On the Home Front - Life as a stay-at-home Dad

 
*photo taken by Andrea Whelan photography

*photo taken by Andrea Whelan photography

 

‘My god! He’s done a s*it the size of a cowpat…’ 

…I observed as I untaped Jack my 11-month year old’s nappy.

Our swimming class had started 10 minutes ago. A combination of road works on the route and no parking spaces meant we were on the ropes. Now in the changing rooms, I was dealing with what could be the knockout punch; an unexpected ‘number 2!’. 

I was sweating with stress and goosebump angry. Scrambling, I lunged for the wet wipes however in doing so my arm passed under an unfortunately positioned hand dryer. It fired up like a rocket. I was in even more trouble. Jack hated hand dryers. For him, it was the equivalent of a bomb going off and he went mental! Taking control of the scene I made safe the nappy and gradually calmed him down. Tossing the loaded nappy bag into the bin I took a welcomed deep breath, and in the reflection of the ridiculousness of it all, began to laugh. 

Jack felt my emotional shift and started to giggle too. This micro-moment of joy was exactly what we required to get back on track. There was an objective to achieve, by hell or high water we would make the class. Re-focusing I efficiently geared us both up and calmly strolled with Jack through the doorway into the pool area. The eyes of the other parents locked onto us, but without judgment, they knew the deal. There isn’t a baby class attended where at least one parent-baby partnership isn’t late.

As we got into the water the drama of recent events evaporated. A sudden dream partnership we joyfully worked through the remainder of the lesson. A shit show with a happy ending. Another afternoon on the home front as a stay-at-home dad.


June 2019 and I and my wife Jen were about to begin a significant change of roles. She would be going back to work 4 days a week and I would be leaving my role of 15 years as an analyst working for the police. I would be continuing to operate as a men’s coach part-time, however, for the next 6 months, I would be operating primarily as a stay-at-home dad. I was entering the unknown.

I felt excited and fearful. 

I’d been hungry for a career change and new challenges for years. However, I had a significant amount of my identity attached to the role I was leaving. Who was I without it? What was I going to become?

Jen was torn.

She'd grown into her role as a stay-at-home mum, becoming part of a new community. Giving this up along with being away from Jack for long periods made her anxious. However, she was looking forward to claiming back some independence and regular adult conversation.

I remember my last day in the office vividly. I returned my staff pass and left the building, homeward bound to immediately take up my new post. To help smooth the transition we facilitated a one-month crossover period. I would shadow Jen during this time, a micro-apprenticeship of sorts. 

A few weeks into the process I completed a 24-hour stint on my own with Jack. During the operation, I blew up his dinner in the microwave and rescued him from certain death as he rolled off the sofa. Testing, but I’d passed out of training school.

 
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July, and into my squadron of two proper. One of the positive habits I took from Jen would be scheduling a time-bound commitment in the morning. This gave me something to aim for in terms of getting ready and ensured I made it out of the house. One of these commitments would sometimes be a baby class. For those new, to the concept, they’re 30-45 minutes long and involve everyone sitting with their bubba’s engaging in an activity (often musical). Nearly all of them have a name that has an animal reference; bunnies, monkeys, frogs… You’d probably have Noah’s ark if you listed everyone in South-East London.

I remember sitting down for my first class. I counted 16 mums and a female teacher. I hadn’t expected an even gender split but in a world of shared parental leave, I’d expected at least a couple of gents in with me. Internally I felt very self-conscious but also a weird proudness of my unspoken status. I’d remained pretty innocuous up until the ‘wheels on the bus’ song where the dad’s on the bus say ‘I love you’. In synchrony, the heads turned and it was all eyes me, the solitary male. I looked down and froze, but thankfully (not for the first time) Jack saved me! Looking up at me, rocking from side to side, and generally being very cute. I followed his lead, sang along, and raised my gaze to observe mummy, and teacher smiles around the room. Thankfully as time passed my gender seemed to become less of a factor. I was simply another stay-at-home parent with my own angle on things. 

Into August and a turn for the worse. The majority of baby services were term time only so a significant part of my daily routine went to the wall. I was also mentally struggling with completing my day without any hard ‘tangible’ results to show for my effort. Jack’s development over the mid/long-term was clear to see, however, I found short-term childcare performance difficult to measure. I missed the ‘productivity’ endorphin hit I used to get from my previous job and coming to terms with its loss was one of my biggest challenges. 

