Being A Dad

In the next 2-3 months I am going to be a dad. It seems like a normal sentence, one which could have been written by any of several billion people over human history. Yet as every expectant father knows, there is nothing in all that shared experience and knowledge that helps you feel even a little bit more capable or prepared for the task.

I have often “joked” here that we won't be doing the whole crying thing – I will have a chat. I will explain acceptable behaviour. Tantrums? No. That will not happen. This will be a civilised parenting experience. My world is a rational one. It has a methodology. It takes me from one point to another.

The emotional side of things I have never been great with in honesty. After saying “there, there” I am, in honesty, done. There is a set quantity (small) of responding to emotions that I consider to be unavoidable. I don’t want to sound cold...really…but people crying…it's all a bit dull in honesty…and loud crying..well that’s just bad manners.

So I picture myself at 3 am with a crying baby not knowing how to settle it..and I feel very, very lost and, well.... really rather broken.

Please don’t get me wrong. I am very excited by it all too, really I am. Just also terrified.

With every bit of breath in my body, with all that I am, I ask that God might guide me and transform me into a person who won't completely screw up my childs life.

Yours in fear,

The Broken Man

In Search of Poo

One of the most interesting things about having a blog hit counter is that it can tell you how people have found out about your blog. Most people come to it through another blog, but there are a number of people who find me through Google.

"What searches do people put in to come up with this blog?" I hear you cry….(please do play along). The answer you are probably anticipating is “charming man”, “wry and rather intelligent individual”, or perhaps “perfect father”. You will, no doubt, be as shocked as me to discover then that searches of my blog have included “different types of baby poo and what they mean”, “man wearing nappy”, and of course, the old classic “man covered in poo”.

It seems that my few posts on the topic of poo have, in fact, propelled this blog to the leading place for people to turn in times of desperate need for poo information. Even writing this entry will I fear, result in yet more hit results for the poo searchers out there.

So this is a note to all those who have come looking for poo. This is now declared a poo free zone. You will have to find it elsewhere.

Yours in constipation,

The Broken Man

Baby Fears

I have been looking up stage of developments on the web...as one does... I am told that my baby now weighs 1.7 pounds, and is 14 inches long, retinas are forming and brain wave activity is detectable. Its incredible!

Okay, maybe more so if you are expecting a baby!

I will add a picture this evening – I note someone suggested I put a pic of me up as well.…on an anonymous blog this would seem difficult. I could put a pic of my stomach up as well as my wifes...i look fairly pregnant myself...but trust me...that, you don’t want to see!


The sister of one of my wife's collegues has just had a still birth. She was at about the same stage we are now. I don’t know how I would cope if that happened to us – it makes me want to cry just to think about it – what she must be going through. I can't begin to imagine – and a part of me doesn’t want to – I realise a part of me just doesn’t want to think about it


I am so scared; scared for my baby, scared for my wife, scared for the kind of father I am meant to be – as much as I joke about the perfect baby, perfect father bit – well I am sure you all know, I am scared stupid about getting it all wrong, and I am not sure I could bear losing either one of them.


Yours,


The Broken man

Mummy & Daddy

My father used to be very keen that we called him "Daddy", which I felt was very childish, and didn’t want to do. He got very cross if we called him "Dad". He told us that we could refer to him as "Pop", or "Daddy", but not "Dad".

So, the question now arises as to what name we give ourselves with our baby. I like "Papa", particularly if the child is girl – but the long suffering wife is not pleased with the idea. I don’t like "Pops", not at all. "Daddy" makes me squirm. I have never been a fan of a child calling their parents by their first name; I think we have enough friends in our lives, that it is worth distinguishing our parents as something different. Interestingly, in Judaism, part of the “outworking” of the command to honour your mother and father results in a ban from addressing your parents by their first name even after their death.

"Father" is very formal, so I am fighting my corner for "Dad". "Dadda" maybe for a young child? My wife is likely to be a "Mummy"...but I just don’t feel like I am a “Daddy” type...maybe it is a hang up from childhood...but I would be interested to hear others take on it...what do your children call you? Did you make a conscious decision on it?

