Incompetence is the stock in trade of parenting blogs and this is never truer when written by dads. But this is as tiresome a cliche as 'Mum's gone to Iceland'. The fact is that a lot of parenting is not that hard and even dads can do it. They might not do it to mums' satisfaction but that does not mean they can't do it.
Changing nappies - easy. Shovelling food in their mouth - walk in the park. Putting their clothes on - child's play. Getting them in the child seat - ok, that one's a nightmare but it's an equal opportunities nightmare.
Turning off the tears, however...
That is my blind spot, my Achilles' heel, my Waterloo. I remain convinced that there is some kind of whispered incantation that baby girls learn at their mothers' elbow that enables them to hush a baby with a moment's talk. Indeed I wish it were so because if that is not the case then my abject failure to quell my baby's sobs really is on me alone.
Lest you think I exaggerate I can see {call the police?} thought processing in the eyes of strangers in the street as I walk by with my wildly protesting offspring. My blessed wife with increasing levels of exasperation tries to tutor me. 'Just sing him a song' - basic advice for a basic dad but as useful to me as asking me to recite Horace from memory while running across No Man's Land towards a very active machine gun nest.
The main issue I have with soothing a howling baby is that I need someone to soothe me before I can minister to the demented banshee. Rather like that instruction on planes to put the oxygen mask on your own face before your child's where is the person who will apply the handbrake to my berserking brain?
Ordinarily a discomforting noise is supposed to set one's teeth on edge in my case it makes me madly itchy which renders bouncing the bawler all the more perilous as I frantically claw at my inner elbow. I used to think I was a pretty imperturbable chap. I used to think a lot of foolish things.
Anyway, no great insights here, just a desperate plea for the magic words. Pretty please.
Changing nappies - easy. Shovelling food in their mouth - walk in the park. Putting their clothes on - child's play. Getting them in the child seat - ok, that one's a nightmare but it's an equal opportunities nightmare.
Turning off the tears, however...
That is my blind spot, my Achilles' heel, my Waterloo. I remain convinced that there is some kind of whispered incantation that baby girls learn at their mothers' elbow that enables them to hush a baby with a moment's talk. Indeed I wish it were so because if that is not the case then my abject failure to quell my baby's sobs really is on me alone.
Lest you think I exaggerate I can see {call the police?} thought processing in the eyes of strangers in the street as I walk by with my wildly protesting offspring. My blessed wife with increasing levels of exasperation tries to tutor me. 'Just sing him a song' - basic advice for a basic dad but as useful to me as asking me to recite Horace from memory while running across No Man's Land towards a very active machine gun nest.
The main issue I have with soothing a howling baby is that I need someone to soothe me before I can minister to the demented banshee. Rather like that instruction on planes to put the oxygen mask on your own face before your child's where is the person who will apply the handbrake to my berserking brain?
Ordinarily a discomforting noise is supposed to set one's teeth on edge in my case it makes me madly itchy which renders bouncing the bawler all the more perilous as I frantically claw at my inner elbow. I used to think I was a pretty imperturbable chap. I used to think a lot of foolish things.
Anyway, no great insights here, just a desperate plea for the magic words. Pretty please.
