Author: Anthony Sherratt

I’ve never been so scared in my life.

And let me put that in perspective. I’ve been shot at, had a knife held at my throat by someone who wanted me dead and been in riots. I’ve jumped out of planes, off towers and into misadventure frequently. I’ve often chased my curiosity passed the point most would. But never have I ever felt as sick to the stomach as the moment I couldn’t find one of my children.

We were on a cruise liner on holidays. Twin A broke right, Twin B broke left. I chased the quicker one but the other had rounded a corner by the time I swooped up the first. I wasn’t concerned at this point, just irritated by their behaviour of the previous hour and this seemingly co-ordinated escape plan.

I set off down the corridor, but no Gypsy. Rounding corner number three, still no sign, so I picked up the pace. Around the fourth corner and about to complete a rectangular journey, I stopped cold. There in the middle of the corridor was the stuffed turtle she carries everywhere. Everywhere. The one she wouldn’t even allow to go in her luggage.

I feel a chill down my spine. I scoop it up but my fast walk has become a run now. I complete the circuit to no avail and check into the lounge in the middle where the rest of the family is but she’s not there. I dump Rhapsody with grandma while I take off at a sprint: me one way, grand-dad the other. We meet without toddler.

I’m very calm in a crisis but I’m aware my heart-rate is higher than normal. The wife has checked in with a staff member who shows little concern, with an offhand: “It’s a ship – it’s not as if she can go far”. I widen the search doing the entire level at a sprint. By the 15-minute mark I’m checking toilets as I pass them trying not to think about the why of my actions. One level of 14 searched. Corridors and toilets anyway. By 25 minutes I’m almost frantic. In the face of gunfire calm, but here? I’m aware I’m starting to lose it. It’s at this point that I peer over the mezzanine and, luckily, spot my wandering daughter – perhaps determined to live up to her name – walking purposefully through the
crowds two floors below.

I fly down two flights of stairs quicker than Usain Bolt and sweep her up in my arms. Surprisingly, I have no anger in my system. Just relief and, oddly, I’m on the verge of tears.

Unlike her daddy, she is relatively calm and tells me she couldn’t find me so she was heading back to our cabin. She is almost there too (later I would marvel this was quite a feat for a three-year-old).

Later I would also wonder at how quickly my mind went to a bad place where I assumed the worst.

When did I go from fearless liver of life to vulnerable? The day I became a parent.

IT’S SAFE TO SAY DAUGHTERS OF STAY-AT-HOME DADS EXPERIENCE A FEW THINGS DIFFERENTLY. IT’S NOT NECESSARILY BETTER OR WORSE, BUT IT CAN BE QUITE NOTICEABLE.

For example there might be a little less disney and octonauts and a little more Ghostbusters and Nightmare Before Christmas.

And – talking about no family in particular of course – perhaps they were exposed to Star Wars at a younger age than most. And yes, they might recognise the Dr. Who theme song. And they love Superman, Supergirl and Blackman (actually Batman but, because he wears black, the toddler logic will not tolerate backchat).

Okay so my twins might not be typical little three-year-old girls at this stage, but recently i dec ided it was time to expose them to the ultimate childhood classics: The original old-school disney movies.

I have wonderful memories of robin hood as a fox, the moral lessons of a wooden boy whose nose grew with dishonesty and those amazing dancing broomsticks, so it seemed a no-brainer that the girls’ cinematic education include the films from the
magic Kingdom. They’d already seen the Little mermaid and the Lion

King and even though I had some doubts about those (graphic death scenes and disturbing themes in both) the older movies were from a purer age right? Boy, i was in for a shock. Those sweet movies with the catchy ditties? Not so sweet and good.
Let’s start with dumbo. I remembered a vague story about a cute little elephant who finds his place in the world with a special talent. But the reality is a movie full of bullying, racism and general negativity. And, to make matters worse,
dumbo only flies in the last ten minutes.

Snow White and the Seven dwarfs? Lovely animation but full of plotholes and Snow White treats the animals like second-class citizens/slaves. Not to mention, she has the most annoying shrill voice of all time. And the prince goes looking for a beautiful princess he’s heard is dead but preserved in the forest? Soooo inappropriate.