Talking this through with other men helped. Not soon after Jack’s birth, I’d set up a local ‘dad’s with babies’ group and these regular meets were of great support. Simply talking about what’d been going on with my fellow man helped lighten the mental load. There was a variety of sharing’s at these meets. From a projectile vomit incident in Asda’s to concerns regarding how to manage future nursery fees. 

I wasn’t on my own.

 
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Autumn, and with baby services fully back online I began to feel more settled in my post. I began to see us as more of a partnership rather than simply my being Jack’s carer. His immediate needs still came first but for us to be a thriving team I recognised the importance of scheduling at least part of the day primarily for me. For example some afternoons we’d go for a jog for with me pushing the pram so I could exercise.

So the days were good, but there would be an unforeseen challenge that would push us all to the edge. In September Jack’s sleep improved and we assumed we were over the worst. However, in October he went back to his ‘night waking’ ways. This led to Jen (still breastfeeding to settle him) up at various points throughout the night, Then off to work the next day. I was also often up. Then up early to cover the first shift whilst Jen caught up on sleep. It felt like being in a pressure cooker and with the roles biologically defined we couldn’t rotate. 

It all came to breaking point. Jack was ‘going for it’ for the third night running and Jen broke down. 11:30pm, both shattered, it was all too much. Thankfully he resettled for the night, however, the following morning we agreed something had to change. That shift came in the form of a baby sleep consultant. The next day we were on a call with her co-designing a new sleep plan. We’d gotten into some bad habits. Inconsistency with bottle/breastfeeding and who’d be in the room with him at any given time.

Thankfully, restructuring our bedtime routine along with having a night-hours game plan led to quick improvements. By November we were under control and getting at least a half-decent amount of sleep.

By the end of the year and I’d been on the home front for 7 months. I still had frustrations but was struggling less with the lack of daily measurable results. Spending so much time with Jack had taught me to let go somewhat and in this way, he has proven a fantastic teacher. With his underdeveloped neocortex, he operated in blissful ‘being’ mode all the time. An ongoing reminder to me about where the real magic is; in the ‘present’, right now!

During this period I had been working on my coaching practice one day a week. Keeping engaged with my vocation had been an important part of navigating everything else and provided a welcomed secondary focus. Without this, I’d have certainly found the ‘stay-at-home’ process much more challenging.

Moving into 2020 I would relinquish a portion of my childcare duties. I would now be looking after Jack two, not four days a week. I was excited about expanding my coaching practice however grateful to be remaining a stay-at-home dad on a part-time basis. 

They say life happens when we’re making other plans and that could never be more true than when you’re a parent on the home front.

 
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Being a Dad - The 9 months after the 9 months

 
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The 9 months after the 9 months began when I stepped through our front door gripping a portable car seat containing our 2 day-old son Jack.

Taking this step into our hallway was as if crossing a portal into a new universe. Everything felt different from before. Both exciting and unnerving at the same time.

I will call our first 2 months of parenthood ‘the lost months’. Time swallowed in a response vacuum of stress, wonder, anxiety, and joy. Jack arrived like an extra-large pizza thrown on a plate that was already full. Elements of our lives with nowhere to go simply crashed onto the floor. 

The lack of a break between birth and beginning life in the ‘new parent’ trenches was incredibly challenging for me. Constantly responding to Jack’s needs there was no time to process what the hell just happened back there. It was only 8 or so weeks after the event that it hit me, my emotions began to break through, and alone I cried.

There were a few events of note in those early months. Our first trip out of the house with Jack to the park was an amazing experience. I remember how protective I suddenly felt of both him and my wife Jen. I was a daddy bodyguard clocking every person we walked past and every vehicle. When pushing the pram I was outrageously cautious. As if taking my first driving lesson again.

Returning back to work a few weeks after he’d arrived was less fun. Sitting down and feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me before even touching the keyboard. It felt bizarre to return to a place where very little had changed from a place where everything had changed. It would take time to adjust.

Then there was our first mini-break at the wondrous Bailiffs Court hotel on the south coast. A high was taking Jack into a pool (or jacuzzi without the jets on) for the first time. Both me and Jen like to swim, so the process of squeezing him into his baby swimsuit and prepping for his first dip was great fun. Once in the water, his initial confusion was followed by joy and surprising confidence. He probably thought he was back inside the protective bliss of his mother’s womb. 

