Evolution

There was no turning back.

The moment I walked down the aisle, hand in hand with Marina, my emotions redlined as my heart burst with elation, contentment and joy. Nevertheless, I was completely aware, that once I reached the end of the aisle, a new beginning beckoned, and I knew that my life would never be the same again.

Talk about an understatement, because for all the courting, wooing and swooning, no man is ever completely ready to say goodbye to bachelorhood, but like the full stop after the last word (usually the wife’s) in any argument, it is final and there is no going back.

Take Cornflakes for instance; it’s a staple part of any breakfast, but as I quickly learnt, it was not considered dinner fare. The mere suggestion of such a gastronomic feast after sunset was met with a steely glance from across the kitchen counter that ensured that I never make such a ludicrous proposition again.

Similarly, the assumption that Marina enjoyed watching me play video games and therefore would rate those moments together as quality ‘us’ time was way off the mark. And here I thought saving the world (albeit a virtual one) or fighting (fake) crime or rearranging geometric shapes would make her chuffed. Needless to say this was a boss battle that I did not win, and I knew from previous ‘Cornflake’ experiences, if I laid siege to my claim, I would find myself on the receiving end of a manoeuvre that would not be out of place in Mortal Kombat.

Selecting movies can be a veritable minefield of discussion, but Marina and I had similar tastes in movies, so agreeing what to watch was never difficult. There were of course exceptions, and on rare occasions, we did not see eye to eye.  For example, Marina scoffed at any movie where the plot consisted solely of destroying everything within a ten mile radius with large-yet-pointless explosions while riding a bike, exchanging clichéd repartee with a mad man and his feline sidekick and shooting down a helicopter with a slingshot, but yet freely extolled the greatness of any film showcasing Mr. Darcy rising out of a body of water with a wet shirt.

While these adjustments took some getting used to, it did not compare with the science of bed sharing. I don’t mean selecting the side of bed, but the process of staying on your designated half during the night. The key word here is ‘half.’

During my schooling, especially during lessons on fractions, I am positive that the when you divide one by two, you get a half. I assumed, wrongly obviously, that we would each get half of the bed. Real world maths obviously are not congruent with wife maths, because according to “better half” arithmetic, when two people share the bed, the female gets nine-tenths of the mattress.  The reason, I now realise, comes down to legal machinations – ownership is nine tenths of the law.

‘The Law’ in this case is typically what lies down on the mattress beside the man.

If only the corrosion of your manhood was limited to the bed, it would not be so bad. But within a couple months of wedded bliss, I discovered that my cupboard space shrank and my pants conveniently found themselves on Marina’s side. The bathroom vanity proved to be hers also, and any quantum of space that was allotted to me, was purely leased, with the terms and conditions reviewed daily.

But such adjustments are to be expected once you tie the knot, because finishing a video game level, enjoying a bowl of cereal at the wrong time of day and being exposed to the horrors of Colin Firth stepping out of a pond ad nauseam pales significantly in having a woman by your side that loves you unconditionally, in spite of your foibles and idiosyncrasies. Knowing this, as I kiss Marina good night, even though I am hanging onto the edge of the bed for dear life, makes life sweeter.

But no sooner had I settled into the world of ‘husbandhood’ (and it is a hood like south central LA, but instead of worrying for your life, you have to constantly “Check yo’ self before you wreck yo’ self” to avoid being taken down by drive-by nagging) I got dropped into the world of fatherhood.

Like every NASA space craft that has landed off world, when you touchdown on planet fatherhood, it will be with a resounding thud and you will have no idea what to expect.  Yes, I am positive you were informed of what your life will be like ‘after children’ from parents, friends, midwives and random old ladies on the street but nothing can prepare you for the baby, once he or she arrives.

For one, the mathematics of a sleep steps into the realm of imaginary numbers. Without much fuss, the marital bed is unequivocally removed from the equation, because during those first few months, sleep does not exist, but is only dreamed about.

Don’t worry though, while you have not prepared yourself for the drudgery of sleep deprivation, you, unbeknownst to yourself, have been in preseason training for other aspects of fatherhood.

Remember all that time you spent in the gym bulking up? You can now showcase your toned physique by performing a routine called the “Stroller Jerk-and-Lift”. This exercise involves folding and packing the pram, nappy bag and the shopping in the car (while trying not spill your coffee) while placating a screaming baby and remaining composed as onlookers look in your direction with awe and admiration (or is that pity?).