I love Peter Pan but the stereotyping of Native Americans beggars belief. The song even says they have red skin because in the past a Native American blushed at a girl implying they were originally the ‘normal’ white skin. And misogyny? Don’t start me…

Cinderella does nothing but wish for stuff. And everything gets handed to her on a platter.

Beauty and the Beast supposedly teaches us to not judge a book by its cover (though I notice Belle is pretty attractive for some reason) but the message that actually shines through is that it’s okay to stay with abusive, temperamental men because eventually they’ll magically change.

Bambi’s mother’s death scene traumatised me when I was young. No way are my girls seeing that one.

Step-mothers are pretty evil across the board and most disney characters are missing at least one parent. And whether they have one or two parents there’s a recurring theme of “it’s okay to disobey your parents as long as it’s for love”.

It goes on and on and this is even without touching on the underlying disney messages of girls having to be pretty.

Seriously, what the hell was wrong with these people? I know it was another age but that still doesn’t make it okay for my girls today.

Thankfully we have one or two recent depictions of strong, fully independent women in the Princess and the Frog and Tangled (the modern Rapunzel is awesome) but as for those so-called classics? Well, I think we’ll stick to Star Wars and Supergirl thanks.

Make no mistake, it is a job. It’s just like no other job on the planet. For a start there’s no paid overtime. Heck,
sometimes you’re lucky if you get a lunch break. You have to organise your own health plan. You are on-call ALL THE TIME. There isn’t a point where you get to knock-off, just temporary relief if they sleep, or if you have an amazing partner or supportive family (or hired help). There are no financial bonuses for a job well done. No chances
for promotion. In fact there’s often no recognition of your amazing feats at all.

And intensive? It’s downright unrelenting. There are no holidays – just your job in different locations. And no, you don’t get sick days: you have to suck it up and work through.

HOW WOULD YOU WRITE UP THIS ROLE AS AN ADVERTISED POSITION? WHAT SORT OF SELECTION CRITERIA WOULD IT HAVE?

SC1: Proven ability to perform multiple diffi cult tasks simultaneously. Additionally applicant must be very flexible and adaptable.

SC2: Proven ability to perform under pressure. Applicant must be able to use patient and even-tempered for years on end. Sleep deprivation experience is advantageous. Ditto torture experience.

SC3: High-level negotiation skills. Demonstrated ability to interact with ridiculously stubborn children. Will suit those used to dealing with politicians.

SC4: Superhuman time management skills. The Job oN the planEt. applicant must be able to effi ciently utilise all 24 hours of the day. Sleep optional.

SC5: Development planning and implementation experience (very high level) for educational and social development project management on highly influential subjects. Must be good role model, great teacher and wise elder. The ability to accurately
predict the future will be looked upon positively.

SC6: Demonstrated artistic ability. Arts and crafts preferable. Capacity for amazing imagination essential. Proficiency for uttering sentences such as “why yes, that *is* a giraffe with a snooglehorn and not a rock at all” a must. Acting ability obviously also required.

Experience at any/all of the following would be advantageous: chef, psychologist, diplomat, refuse handler, nutritionist, insomniac, teacher, referee, safety officer, sports/music/dance coach.

Is it any wonder there are no licensing law requirements to be a parent? Who could satisfy this sort of application? Hardly any of us at all.

Well, maybe an anal retentive type-A sociopathic insomniac but even then only if they had experience.

A parent has so many responsibilities it’s not surprising that sometimes some of us have doubts about whether we’re doing a good job. We have to be so many things and it feels so very important to get it right. It’s our children’s future after all so the stakes are high.

But just how realistic is it for us to be so versatile? How many jobs in the real world would dare to ask for so much across so many spectrums?

This is why ancient civilisations raised children using the entire community. Less pressure, more specialisation and more support.

So if you’re feeling overwhelmed and having doubts about your ability as a parent, please don’t despair. No matter what the media tells you there is no such thing as a perfect parent. I don’t think any sane person reading this will be able to fulfill ALL the criteria. But if you do? Well then email me – I may have a position open for you.

The other day I picked the girls up from daycare. As I walked in, another father appeared to be asking his son for something to no avail but I didn’t pay any attention to it: not judging other parents is an ingrained motto these days.

