I want to talk about becoming a new father, in particular my two experiences of witnessing childbirth. Why? I’ve been thinking lately and comparing how woefully physically and mentally ill prepared, I actually was for the two events.

Before I go on, let’s quickly address the fact that I did not give birth to my two boys; that was my wife. This is about my experience becoming a father twice over. This also led me to think about the time when I didn’t have children, and I’m just stuck with this one question: What did I do with my free time before children? That is an extremely difficult question to answer, because I don’t know.

So let’s start at the beginning and go back to the lead up to UMC1’s birth. At the time, we lived near a birthing unit, so we decided that going there, was better than to try and make our way to the city hospital, which was in the CBD.

We had done some birthing classes together, but it was nothing like I thought it would be. It was a room full of women asking insightful questions, while the men were getting ready to pass out, while listening to the answers. The only thing those classes did for me, was to make me more nervous and anxious about the event, which is so stupid; but that’s what happened.

I was starting to feel somewhat terrified about the delivery, from the point of view, that I didn’t want to be useless at the delivery; I needed to know what I could actually do to help my wife during the birth. I mean I could feel useless doing everyday things, but a delivery room was the last place I wanted to feel that.

Being a geek, the only recourse was to read some books about what I could do, with my role at birth. After that, I had come to the conclusion, that I will do whatever my wife or the midwife asks me to do. If I was asked to sing or recite some movie dialogue to help the situation, then that was exactly what I was going to do. I thought that was going to be the safest option.

Now this is going to sound quite strange, but my wife had already sorted out what she was going to wear for the birth. She selected on practical and sensible clothes, which is fair enough. The problem was, it had never occurred to me, about what I was going to wear.

I consulted my palantír;¹ and I selected my running shoes, black tracksuit pants, and my Superman t-shirt for the big day. How else am I supposed to welcome the newest geek to the club?

Anyway, let’s fast forward events to the day of the birth. We arrived at the birthing unit at 6 p.m. While I was there, I was a cauldron of bubbling emotions that ranged from happiness and joy to anxiousness and worry, but I did well not to show it. Drax would have been proud of me.

Without going into too much detail, I did whatever my wife and the midwife asked of me. Yah! I didn’t pass out or run away, so go me! My wife did an amazing job with the birth, and I’m still intimidated on how strong she actually is, because UMC1 was born at 9 p.m. I was even allowed to cut the umbilical cord, which was a pretty cool thing to do.

The stupid thing was everything was under control, it went exactly how it was supposed to. Well, except one thing.

I remember that the first time I held UMC1, was after he had spent some time with his mother. It was a fantastic feeling holding him, however every single person in the room forgot about something: the meconium.

We were all swept up with the excitement of the birth, when I was just holding UMC1, and he did his first poop, right on my Superman t-shirt. We were far too slow with putting on his first nappy. And to think, it was at that moment that it really hit me, that I wasn’t going to have nice things anymore.

We took UMC1 home three days later, and I remember the first two weeks were mental. I remember there were days, we did not leave the house, apart from walking the dog. I remember days where it was an achievement, if I had managed to get of my pyjamas for the day. Having said that, those weeks were amazing.

With that, let’s engage our warp drive and fast forward three years to the impending arrival of UMC2.

Our family of geeks had gone through some changes, before UMC2 arrived on the scene. We were now living in a new house, in a new town, because I had a new job. Also added to the fact that my wife is very stubborn, we had signed on to have a home birth. It’s very funny to be looking back on it now, but every time we discussed having a homebirth, I could actually feel the hairs on my head turning grey, because I was getting stressed.

We lived only a five minute drive from the hospital, so if anything went wrong with the birth, we could call an ambulance or we could all jump in the car, and in five minutes we could be at the hospital. In theory of course.

So the big day came and my wife’s water broke, as we were getting ready to go to the supermarket. I called the midwife as fast as I could, so she came over and my wife did another amazing job. A few hours later, UMC2 attended his first family gathering.

One extraordinary event happened with UMC2’s birth, was that I was the first person to touch him. When my wife was pushing, the midwife asked me, if I would you like to catch the baby. I was really stunned with that, because I never thought that was an option, ever.

I thought you had to be qualified to do something like that. Anyway I said yes, so I held out my hands, like I was a test cricketer playing at 2nd slip; and before I knew it, I was holding a baby. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to replicate that wonderful feeling, and hilarious as it was, I was holding the baby when the midwife asked me if the baby was a boy or a girl.

This was because we had never found out what the baby’s gender was going to be, so I was just so overcome with emotion, that I never looked at the baby’s gender, because I was just so stoked to have a new baby. Later on, I got to cut UMC2’s umbilical cord, which once again, was pretty cool.

I think back now on how stupid that was, to not have looked for the gender, but hey, new fathers do stupid things. And just to make sure that the universe was balanced, because UMC1 graced me with his meconium, UMC2 made it fair by giving his meconium to his mother. When it happened, I realised that could not have gone any better. The Force was balanced in our family now.

What I learnt from these two experiences 3.5 years later? One thing is that my wife’s amazing and I probably don’t tell her that enough everyday. I’ve also learnt that some things work out themselves, so I don’t need to worry about it. The best I can explain this as: Don’t sweat the small stuff.

