The story so far

Eliza is now 11 weeks old (and a day), so it seems a good time to take a moment to reflect on the past couple of months and how well - or not - I have adapted to the role of dad.

The short answer is that things, I think, are going pretty well. But what am I basing that on? Things seem fine - in that I don't feel monumentally tired constantly, or completely out of my depth, or like I want to 'pop down to B&Q' one day and never return - but perhaps I'm just setting the bar extremely low? How's a man to know?

The answer is that although you can't know for sure, you can get a fairly a good gauge from listening to the experiences of others. It's an imperfect method because people's tolerances for things - such as poo and crying - differ. So you need to be alert to the drama queens and the people who always think they have it harder than everyone else. You know the sort.

You also need to be alert to the fact that tales of woe tend to be more amusing to tell than stories about how the little one had a nice time in her bouncy chair before going down for two-hour nap and only cried a smidge.

Having a nice time in the bouncy chair

This isn't true for everyone - some people feel the need, clearly, to constantly tell everyone how wonderful everything is (you know the sort) - but in general the bad stuff is shared more than the good.

So yeah, weighing up this smattering of iffy anecdotal evidence, my conclusion is that things - so far - are going fairly well with Eliza.

She cries of course - most typically in the late afternoon / early evening - but she also has long periods during the day of being very content just looking at stuff, gurgling and generally existing.

She doesn't especially like her buggy and sometimes gets extreeeemely cranky when placed therein, but on other occasions she's absolutely fine.*

In terms of feeding, she's been a bit of whizz since day one. We are incredibly thankful for this and are very much aware that it can sometimes be a real struggle. She's not always thrilled about the bottle - although will take it - but when it comes to boobtime she's a real pro.

Her greatest trick, however, is one that amazes me every day - or every morning to be precise - which is that she consistently sleeps through the night, from 9.30-ish pm when we put her down to 7.30am when we all wake up. (I chat about this in episode three of the podcast, which you can hear below).

I keep trying to tell myself that it won't last, that at three or four months we'll hit one of those dreaded sleep regressions, but at the moment it's an absolute dream - in fact, if you add it to the fact that I now go out less,** I've probably never been more rested. (I'm touching wood as I write this).

Well rested dad

So all in all, she appears to be a relatively 'easy' baby, which I think has to be almost entirely down to luck. I mean, I can't think of anything we've done that seems especially conducive to making a calm baby - other than trying to remain relatively calm ourselves, which I suppose isn't always easy.

Anyway, that's the story so far. Bye!

*We've recently transitioned from the bassinet for newborns to the standard seat and it's much better. I think it's the not being able to see what's going on that's the distressing aspect for her.

**Last night was Alice's and my first night out since Eliza's was born. We left her with my parents while we went to dinner and a gig with friends. Understandably we were a bit nervous about it, but in the end it went reasonably well.

Before the Beginning

When you tell the story of how you became a parent, how far back should you go?

An obvious landmark is the moment your baby actually pops out, screaming and bloody, and is tossed towards you by the midwife.

Eliza's first moments

I've heard it said by dads - not infrequently - that this is the moment when it really hits home, but I don't think you can say it's where the journey begins. It certainly wasn't for me.

Another key moment is the three-month scan, which marks the point when, supposedly, you can safely start telling people - and announce it on Facebook via a grainy ultrasound pic (something we resisted doing*). Telling people is definitely a big deal; from that moment, you're basically all in. There's no going back.

However, we were already all in by that stage - you know, aside from the occasional plaintive chat about the probably-too-adventurous holidays we would no longer be taking. So, I have to go back further. Right back, in fact, to January 2016 - or thereabouts.

Alice and I, as individuals, had always planned to have children, and I think it was back in early 2013 that we started talking about doing it together, but it wasn't until January 2016 - I was 34, Alice was 31 - that we had the really serious conversation about when to start trying.

We both have jobs with fairly predictable annual cycles - Alice is a teacher and I work in publishing - so the key question was, what is the optimum time of year for a new baby to arrive?

For me, the least convenient time would have been - well, right around now actually - basically February through April - as it's the absolute busiest time in my publication cycle, and the thought of trying to juggle the workload and a new baby brought me out in sweats.

For Alice, the main aim was ensuring that she made the most of that treasured six-week summer break by returning to work (following the baby) immediately prior to the end of the school year - so that she would receive full pay (and not maternity pay) over those six weeks.

Weighing up these factors - as well as the additional factor of wanting one last summer of fun before embarking on the road to parenthood - we decided that the time to start trying was September 2016. There wasn't much agonising or fanfare about this decision, it was pretty matter of fact.

This all went out of the window a couple of months later, however. We were in the Loire Valley in France for the long Easter weekend, and at the end of one particularly wild and boozy day, Alice turned to me bleary-eyed and said that she didn't want to wait any longer. I had no particular objection, so that was that.

Boozy day in France

It's hard to pinpoint the moment of conception precisely, of course, but we think that was the day, and a couple weeks later we had confirmation that Alice was pregnant when she pissed on a stick, and then another stick, and then another stick just to be sure.

We were quite surprised and very thankful it had happened so straightforwardly (as often this is not the case) and we were also, of course, very happy to be pregnant - although I feel I should point out that it wasn't like a scene from a corny Hollywood movie. We were happy, but we weren't without some doubts.

And although those doubts definitely dwindled over time, I always found it a tricky question when people asked, suggestively: 'You must be over the moon, riiiight?' or 'Aren't you just sooooo excited?'

My usual answer would be 'yes' - probably accompanied by a slightly unconvincing smile - but what I felt like saying was: 'I'm not not over the moon, but it's a bit more complicated than that'. Because yeah, I was happy, but it's hard to be wholeheartedly enthusiastic about something that has some fairly obvious drawbacks (e.g. the end of freedom) - especially when all the positive things about it are quite intangible - I mean, how the fuck do you know how you're going to feel?

As it turns out, it's all going pretty well. But more about that next time.

*Word of mouth always seemed perfectly functional - and more appropriate to the news - although I do worry that there are a few friends who still don't know.