Landmark

Today was my daughter's first birthday. The happiest and most bewildering experience of my life was exactly one year ago. Well, almost one year and a day now. I meant to write this earlier but I've been clearing up wrapping paper and that sort of thing. It seems only proper that I commemorate the occasion in writing. I want to somehow embrace all of the highs and lows of the past twelve months, but without being tedious or repetitive. I want to condense the considerable variety of lessons I have learned into one snappy conclusion, but without resorting to patronising cliche.

I had thought I might approach this by writing about the ways in which fatherhood has changed me since a year ago. But honestly I'm not sure if it has. I'm still quite vain, a bit lazy and prepared to go to incredible lengths to avoid confrontation. If you had asked me before my daughter was born whether one could be a good parent in spite of these characteristics, then I would have offered a vain but non-confrontational response to the effect that no, I would need to change, and fully expected to.

Of course I have only my own experience to comment upon, and it's not easy to generalise about these things, but I think that parenthood in fact magnifies any strengths or weaknesses in one's character. I can only hope that my daughter (and her impending sibling) learns from me to take pride in her qualities, rest during pertinent opportunities and settle disagreements in a calm, mature manner.

One cliche, the use of which I can justify only because it is so unequivocally true, is that the positives of parenting outweigh the negatives. Admittedly, for a long time I struggled to cope with the disruption of sleep, managing to do so only because of my wife's vastly superior ability not to be lazy. And anyone who claims to enjoy changing nappies is in need of either psychiatric or olfactory treatment. But most difficult of all to cope with is the relentless weight of responsibility. In my previous life I had only to make it through the day at work before resuming a carefree existence at home each evening. Now I must continue to put the needs of at least one other person before my own for twenty four hours a day.

But sleep can be caught up with. Nappies, in reality, smell no worse than any bathroom recently visited by me. And, as a vain person, I am easily capable of appreciating the power of responsibility as a source of pride. But actually none of these rational considerations are even necessary to justify the cliche. Because when my daughter wakes me up in the middle of the night, I have come to relish it as an opportunity to spend more time with her. Every trip out with her is a chance to show off the adorable bundle of joy and curiosity which I helped to create. I cope with my responsibilities at work only by thinking of how much I enjoy my responsibilities at home.

For a long time I thought that these were ideals of which I had to convince myself. But at some point unnoticed by me I realised that I genuinely feel this way. All the hard work really does pay off. Hard work which I achieved in spite of my limitations, I think because I sensed that there was something in it for me. I'm greedy as well.

In short, my daughter makes me very happy. This is a simple, wonderful truth. My shortcomings and qualities have no discernible bearing upon this. I sincerely hope that this is the experience of all parents. If not, then this is a tribute not to parenthood, but to my daughter. Happy birthday to her.

Love spreads

Another fear which accompanies the prospect of Number Two is one which, I suspect, forever tickles the conscience of all parents of more than one: how do you spread the love evenly? Favouritism is, sensibly, something of a parenting taboo, and will certainly never be our intention. But balancing the time, love and worry you devote to your offspring already feels like a tactical minefield. For example: I shall have to stop referring to our expected as "Number Two".

Naturally, when Baby B (also an inadvisable epithet) arrives, we hope and expect to lavish upon her or him the same level of care and attention our daughter quite rightly enjoyed (and still does). But how do we do this without neglecting our daughter? I remember experiencing the same fears, albeit on a smaller scale, when my sister's second son was born. What if I didn't feel the same natural inclination to fulfill with gusto my uncle duties the second time around? I needn't have worried: both boys are equally entertaining, adorable and excellent, and I trust that I have reflected this in my interactions with them.

Another interesting aspect of this - and really the crucial one - is how the siblings involved feel. Our daughter will be about 19 months old when she starts learning to share. To what extent will she appreciate the nuances in the family lifestyle? I'm sure she will at least be sensitive to any reduction in the level of attention she receives. I believe the common manner of reconciling this difficulty is to describe it as character building.