My wife – she’s pregnant, she is...

I realise by now, dear readers (both of you), that you have come to terms with my wife’s pregnancy. That makes it sound like a terrible illness or affliction, which I know its not, and I am very pleased. It was just that, sitting on the bed the other day and talking with my wife as she got ready for bed (still after six years marriage to her I find it incredible that I can *try* to hold a normal conversation as she takes her clothes of!) a thought suddenly occurred to me. “WOW, look at the bump!!! You’re pregnant, you are.”

I mean, seriously! She has a baby inside her; more to the point, my baby. There is a human growing inside her stomach. It’s getting bigger. Of course, I try and remain casual about this, show that I am someone who takes these things in my stride. I drop the internal “WOW” and just say “You, you’re pregnant, you are”. Eloquently put, I think you will agree, displaying all my hopes, my dreams, and my deep love all in that simple statement.

Clearly, my wife, with a gift for interpretation, was able to get all this from that one sentence, as she responded with a little sigh (of joy at being married to such a wonderful man, I suspect), “Yes dear, I am pregnant. Do you want a cup of tea?” Clearly, a sentence which conveys the sentiment, “I am so pleased you love me, and yes I share those hopes and dreams, I love you so much and am so pleased we are having this child.”

Yours ever.

The Broken Man

Boy or a Girl..

My wife has no desire to know the gender of our baby before it's born; she views it as a reward that will help her through the end of labour, a surprise we should wait for. I, however, am a man, and a man who struggles extraordinarily to get my desire for instant gratification in check. I still don’t go to bed on the night before my birthday till gone midnight, in the hope that I will be able to convince my long-suffering wife that as it is *technically* my birthday I should be allowed to open a present.

I have never been good at waiting, but I do like surprises. If I tear open all my presents before I go to sleep, in the morning I will wake up disappointed that I have already had the excitement. My wife has agreed, that if I am confident that I can not let it slip, she doesn’t mind me knowing the gender of the baby first. The difficulty with this is that of course I would let it slip, I wouldn’t be able to help it. I have a pathological desire to tell the world everything; as is evidenced by this blog, I don’t do secrets. How I will cope as a priest if ever anyone wants to confess to me something truly juicy I have no idea. Don’t get me wrong, I will manage it, but we all know the whole point of knowing something is telling people.. Sorry I got carried away there for a minute…yes baby gender…

People ask from time to time, do you want a boy or girl? Now don’t get me wrong, I know the right answer. Everyone knows the right answer. “as long as its healthy…” You see the problem is, I am not worried about the baby's health. If we have a baby with serious medical problems, I can cope with that (this may come back to haunt me) but when I look at baby clothes, and children’s clothes I am always drawn to dresses and the like. I WANT A GIRL. Okay I have said it. I know that in the world of pregnancy this statement is a cardinal sin, I know you hate me…that’s okay, I can live with that, but, come on, girls are just cuter! I will be fine if we have a boy, it will be great, but part of my desire to know the gender now, is so that if it’s a boy my first thought won't be "..oh that’s a shame". Now sure my first thought will probably be "wow it’s a baby. Bet that stung…oh yes that’s going to smart in the morning" (apparently these are not the comforting comments one is allowed to make to a wife in labour).

Faced with this dilemma, I have decided to do the sensible thing, I am trusting that some fatherly parenting gene will kick in with the baby's first cry and I won't care what the baby's gender is when its born, so I have agreed with the wife..we will wait and see. So, come on dads-to-be, and dads already, be honest…did you/do you have preference, and did it matter when baby was born?

The Blog of a Broken Man

So why a broken man? It seems a fair starting question. My life history is a messy business and seems a bit unfriendly to begin my tale with woe; if you find this page of interest, then I am sure we will get to know each other as time goes on, but at least a little explanation seems only right.

My life has contained much in the way of disaster. I can not claim more than others, however; the experinces I have had now seem common place. The loss of a brother to heroin, the loss of a wife to another man, money…ahh, now there is an issue..but I am sure we will come onto that in time.