He certainly wasn’t best pleased when coming out. A realisation that gravity existed once more and he could no longer simply float over to where he wanted to go.

 
First driving lesson

First driving lesson

Jacuzzi swim sesh!

Jacuzzi swim sesh!

 

A low was my first time out for a walk with a baby carrier sling. Jen had gone off to the gym and set me up. However, it hadn’t been tightened properly and fell loose about 200m outside of the hotel. It felt like he could slip straight out at any point so cradling him in what now resembled a crumpled sheet, I stumbled across slippery grass, up a stony path, and crashed through the side entrance of the building! Leaning against the wall panting and a sweaty mess I glanced down to check in on Jack. There he was, fast asleep and blissfully unaware of the precarious situation he’d just been through.

With the day-to-day grind, we’d massively underestimated what a commitment breastfeeding would be. Something in our favor was the support of a quality lactation consultant early on (credit to Maria Yasnova - https://breastfeeding.pro/). This assisted greatly at the beginning. However once underway the relentless physical demand on Jen to keep the milk buffet open 24/7 led to both direct and in-direct frustration from both sides. 

I was supporting a great deal indirectly. Fetching things (lots of things), cleaning, tidying, sorting, picking stuff up. My care not always as visible as Jen’s. I found not being able to be as hands-on with Jack difficult. There were evenings after not seeing him all day when his first act when I picked him was to cry, demanding to go back to his mum (food source).

A breakthrough moment was when Jen was able to utilise a breast pump and me then able to give him a bottle before bed. That first feed was a very special bonding moment. That until he fell asleep on me straight after and I was stuck unable to move for 2 hours. I’d quickly learn to hit the gents and have the NFL network on the T.V before sitting down for feeding duty. 

Another breakthrough was getting proper training from a sling library (credit to the South East London Slingers - https://southeastlondonslingers.co.uk/) and being able to competently wrap Jack in my own sling. This magical cloth would transform him from a screaming nightmare to a sleeping angel. All I need do was wrap him up, put a thick jacket on and head out the door. Hitting the evening air he would immediately silence and be snoring away.

All this was very tough at first. However, I did grow into my role as Jen and Jack’s aide-de-camp. Talking and sharing with other new dads helped. I was now seeing and understanding my value in our 3-way dance.

Three months in and in some ways it was getting easier, in other ways we were entering our toughest period. Jack was not a good sleeper. Jen`s long dark nights of cluster feeding and torturous broken sleep had her dreading going to bed. My suggestion of an early night to restore her elicited the same response as would a dentist offering root canal treatment without any pain medication.

I could escape to the office, but was under pressure there too!

I would wake up and immediately relieve Jen of Jack so she could catch up on sleep. Head into the work and onto the grind. Then straight home to take over so Jen could have a little time to herself before bed. Thankfully I did still manage to carve some time for myself. I’d often cycle into the office, meditating and reading on the bus coming back the other way. I began a practice of heading out for a walk late evening.

Then there was how Jack as a 3rd dance partner affected our marriage. Sunday before Jack was always our day. A morning ritual of waking up late, tea, biscuits, reading in bed, cuddle’s B-) and some brunch. All of that accept the tea and biscuits disappeared. At any given moment one of us was on the frontline caring for Jack…the other at rear guard tidying, doing the washing, cooking… We were with each other more than ever before, although rarely ever focused on one another or connected.

Spring came, the days were longer and brighter. We’d booked a holiday abroad in Lanzarote. The travel days were particularly testing. Whether that be packing, navigating the airport, or fitting the piece of crap car seat they’d given us for our rental car. On arrival, for example, we had our luggage but our pram appeared to have vanished in transition. An exhausted Jen marched up to the airport attendee to demand where the hell it had gone. Only to be directed to the complete opposite end of the airport where a small pool of prams had been brought through separately.

How our holiday agenda had changed. We were one of the first at dinner, heading back to the room at 7:30pm for bedtime routine and lights out at 8pm latest. Gone were the days of the 10pm sit-down before moving onto the late-night bar. Now the most extreme it got was a cheeky gin and tonic in the dark whilst reading our kindles. During the day sunbathing time was limited to half-hour max before a Jack handover or nappy change. Getting ready for the day in the morning could take anything up to 2 hours. 

Saying that Jack took well to the warmer weather and we did enjoy our week in the sun.

