Flamingo to Rose

I don’t know what I’m doing!

Not a single clue.

Not a single clue!

Kids should come with manuals.

And buttons. Especially for the crying. I think that would be a better way to turn it off.

I’m so young to be doing this. So young to be responsible for another human being for the rest of its life. Or my life. Whichever.

I shouldn’t be complaining though. I have only been round the kid for 20 hours. Majo doesn’t like it that I call it ‘the kid’, and by this point I have a few other less colourful names running around, but I find it weird to call it anything else. Like that name they gave it. I mean her. What kind of name is ‘Silver Flamingo?’ And yes, they are two distinct names. But my wife is so pleased with that name I can’t dare to break her heart and tell her that my child won’t be called that in a thousand years. She doesn’t know that getting the name right is the first test of parenthood and so far we are failing on all counts.

It’s true I wasn’t around for that pivotal moment when the kid came into the world. Haven’t been here for the first week - away on business. Majo is not close to forgiving that. Which is why I volunteered to relieve her for this week. All she should do is feed the baby. She’s says that’s fair and I feel like a god for having come up with the suggestion.

I came in today at 5am. Thought I would surprise her with breakfast in bed. Start this off with a bang. Hear a few unsolicited praises of how I’m a great husband, and I make everything easier, and she is glad that I’m home.

She was already up, nursing the baby with a growing pile of laundry by the side. The whole house already smells like baby. Don’t ask me to describe it, I can’t properly put it in words. But there my wife was with the little dictator by her breast looking as sleep deprived as she must have felt. Opened only one eye when I got in and said ‘oh you are home’, already looking like a seasoned pro at this thing called parenting.

The greeting though? Not very professional! Not what I was expecting, no excited squeal, no kiss, no anything. Already she has started to replace me with someone else to care for and love more. Someone she knows is fully hers. I know I shouldn’t have petty feelings over this, I didn’t do anything miraculous in this entire process except lend a chromosome. But this rained a little on all the pomp I was planning for and I shoved off the presents I had brought to wait for a more opportune time.

Once the baby was well fed, she handed her over and said I was officially on duty and dragged off to sleep.

I wanted to beg her to stay, give me a few coaching tips (or do it all for me, I wouldn’t complain). Like how to hold her. Was I hurting her? What do I do? Do I sit all the while in silence or should I talk to her? Something. Anything! But I nodded my head and told Majo I would hold down the fort while she slept.

And then got a good long look at my daughter.

I’m not lying when I say she is the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my entire life. I swear I’m not. She lay there in my hands, so small, so vulnerable, so dependant, so trusting, so perfect and in her completeness she still bore a little part of me. It was so much to take I teared up. I could have been flat out bawling my eyes out but you’ll never know for sure. I couldn’t believe the amount of love that flooded me when I looked at her face.

And then the other emotions - the fear that someone or something could hurt her, the conviction that there is nothing in this life I wouldn’t do for her, the hope of all that she could become and of course the humility, that in all my crazy living there is something I must have done right to deserve such a blessing. Does this happen to other fathers? I had seen her on phone but that was nothing compared to the wonder of holding her. Of knowing she wasn’t simply a figment of my imagination and after waiting for her for so long she was here with me, in real time. There is no way I’m calling someone that perfect Flamingo! Absolutely not. We can use it as a nickname but not the name by which she has to face the world.

But the kid is beautiful. She is. No thanks to me. Any one only needs to take a look at me and figure that out. I must have spent enough time marvelling over how small everything is and yet very functional; how her little hand wraps around my finger and has held all that it can grasp in that moment, and how her knees are a collection of folds but her kick against my palm is strong. Or how badly baby waste smells and the relief she has on her face when she does her business. You hold her and she is rolling about in her sleep, with her face a little crunched up and then suddenly…ease. I have never changed a diaper before. Majo had brought one of those dolls to practice with but I was too busy. Honestly. We were in one of our busiest seasons at work.

In that moment, a part of me wanted to go and wake Majo up. What if I did it all wrong? So I did the next logical thing. I got on YouTube and asked how to do this and I was rewarded with so many videos to choose from. I changed a diaper all by myself. I like how she is already challenging the capacities I had believed about myself. I spent most of my morning cooing at her, saying all those things I used to believe were dumb for parents to say. ‘Look at you, aren’t you the prettiest baby there is? Yes you are, yes you are.’ And all this before breakfast.

Once she had settled in my hands, she didn’t want to be out of them. Is it a sixth sense that causes her to cry when I put her down? At first it was endearing and I was more obliging. But then it struck 9 and I had not managed to do anything else. Call these first-time parent jitters. The inability to hear your cry and stick it out long enough to do something productive. Even a toilet break is an entire prison break.

Do babies need round the clock supervision? Or did she sense that a newbie has stepped into the game and was using the opportunity to toy with me?

