There are not many situations that compare with getting told you’re going to be a Dad. I found the feeling quite similar to when one is about to get one’s head kicked in. Every man at some point or another will have experienced this. Perhaps on a Friday night after shouting the wrong thing to the wrong bloke, watching him run towards you baring his teeth and snarling. That feeling, where you cannot decide whether to advance forward like a man, or high tail it and run, is the same feeling you get when informed of impending fatherhood. I can hear the honourable men among you swearing blind that you never had any other feeling but joy and elation. I have news for you, you’re lying. And rightly so, admit to your partner that you have feelings of dread and she is going to beat you unrecognisable, so my advice to you is of course lie, oh and don’t run.
You will probably find that you will be informed in one of two ways. The first is this, ‘You’re going to be a daddy’ and the second is this ‘I am pregnant’. Now this next bit is very important, you may think the second way is a somewhat ambiguous statement, believe me, it is not. Both these two methods of delivery mean the same thing. Despite what you may have seen in the latest episode of EastEnders, under NO CIRCUMSTANCES are you to utter any variation of the following phrases:
“who’s is it?”
“Is it mine?”
“How did this happen?”
The mere fact that she is telling you in this manner means it is your baby, and unless this lady really does take promiscuity to new levels (in which case it is your own bloody fault), it is much more advantageous for you to keep quiet. The alternative is, learn how to slip a punch, fast. Luckily for me, I was alone when I found out I was going to be a dad. The problem was, I genuinely could not work out whether this news was good or bad. The cons of the situation were obvious enough, I am not in a relationship with the mother, not married, not financially stable and in still in the first stages of my military training. The concept of me imparting wisdom and care on to anything was pretty laughable, nevertheless, there was a definite feeling of excitement. Even though the odds were seriously in favour of complete failure, I still found myself sitting in my car, radio off, in complete silence grinning to myself like a total wally. Anyone walking past must have thought I was either very odd, or assumed there was a girl down in the foot well.
I wanted to tell people, in fact I made the mistake of telling more people than I should have. Leaving my parents till a bit later, I told my brother, (who congratulated me) my sister, (who called me an idiot) and a girl I was seeing (who hung up). Now that I have a bit more knowledge under my belt I would advise anyone against informing the world that they’re going to have a baby until after the 12-week scan. Anything before this date is risky because there is a much higher chance of miscarriage in the first 12 weeks. The last thing you want to do is plaster it all over Facebook (incidentally something that most people find incessantly irritating) only to have to publically share your grief if something goes wrong.
I’ll leave it there for now, I don’t want to prattle on for too long, nor will I be committing to adding a new post to this blog every day. The next bit will be in the next ‘then’ post. And its all about the wonders of pregnancy. For a man, its a minefield.