Cutter's Blog: 14:14
On the 13th February, at 14:14, my daughter was born.
I never particularly envisioned ever claiming the title of ‘dad’ one day. When I was younger, say around high-school, I was under the general impression that one day I’d have kids, but by the time I was almost through with college, I was adamant that I’d never want kids. I used to hear the same sayings all the time; you’re young yet, so you’re bound to think that way; it’ll be different when you meet the right person; you’ll forever regret it if you don’t; having kids is the best thing you could possibly do with your life. I paid next to little mind to the words of advice from family throughout the years, arguably more so once I was in my twenties. I wasn’t interested in having kids. In fact, being a dad sounded like an utter nightmare to me, a life-ending catastrophe. I don’t know what it was, but I just couldn’t hack it. I was mortified by the prospect of fatherhood. Maybe it was because I’ve always had a clear-cut vision of what I’ve wanted from my life; to live as a creative, to embroil myself in the ‘art life’ by writing books and drawing pictures and following whatever creative challenge I deem fit (or even necessary) to see through. I viewed starting a family as the ultimate roadblock, and that belief was unshakable for many years.
Well, my stubborn-ass has to confess something, now; all those phrases of aforementioned wisdom regarding fatherhood were true. (Yeah, dad, you were right, I get it now, okay?). I was young, not to mention single, so to envision the life I’m currently leading was rather difficult to do; it was different, whole-heartedly so, once Ash and I got together, and I was no longer alone; and yes, I can confirm that having my daughter is the absolute best thing I’ve ever done, which gives validation to the warning that I would one day regret choosing to live my life without ever embracing fatherhood.
People always say that the moment you become a parent for the first time, it’s like a switch goes off in your head, and your entire worldview is subsequently rewritten to accommodate this life-changing occurrence. I can’t quite put into words precisely how I felt at that moment when everything changed, because it’s just so unfeasibly difficult to accurately describe. It’s all parts joyous, overwhelming, terrifying, wonderful, nerve-wracking, emotional and even absurd, to some degree. Our daughter was born via C-section (we were really nervous to hear this at first, but now, having been through it, we feel there couldn’t have been a better option), and, being unreasonably squeamish (weird for a horror guy, I know), I was wrought with the worry that I would at some point collapse during the ordeal. Thankfully, I didn’t, largely due to the fact that there was so much going on I didn’t even have the time to think about fainting. To my surprise, the operation itself was quite swift, and not even ten minutes passed before we heard the first cries of our daughter. The surgeons lowered the sheets and there she was, held up beneath the beaming white lights, covered in blood and other gunks with her tiny arms and legs outstretched, crying away. (Shrieking, really). It’s referred to as ‘the lion king moment’, only less graceful, but somehow still beautiful.
Once our daughter was wrapped up (complete with a tiny pink hat), she was placed on my chest and, quite humorously, immediately started seeking a nipple so she could feed. I’d love to say something quite poetic like ‘time just stood still’, but I’d be lying. If anything, time sped up, both forwards and backwards; I thought of life before that moment, memories that now feel somehow empty without her presence, and I thought of the future memories that are yet to come: all those roads as of yet untravelled, all those milestones not yet within reach, but waiting still. As Ash was being stitched up, I held onto our girl before cutting the cord. It wasn’t as tough as I was led to believe; it was more stringy than anything else, with minimal blood leak. For the rest of the day, I don’t think it quite hit home that I’d suddenly acquired the title of dad.
I felt a little guilty about not crying at the moment she was born. Everyone always says that the emotions will overwhelm you and you won’t be able to do anything to stop the tears from falling once you see your child for the first time. I put it down to the fact that I was worried about Ash on the operating table, worried (already) about our girl, and overwhelmed with the fact that now I had a family of my own to protect and provide for. It was almost like there wasn’t any time for tears. But lo and behold, those tears came the day after our girl was born. Ash was advised to get up and try walking (just down the corridor and back, because she had to be wary of the stitches) and I was left alone with our daughter. And as I looked at this tiny human who was already somehow so perfect, her dark blue eyes slowly creaked open and she took a hold of my finger, and squeezed it tight, as if to say: ‘I’ve got you too.’
