Three weeks ago, on the morning of the 31st July, my beautiful daughter, Amber, came into the world. I would like to say that I was hit by a wave of gratitude and awe at the sight of her, but in truth I was so zombified after the traumatic, sleepless preceding night, that I struggled to take it in. Everything felt so surreal at her birth; three weeks later, with the little bundle sleeping next to me while I type, the feeling of surrealism remains. It just doesn’t seem feasible that my wife and I made this splayed-out little cutie, and suddenly the complete responsibility for her well-being rests on our shoulders.
Before Amber came along, my wife, Kirsty, suggested that you never feel ready to become parents. Three weeks in to this new chapter of my life, I can confirm she was absolutely correct. I still don’t feel ready.
But, I must admit, I feel far more comfortable with Amber than I thought I would. I’ve always got on with Kirsty’s cousin’s young daughters because I’m not afraid to knacker my knees crawling around on the carpet, or participate in very one-sided games of hide-and-seek. The difference is those girls are toddlers who can take a bit of rough and tumble and bounce back with a giggle.
Newborn babies are different. The only way they can tell you that something’s wrong is by bawling their eyes out, and often it seems like they’re crying for no apparent reason. Before Amber came along I was petrified that I wouldn’t support the weight of her head correctly. I joked that the baby’s head would fall off, but the concern was genuine. I had never held a tiny baby before, but as soon as I had Amber in my arms, that fear evaporated. Now we bob around the room whilst I try to teach her how to say “daddy” much, much earlier than is normal, and it all feels more natural than I ever could have imagined.
That’s not to say it’s all plain sailing, though. Both my wife and I are the kind of people who need eight hours sleep or else cease to function on anything approaching a conscious level. Quite literally overnight Amber has thrown all that in to disarray. We have to cope with minimal sleep, or we don’t cope at all.
Perhaps it goes without saying, but our daughter has become the very focal point of our lives. Everything revolves around her. When she cries, we try to comfort her. When she smacks her lips, Kirsty feeds her. When she very loudly informs us that her nappy is no longer packet-fresh, we change her. On a side note, I must say that I do find it very unfair that she’s allowed to burp, fart and so on with impunity, but if I do likewise my wife always rolls her eyes and tells me off. I suppose there is always the ever-present risk of . . . anyway, you get the gist.
On the video game front, I can’t wait to introduce her to her first games. Following the advice of a friend, I’m getting God of War out of the way now because she’s too young to know what’s going on. After that, I’ll have to abstain from violent games. I don’t mind, though, because I just can’t wait to play games with her, be they hide-and-seek around the house, games out in the countryside, or a bit of Super Mario World on the SNES Mini.
Before Amber was born, I always envisaged her picking up the Player 2 controller. But the more I think about how everything has changed, and how my daughter has created and occupies a spot at the very centre of my world, I have realised that she’s Player 1. All I’m doing is squeezing in a few games whilst I can before I hand over the controller to her. I will and always will be her support, her Player 2. I most certainly didn’t feel ready for her to burst into my life, but it is without doubt the best thing that has happened to me.