the best of times; like fuck I was going to pay to be part of another one.
Anyway, I listened intendedly to all the parts about the lead up to labour, about how the cervix dilates, and all that stuff. I also listened keenly for the part where they tell you how to take care of the baby after it’s born.
I listened keenly, but didn’t hear it. Because guess what? There was no part about that. I should have heeded that as a sign of impending danger, but as I already established, my head was relatively hollow at the stage in my life, so I brushed it aside and carried on my blissfully ignorant existence as a first-time father-to-be.
I even put aside my skepticism and went along to hypno-birthing. All I really remember from that is paying £150 to sit in some lady’s front room on three Sunday afternoons, closing my eyes and visualising I was a flower slowly blooming. I’m sure it was far more useful to my wife who was actually going to go through labour, but nowadays I’d definitely pay someone £150 again to sit with my eyes closed in a childless room for an hour.
What I’m trying to say is that looking back, I was checking off items on a pre-prescribed list of Things Men Need To Do Before They Become Dads. I was going through the motions. Don’t get me wrong, I was genuinely interested to learn about labour, birth and the first few days of the baby’s life, no doubt. But there was something stopping it from all truly sinking in.
As I alluded to in my post a couple of weeks ago, there were plenty of people who took great pleasure in telling me just how hard Parenting would be: how I wouldn’t sleep for the first few months, how it only got harder and harder, how I’d effectively ruined my life (some of these people probably shouldn’t have become parents in the first place). But it’s almost like there was some in-built filter in my brain, sieving out all the truly scary bits of what people were telling me. Perhaps it was my own mind trying to protect me from a pre-parenting nervous breakdown. Maybe it’s some evolutionary part of our brains trained to make us want to reproduce and toil as parents for the rest of our lives, instead of just drinking beer, eating super noodles and watching Netflix until we die.
Essentially, I had all the time in the world to get ready for fatherhood the first time around. But for whatever reason, the preparation was concentrated in the wrong areas. Sure, the essentials like clothes, a place to sleep and food need taking care of. But after that, a lot of the other stuff seems like fluff around the edges. When that baby was placed in my arms once they are born, I felt like I’d wasted all that time I had. I don’t blame myself though. After all, there’s nothing anyone could have told me that would have prepared me mentally; where it truly mattered.
This second time around, however, it’s almost been the entire opposite. I feel as though I’ve already experienced the full gamete of emotional states that one can go through as a dad to a small child (I’m sure there’s far more waiting for me once they reach their teens, but I’ll let future-me worry about that). I feel as though that newborn father is still laying dormant inside me, having a well-earned rest, but once he hears the piercing shrill cry of that second-born, he’ll be up on his feet and ready to go again.
At least, I hope he is. As I’ve realised that most of what I should have been doing the first time was mental preparation, I’ve wanted to take the time to check in with myself every now and again; just to make sure that I’m fully aware of the nuclear bomb that’s heading for my little piece of the world.
The problem is finding that time. Whereas before I had all the time I could have ever needed - perhaps too much, even - now, it’s akin to mining for a precious metal. Every one of those weekends or evenings that before I would have just been lazing around, maybe thumbing through my patronising dad book, is now spent running around after a three-and-a-half year-old and taking care of all the logistics and life admin that comes with her. There’s just no room in my head at all for trying to mentally prepare myself for baby number two; baby number one has set up shop in there rent-free.
Of course there is downtime; what little free moments I have since becoming a dad are so precious and valuable. Once my daughter has crashed out for the night or if - lo and behold - the grandparents take her off our hands for a couple of hours, we’re either catching up with paying bills, cleaning the house, tackling our laundry mountain or any of the other endless lists of chores around the house; or I’m too exhausted to do anything at all. The only movement you’ll get out of me on days like that is from my thumb as it scrolls through Instagram reels and TikTok.
Having said that, something definitely shifted mentally for me last Friday. I don’t work Fridays and my daughter is in nursery until midday, so the mornings are my own. Well, I say my own; I actually have a very long list of jobs to chip away at each Friday morning before the baby comes. So yes, Friday mornings are my own.
Anyway, the task I took on last Friday was building the SnuzPod; the crib that attaches to our bed that baby will sleep in for the first six months. Hey, it’s material shit, but at least it’s an important one, unlike hoovering the boot of my car or some of the other mad shit I was doing to “prepare” first time around. I got all the bits out of the garage, thanking my past self that I’d actually packed all the screws in a sandwich bag, and set to work.
