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.…
Vignettes about being a father
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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…
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.…