The BlogFather – The Third Cubed
Three years ago today, I became a Dad for the third time. Georgia joined Seren and Talia in my small army of ScWelsh Minions. I’ll be honest, I can barely remember the day she was born. It all blurs into one considering the cumulative time spent in Prince Charles Hospital over the years prior, during and subsequent to their births.
I remember feeling less on edge compared to the previous two times but I think I also felt quite numb to the experience because of my Mum having passed away just a few days prior. A realisation hit me last night when looking at our ‘feature wall’ where we have the three girls, their names and dates of birth and clocks showing the time for each – obviously they were born on completely different dates but Talia was born four hours earlier than Seren and Georgia was four hours earlier than Talia. It has no bearing on anything but it was just a weird thing I noticed.
Each child has brought different lessons for both myself and my wife as well as their respective siblings. As I write this, Georgia demanded I put ‘Rick & Morty‘ on on Netflix. So we are both watching it from the very start as she draws and I blog. I may not be the best Dad in the world but I’m certainly doing a better job than mine did considering my wife and I are together and, although we may not be rich, we are able to provide for out children and they want for very little. I made a promise to myself years ago that my kids wouldn’t go through what I did.
Despite having a loving family, my era heralded a culture of bullying because brand names became a thing. They seemed to become the be all and end all and for families like mine where we couldn’t afford very much, it applied a free target on my head for folks who deemed it necessary to point out the obvious. As I grew up, I came to learn that possessions don’t really mean anything in the grand scheme of things but society conditions us in a way that we must accumulate regardless of the necessity.
History, in a way, has chosen to repeat itself here – my Mum had three children and I now have three children. I was the last male born into my family and I have continued the trend by contributing three daughters. My sister had one daughter and my brother has had two. All in all, we have created six girls. As a child, I remember hearing that men who don’t father a son to continue the lineage are weak and lesser men. Clearly they didn’t raise daughters because it’s hard work. I’m dreading the years to come when all three go through their…maturity stage at separate times close together. I’m the only male in the house (unless we include the dog…but if we include him we must include our cats – both are female).
I’ve never been one to worry about ‘the lineage’ especially as it started to become a thing where men would take the women’s surname in marriage. Nowadays, the bloodline doesn’t really mean a thing – in the circles I have moved in, surnames mean nothing. We’re not in an age where the name precedes the person; there’s no family crest or statement of class. All I cared about was the fact my children were born healthy.
Georgia was probably the easiest – from my point of view anyway (calm down feminists) – out of the three to be delivered. It seemed like no time at all between the first push and the last and she was just there. She was also the first of our daughters where I was invited to to cut the cord. I was so taken aback as I was never offered the chance before that I shook my head vigorously. I think, in hindsight, it was more because I didn’t really register what they were saying and just wanted her cleaned and warmed up and that incubator thing so we could hold her. I could lie and say that it was out of fairness as I didn’t do the same for her sisters which, if I had properly registered what they asked, I probably would have still declined for that very reason.
I struggled to bond with Seren when she was born because her arrival heralded a complete change to our lives. It took some getting used to. I struggled to bond with Georgia because I was already going through a life changing event – I gained another child just after I myself became an orphan. Such a strange thing to consider and experience. If I was religious I’d probably spout some shite like the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
It’s such a difficult thing to do each and every year – celebrate my daughter’s birthday when it holds such a devastating tale. It’s very difficult to be happy and joyous when it’s not something I’m terribly good at anyway. I’ve never been the social butterfly or the enthusiast. Becoming a father has changed me in many ways and each child has ushered in differences that I would probably never have experienced otherwise.
Nothing can prepare you for parenthood – no amount of classes, preparation, research or fake experience (child minding etc.) – we went in pretty blind. No antenatal classes or anything. Could we have done things differently/better? Sure. Would we? Probably not. Why? Because, change one thing and you risk changing it all and despite the hard work, tears and stress they may cause us we wouldn’t change them for the world.
How I digress! This was meant to be about the youngest critter. Happy birthday, Georgia!
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