I used to be good at my job. I used to arrive early and leave late. Not so any more. Now my alarm clock wakes me up at the latest possible time. If I’m able to pay any attention to it I crawl out of bed and rush into work just when people’s eyebrows are beginning to raise and people start asking if I’m coming in today.
When at work I’m constantly looking at the clock wondering when the solace of work will come to an end and my new job as a Dad will begin again while trying my best not to fall asleep at my desk from the fallout of yet another sleepless night. I dread the phone ringing. It might be home, something might be wrong and I’ll have to rush away.
I blame you.
Instead of jokingly saying “sleepness nights” and then hurriedly adding in “but it’s the best thing ever” you should have freakin warned me what it was going to be like!
I mean you’ve all done it, you knew all along how hard it was going to be. You could have given me a clue. You could have warned me that every time my head found the pillow the cries would begin anew, you could have told me that when the baby isn’t crying my wife and I are arguing over why the baby’s crying so much and what we should do about it.
You could have told me that once our waiting through the screams had paid off and she finally found sleep that we’d become petrified that her sudden silence meant that something was desperately wrong with her.
And then there’s the breast feeding dilemma.
Oh. My. God!
How on earth did the kind of milk my baby feeds on ever become the cornerstone of my existence? How could I ever have figured out on my own how or why the whole formula or breast feeding debate was a “thing”?
How did my wife’s happiness suddenly come down to whether or not there is enough milk in there and whether we should top up with the contents of a bottle filled with water and formula?
I don’t know. Somehow it did though.
It’s week six of parenthood. Today I managed to sneak in a shower. It was only four hours after the baby threw up on me. So I am thankful. I got to sleep at three last night and managed to sleep all of the way through until eight this morning. Thanks to the fact that my darling wife allowed me the respite until she herself was too tired to go on.
Tomorrow I shall be able to escape to work in the morning and remain there, hiding, throughout the day. My wife isn’t so lucky.
Oh people out there, parents on the blogosphere why. Didn’t. You. Warn. Me?
And yet most bizarrely, most cruelly, parenthood is still the best thing I have ever done.
You see how evil that is? I don’t even get to feel satisfied complaining about it because I still feel privileged to have this little person poo all over me, wee on me and and throw up the contents of a bottle of milk on my clothes.
How is it possible that my life has become devoted to cleaning up her faeces and that this is still the best thing that has ever happened to me?
But the truth is, I don’t really blame you. When someone says to me they’re having a baby I’ll just smile and say “ah some sleepless nights ahead…but it’s the best thing I ever did”
(tongue firmly in cheek for something more fluffy feel free to read here)