As usual when one of the twins saw me they came tearing over and threw themselves into my arms for a big hug. This is a regular and very welcome ritual. Then I heard the aforementioned father’s voice. “See? HE gets hugs. Why can’t I get a hug?” Oh. I felt a little sad for him. Then I felt bad as twin number two came tearing over and threw her arms around me. Sure enough his voice came out: “Look! He gets two!”

Then I felt REALLY bad when Lilyana – the girls’ very close friend who was born on the same day as them – threw herself onto me as well. “Oh come on!”

I stayed quiet that time. What could I say? But then it just became farcical when a little boy I’d never seen before decided to join in with the crowd and started hugging me too. I really felt for the guy and quickly looked up at him and said “I don’t even know this one!”

“YOU’RE NOT HELPING!”

While it makes for an amusing story it reminded me that we can’t control our kids’ emotions. And, considering that fi fteen minutes later one of them was yelling at me because I wouldn’t stop at McDonalds, that children’s love can be fickle. We’ve had periods where the girls have had a favourite parent. Even very early on Gypsy was noticeably less affectionate with Mummy, preferring to only cuddle and kiss Daddy. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother as she’d ask after her and miss her. She just didn’t express her affection physically with mummy for a while.

Thankfully Mummy was comfortable with that because in fact it’s quite common for children to favour one parent over another. But parents should remember that this sort of favouritism is just a moment in time and prone to whim. They may love the stay-at-home parent until a discipline moment then the ‘worker’ becomes flavour of the minute. Or the one who plays with them all the time is replaced emotionally the minute they have to do something else instead of dancing to hi-5. It’s often hard for us as parents to not feel rejected but we have to remember that they’re young and we, as
older and wiser people, shouldn’t need affi rmation from those that may not even be toilet-trained yet. As a stay-at-home dad with two girls I wondered whether my role at home would work against the twins becoming “daddy’s girls”. Would my constant presence and increased likelihood of disciplinarian make Mummy the ‘fun one’?

But it was a simplistic view of an ever-changing landscape. I generally get more kisses and cuddles but they truly love both of us and are both highly affectionate it. And they’re passionate like their parents so sometimes their emotion is the complete opposite of love. So I may get more hugs and kisses than Mummy but it doesn’t mean all that much because, to be
really frank, if it came down to it both my girls would sell us into slavery if they had to choose between their grandparents and us. They REALLY love grandma and granddad.

Something I’m very strict on is honesty. I’ve always Been an Extremely honest person – some friends would Even use THE Word “blunt”. Maybe even “painfully”. And I’ve even spent time planning how to be completely honest with the girls when they start asking “those” questions, knowing that being a reliable source of information is more important than any discomfort I may feel. But I was recently quite surprised with myself when, while going through a drive-through late in the afternoon, I heard my voice saying “no, McDonalds is all out of milk so no milkshakes”. and I realised that dishonesty had somehow crept into my life. sure, in this case i was speaking in response to nagging and I didn’t want them having something with sugar that late but the ease by which the untruth rolled off my tongue was disconcerting. then I remembered some of the other moments of dishonesty. “Dora is sad because you hit your sister.” “grandma took the drums to her place.” I can justify some out of protection: “no honey, it’s just sleeping on the side of the road,” or health: “if you don’t eat all your vegetables then team umizoomi will never visit us.” some of the lies were of my own making. saying things like “if you don’t do it now I’ll <insert punishment here>”, but I soon learnt i had to follow through threats no matter how stupid. and that I needed to think before making threats. for a while there, my wife had the girls convinced the beach didn’t actually exist, that it was a made up place. and that ice cream is yucky (the grandparents ruined that one).

