1066 All Stars

What About Me?

One of the most difficult things about becoming a parent is that you cease to be the most important person in your life.

My youth was hardly misspent but I did like to indulge in videogames, watch films, watch football and maybe even sneak in a beer or two occasionally.

With my twins approaching 4, I find that these activities have gradually fallen by the wayside. My PS3 sits under the TV gathering dust; the Xbox 360 has ceased to become my secondary games console and has instead become the girls' DVD player, playing host to Frozen and Tinkerbell; my computer room is now a child's bedroom, my awesome gaming rig reduced to a cramped corner of the front room; Sunday afternoon football has been replaced by trips to the park, Match of the Day going unwatched all season.

And so it goes on. My life has irrevocably changed and that is a tremendously difficult concept to grasp. I have an underlying sense of resentment that I no longer get to do the things I want to do. Being able to stay in bed until 7am and only being woken up twice in the night is considered a lie in.

But there is a balance to be drawn. Whatever I perceive to have been lost has been replaced in other ways. Resentment and regret feed a negative thought cycle. My childless days are gone. My batchelor days are gone. This is the life I now have. It is important to live in the moment. To accept.

And by finding this balance, I find that those things I thought lost are not so hard to find. Sure, a session on Football Manager until 3am on a Saturday night / morning is probably a thing of the past. But I can still squeeze in some gaming time now and then, including some family time on the Wii. And there is still time for a book, football can be watched on the mobile or On Demand.

Life isn't over. It is simply different.

What's That Coming Over The Hill, Is It A Monster? No It's Their Brother!

The arrival of a new child is undoubtedly a joyous occasion to be celebrated. However the rush to beam and dote can mask an underlying anxiety.

When the girls were born, our lives were immediately changed but we knew no different. People would comment on how much more difficult everything must be with twins but to us it was normal. We always thought how boring it must be with just one.

And everything was new. Each hint of a smile was captured in a photo, each cajoled roll on the floor filmed. Each new product required was meticulously researched.

Life threw up its challenges of course. In fact it was during this phase that I finally entered therapy for depression and anxiety. But everything would be dropped when something with the girls needed attention. However, further challenges awaited.

When our son was born, it was different. Everything could be dropped apart from the girls. And so after he was born and I went back home, I still had them to look after. It didn't matter that I was tired. It didn't matter that I was (technically) unemployed. It didn't matter that I had barely seen my son. The girls needed to be dressed and fed and entertained.

I took them up to the hospital to see him but they weren't really interested and I ended up having to take them home earlier than expected as they became restless.

We tried again the next day. This time, encumbered by a car seat for the boy that it turned out we didn't need, I failed to hold one of the girls' hands crossing a road and she very nearly ran into the path of an onrushing car. Entering the hospital, tired and emotional, I found myself fighting to hold back tears, resentful of the girls for denying me time with my son, appalled by my own parenting skills and aghast at my lack of bonding with our new addition.

At home the circumstances may have changed but the same issues remained. Unlike with the girls where they could have our undivided attention, we already had two children that needed us. And so naturally mummy focused on baby whilst I concentrated on the girls.

As a result, a divide sprang up in my mind. As much as I wanted him, the introduction of our son had disrupted our family unit. It had been us and the girls. Now, it was us, our girls and our son.

One of the many lasting benefits of therapy is the gift of perspective. I tried to step back from the situation, to understand what was happening and why I felt the way I did. I loved my son, I was thrilled that he had come into our lives. At the same time, I was still working through my own recovery, not to mention coming to terms with the death of my dad just a few months prior. And change, no matter if it is a positive change such as a new baby, can be disruptive to our mental health.

And so I acknowledged to myself that this was a form of post natal depression. And through acknowledgement, I could learn to try and be kind to myself, learn not to judge myself and give myself the opportunity to work through these feelings.

11 months on, I have a sense of completeness about my family unit. I have everything I could have ever wanted. That doesn't mean that life is perfect though. Having children is stressful. It is only natural to fantasise about the imaginary single man, playboy lifestyle lost. But these are just thoughts and thoughts are not actions.

The reality is that I am a parent. And I wouldn't change it for the world.