I once read a magazine article which centred around an interview with a gigolo. Forgive me if this seems an odd way to start a blog about fatherhood, but feel free to skip to the 3rd paragraph if you want to get straight to the point. Anyway, the interviewer was unimpressed with his looks and general demeanour but when she asked him the secret to pleasing women, he stared her in the eyes, raised his hand towards her face, drew his lips near to hers and whispered “anticipation”. At which point she supposedly reached some never-before-glimpsed erotic pinnacle. Ever since reading this I’ve tried this approach on virtually every woman who has allowed me to within a furlong of their face and it has, at best, achieved a bemused to disappointed look – but more often a flinch or carefully guided slap or kick to the most painful area of my exposed body.
Although this did eventually persuade me to adopt a more reasonable approach to wooing women (saying nothing and hoping someone would pass my way), it does still correspond with my belief that often anticipation is better than the main event, certainly those who’ve allowed themselves to salivate at the prospect of my “Chicken Perfection” would affirm (the perfect part being that it’s perfectly inedible to any being with fewer than three stomachs).
I’m not sure whether being father is like this or not, but I’m certainly enjoying the anticipation (bet you wish you’d skipped to paragraph three, now). I have been asked if being a first-time expectant father is a stressful business and even been empathised with on the basis that it has been proven so. To an extent I can see how this could be true, afterall probably the biggest life-changer of an event is approaching which is also rather a physically stretching (sorry) experience for ones partner. From a fight or flight perspective, those who neither scarper to Fillongley nor strangulate the cat for relief could seem to face a stressful old time of it.
My disposition has been a lot more relaxed, overall. In fact I would say I’ve never been so calm. It’s a central tenet of my (rather limited in relative terms) job description as Dad-to-be: Don’t Panic. Don’t go weird when you see you partner grow to twice her natural size, don’t flip out every time she goes to the toilet for 43 seconds longer than average (managed all but the first time) and generally be a calming influence. Compared to the alternative role on offer in the pregnancy stakes, there isn’t much of a comparison. So, bags are packed, sort of, nursery decorated (thanks Mum-in-Law!), books have been read, classes attended…and my heart rate is staying well below 100 bpm.
If you ever attempted to fire an elastic band at an attractive target, say, the rear of your Deputy Headmaster, then I think the feeling of anticipation as you pull back the band to nearest full stretch is how I feel now; the excitement, the potential, the build-up and the knowledge that your likely to get a slap however it works out.
Although this did eventually persuade me to adopt a more reasonable approach to wooing women (saying nothing and hoping someone would pass my way), it does still correspond with my belief that often anticipation is better than the main event, certainly those who’ve allowed themselves to salivate at the prospect of my “Chicken Perfection” would affirm (the perfect part being that it’s perfectly inedible to any being with fewer than three stomachs).
I’m not sure whether being father is like this or not, but I’m certainly enjoying the anticipation (bet you wish you’d skipped to paragraph three, now). I have been asked if being a first-time expectant father is a stressful business and even been empathised with on the basis that it has been proven so. To an extent I can see how this could be true, afterall probably the biggest life-changer of an event is approaching which is also rather a physically stretching (sorry) experience for ones partner. From a fight or flight perspective, those who neither scarper to Fillongley nor strangulate the cat for relief could seem to face a stressful old time of it.
My disposition has been a lot more relaxed, overall. In fact I would say I’ve never been so calm. It’s a central tenet of my (rather limited in relative terms) job description as Dad-to-be: Don’t Panic. Don’t go weird when you see you partner grow to twice her natural size, don’t flip out every time she goes to the toilet for 43 seconds longer than average (managed all but the first time) and generally be a calming influence. Compared to the alternative role on offer in the pregnancy stakes, there isn’t much of a comparison. So, bags are packed, sort of, nursery decorated (thanks Mum-in-Law!), books have been read, classes attended…and my heart rate is staying well below 100 bpm.
If you ever attempted to fire an elastic band at an attractive target, say, the rear of your Deputy Headmaster, then I think the feeling of anticipation as you pull back the band to nearest full stretch is how I feel now; the excitement, the potential, the build-up and the knowledge that your likely to get a slap however it works out.