Packing the pram in the car is only the beginning.  Now comes the fun part…playing pram Tetris.  The boot of your car may be loaded, but small movement, will the cause the shopping to shift, the eggs to break, the milk to spill and the pram wheel to break off. To avoid crying over spilt milk, and having to explain your lack of foresight to the management at home, you have to use those well-honed muscles to reorganise every object in your car boot and serenade the wailing baby in the back seat.

This process may appear difficult, but I actually gave you the good news first. Loading the back of the car is easy compared to the muscles and mental fortitude required to put the baby into their seat when he or she refuses to sit down and planks across it, while they are screaming for their mother and slapping you in the face.

Needless to say, Like the mean streets of LA, life in the paternal ‘hood, takes no prisoners

Don’t worry if you are having trouble adjusting, you can always ask you wife for help, because according to her, “dealing with her husband is akin to dealing with a child”.  (I am sure men have similar thoughts about their spouse, but as you know, you are not getting in the last word, so you might as well keep your mouth shut.)

The arrival of a child also gives a new meaning to “six pack”. Before child(ren)  your aim was to get your six pack on your stomach al a Calvin Klein models. The arrival of baby(s) means your aim becomes to get a six pack in the fridge.  This six pack could be beer, soft drink, vodka cruisers or even a six back of baby bottles. Let’s not forget the six pack of noodles in the cupboard either.  Remember those cornflakes that were frowned upon? When there is no time to cook, Cornflakes, two minute noodles or that frozen packet of spring rolls are next best thing, because as your wife will concur, after a hard day, it is the best dinner you will ever have.

A diet such as this also requires a stringent exercise regime. In a Dad’s (and mum’s) case, this involves early mornings, hopping and skipping (because you have unwittingly stepped on a toy), touching the floor (as you bend over to clean up the mess), Bicep curls (lifting coffee, tea, beer, the baby etc.) and of course an intense cardio workout as you chase your child around the house

You would think that these work outs would keep your body toned, but the truth is, there is no escaping the ‘Dad Bod’.  It is a creation that is crafted with care over the course of years, and that six pack that you were working on before baby, will transform into what could be considered a ‘case’.  This is not a bad thing, because being a father is letting go of the past and embracing the future, and with the ‘Dad Bod’, you can be guaranteed that there is always more to embrace, and your kid(s) will love you for it.

But thankfully, the kids do help in keeping the ‘Dad Bod’ from spiralling out of control. Once a child begins solid food, every mealtime becomes a Sizzler-like experience, because your plate becomes their buffet, and if you have more than one child, feeding time is like walking into a squall of seagulls with a loaf of bread in each hand – you will be lucky to escape with your fingers – and sanity – intact.

This type of behaviour is not surprising to men and in fact, every husband should be used to it. It is common practice when a man and wife dine out, it does not matter what a husband orders, his wife will covet it. The end result is that man is left eating salad, while his soul mate rips into his steak with onion rings, drenched in pepper sauce.

If you think dinner is challenge, then I dare you to open a piece of chocolate and finish it. Children (and wives…) take selective hearing to a whole another level. I can guarantee you that a child will never hear you when you are speaking directly to them, but will be able to hear a chocolate wrapper/chip packet/soft drink open in the other room while the TV is blaring and the vacuum is on.

Fatherhood (and motherhood) also ensures that you leave your self-respect at the door. Every day with a little one is like those dreams when you arrive at school wearing only your underwear, but unfortunately parenthood does not afford you the luxury of waking up, and those feelings of self-consciousness are your constant companion, as your child does everything in their power to embarrass you in a public place. Under these circumstances, there is only one option available to you – take the child back to the car…but even then, you know how that can turn out…

I could go on and on (if my previous blogs are anything to go by, I have) because these life changes are only the tip the parenthood iceberg. Saying that, even if you do read my blogs or the countless other’s on the internet, I guarantee you that nothing will prepare of you for transformative nature of having children.

It is obvious that when a man becomes a husband (and a woman becomes a mother, for that matter) he (and she) loses a little bit of himself (and I am not talking about the pants on the honeymoon either). When a man becomes a father, his manhood is diminished further, but I can say wholeheartedly, what he looses in manhood, gets replaced in copious amounts with the virtues of fatherhood. You realise that your new role outweighs what has come before and will certainly exceed every one of your expectations.  It is an evolution that is unexpected, will be difficult, but it produces an outcome that exceeds the sum of its parts.