As a parent and especially as a father, I feel like I don’t have every single answer, that relates to UMC1 and UMC2. I wish I did, but I don’t. But on the other side of the equation, I have learnt things as well. Like how many times you can sing a particular song to your child, and not rage quit about it; or the number of times you can read a particular book; or when they are becoming really upset about something, the best thing I can do for them, is to give them a hug.

Although the hours are long, and the pay is crap, being a parent is the best job I have ever had.

Thanks for reading and I’ll see you next week.

¹ I stole one of the seven seeing stones, just don’t tell Sauron.

I want to talk about passing on or donating your children’s old belongings. Why? Because being a bloke, I didn’t foresee the different emotions that I would have, when donating items that previously belonged to my boys.

When my wife and I announced our first pregnancy, we did it by posting a photograph of three Super shirts: two t-shirts and a baby singlet. When we announced our second pregnancy, we did it with four Star Wars shirts: three t-shirts and one baby singlet.

We kept the Superman baby singlet, along with the baby Star Wars singlet, because they hold sentimental and emotional value for us; especially me. What I didn’t expect was to have an emotional attachment to furniture and other items.

Now I realise that every family would have to go through this at some stage; about decluttering the house and the kids’ belongings. This can mean sorting out books, that they no longer read; toys they no longer play with; and also clothes that no longer fit them.

Over the last few years, we have tried to pass on as much stuff, as we possibly could; purely because a lot of those items, were actually given to us. I think it would bring us some type of negative karma, if we were going to sell things that we were given to us. Does that make sense?

As a parent, but especially as a father, I’ve been having conflicting feelings about this. An easy example of this, is when we donated some clothes recently; which were clothes that UMC2 no longer fits. As I was packing the clothes into a bag, I came across a blue Spider-Man t-shirt, that I purchased for UMC1. I remember the day and the store that I purchased that t-shirt. As I was holding it in my hands, I was hit with a mixture of feelings; it’s a small piece of clothing, that no human member of our family fits anymore.

I was surprised that I felt some sadness because of it. Both my boys had worn that t-shirt, and now it was too small for either one of them. I knew I had to pass it on. I had to donate it, so it could find its way to another child, that would love it as much as what my two boys did.

Another example was six months ago, when we sold our wooden cot. I remember buying it, because I didn’t have enough money, so I had to sell some of my Spawn comics to cover the cost. Spawn actually helping children sleep is such a crazy concept to me!

Both my boys have their own beds now, but my house is very small, so they actually have to share a bedroom. UMC2 has not slept in the cot for an extremely long time, so we had packed it up and left it in our tiny bedroom.

Some months had passed and I made the observation that our bedroom was fast becoming a scene from Steptoe and Son. We needed to get rid of the cot. We both decided we should paint it, so we could try to sell it. The strange thing is that, when the entire time the cot was dismantled, I was just frustrated with it. The reason was because it was just sitting there doing nothing, taking up a massive amount of space, in an already small bedroom.

It was a first world problem; I get it, but it was still something that we needed to rectify. We managed to sell the cot and mattress online, so I was relieved that it was going. A problem was created though, when the buyer arrived to pick it up. It was my job to assemble all the pieces, to make sure nothing was missing. It was at this point; and as stupid as it sounds, I felt an emotional attachment to the cot, that I didn’t know was actually there.

This piece of bedroom furniture had protected both my boys, while they were asleep for five years and I couldn’t help but think, this was a massive chapter in our children’s lives that was closing. I really didn’t think it would have that much of an impact on me, but it did. I remember my wife and I building the cot for the first time, and I remember the first night UMC1 slept in it.

Later on, I had to dismantle and pack it up when we moved cities, and finally be able to reassemble it when we purchased our house. It was just some pieces of wood and a mattress, but it had been a huge part of our lives. When the buyer came to pick it up, I helped him take it to his car and hoped his children would get joy from it, as he drove away.

I’ve discovered that as a parent, I’ve wanted to keep many things from the boys’ childhoods; whether it’s socks, shoes, t-shirts, shorts, or any type of clothing and toys. But if I did this, the house would be chaos. Like I said before, as a guy, I really didn’t think I would have an emotional attachment to children’s furniture, but also to their old toys and t-shirts; things the kids no longer or can use.

The books that the boys would ask us to read, 100 times a day, no longer get touched. They will be replaced with new and more complicated books, so they can be read 100 times a day. Even with the meagre amount of toys that we have, a lot of them don’t get played with anymore.

I think with donating and passing on old items, it’s great knowing that they are going to be used by someone else, even if you never meet them. However this also means, the boys will receive new and donated items, so the cycle can continue. And over time, those items will get replaced as well. I guess what I’m really talking about, is the fact that with a lot of the items that we donated, I discovered that I had more of an emotional attachment to them, compared to the boys.

I know this sounds strange coming from a guy, but I would love to have some type of profound and wise quote about this, but I just don’t; it’s just life. It’s always been like this and that’s how it’s going to continue to be like this. I think as a parent, I really don’t want us to be a family of hoarders. Though to be fair, with the boys collecting sticks and stones in their room, maybe hoarding is in their blood as well.

Thanks for reading and I’ll see you soon.