Let's Go Round Again

In a few short days I shall be a dad again. And just like you never get the first pancake right now is my chance to start again with a blank canvas. Except, unlike the first pancake, I have not put my first child in the bin (however tempting that sometimes feels). I am of the strong view that if any mother could remember anything of what happened to them during childbirth they would neve ever have another. And yet somehow a universal amnesia descends and as night follows day where once there was one there soon are two.

We have been trying to get the firstborn ready and after much show and tell and dramatic role play he has just about grasped the concept of a sibling. However he has guaranteed himself disappointment as his resolute and unequivocal order is for a big sister and whatever’s coming it ain’t that.

In particular we have been reading the bizarre ‘There’s a House inside my Mummy’ in which the newborn’s arrival is hotly anticipated by his brother with this extraordinary verse:

“I just can’t wait to meet him

I hope that he’s all right,

My daddy says be patient

As his door is rather tight.”

In truth my son and I do share a thwarted wish which is for a girl. I know you’re not supposed to express a preference but I’ve seen mini-me and any further pint sized replication seems extremely ill-advised.

Furthermore I feel the age of men has run its course and I was rather relishing the challenge of being a daughter’s father. The silver lining is that I have had more than one parent comment on how ‘complicated’ girls can be; as if having a son is the quick crossword to the daughter’s cryptic.

It seems to me that being a parent to a child of any description is a fiendishly difficult undertaking the absolute impossibility of which is never made apparent until it’s far far too late. But I have always supposed that there is some difference to the challenges.

Raising a son is like climbing a mountain, the peak usually remains in sight, it’s physically hugely demanding, dangers are usually clearly signposted and serious harm is the likely outcome of foolish risk taking.

Raising a daughter is like traversing a mature and dense forest, the path seems clear but suddenly one can lose one’s bearings in a sickening moment of uncertainty, there is no obvious reason to fear but a stray root can trip at any moment or a darting adder draw blood with poisonous bite.

Anyway, I am not one for generalising and I know my son will be his own person as are we all and I’ll love him come what may.