Honeybunny

In all this discussion about NotHeidi and how I'm affected and changing because of him I'm intentionally glossing over how his mother is changing too. One of the axiomatic pieces of advice for any writer is to write what you know about and when it comes to that I am, at the very best, only the second most qualified person. However there are some things about motherhood that, when viewed from the fathers side, do bear mentioning.

This is not the woman I married.

I mean it is. Obviously. It's not like she walked off into the sunset and I just replaced her with a suitable facsimile. No, but you can't help but notice some changes.

Let's start with coffee. Like most nine-to-fivers there was a certain ritual to a cup or three of morning coffees. When the barista knows your name, and your favourite coffee you officially have a habit. NotHeidi's mum had a habit. Then, slowly, there was a conscious effort to remove that stimulant from the diet to the point where there was a slight embarassment as she walked past the coffee shop trying to avoid the eyes of the barista as he (and they were all "he's") got ready to greet her only for her to continue past leaving him a little deflated. "Maybe tomorrow...", he might have thought to himself.

There is always a benefit to having others to share your guilty pleasures with. It's why smokers tend to go out in groups because nothing bonds you quite like emphysema. It's why people only eat dessert if they can convince someone else to have one too, though I've never had that problem. What about when you can't stop talking about that stupid reality TV show you like so much when you find someone else does too. It's a camaraderie that you can share, a common experience and a talking point. So too with coffee.

How often have I been invited out for a coffee and I politely decline saying I don't drink it? It's like you're in a club called the human race and having to admit you're not actually a member. You become an outcast, people discuss you and whether your ability to sustain a morning without coffee might be linked to a rampant addiction to uppers. Perhaps it wasn't icing suger from a doughnut that was on his nose. Is he on some sort of disgusting health kick? Obviously my physique quickly dispels that last hypothesis. The only thing that could be worse is being a member of the club and then choosing to leave. This is what NotHeidi's mother did.

Then NotHeidi himself came along and because consistent sleep deprivation is something that simply cannot be overcome without help the coffee returned. It got called go-juice, I understand both interpretations of that name are apt.

My beautiful wife with coffee, her after giving it up and after resuming it again are not so different from each other. What has changed is that where before there was tenderness and an unending supply of optimism we have a newly found sense of steely resolve. There is pragmatism and there is a new, unspoken air of "If you don't like it I don't care and while you're at it please get the fuck out of my way". She would never utter those crude words but she doesn't have to and it's nice that I imagine she would still say "please". I put this down to a complicated result of what is best described as PTSD.

This is why mothers groups are generally so successful. No matter what else you might have opinions on or what you do each of you have carried around a human being for far too long. Each has gone through all sorts of prodding and probing for the health of their child. Expelled it through an opening natural or man made but in either case with lasting damage left behind. Then, on top of that, have this child continue to drain you of fluid through one of the more sensitive areas of the body and now it stops you from sleeping as well. If that kind of shared experience doesn't bond you what will?

There is a single mindedness and a willingness to overcome any obstacle that changes your stance, your attitude and your tolerance for idiocy. If my baby needs something I shall go get it. Store's closed? No problem, there's somebody with a key. Oh look, there's one right here.

Ummm... honey, that's a brick.

1000-yard stare.

I'll just start the car, shall I?

Having a child is like Occam's razor for life. I love my wife, I love her values, her humour and her unquenchable desire to do what is best for our child. She personifies everything that I could ask for in a mother and nothing of what she does is ever in any way too much trouble, or part of a convoluted quid pro quo arrangement. It's a selfless love for one human being and ensuring that everything is right for him to  make his mark on the world without wanting for anything a child can reasonably expect.

I'm just here trying to help her do it. And not get in the way.