I have a confession to make.
I’m not always a nice person.
You might know me from these posts and my tweets as someone who is candid, honest, truthful and sometimes a little bit stupid. But, confuse me not with a nice person, for I am not that.
Why am I not a nice person? Well, let me confess something to you. Or rather as you a question?
What to Damien, Shrek 1 and Shrek 2, Lumpy, Pob, Squinty and Maka Paka have in common?
They’re all names I give, in my head, to children of people I know.
This makes me a bad man doesn’ it? I should go, I’ve said enough…
Actually I never have said these things. Well, maybe once. Maybe, I told a truly lovely friend that I thought a friends baby looked like Pob. But that’s what you do with amazing people you trust with your soul? You confess. But I digress…
Damien’s easy. He scares the holy shit out of me. Shrek 1 and Shrek 2? Well guess who they look like? Lumpy is as it says on the tin. Pob, the TV character, banned for spitting. Squinty, because, and Maka Paka ‘cos of the dark circles under this child’s eyes. But if he will stay up while his daddy plays XBox until 1 in the morning…
I say this of course safe in the knowledge that my children are, quite simply, gorgeous in every way. But it was not always so. I’m about to ‘fess up to something else.
When my son was born… do you know where I’m going with this?
To cut a long story short, I arrive at work, receive a text ‘Waters Broken.’ A sledgehammer hits me in the stomach and tells me, ‘Go into Def Con Panic.’ I’m told stay at work but keep in touch. Dr B gets into hospital and they need to monitor the baby. They’re still doing this at 4.00pm and offer her the chance to be induced. I get there at 4.15pm. It starts to snow. Inducing seems like a good idea as we’re not going anywhere in THAT. 7.54am next morning, T is born. My son. My amazing little boy.
I’m not down the business end so I don’t see everything that goes on, but Dr B holds him, they wipe him a bit and there I gaze at my son for the first time and think…
Now I know you’re supposed to, probably, think that this is the most amazing and beautiful moment that has ever existed. The time when you first meet your son. I know there are things you’re supposed to think. Perhaps I’m just odd. I wondered what the gas and air would be like to have a go on, how long could I leave it before I had to go and get something to eat and ‘Oh my god, what is THAT?’
Perhaps it was the fear. The fear that my life was about to change unalterably. Perhaps I just couldn’t get over the amount of goo. He was tiny. 6lb 7oz. Is he supposed to be that small? Everyone kept saying he was long, a long baby. Is that good? He kept holding his arms up and pulling them apart in a shuddering reflex. Is he SUPPOSED TO BE DOING THAT? He kept crying. Is he supposed to do that? He shat on me. Non human stuff. Is that right and normal? WHAT IS GOING ON HERE! WHO IS THIS?
I gathered my thoughts as he calmed himself in my arms. You know, I’d never actually held a baby before.
He was a bit blue. So, in my head, I named him Smurf.
I kissed him. And told him that I was sorry. Really sorry. And would never think bad thoughts like that again.
And then I met our friend’s children Shrek 1 and Shrek 2…
To quote Nice Cave ‘ahh fuck it, I’m a monster, I admit it.’
Does anyone else have any rather interesting pet names for friend’s children? Or am I the only evil bastard in the room?
Thanks for reading.
First published December 14th, 2011