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

*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.

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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.

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.

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

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

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

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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