Vignettes about being a father

He Is Testing Me

It’s funny the first time.  You’ve wiped and dried your baby and applied a soothing teatree oil spritz to their undercarriage. You say something cute like “there you go, nice and clean, little pudding”, as you unfold a crisp nappy.…
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His Eyes are Becoming

Nine days old and I still can’t tell the colour of his eyes. In his olive-green jumpsuit, they’re most certainly green. Sometimes I spot veins of caramel and gold—they’re hazel. When his mood turns his eyes are infinite black. They…
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He Is Born

Compacted, pickled and purple, cradled by our doctor whom I’ve come to know by her lip-chewing, head-tilting inspections between each round of pushing, as though contemplating a chess board, as the Grandmaster. Our boy is trussed up in his cord.…
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