I had to look the assembly instructions up on my phone because past me must’ve thrown them away (not so great after all), but I got there in the end. So I push this thing into our bedroom just to double check I’ve set it to the right height for our bed.
And then it happened. Maybe it was the feel of the wooden frame or the straps as I harnessed the crib to the bed, or just the way it looked right by our bedside, but it was like a thunderclap of memory recall - a full-blown Proustian Rush.
A hundred sleepless nights flashed before my eyes in an instant. It was like my brain was shaking me violently out of my slumber, shouting “WAKE THE FUCK UP, IT’S HAPPENING AGAIN! GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!”
It took me by surprise, but then I realised this is what I was missing the first time around. I couldn’t have possibly gotten this dose of harsh reality back then, because I didn’t have the memories to call on. Now I did - to borrow a phrase from my hypnobirthing experience, my mind was blooming like that flower, opening itself up again to being a newborn father once more.
I guess this past couple of weeks, combined with my epiphany, got me to thinking about what I’d actually say to a first-time expectant father, past the usual smalltalk and platitudes. Like, if I actually got to sit down one-on-one with someone to exclusively impart advice. I don’t like to do advice here - I don’t feel in any way remotely qualified. Plus, even if I did feel like I had some authority, I know a first-time expectant dad will filter out the horror stories anyway, just like I did.
But on the off-chance there is a dad-in-waiting reading this, genuinely looking for some piece of advice to help them get things straight, I’d say this.
The big ticket items will sort themselves out. You’re not daft; you’ll give them somewhere to sleep, nappies to piss and shit into, some means for them to feed, clothes to wear and a roof over their head. By all means, go along to the ante-natal classes and genuinely listen. But just know that that’s half of it - the other half is in your own head.
Take an honest audit of yourself and how you’re doing. If there’s anything that’s niggling you or lingering with regards to your mental health, do your future self a far bigger favour than putting some screws in a sandwich bag - get whatever help you need. That could be therapy or counselling, or even something as simple as chatting with a mate over a pint. Trust me, whatever buttons you have that get pushed from time to time will get pushed way more often and way fucking harder by fatherhood (more on this in an upcoming issue). Starting the process of dealing with them now is such a kind thing to do for yourself. I wish I’d done the same.
Speaking of being kind to yourself, take that through into your outlook on fatherhood once baby does arrive. Give you and your little family a break. This shit is intense at the best of times. For something that so many of us do in our lifetimes, parenting never gets the respect it deserves as the hardest job in the world. Just take each day as it comes, do what you’ve got to do to get through and take all the help you’re offered.
Ahem, yes, I’m done dispensing advice, I promise. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to admire the cupboard under the stairs I just cleared out. If I sit down in there and start gently rock back and forth, in the realisation that my existential crisis is about to recommence, then so be it.
How about you?
Does any of this ring true for you? Did you find you focused on the wrong things during the lead-up to your first child? Maybe you know an upcoming father-to-be; if you do, perhaps you’d like to share this issue with them. Not because what I have to say on the subject is gospel, but maybe just to start a conversation between yourselves. Who knows where one good chat can lead.
In fact, here’s another question for those of you who have more than one child - what’s the one piece of advice you’d give about transitioning from one child to two?
About that second baby…
So yes, I’m going to be a dad again very soon. If you’ve enjoyed reading and subscribing (you are subscribed…right?) Some Other Dad so far, worry not. I have some future issues already written and scheduled so that even if I’m deep in a pit of newborn-induced insomnia, you should still get your weekly dollop of content every Friday at 5pm UK time.
In fact, I’ll try my best to document the newborn experience for those upcoming dads who are reading. I always found the best insight I ever got about parenting was from people just a step or two ahead of me in their parenting journey. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll do my best to shed an honest light on the whole thing.
Previously on Some Other Dad
Last week we talked about gentle parenting, and why some of us find it so hard. I talked about the conclusions I came to personally, and why I think the answers to a lot of our questions about our parenting instincts lie in our own childhoods.
Other previous issues
Congratulations on the Birth of Your Existential Crisis
My Creaking, Knackered Father-Carcass
Making Friends in Fatherhood
