I’m the oldest of five boys. All my younger cousins are boys.
Scene set. I’m stood next to my girlfriend, watching a small screen and waiting for the doctor to confirm my virility and macho status in the family. I would continue this proud long round of boys! Ever since E said she was pregnant, I was convinced that my offspring would be a boy; little LGC. He’d get his mother’s height, his father’s broad shoulders; he’d play rugby and NFL and cricket and be a genius.
“Are you ready to know?”
We both eagerly agreed.
“Well, it looks like you’ll have a little girl.”
The bottom of my stomach fell out. My confidence waned. Awash with fear, I feigned excitement. We said our thanks, left the hospital, and made our way to the bus stop. My mind raced with all the things I had wanted to do: football, climbing trees, model planes, all the other gumph you do with boys. It was gone.
But then, for the first time in a long time, I questioned myself.
Why was it gone? Just because she was a girl? That was nonsense. Girls can do things boys can do, I told myself in this ongoing mental monologue. A Cheshire cat style grim spread across my face I called Ma, Pa, and just about everyone: I was having a little girl! As quickly as it had stopped my heart, it had become the best news ever.
“How on earth was I supposed to mould this little girl into an awesome woman?”
Fast forward to over a year later and it’s E’s first day back at work. We say our goodbyes, the door closes, and little blue eyes look up into my big brown ones; the blues ones showing utter contempt of the situation-the brown ones; terror. How on earth was I supposed to help mould this little girl into an awesome woman? I decided to keep on E’s schedule as that seemed to be working just fine.
The first task on Day One: baby sensory classes. Now I’d been to a few of the classes already with E, and everyone had been nice. Really congenial and polite. I was looking forward to hopefully building a new support group of friends and setting up play dates for Little.
No-one wanted to speak to me. I smiled, I said hello. Now I know I’ve got a grumpy demeanor, so I tried extra hard to be as social and warm as I could. After a lukewarm response, I sat down in the circle and let Little loose. No one came to sit near us. I felt completely alienated. I mean, we were all parents, we were all just trying to do the best for our Littles, making sure they get the social exchanges they need to become functioning Bigs.
I’ve always let Little pretty much dictate what she wants to do. It’s one of my attempts at helping her establish some independence. Sometimes, she can be a bit more forthcoming than other children. She’s got a heart of gold-even at 8 months old, all she wanted to do was make friends and cuddle. However, she can get overzealous, and has been known to take kids out-and the disapproving looks soon follow. The cold judgmental eyes, whispering ‘your child is feral’. I’m sure any parent could get this, but either way it’s pretty intimidating for new dads trying out their dad skills for the first time.
I was being judged. I had invaded a sacred circle. Even Little’s attempts to mingle with other children, even if they were smaller than her, was met with a frostier reception than when I’d attended with E.
We finished the class, and I quickly gathered up our bits and left. I was embarrassed and I didn’t know why. I was walking away from my first time out on my own without E, feeling like I needed to go back to work and use the money to pay for a nanny, because clearly I wasn’t wanted here.
“Clearly the mums stayed at home for a reason: because the dads couldn’t hack it.”
The next day was swimming. I knew all the parents there, surely we’d get on fine. It was the same. Whereas before people were quite happy to chat to me as I stood next to E, now I felt ostracised once more.
I began questioning all the choices we had made. Clearly the mums stayed home for a reason: because the dads couldn’t hack it.
Nonsense, of course. Just like the little girl I thought for a fraction of a second could never love football, or build models. Who better than one her parents to teach her the ways of the force-sorry, bring her up. I swiftly came to the realisation that classes and activities like this were not about me, they were about Little and what she could get out of it. But a more frightened-or more accurately, a less stubborn-dad might give up too soon.
When I came with E to these things it was cute, I was being an adorable dad. When I came on my own I was in intruder. We continued swimming, ditching the sensory classes altogether, and eventually we both-Little and I-made friends.
These first solo social interactions nearly knocked the wind out of me, though and I think me being the kind of person I am it hardened my resolve to all of the “oh, daddy babysitting today is he?” and all the “Filling in for mummy today are we?” that you get. These people who mean well don’t realise that they’re not helping the stigma. It’s not helping normalise a dad parenting his kids.
In my community and about the town, Little and I are known and it’s easier now; we get free balloons and ice cream and things. That’s nice and all, but I’d rather it was just an accepted thing from the beginning that I was Stay at Home Dad. Why can’t that be normal?
There is still a stigma around a bloke being at home with his kid-but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Anyway I’m off to play lightsabers and princess dresses.
