Job

When I was made redundant in October I said, on this very blog, that I thought I’d be okay and find another job reasonably quickly. Thankfully, I was right. I start that new job in four days, and I’m excited.

I won’t go into too much detail about it, but it’s the type of work I’ve always thought I ought to be doing, but never quite managed to get into before now. There’s a lot of optimism in my mind at the moment, which is especially amazing when the job I left had done a pretty good job of grinding all that out of me.

But. There’s always a but. It’s the law.

I’m going back to work full time. My previous job allowed me to reduce my hours so that I could share in the childcare duties with Mrs L when she finished her maternity leave. That meant spending a whole day each week with Cam. Just me and him, father and son time. I’ve had that privilege for almost exactly a year, and I have loved it.

As of next Thursday, he’ll have an extra day at nursery, and I will re-join the full time working parent population. I will see him briefly in the morning, briefly in the evening, and at weekends. I will, I think, be quite sad about missing the developments he makes, and the things we get to do, and all the hugs and affection.

I realise that the time I have been able to spend as a part-time SAHD marks me out as one of the lucky ones. Most men don’t seem to have the chance to spend time with their children as they’re growing up. It’s a massive shame. As far as I’m concerned, the more equally shared the parental responsibilities are the better it is for all parties. I’d love to think part time work will be an option for me again sometime in the future.

Still, mortgages need paying; it probably wouldn’t be much fun having lots of time with Cam if we didn’t have a house to spend it in.

I’m immensely grateful for the time I spent as a part-timer, and to any other dad reading this who is considering it as a possibility I say this: DO IT.

Steps

I grew up in the 90s.

The 90s were a bit of a funny decade, from what I remember. In the early part of it, lots of people lost their jobs, lost their homes and went to big parties in fields. All three of those things were probably a bit shit, but the last one was made good by little tablets which made everyone think the 90s were great.

Then, in 1997, everything changed. You probably know what I'm talking about. The dawn of a new era. A paradigm shift in the way we lived.

Not Tony Blair and New Labour.

Steps.

Look at them. Awe inspiring, no? (Photo courtesy of http://www.pop-music.com)

Remember those guys (and girls)? Inspiring lyrics, easy to copy dance routines, brain achingly uplifting. Wow. Momentous.

I think Steps were probably aware of how much of a game changer they were, which is why they decided to be called Steps. See, steps (without the capital letter) are a bit of a game changer themselves, and they're currently changing the game in my house.

Yes. The boy is walking. A bit. Sort of. He's quite good at falling over. And very good at tentatively letting go of things, taking two faltering, carefully considered paces, then dropping to his knees.

Both my wife and I were present for his first go at it (well, we're happy to assume it was his first go...) and it is one of those moments that reminds you how magical it is to be a parent. A big moment. A window into how things will be from now on.

Soon, we won't be crawling around the floor with him, chasing him out from under the table and watching him laugh as he leads us through gaps which we are really too big to get through. Walking is big. Walking is one of the things which makes us unique as a species (I know there are other bipeds, feel free to not point that out...).

Those first steps are a literal and figurative move toward a whole new chapter in our son's life. Unlike Steps, I think this will be a good chapter.

Love

Funny old thing, innit, love?

Makes you feel all gooey inside. You ARE all gooey inside, whether you’re in love or not. Don’t think about it too much though. Urgh, nasty gooey people innards. Erm, anyway, when you’re all loved up and wotnot, the ever present gooiness is foremost in your consciousness, replacing whatever mundane crap it was you were thinking about beforehand. The latest episode of Hollyoaks. What you’re having for dinner. How awesome it would be if you could fly. All these things pale into insignificance when love is in the air.

It’s one of those things which, no matter how old and wise we may get, it can still creep up and confuse us, like a ninja with a book full of brain teasers. And if adults can find love a confusing thing, what chance to babies have? No chance, that’s what.

Now, you all know I’m a confirmed liberal, so I’m all for a bit of tolerance and acceptance when it comes to love. But there are certain things which are plainly still off limits. The loves which dare not speak their name. Forbidden loves.

I always knew that being a dad would bring with it new challenges, but I didn’t expect that barely a year into my parenting career I’d be having to think of a way to tell my son I didn’t approve of the object of his romantic feelings.

You see, Cam is smitten. Utterly smitten. She’s small, perfectly formed and wears a permanent smile. A little noisy at times, but utterly reliable and well known to the family.

She is also a vacuum cleaner.

They (who?) say you can’t help who you fall in love with, and Cam is living proof of that.

Love is... a household appliance?

Whenever Hetty (feminine sibling of Henry) comes out from her home under the stairs, my son is transfixed. He maintains a distance at first, having clearly inherited his father’s shyness. He looks on, rendered motionless by the intensity of his interest in the bright pink vision as she whisks about the living room carpet, feasting on the assorted detritus of our lives.

Eventually, he plucks up the courage to make contact, approaching her carefully and placing his hands on her. Sure, it would probably be more polite to start up a conversation, but when your vocabulary is limited to three words it can be a little difficult, especially if your conversational partner can only make a loud whooshing noise.

When the time comes for Hetty to return to the cupboard, he waves a sad goodbye and looks doleful for a few moments. Lucky for him, his attraction to inanimate objects doesn’t end at pink vacuum cleaners, he quickly moves on to something else: Mrs L’s hairdryer, a bedside lamp, the Xbox controller.

Woe

It’s all training for the eventual, inevitable, real deal sometime in the future. A time when I will lie awake at night worrying about him, worrying about what mistakes he may be making, thinking back to the (many) that I made.

I’m glad I don’t have to think about that for a while. I think it might make my brain melt.