5 stupid things I am regularly asked…

I don’t want to sound like I’m moaning…

Nobody likes to be considered a moaner, really, do they? But, as a new SAHD dad, I find myself getting asked stupid questions on a far too regular basis. So, to set the record straight, here are 10 stupid things people seem to want to ask, again and again…

1:

Are you getting much sleep?

In my former life, as a live TV producer, I used to tell my presenters that they should never ask a question that they don’t already know the answer to. It’s a useful maxim to work by. Yes, it requires pre-interview research, but it stops your guest saying something unsavoury on air.

In real life, there are some questions that just don’t need to be asked, precisely because the answer is blatantly obvious. Every person who has ever inquired of new parents: “Are you getting much sleep?” already knows the answer they will receive. Nobody, in the history of mankind, has EVER replied: “Yes, yes I am, thanks for asking. In fact, I’d recommend that insomniacs get themselves a baby – they do wonders for the old beauty sleep.”

It’s not really a question at all, is it? It is, in reality, just a chance for a third party to point out, to your face, that you’re clearly not getting much sleep as you look like crap – something every brain-frazzled, zombie-fied parent is all too well aware of!

Please, for the love of all things holy, stop asking this question. Thank you.

2:

Is he a good baby?

How exactly am I supposed to answer this? I mean really? What a stupid thing to ask! What constitutes a ‘good’ or ( heaven forbid) ‘bad’ baby? I think the nub of the question that is being so ham-fistedly approached is probably “Does he cry a lot?” – but since when did crying have anything to do with morality?

I have, on several occasions, been tempted to reply in the following way:

“Sadly no, he’s not a good baby. In fact, we’re pretty convinced that he’s bad, very bad. We don’t have the evidence to prove it yet, but his mum and I think he was pivotal in the Kennedy assassination and disappearance of Shergar.”

If you’re not looking to be greeted with extreme sarcasm, then please don’t ask this question. Once again, thank you.

3:

Who do you think he looks like?

Once again, I understand that people are trying to be nice, but please stop with this question – especially if it’s asked in front of both parents. Newborn babies, I understand, are designed to look more like their father than mother, in order for the father to stick around. It’s one of nature’s little quirks.

Yet, asking a dad to point out that the baby looks a lot more like them, in front of the mum who has probably been up most of the night feeding said child is a little awkward to say the least.

I got around this question by pointing out that if we were honest, Sam looked most like Ian Hislop – which he did. As he’s got older, Sam now (in my view) looks like his mum and I equally – in my view her beauty balances out my ‘quirkier’ features.

Please stop asking this question. Thanks again.

4:

Are you still cycling / going to the gym / yoga / building models of the Forth Rail Bridge out of matchsticks?

Whatever it was I used to do to unwind, it’s highly likely that I’m no longer doing it right now. That’s just a fact of life. I’m a keen cyclist, I find it immeasurably relaxing, but please don’t ask if I’m getting out on my bike much. These days I feel like I’m winning if I get to go to the loo by myself. Being reminded that I have no free time, or being expected to make up an excuse why I’m not ‘making time’ for such an activity is annoying at best.

While I’m on this topic, will people please stop gong on about ‘making time’! I need to ‘make time’ for me, is advice I’ve heard. And how does that work exactly? Do I need a special watch? Should I call Doc Brown? If I could ‘make time’ I’d use it for sleeping, but sadly it seems I’m stuck on the 24 hours in a day model with everyone else. Who knew?

5:

When is number 2 on the way?

Assuming this isn’t a question about my bowel movements (which frankly, are none of your business), the answer is firmly “none your business”. It amazes me that people can ask such a personal question in the smallest of talk. What possible good do questioners imagine will come from harassing parents, knackered from the demands of the child they already have, by prodding them to have another?

I have no idea if Sam will be an only child or not. What I do know is that I won’t be rushing home to Sam’s mum, saying: “Mrs Brown at the Post Office says we better get a move on and have a second one, so we’d better take her advice!”

I’m quite content with my lovely family as it is, thank you very much. So please stop asking. Thanks again.

***

Sorry for a particularly moan-y post. I’m sure next time I’ll be all sweetness and light… mainly because (with a bit of luck) people might have stopped asking me stupid questions!

Still Sinking…

The Out of Depth Dad

www.facebook.com/OutofDepthDad

@Outofdepth_dad

 

 

 

Pretty Fly for a little guy…

The woman opposite me picked up the phone and cleared her throat.

“Ehem, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, in a strong New York accent. “Welcome aboard this American Airlines flight from New York JFK airport to Ronald Reagan international.”

There’s something about the vaguely bored tone air stewardesses give when speaking over the public address system that I find comforting. It says it all. Mainly what it says is ‘I’ve done this a million times before, and it’s all ridiculously routine’. This tone is the perfect antidote for the more sweaty-palmed flyers (such as myself).

The stewardess opposite me – I was in the first row of seats, taking advantage of the extra legroom – could barely have sounded more bored as she spoke. We were about a minute into a flight, climbing steeply with takeoff, and I was looking up to where she was seated – shoulder straps securing her to the cabin wall.

“We’ll be flying at an altitude of…”

This is where things changed. Suddenly the bored tone had gone – this had probably something to do with the climbing plane’s sudden loss of altitude. Rather than talking, this seasoned air stewardess screamed (I do not use that word lightly) into the telephone.

“AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!”

If an stewardess acting nonchalantly makes a passenger feel calm, seeing one panic has quite the opposite effect. I don’t know how long she screamed for, it must have been several seconds as the plane plunged towards the ground.

“AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Then, as suddenly as it started, the plane’s descent halted and we began to climb once more. With this, the air stewardess straightened her clothes and continued in her previous tone.

“We will be climbing to a height of…”

At that moment my lack of enjoyment at flying became a full grown phobia.

It is into this context that a flight home to Manchester, with Sam and his mum, can be placed. It was only a short internal hop – less than an hour. But I’d been dreading it for weeks. People kept saying “Oh… it’ll be nice to head home for a few days…” to which my (non-verbal) reply was always – “Yes, if we survive the flight.” This is the fundamental thing that those who have no qualms about flying don’t truly understand. For me, although I know it is much safer than a common or garden car journey, I feel like getting on a plane is a dangerous activity. Something to be survived, not savoured.

When I get on a plane I scrutinize my fellow passengers, casting them in an airborne version of the Poseidon Adventure. Who will be an asset in an emergency? Who’ll be Shelley Winters?

So you can imagine getting onto a plane for the first time with Sam and his mother was a little – read ‘massively’- stressful. What if he does nothing but scream? What if we have turbulence? What if..?

So how did it go?

Seriously I wish I’d always taken a baby with my when flying. He loved it. Sam giggled through takeoff and spent the flight either sleeping or chewing on the safety briefing laminates. As a side note – I wonder if there are any other objects on the face of the planet that must taste more strongly of stale sweat than safety cards on a flight? My palms are clammy just thinking about one.

Having another focus, beyond myself and my fear of impending doom was so useful for a terrible flyer like me. He took me out of my head and into the moment  which – although it was thoroughly strange to be in a metal tube among the clouds – was nowhere near as bad as my imaginings of what could go wrong.

I’ll look forward to many more flights with my little lad, who at 10 months is a jet-setter.

PS:

If you’re an air steward or stewardess and you see me on a flight, please try to look bored.

Still Sinking…

The Out of Depth Dad

@Outofdepth_dad