Already I am occasionally aware that my mind is on my wife and the contents of her womb when previously it would have been on my daughter. Whilst she is a very perceptive young lady, I think I have thus far managed to shield her from this bleak truth. Nevertheless, as if in response to the impending competition, she does seem to have raised her game of late.

The days when pulling herself up was an achievement at which to be marvelled are long gone. This act is now a simple norm, to be expected whenever she arrives at any landmark taller than herself. She has now advanced to free standing. Oh yes. Admittedly she seems not be doing it deliberately, but perhaps that's why it looks so effortless. Her communication skills have also progressed to the point where she is fully capable of uttering any sound in the English language. It's just that she doesn't want to. She wants to say "Nana," again and again and again. About which Nana seems quite pleased.

But our daughter's current coup de grace is the stair climbing. We were impressed a few weeks ago when she managed one step unaided. But, virtually overnight, she pioneered a method of turning one step into two through an ingenious combination of knee and elbow work, and just sort of fearlessly repeated this until there were no more stairs to scale. Of course, we have conducted the relevant risk assessment and ensure that she is cautiously followed at close quarters when performing this feat, yet I still find it extremely impressive. Even I get a bit confused on the stairs sometimes if I think about it too much. A bit like Theo Walcott in on goal.

Child 1b can't climb the stairs.

Seriously though, I'm not sure I or anyone else will ever know the answer to the division of parenting labour question. But I'm hopeful that the answer is that, instead of dividing the love, you are able to multiply it. Of course, you can't multiply time, but we'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Maybe Science will have come up with something by the end of September.

Commence phase 2

My wife and I are not great believers in waiting three months before telling people you're pregnant. We consider our jointly held opinion on this to be reasonably well-qualified, having previously suffered the not uncommon - but nevertheless devastating - tragedy of miscarriage. On that occasion we questioned whether we had been foolishly premature in our glee, but ultimately concluded that the support and sympathy of those who knew what we had lost was invaluable in overcoming it.

Now why would I bring this up now?

Indeed. We're only about six weeks in, but our family oven is once again accommodating bun. My wonderful wife is up the duff redux. Our daughter is to be a big sister. And we are very much delighted about this.

Of course there are fears and worries to acknowledge before they can be rationalised away. How the Dickens are we going to afford to sustain such an enormous family? The savings upon which we relied during my wife's previous maternity leave are now somewhat more meagre as a result. Already we have embarked upon a frenzy of commerce: desperately selling off the less valued members of DVD and CD collections which had grown better appointed than self-respecting parents of two can afford. Besides which, we have no family silver.

Mercifully, many of the major expenses will this time be unnecessary. We already have the cot, buggy, toys and clothes (provided our new creation is either female or develops an early curiosity for cross-dressing). The daunting prospect of rearranging all the bedrooms, upon reflection, pales in comparison to the full moving house experience to which we subjected ourselves last time.

Crucially, the biggest fear presented by our first child barely registers on the scale this time around. This concerns the dread that I suspect all first-time parents feel but struggle to articulate, and that many parents of more than one fail to appreciate the lack of: that of simply having what it takes to be a parent. Well I am still very much aware of the terror I felt (but struggled to articulate), regarding my ability to take on the basic responsibility and selflessness required by fatherhood. I'm not sure how, but so far it seems that I am capable not only of making these sacrifices, but of enjoying them. I refuse to mask my pride in this fact, and I enjoy its implication: this is one big worry I need not feel this time. As for my wife, I was never concerned about her capacity for selflessness in the first place.

So, all things considered, whilst I am aware that we have opted for a smaller than average gap between child one and child two, I am confident that our reasons for trepidation are vastly outweighed by those for joy, delight, optimism and that sort of thing. For a long time, my wife and I have been in agreement that our daughter would benefit from the company of a sibling. Their closeness in age will surely mean that this benefit is all the more keenly felt.

So, in summary: Yay! We have once again successfully procreated! Does anybody want to buy a CD?