My girlfriend and I finally tackled the delicate topic of Father’s Day last night. It’s been hovering in the background like a hapless husband.
This is our daughter’s first father’s day. She’s only seven months old. Mother’s Day was a breeze. After all, she’s got two mummies, so what’s not to celebrate. We showered each other with congratulatory cards – from each other to each other, from our baby to each other, from the cat to the baby to each other. Natalie bought me slippers and I gave her chocolates – a family tradition – and some other great stuff too, I’m sure of it.
By rights I should be Dad. I’ve got short hair and I didn’t give birth. But Natalie is far more practical than me, and I like making cupcakes, so it’s confusing.
I remember when she manifested me. She was hanging onto the dying tatters of a bad relationship at the time, trying to use her mental powers to create a better one. She listed various desirable attributes: thoughtful, kind, attractive, humorous, solvent, practical, supportive, generous. ‘Male’. She forgot to write that, so I can’t be held accountable for manifesting my female self inappropriately. However I must have been looking away when the goddess of manifestation called out for the ‘practical’ ones to move to the front of the queue.
‘I will never understand this Baby Bjorn’ I declared the other day. ‘It does not matter how many times you unravel it with a flourish and clip me into it. It’s a total and utter mystery to me. It’s a complex web of straps and clips and flappy bits,’ I declare, exasperated. Our poor daughter looks on, baffled. ‘Just get me the hell out of here, Mummy’, her eyes implore. My single contribution to the Baby Bjorn situation is to have christened it Bjorn Borg, which is funny, at least.
Also, there’s maps. I like maps. They purdy. But as a navigational tool, not so much. All those funny criss-crossy lines. Natalie, on the other hand, looks at a map before a trip and then REMEMBERS how all these criss-crossy lines looked and follows them in her head to arrive at the destination. I find that outstanding. I prefer to try and double-cross myself. You think it’s right. It must be left. Go left. Looks right. Must be wrong. Do a u turn. Stop the car. Phone Natalie.
She might have long hair, but Natalie marches around in a masculine manner. She says that I dawdle, but I’m just, you know, thinking. She’s always up to something. Laundry is approached military-style. Vacuuming is done in a frenzy. I swear the Dyson trembles when she approaches. The other day she was seen putting water coolant in the car. I mean, what even is that?
And if that’s not proof enough, our daughter said her first word yesterday. Dada. ‘See, she loves you most! Happy Father’s Day, Natalie. Fancy a cupcake?’