 
Carry on baby

Carry on baby

Holiday giggles :-)

Holiday giggles :-)

 

I appreciated time with him and a break from work butI wouldn’t exactly have called the experience relaxing. Our 3rd dance partner had changed us from a romantic holidaying couple to knackered parents.

May arrived and our lives became more settled. Jack took well to weaning and meal times (although messy) were great for bonding. Breakfast was a favorite of mine and it felt good to share and enjoy something together. Jack began to sleep for longer periods at night and this gave us our evenings back. This had a hugely positive impact on home life. We could relax and reconnect. I returned to my men’s group, martial arts training, and the pressure at work became more manageable. There were still moments of stress and broken night’s sleep but these were now less regular. 

Then a significant moment. One rainy Tuesday morning after a nappy change I couldn’t remember if i’d completed the task and had to check. I did a double-take. I was an unconsciously competent nappy changer :-) That new universe I spoke of on that very first day was now my normal!

 
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Childbirth and becoming a dad

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Becoming a dad for me has been a rite of passage. Passing through I’ve been experienced all seven of the base-level human emotions - anger, contempt, fear, disgust, happiness, sadness and surprise. I’ve also taken a minor financial hit in the form of hospital car park payments! :-(

It started when at 39 weeks and 2 days of a ‘low risk’ pregnancy my wife Jen popped into the hospital for a check up after a day of slightly reduced baby movement. Initial checks (heart rate and movement) were fine, but a follow on scan showed borderline results regarding placenta functioning and it’s ability to provide appropriate oxygen and blood levels to our baby. I took the phone call at work and Jen was in tears. The consultant had recommended she stay at the hospital and begin the induction process that very night. This news came as a big shock. We’d invested a huge amount of time and effort into a planned natural home birth. I headed home and we spent an emotional few hours talking through our options with Jen’s mum and Natelie our doula.

 *note - A doula is a woman or man who gives support, help, and advice to a couple during pregnancy both during and after the birth. Info -  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doula 

That evening the babies movements were fine and presented with borderline results we opted for a second scan the following morning to clarify findings. The following morning we spoke to a different midwife about our results and she gave a far clearer explanation of what was happening. She also explained that the results were a concern, rather than an immediate risk. This put us at ease somewhat and helped clarify why they were recommending the potentially lengthy process of induction rather than a fast-time intervention such as an emergency C-Section.

Standard baby checks were again fine, however due to the babies head now being deep within the pelvis they were only able to provide a partial read from the second scan. These results showed improvement which gave us initial hope, however without a full reading they didn’t have a complete picture and again we were recommended to stay in and begin the induction process. Hope was replaced by resignation. 

‘Our home birth vision was gone.’

Even if we’d gone ahead with it, the whole event would have been shadowed with fear and anxiety. A state which would be in complete opposition to the calm and relaxed environment we knew optimal for a natural and uncomplicated birth.

We provisionally booked in to begin induction that evening but realised coming home we weren’t ready. We’d both slept terribly the night previous and were still grieving the loss of the home birth. Neither of us were in the right mental state to begin the potentially long slog of induction. We made the decision at this stage to shift back beginning the process to the following afternoon. We would still monitor babies movement and be into the hospital if anything shifted. However creating this space would allow us to clear the decks at home, getting rid of the home birth kit, packing away the birthing pool, and tidying up.

We then used the remaining time to act as if we were in early labour. We batch-cooked a chilli, got some decent sleep and went for lunch in a local cafe. The homebirth grieved our mindset had switched and we instead felt positive heading into the hospital.

Jen then had a massage from Natalie just before we departed which involved further discussions about our situation. This unsettled her again somewhat and I found it quite hard to suddenly be listening to doubts having been so clear. We argued a little and then agreed that this wasn’t helping. We were going to go to the hospital but would remain checked in with one another every step of the way. From my coaching experience I got the impression that Jen’s doubt here was a very natural last-minute fear-driven resistance. One that can often surface just before making a step towards unchartered waters.

We arrived at the hospital, were admitted onto the ward and left sitting alone on a hospital bed in a tight space encircled only by only a curtain. The situation proved to be a real low moment for Jen. We were in the exact place we’d done everything in our power to avoid being. It was tough to see her so upset. I comforted her as best I could and shifted into hunter-gatherer mode heading off to fetch food. Outside I got chatting with a tall South African gentleman whose wife was in the bed next to us. They’d begun their induction that morning. Turned out they only lived two roads down from us which quickened the bond. I appreciated the brief space and birth partner to birth partner sharing.