14:14 - when Niamh was born, and I was home again.
I never particularly envisioned ever claiming the title of ‘dad’ one day. When I was younger, say around high-school, I was under the general impression that one day I’d have kids, but by the time I was almost through with college, I was adamant that I’d never want kids. I used to hear the same sayings all the time; you’re young yet, so you’re bound to think that way; it’ll be different when you meet the right person; you’ll forever regret it if you don’t; having kids is the best thing you could possibly do with your life. I paid next to little mind to the words of advice from family throughout the years, arguably more so once I was in my twenties. I wasn’t interested in having kids. In fact, being a dad sounded like an utter nightmare to me, a life-ending catastrophe. I don’t know what it was, but I just couldn’t hack it. I was mortified by the prospect of fatherhood. Maybe it was because I’ve always had a clear-cut vision of what I’ve wanted from my life; to live as a creative, to embroil myself in the ‘art life’ by writing books and drawing pictures and following whatever creative challenge I deem fit (or even necessary) to see through. I viewed starting a family as the ultimate roadblock, and that belief was unshakable for many years.
Well, my stubborn-ass has to confess something, now; all those phrases of aforementioned wisdom regarding fatherhood were true. (Yeah, dad, you were right, I get it now, okay?). I was young, not to mention single, so to envision the life I’m currently leading was rather difficult to do; it was different, whole-heartedly so, once Ash and I got together, and I was no longer alone; and yes, I can confirm that having my daughter is the absolute best thing I’ve ever done, which gives validation to the warning that I would one day regret choosing to live my life without ever embracing fatherhood.
People always say that the moment you become a parent for the first time, it’s like a switch goes off in your head, and your entire worldview is subsequently rewritten to accommodate this life-changing occurrence. I can’t quite put into words precisely how I felt at that moment when everything changed, because it’s just so unfeasibly difficult to accurately describe. It’s all parts joyous, overwhelming, terrifying, wonderful, nerve-wracking, emotional and even absurd, to some degree. Our daughter was born via C-section (we were really nervous to hear this at first, but now, having been through it, we feel there couldn’t have been a better option), and, being unreasonably squeamish (weird for a horror guy, I know), I was wrought with the worry that I would at some point collapse during the ordeal. Thankfully, I didn’t, largely due to the fact that there was so much going on I didn’t even have the time to think about fainting. To my surprise, the operation itself was quite swift, and not even ten minutes passed before we heard the first cries of our daughter. The surgeons lowered the sheets and there she was, held up beneath the beaming white lights, covered in blood and other gunks with her tiny arms and legs outstretched, crying away. (Shrieking, really). It’s referred to as ‘the lion king moment’, only less graceful, but somehow still beautiful.
Once our daughter was wrapped up (complete with a tiny pink hat), she was placed on my chest and, quite humorously, immediately started seeking a nipple so she could feed. I’d love to say something quite poetic like ‘time just stood still’, but I’d be lying. If anything, time sped up, both forwards and backwards; I thought of life before that moment, memories that now feel somehow empty without her presence, and I thought of the future memories that are yet to come: all those roads as of yet untravelled, all those milestones not yet within reach, but waiting still. As Ash was being stitched up, I held onto our girl before cutting the cord. It wasn’t as tough as I was led to believe; it was more stringy than anything else, with minimal blood leak. For the rest of the day, I don’t think it quite hit home that I’d suddenly acquired the title of dad.
I felt a little guilty about not crying at the moment she was born. Everyone always says that the emotions will overwhelm you and you won’t be able to do anything to stop the tears from falling once you see your child for the first time. I put it down to the fact that I was worried about Ash on the operating table, worried (already) about our girl, and overwhelmed with the fact that now I had a family of my own to protect and provide for. It was almost like there wasn’t any time for tears. But lo and behold, those tears came the day after our girl was born. Ash was advised to get up and try walking (just down the corridor and back, because she had to be wary of the stitches) and I was left alone with our daughter. And as I looked at this tiny human who was already somehow so perfect, her dark blue eyes slowly creaked open and she took a hold of my finger, and squeezed it tight, as if to say: ‘I’ve got you too.’
14:14 - when Niamh was born, and I was home again.
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