Wednesday 31 December 2014

A friend, who sometimes acts as the host of a podcast that isn’t being recorded, asked me recently had 2014 been a good or bad year.

He knows me very well. He knows what having a child does to a person. He was making conversation. Give the guy a break.

At the risk of only occasionally blogging with whimsy about the impact of Woodrow on my being, 2014 was a pretty fucking good year.

Christmas 2013 was pretty fucking fine. My partner was full of a child. We were nearly ready for the arrival of the human being. Ready in the sense of we had bought a towel and cotton wool. Not that we were particularly unready for child/parenthood. But who is particularly ready for a child/parenthood when it is their first child? Someone who hasn’t contemplated the magnitude and responsibility attached to the process is how I’d summarise these people. Or in denial.

There was uncertainty and fear and worry. But lots of being amazed, happy, blessed and very fucking in love. Like a fuzzy second of the initial ridiculous falling in love, the very best bit when you feel nothing but happiness for someone (quite often before/during/after coitus) but stretched and put on repeat on the iPod that is life.

I think I told my mum I loved her a lot when I was little (3- 28 yrs). I am quite needy. I think I surpassed the ‘I love you’ count for my mum within about four days of Woodrow’s life.

Trying to remember back to the first few weeks now is odd. I sometimes regret not taking any pictures to help me remember it all. That is a joke! Haha! I have taken lots of pictures. Lots and lots. Over 7000 at the last count. And it was not an all inclusive count. And it was not yesterday. It’s a lot of pictures.

At one point I got a bit irked that people seemed to think putting a lot of pictures on social media was some element of being a good parent. No, they did. Why was I putting these pictures out there? Mainly because I am a fucking show off and I have the best thing ever and I don’t mind showing him off. But also because my Mum doesn’t live around the corner and would prefer that I post a picture every 37 seconds. And other people also like to follow his life. Oh and also, fuck off if you don’t like it.

The crying has been odd. Mainly crying because I love someone (Woodrow) so much. I never broke out into random sobs because I loved someone so much before. I did like two crys when Sir Alex retired but that’s completely understandable.

The other week I walked into the living room in tears because his baby coat looked so small next to all the grown-up coats on the coat hooks (I put the coat hooks up, with only a lot of help from a proper man). That’s not something an adult should be doing is it? Everyone understands the terrible fear that can occasionally threaten to suffocate you when worrying about the tender life in your arms. And this can lead to the odd sob. And sometimes being so very tired leads to an irrational sad cry. But I wasn’t tired. I wasn’t momentarily having a ‘worst case scenario’ daymare. I was looking at a small coat. And it fucking ruined me for about two minutes.

There is more. Hours more of over-emoting about the glorious bundle of joy that is my son. But I’ll keep that for when my partner and I eventually go for a night out in five years and we have nothing else to talk about.

And we bought a house. We own land. That’s a big thing right? Maybe it would seem bigger if it wasn’t in the same year as the boy. And it wasn’t a fucking drain on my will to live for a little while. I will love it in the summer I guess.

So, in summary 2014 was pretty good.

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