Dear Freddy,
I’m in the business of re-creating wombs. It’s my default
position; when you’re crying I make you feel like you’re back in the uterus. Disclaimer:
it’s what the midwives told me (anyway, it seems to work).
You’re my beautiful six-week-old son. Anna and I are your
doting parents. We adore you. The womb I’m trying to replicate is your mum’s...just
in case you were wondering...and no, I’m not sure what it looks like, which is
probably why you always have those concerned creases across your
forehead.
So, Freddy, you’re in your seventh week of life. That means
I’m in my seventh week of fatherhood, parenthood, untold responsibility. I’d
love for you to tell me how I’m doing, but I’ll take your lack of crying as a
sign I’m going OK. Somehow, I’ve muddled my way to this point in time.
It all started well enough...
... you popped out at 11.34 on June 11. Your entrance captivated
me; I was absorbed. How could I not be? I had a front-row seat to the beginning
of life. As your head appeared, crown to ground, and you opened your eyes for
the first time in my direction, I felt privileged that the first thing you
could have seen was your dad. When a father’s biological input into the
carrying, delivering and feeding of his child is minimal, I assume he treasures
all the unique experiences he can.
But don’t get me wrong I have a ton of input – I cook, I
clean, you and I bond over baths and the midnight bottle, the money I earn puts
a roof over your head and pays for the heating bills.
... And I change nappies. Hundreds of them. I can do a wee
change in 60 seconds – from undressing to re-dressing – and a complete post-poo
reconstruction in about 1 minute 40.
I am already so proud of you. In the first six weeks of life
you have graduated from an addiction to silicon to feed from the natural source
(I didn’t know whether you would get there). You have hit every growth
milestone “the health book” expects of you. You have worked out that smiling
triggers displays of love and affection from your parents. You have a portrait
gallery of faces to draw on – one for every crisis, every pleasure, every
thought.
But I have a few simple hopes for you. I hope you feel
comfortable, in every environment, to be who you want to be; love who you want
to love; and, strive for what you want to achieve. I hope you are happy in your
own skin; but I hope you can feel all kinds of emotions. Though I have the
responsibility of parenting you, I hope we are mates. And I hope you can, one
day, experience the pride, responsibility, purpose and bond for your child, as
I have with you.
Enjoy life!
Love,
Dad.
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