The house has been a fury of visitors. Honestly I haven’t even spent much time with the baby so you probably wonder why I’m complaining about any of that. After our quiet morning hours, I have hardly held her that contentedly again. I did glimpse into her face whenever I had the chance though, see if she could tell that daddy was near. I’ve been relegated to the position of usher and host all day. Every one who came in wanted to hold the baby. A number brought food or offered to make dishes to take us through the week. It relieved the pressure off the both of us. Gave us enough of a break to make out in the bedroom like a bunch of hormonal teenagers. The sort of welcome I was looking for.

Majo wanted to fill me in on the week, every little nitty-gritty that the kid did. Her first burp, her first full night, her first nursing. I like the awe I hear in her voice. I think it’s the same in mine when I talk of the little Flamingo. My goodness, the name is catching on. I’ve got to stop it in its tracks before it is a permanent fixture.

The last visitor, my mother-in-law left just three hours ago. She asked to stay and I was so close to saying yes but my wife gave me that look that told me to hold true to my promise and I let go of my ‘get out of jail free card.’ I assured her we’d be OK. We’ve all got to learn somewhere right, and my wife gave me one of those rewarding smiles. But I’m not getting those rewarding smiles now at 1am, am I?

I tried to communicate something to my mother-in-law with my eyes as I ushered her out while verbally combating her insistence that she should stay. My mind was blowing up with how she should pull the Elder wand and convince her daughter that she had to stay. I have a feeling she got the message but couldn’t wait to laugh at my situation.

Then it was just the three of us, our little family of three. We got enough quiet moments, Majo and I, today. Things we were told to give up in the ‘what to expect when expecting’ chats with friends. I know its irrational to think that this is how everyday will go but it has helped ease me a little into my new role. At only 9 days, the kid doesn’t do much. It’s a simple cycle of cry, eat, excrete and sleep. Yet there is a lot of science into how to deal with those. Now like the bathing! Majo made me do that one my own too. She kept hovering over me whispering ‘watch the head, watch the head’. Handling the kid is like a military drill and any moment the sergeant will come round to see that I’ve done it all wrong.

I liked the skin-to-skin contact though. Majo thought it was sweet and took a thousand photos of that moment. Her entire body isn’t even half mine. It’s astounding. I can’t look at her and fail to believe in God. That small as she is, her heart, which is probably smaller and her lungs and her little button nose do everything they are supposed to keep her alive.

I have to learn to tell the cries apart; the hungry one, the tired one, the dirty one, the one where she just feels like it, the change in temperature one and a thousand others I probably will have mastered by the time we celebrate her first birthday.

Majo slept off about an hour ago. I tried to sleep off but then the dictator chose that very time to cry and Majo sacrificed me to the battlefield. I just about put her down. I should research this, putting a baby to sleep and keeping them asleep. Maybe she is afraid of being alone. Maybe I’m doing something fundamentally wrong and no one has explained that to me yet.

She is perfect. I know I have said that before but I can’t get over it even sitting here and just thinking about it. And I can’t sleep for the thoughts running through my mind.

Like the ones that started this entry.

I know Majo doesn’t think there is much going on upstairs but I’ve thought a lot about my life today. How scary it is to have someone who will be grossly affected by my decisions. These thoughts have crept up on me throughout the day. For example, there I was stuffing up on fried chicken and cold soda and immediately thought how this was unhealthy and if effects arise, I could die and leave her unattended.

Or when I saw my game console and wanted to play, that thought was replaced by the fact that I could waste away in front of the screen and lose my job and then leave her in financial hardship. I’m overthinking most of these, I know. But I so badly want to smooth out all the uneven bumps in her road as far as I can. As long as I can. She has thrown my future into perspective, given it a whole lot of purpose.

My head is certainly not empty.

Maybe all this falls into an easier pattern with time.

I don’t think at her age there is much I can do except stare at her and think! Think of her future. Wonder about the sort of girl she will turn out to be. Will she have her mother’s sassy attitude or my calm collected personality. Or will she become her own person entirely. Something I haven’t accounted for at all. I can’t wait to see her grow.

I can’t wait to see her grow!

And there is the name issue. Of course you know I had to revisit it before I sign off. I need something of substance, with a whole lot more meaning than Silver Flamingo. I know the craze is to be unique but I don’t mind a well worn name that stands for more. How did we not have a suitable name prepared in nine months? Almost as though she crept up on us. Feels like it for sure.

So I’m starting this journal for her, to document her firsts. Or if I’m being honest, whenever I feel like. Today, darling is the first day you and dear old daddy met in person. The first day I held you, Abigail. Abigail Rose (because I know her mother will insist on having something pretty to call her by). I can’t let her go through life with a name as meaningless as Silver Flamingo when she can go by Abigail, which means Father’s joy. I want her to say her name out loud and know that she has always been loved and deeply treasured by the man who helped make her.

I know somethings here are a little TMI for her to read so I’ll come back and edit this after I have had my shut eye. Or just let it all be.