My loves
Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey

Being a father was always something I’d dreamt about…in the deepest realms of a quirky notion. It never breached the surface of my conciousness, not on anything bar a romantic level. Someone to continue the family name and if not he, then at least to carry on the family genes! Is this what it is ultimately reduced to, some primordial urge to survive, exist, perhaps, postmortem/posthumously.

I would have, in my most cynical, single man days, surmised that all there was to babies was neurotic mothers and hapless fathers, the latter forever tormented because they could never understand what it’s REALLY LIKE!

Well, as for the torment there certainly is some of that to consider. Kicking back after a day’s work with a beer and football doesn’t quite wash with a sleep deprived mother – the father’s lack of sleep doesn’t matter – but really there’s little you can do (right) with a breastfeeding mother other than F-Off (out from under her feet).

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