Am I prepared? Am I ready this time? Two years ago I wrote about the utter shock of realisation that I was not prepared for fatherhood. Now two years later from that introspection, I sit, uncomfortably slouched in a red vinyl armchair at the foot of a hospital bed, one of my legs dangled over an arm of the chair, another perched on the end of the bed, Mme. L. apparently asleep, although unlikely to be truly so, as she seeks relief from the discomfort of pre-labour, her legs emanating and radiating shocks of pain, her most recognisable labour symptom… and I wonder if I am any more ready now, for the flood of emotion beset upon me by the realisation of becoming a father, again.
I have innumerable…
(Mlle. M. was delivered 24 June 00:09)
24 June 11:10
I had innumerable fears, doubts and emotional weaknesses leading into the delivery of our second child. As I my wont, I cried at everything: thanking our midwife, Mme.’s labour pains, the moment of realisation. And now I am betwixt my want to cuddle Mlle. F, oh you lovely little maelstrom in toddler; and my want to pluck Mlle. M. from her incubator and just hold her, hold her, hold her and cuddle and just hold, her.
Karma has given me two daughters to fret over. Yet another phala is that I have Mme. L., she is the ultimate mother, wife. I know that any emotional struggle I ever bear, she has earned tenfold and yet shows only one tenth the level of my quivers. So I know that no matter what I need to face, to grow two fierce women, that I do it with the best woman I’ve ever met at my side.
“At night you write out of guilt, but in the morning you write out of hope.”
(Roger Deakin, Notes From Walnut Tree Farm)