Yet another proud parenting moment

We’ve had our first unequivocal fuck.

Actually we had about 40 of them, one after the other.

It was hard not to laugh.

Or smile.

Or figure out where it came from.

I don’t think he can go to his grandparents this week.

My wife’s reaction was (unsurprisingly) “shit”.

When my wife got home she asked him, carefully, if he meant “fork”.

“No, fuck!”

So basically we’re screwed.

 

Your pace or mine?

Two months after we got married we moved house, two weeks after moving house my wife phoned me to tell me she was pregnant. I feel as if I haven’t paused for breath for almost three years.

Being a parent, being a new parent, being a first-time parent, being a working parent, trying to be a good parent, it’s exhausting. Whether they’re lying, gurgling, in their own poo, or ascending the bookcase, they demand, need, deserve 100% of your attention.

Like the man said: stop the world, I want to get off.

It’s not that I want more time to myself. I get that on a train plugged into my music four mornings a week, oblivious to my fellow travellers all doing the same.

What I really want is to slow down, is to stop. Physically, mentally, spiritually. To feel like I’m not waiting to do something, not needing to think about something or simply not to be so self aware of a world and a tiny percentage of its inhabitants that demand my attention.

The answer is, as answers occasionally are, right in front of me: running down someone else’s drive way, pulling flower heads off out of their garden, picking up gravel, stooping to look at dog poo and cigarette ends.

To move at your child’s pace, to move in your child’s time is to move in distracted wonder, unfettered by having to be anywhere whenever.

It is to take an hour, even two to complete a twenty minute journey and to wonder at the end if you had rushed things.

It is to let go of any urgency and drift aimlessly on whim and fancy, revelling in a scrap, a stick, a sound, and where any road is worth meandering down at least for now.

It is to move at a speed driven by interest and playful rhythms.

You start to feel as if this is a lost art, a muscle memory from thousands of years ago, a way for us all to reconnect…

…whilst still having to divert them from getting too close to the road or falling off bridges. I guess even when you do get to stop, you never stop being a parent.

Time stand still

It’s been almost two years.

It doesn’t feel like it.

That means there are old friends I haven’t seen in almost a year, let alone spoken to.

It doesn’t feel like it.

When you’re waiting on baby to arrive all the other parents tell you how quickly the time goes.

They lied.

It goes way fucking faster than that.

There’s an old(ish) Rush song I’ve always loved. There’s a moment towards the end where Geddy Lee’s voice seems really urgent and full of emotion and I heard it again today for the first time in a while and it kinda broke me for a bit.

Summer’s going fast, nights growing colder

Children growing up, old friends growing older

Freeze this moment a little bit longer

Make each sensation a little bit stronger

 

Of course if you don’t like Rush then I just come across as being an over-emotional idiot with dodgy prog-rock leanings. I agree with the first bit…

Love those old 80s videos, never realised it was Aimee Mann who provided the backing vocals