The interaction settled me somewhat, but on returning it was clear that Jen was still mentally somewhat shell shocked. It is rare I have ever seen her in such a low and uncommunicative state. A midwife then appeared and explained what would be happening and then we had a visit from a clinical consultant. We enquired more about our earlier scan results and the need for induction and she looked us both in the eyes and laid it down pretty direct and clear. At the time her straight-talking approach really shook us up, however in reflection it was useful in help clear any remaining doubt we had about the choices we’d made.

Something that didn’t help our anxiety is that after this blunt conversation the monitoring system Jen was hooked up to showed what appeared to be a very low heart rate for the baby. We panicked and called immediately for the midwife. Turned out that was in fact Jen’s heart rate and we’d been looking at the wrong reading!

After this I then started to fully register the environment we were in. It was time for me to have ‘a wobble’. The appearance of multiple doctors and midwives at our bedside had really shaken me up. Up until a few days ago my wife had been through a low risk, smooth pregnancy, building up to wonderful, calm and surreal birth of our child at home. Now we were here, surrounded by interchanging medical strangers, beeping machines, greenish walls, square plaster roof tiles and smell of hospital food.

I was upset and angry about the environment we found ourselves in. Jen had been described as a ‘patient’ by the doctors, but was she sick? Or was she about to move through the most natural life experience there is on earth? We knew that the space for an optimal birth experience was a relaxed, quiet and low lighted place. One where the all-important hormone for birth, oxytocin (the love hormone), would flow. Instead, from what I could see everything in the environment we were was working against this. My expectations of what to expect on a labour ward couldn’t have been more far off.

The arrival of a midwife to set Jen up with the first pessary broke my depressive brain pattern. From now on they would be dropping in to monitor the baby every 6 hours. We were now free to roam so took a stroll to a different part of the hospital, grab a drink and regroup. Talking things through we finally came to acceptance. 

‘We we here, we weren’t going anywhere else, we’d make the best of it and when we ‘left it would be as three.’

Back on the ward we prepared the curtained space we had to make it as comfortable and homely as possible. This included bringing our own pillows, affirmation cards, lamp from our bedroom and a family photo. This made us both feel better and helped counter some of the environmental flaws I’d reflected on earlier. We then got into bed together to distract ourselves watching a recent episode of one of our favourite t.v shows, ’The Apprentice’. I then left, heading home to allow Jen to get some rest. Living only 4/5 minutes away from the hospital assisted in making this decision. 

At 3:45am I had my anxious sleep broken, receiving a text from Jen with an update from the midwife baby monitoring. All had gone well with observations. Jen was experiencing some lower back pain and regular tightenings, signs she was moving in the right direction. She further reported she was feeling strong, positive and really looking forward to seeing our baby. This was like music to my ears. It felt fantastic to read this and know that after all the stress of the past few days Jen was in a good headspace. My emotions got the better of me as I cried a little before drifting off into a light snooze.

Then just after 5am I received a second text from Jen stating that she might be having contractions and although not to rush, it might be worth my heading back in. I slid out of bed, took a cold shower, threw some clothes on, packed up a final few bits and drove back in.

Arriving at the hospital it was clear from Jen’s discomfort that business was picking up. Not that the midwife on duty had appreciated this. Jen had been arguing with her for the past hour regarding her status. Jen knew instinctively that her water had broken and she was having regular contractions. However the rather lackadaisical midwife took some more convincing and it wasn’t until she finally completed a vaginal examination would it be confirmed that it was game on. Jen was 4cm dilated and now in active labour!

This came as a real surprise. From what we’d understood the induction process was a long road and the whole birth scene unlikely to happen for at least another 48 hours. This was not the case for us as Jen gripped my shoulders to work through another intense contraction, it was on like donkey kong! 

More cavalry arrived in the form of doula Natalie as we helped shift Jen into our allocated delivery room. This status shift meant that Jen would be allocated a 1-2-1 midwife to monitor proceedings. Thankfully the midwife on duty that night was the brilliant Lois. Lois was a well-spoken Jamaican lady and had been operating as a midwife for over 34 years. Her calm and confident presence was most welcome and I could tell by Jen’s instinctive response to her arrival we were in good hands.

