I truly didn’t realise how much of a control freak I am until I became a father. I mean, it’s almost unbearable. To the point where, when my wife is cooking, I flutter around like a twatty annoying moth clearing up any mess as she goes. Some may think, ‘OOoo that’s nice. I wish my husband would do that’. But alas, no. It’s not enviable. Not. At. All. I’ve so far only been threatened once with a knife which, I think you’ll agree, is some seriously good restraint from my wife. For fuck sake I even followed one of the dogs around yesterday on hands and knees, wiping with a cloth as I went, all because he drank some water and his glistening wet beard was dripping on my recently cleaned floors. For the merest of seconds I was tempted to take the water away from them… What’s a bit of canine dehydration when kitchen floor splodges are at risk. (Please don’t react to that. I’m joking… A bit)

So, mix into this toxic brew of functioning OCD the unpredictability of a baby whose very reason for living seems to be so she can test out the adhesive quality of yoghurt on all surfaces, then I guess it’s easy to understand why my migraines have got worse. Jesus I sound menopausal. Is that possible for me? Perhaps man-opausal. A good friend announced the other day that she basically talks to me like I’m a mum so is my next step to grow boobs? Actually… With my impending 40th birthday and Moo’s utter reluctance to go back to the creche at the gym I am neatly cultivating some plentiful bloke bosoms, some ‘man-aries’, as I type. Of course that has NOTHING whatsoever to do with eating Moo’s left overs and the impressive amount of wine I drink… Noooo

I’ve really struggled with the unpredictable mess that having a baby automatically equates to. Seriously bloody struggled at times. Those end of the day moments when the food is largely Jackson Pollocked all over the wall and floor, when she then empties the seemingly endless supply of balls from the ball pit, when the dogs are somehow now more yoghurt than fur, and when she ensures there is more water on the outside of the bath than the inside; those days are hard – like some Orwellian nightmare hard. I desperately want to clear it all up before my wife gets home. I ultimately cannot relax until I’ve reset everything and supper is on it’s way. But, to be perfectly frank as I am not frankly perfect, I’m fucking knackered by that point that even feeding the dogs feels like a massive task. (I do though. I promise… Sometimes)

I recently brought her a load of art supplies… I’ll just leave that sentence hanging there

If I let all of my paranoias and neuroses impact on the way I see Moo developing; the way she eats, plays, gets angry, grizzles, everything; then I, and she, will be in trouble. I have to really watch myself as I am so aware of how much my crappy nonsense can infect her, how much I can influence her and pass on my man-hang-ups. And I really don’t wanna do that! I help myself through this by remembering that I know no functioning adults that refuse to brush their teeth and throw their crocodile toothbrush into the loo (yes ladies, very clever – ‘Why don’t you close the seat then’. I will. Leave me alone will you). I have yet, rather unfortunately actually, come to meet someone at an upmarket restaurant who displays the kind of petulance Moo is capable of. Picture the scene:

“And what would Sir like to order?”

“WAAHHHAHHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH BLAAAAAAAAAAA MAAAAAAAAAAA”   * throws small plate at nice lady diner and laughs. Swings back and forth in chair like a loon.

I have met a few who spill their drink down their front though. Also, Moo does actually eat a lot better than some musicians I know. But generally, the things she does at the moment, the so called ‘bad habits’ are not actually anything at all. The more I let them pass me by, the less she has to test against. There’s an element of having to predict what could happen based on her moods, but, really, truly, she’s a diamond and I am the rough. She is doing so well, she’s new to all of our, basically quite ridiculous human social niceties. But she’ll get them. Then she can correct me.

The good thing is I now feel like I have a bit of a handle on how I react and how I translate what is going on with Moo. Again, she’s teaching me well and I owe her so much. I believe I am doing fine with my freaky assed control freak nature. As long as nothing comes along and upsets the apple cart like another baby or anything…

To be continued…





3 thoughts on “Freakin’ freaky control freak

  1. I really enjoyed this post – I am a bit of neat freak – people have called me Monica from Friends so I do get where you’re coming from. I’ve got a five year old boy who doesn’t give a toss and a baby on the way! Wish me luck. Popping over from the #BISS team

    Liked by 1 person

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