Concerned about my ethic, I turned to my friends to see if they had lies in their children’s lives. Jacqui told her son the tooth fairy doesn’t give money for dirty teeth so you had to brush them every day. Lara has told her kids the smoke sensors are actually Santa spy-cams so he’s always watching. Sophie that Santa gets his supplies by taking toys not picked up each night. and Naomi kept her younger siblings in line by telling them she could turn them off with the tv

remote. one unnamed couple has been caught intimately by their toddler twice and told them they were “just cuddling”. and of course, the standard responses of animals on trucks “going to a farm” and of seeds growing in your stomach if you swallow them, or that gum will take seven years to pass or even stay in your stomach forever! that mummy has eyes in the back of her head, nothing to do with the video camera at all. and that peeing in the pool reacts with chemicals that turn the water red/green. the stories get even worse when people start talking about their own parents. faith was told that a mark would appear on her forehead if she lied so spent many years talking with her hand across her forehead.

Kara was told the sheep on really steep hills were a special breed that had two legs shorter than the others so they could stand straight while rob was convinced that his face would stay that way if the wind changed.

But my mind was truly blown by Cathy’s mother who told her that, although she had two children, she’d originally had 10 but the other eight were naughty so she’d cooked them! having canvassed such a wide spread of opinion I have come to the obvious conclusion: my friends are all much better and more frequent liars than me and I obviously have nothing to worry about.

The Boss and I recently had The Chat. Not the one about marriage or babies, we’re obviously already well past those ones. No, we’re talking about “The Chat” that comes next in line. The one that ensures there are no more babies or surprises. The Boss likes to chant “happy wife, happy life”, but since she’s the wife that really equates to “make me happy”. She’s all for the idea and at first I barely shrugged. On paper it makes sense and I don’t have any
objection to it really. And yet… And yet… I found myself hesitating. And I’m not sure why. I’m certainly not scared of surgery. I’ve only had one other experience and it was fine and there’s no lack of faith in the medical profession. I don’t equate infertility with a lack of masculinity at all, so that’s not it. Nor is there an impact on libido.
And while a few days of pain isn’t exactly appealing, I recognise it’s only a few days. It’s even reversible most of the time. Quite simply it’s really not that scary.

So why the hesitation? I turned to my friends for advice and anecdotes, and it has to be said that most who went through
with the procedure have done so without incident or problems. But some of them have managed to put the ‘O’ in vasectomy. I’ve heard two horror stories of elephant-level swelling and pain that lasted for weeks.

I heard a very sad tale of a man who wanted his reversed only to discover that it’s not guaranteed they can be. In fact most doctors urge you to make the decision as if it’s permanent. I was told way too many stories about wives, girlfriends and daughters laughing at discomfort afterwards. And then there’s Mark who actually went back for seconds. He had the snip done after two kids thinking that “his soldiers had done the job”. But after a divorce and then finding a new love he had
it reversed and sired two more before disarming his little warriors once more. For his part Jackson described the anticipation as unbearable. “It took hours. By the time three nurses had inspected the area I was a mess. When the fourth started drawing on me as if the doctor needed a target mapped out, I was ready to tell them anything.” Guantanamo Bay should take note. But during discussions it became evident that I wasn’t the only one pausing before pulling the trigger.

It’s a relatively cheap procedure at around the $600 mark but when Luke discovered the price tag he decided the new $500 surfboard would get priority. His wife was even more upset when she saw the pretty female face on it (it wasn’t hers). Another friend, Lauren rolled her eyes as she recalled their lead-up chats. “It took me two years to convince him to get the DOG snipped. It was far worse with him.”

But the worst baulking examples were found online where I discovered way too many women who, when faced with their partner’s hesitation, took it as a sign he wasn’t committed to them. That somehow he was thinking ahead to other relationships where he would need to be fertile. None of it really explained why I was 96% fine with it but not jumping on board enthusiastically. I’m always brutally honest with myself so it’s very rare that I can’t explain the why of my feelings. My good mate Paul (himself a nurse who has been snipped), says he thinks it’s the genetic imperative of “survive and reproduce” and that subconsciously, it goes against nature, so maybe I’m just in too touch with myself? Whatever the reason, I’m not rushing into it, so we’re still talking about things that go SNIP in the night. She doesn’t want more children. Nor do I, for that matter, though the thought it could be permanent resonates a little sadly in the back of my mind. I have loved being a stay-at-home dad to two wonderful little girls and their laughter, curiosity and kisses. And the vomiting and pooping. And the screaming and the tantrums. The sleepless nights, worry… wait a second, why the hell am

I hesitating?