Once we were in the room it was clear Jen was really going through the rounds. The rapid rate of her contractions giving her little time to hydrate and catch breathe before nature sent her back out into the ring for more. Jen naturally found her position on her knees, on the floor, rocking back and forth over a birthing ball. We then introduced gas and air for the first two breaths of each contraction to help take the edge off contraction intensity.

There was no time to think or process. I was in complete response mode, championing Jen, making her as comfortable as possible and responding to any of her or the midwives requests without question. Sometimes right with Jen at the centre of the action. Other times on the outside waiting for my next tasking or opportunity to support in any way possible.

One amusing moment was when Jen requested I spray water on her face to help her cool down with a water bottle we’d brought with us. No problem, however without pre-testing it became clear on the first shot that soft spray wasn’t an option. Instead, one pull of the trigger fired a powerful large bullet of water directly into Jen’s face. One go with that and it was thrown aside never to be seen again.

Then, only an hour after being in the delivery room Jen reported the urge to push! With this news the midwife would need to check that she was fully dilated requiring her up from the floor and onto the bed. This took quite an effort but eventually we got her up. When the midwife carried out the pitch inspection it was confirmed that she was fully dilated (10cm) and babies head low and fully engaged. It was time to shift gears and for the baby to begin its journey down the birth canal. No ‘rest and be thankful’ phase for us.

Jen continued to work through the contractions, Natalie keeping her cool and hydrated at the front, me supporting with light touch massage at the back, the midwife working around us to monitor progress. On occasion Jen would go very quiet and then suddenly let out a deep groan that I swear at one stage shook the room.  A medieval sound more likened to that of some kind of creature from Game of Thrones than anything remotely human.

Then, after about 40 minutes there was an indication from the Lois we weren’t far from the final whistle and she pressed the call button for the second midwife. She promptly arrived and a tray with apparatus was wheeled to the foot of the bed. I remember pausing for breathe and time slowing down at that moment, in a matter of seconds our child was going to be with us.

It was time for the main event as the midwife announced the appearance of a head and I stepped back to sneak a look. My word, our child wasn’t fully born yet and it turned out he had more hair than me! Back to the front to continue to support Jen as me, Natalie, Lois, and the second mid-wife championed her through the final pushes. Then the moment, I witnessed that first cry.

At 7:58am weighing in at a lightweight 6 pounds and 4 ounces our son Jack was born.

After some very quick visual checks from the midwife the next step was to get the baby onto Jen for bonding skin to skin. This proved difficult as the umbilical cord was very short and Jen had delivered Jack on all fours. Thankfully, we managed to get him under her legs and onto her stomach to begin these special moments of connection. Then a bonding of my own, I was invited by the midwife to cut the cord. It felt a little weird to be cutting a piece of Jen’s body that was attached to my newborn child but a memorable moment none the less.

The next hour was rather bizarre. A minute after things had somewhat settled we both shed some tears of mixed joy and relief. Then at 8am a shift change, sadly the wondrous Lois was suddenly replaced with an eccentric, old fashioned English midwife whose first act was to try and put an oversized red wooly hat on baby Jack’s head. It made him look like a misfit. This didn’t last and was quickly taken off and thrown to one side. The midwife then tried to forcefully get Jack to latch on to Jen’s breast. Totally inappropriate and again shut down quickly this time by both Jen and Natalie.

Hat dramas aside at the top half of the bed everything was wonderful. At the bottom half however there was some concern. Jen had lost quite a lot of blood during the delivery and was now struggling to deliver the placenta.  After numerous attempts to pull the bugger out a decision was made it would have to be surgically removed in theatre.

The details of the low risk operation were explained to us and Jen was swiftly wheeled off to be knocked out under general anaesthetic. I was then left alone with baby Jack in my arms. The peaceful, quiet moment holding him very special as was the next…his first poo! The earth moved beneath the towel under Jack and I was christened with a large volume of black tar-like substance called meconium. A substance I have since been told is made up of mucus, amniotic fluid, and everything a baby ingests whilst in the womb. Man, it went everywhere. Spewing out his all over my chest, stomach and destroying my favourite pair of diesel jeans. Welcome to fatherhood.