I have lived through some dark times, as Morrissey once sang, "the things I have seen could make a good man turn bad". My story is not one of someone turned black by the world, however. As this page is black and my writing shines out bright and white, so it is with my life. It is written that those living in darkness have seen a great light, and that is my story. While I am broken, a cracked pot as the expression goes, shines light through those cracks.

As by now I am sure you will have guessed, I am a Christian. It’s a phrase that doesn’t easily roll of my tongue, in honesty; in England Christians have a bit of a bad name, they are associated with hypocrisy, and mediocrity. Faith is something that goes on behind closed doors, and what goes on in churches often seems unrelated to a belief in the Divine. My belief is in a God who is whiter than white, whot blasts away the most impressive advert for a new cleaning powder, I believe in a God who shines and expels darkness, who takes our brokenness, who takes all that has ever gone wrong, all that we have ever done and thought, and transforms it into something beautiful. Strength comes not from this broken husk, but from the God who breathes life into dry bones.

So this blog, this journal, if you care to follow it, will be the story of a broken man, hopefully, bit by bit, made more whole. When writing something like this one wonders who will read it, who will care about the ramblings of a stranger on the other side of the globe, so if you chance upon this page do introduce yourself, let me know that you popped by.

You have a right to wonder what you will find if you where to draw up a seat next to the fire on a regular basis, if you make this a point of departure in your busy day. Who’s life will be laid before you? Well, I am a 32 year old man, married to a wonderful women who is now 16 weeks pregnant with our first child. I have been accepted for training for ordination as a priest, but whether or not I can become a priest depends on whether I am able to clear debts accrued through negative equity. I will keep you posted as to how that goes, and will, undoubtedly, write about life as a father-to-be and my training. It’s a pleasure to meet you..I hope you enjoy your stay.

I think that is more than enough of an introduction, time to get down to the business at hand.

ENTRY ONE
Today my wife is 16 weeks and one day pregnant with our first child. It took five years for her to become pregnant, and we had given up hope. We had looked into infertility treatment, into the options available and felt unable to go down that road. The creation of embryos outside the womb, and the “disposal” of those not required seemed a step too far. A step into a world where we would prefer to leave God firmly in charge. So we prayed the prayers of the Bible and cried out as so many have before for a child. When my wife fell pregnant someone asked her, “Was it a miracle?”

It’s a good question. To answer "yes" seems to suggest that those who recieve no apparent answer, or a "no", have somehow been neglected by God but to say "no", seems to deny God’s hand in it. When I sit and think about it, I am certain that every birth, every pregnancy, every breath we take is a miracle, a gift which should be cherished, which we should take with gratitude. Is my wife’s pregnancy more of a miracle than me being able to open my eyes this morning? The only difference seems to be that I don’t often pray that I will wake up in the morning. We are surrounded by miracles, we just fail to see them for what they are. So yes, my wife being pregnant is a mircle, and one that I will thank God for every day of my life.

I can not begin to express how happy I am that she is pregnent, that we will be parents, that I will be a father. I wonder what kind of a father I will be, and confess I am worried, worried about all the mistakes I am sure I will make. Even now we discuss in every detail how we would like to bring up our child, even now I feel a twinge of panic about my inability. Hence, again, I come back to the statement that I am a broken man, made of clay. I try to remind myself it's not through what I can do, through my abilities, my skills – my roguish good looks (well, ok, I don’t have roguish good looks!) that God will work, it's through the cracks, the acknowledgments of my incapability that God can work. Its only when I say, "okay God, this is in your hands" instead of trying to do it all myself that God really gets a chance to work.

One of the things I love about God is that He is a gentlemen, this is not to imply that God is exclusively male, but rather that God has manners. God gets involved in the areas of our life we open him up to, not in the areas we lock away. The areas we lock away or try to, that’s where we have the trouble..

My lunch break is reaching an end, so I will end it there. Its been a pleasure, see you tomorrow?

A Broken Man