An emotional hour passed and Jen returned a bit groggy but awake from her operation. We remained in the hospital for the day and night returning home the following afternoon. I’ll never forget the first time coming through the door with Jack, it was like entering a brand new home. It was the same house but everything in the environment somehow felt different, a complete energy shift. That second night was challenging. Jack fed continuously throughout the night in order to assist and bring on Jen’s milk production. A minimal amount of sleep for all three of us. This event we since found out is known as ‘second night syndrome’ for babies.

The following day we then had some more difficult news. The blood loss Jen experienced meant that her breast milk had come late leading to Jack showing some mild signs of Jaundice (quite common in newborns). We were back to the hospital two days in row for blood tests and eventually it was recommend he had phototherapy treatment. This meant it was back onto the labour ward for another night at the hospital :-(

Heading back into hospital was mentally challenging having left just 48 hours earlier, however we knew it was for his long term good. The therapy would involve Jack lying on top of a blue lighted mat which could also be taken of his cot and wrapped around him for breastfeeding. One of the most difficult elements of the treatment was that he had to wear a pair of paper eye covering googles wrapped around his head that also covered his ears. This caused great discomfort initially, however he thankfully settled as we moved through the night. 

Their was a silver lining. Two of the couples from our NCT (National Childbirth Trust)  antenatal classes were on the ward having recently birthed their own babies. It was great to check in with them, share stories and have a baby social in our room. Thankfully Jack responded well to the phototherapy and we were released the following evening. The next day was the first day in over a week we hadn’t been to or at the hospital. We were finally all-clear to begin settling in at home as a new family. 

Since that time things haven’t been easy but we are slowly getting used to our ‘new normal’  as parents. With all of the anxiety, stress and emotion of that first week, the second week was somewhat of a comedown and natural rebalancing. The biggest challenge for us the loss of our structure and routine. Jack’s needs override everything for now. If he decides to want to feed for 90 minutes at 1am in the morning, so be it.

I’m writing this with Jack peaking at me from his ‘sleepy head’ cushion and reflecting the whole experience has got me more closely connected with the wonder of life and humanity. His arrival inspires me to recommit to my mission as a coach. 

‘I want my son to exist in a world where coaching is a fully understood, recognised, and professionalised service.’

A world where, as a man, he can have access to a men’s group and gain informed access to both counselling as well as coaching support when he needs it. I’ve already began working with him in this way. From a coaching perspective he has mid-term goals around walking and language. He made an appearance online in my men’s group, where he had space to ‘process’ the drama of birth and come to terms with fact he’s never going back in. Right, enough of this writing business for now, I’m off to take a nap…it could be another long night.

Clive Maxheath

Men’s Coach, Son, Brother, Husband and Father :-)

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In the publication of this blog post, I would like to acknowledge the following people and organisations:

  • Natalie Henriques (our doula) -  From day one you have been an incredible source of knowledge, support and wisdom. Anyone reading this who is either pregnant or looking for post-birth support, check out her website here - http://www.motherandbumpmassage.co.uk

  • The inspiring steam that works on the labour ward at the Q.E hospital in Charlton, in particular midwives Louis and Charlotte. What an amazing job you guys do, delivering up to 80 babies every week!

  • The NCT (National Childbirth Trust) organisation and the couples who were part of our excellent antenatal classes. Any future parents reading this, check out the NCT website here - https://www.nct.org.uk/

  • The ‘Working With Men’ organisation for delivery of their one-day expectant fathers course at Lewisham. Great training and opportunity to connect with fellow future dads. Check out the amazing work they are doing in the community here - http://workingwithmen.org/

  • Our family and friends who in both small and large ways supported us the whole way through.

  • Finally my wife Jen. For years I have listened to share your fear of birth, but in the past nine months through both physical and mental training you turned it around. Well…the hard work paid off. I am grateful, proud and love you dearly xxx


Enjoy this blog article? I co-host a podcast with fellow coach Micheal Hilton called ‘Men on Form’ and sat down with him to share experiences (Micheal has 3 children of his own) in a recent episode titled ‘Childbirth - New dad reflections’ . Links to the podcast here:

Ituneshttp://bit.ly/2Men_On_Form

Stitcher - http://bit.ly/2Men_On_Form_Pod

Podbeanhttp://bit.ly/Men_On_Form_Podbean


Interested in personal development coaching and want to find out more? I offer a no-cost 45 minute introduction session to explore partnership potentials. I invite you to get in touch direct via my contact page on the button below if you’d like to start a conversation: