Last Sunday, as I am sure you are already aware, was Father’s Day. If you weren’t already aware, then it’s probably too late to get him a card now, and you’ve got some making up to do.
Like Mother’s Day, this has become an opportunity for card manufacturers to cash in, so I was especially chuffed to see that my boys had in fact made their own cards for me. This meant a lot more to me than a purchased sentiment about how awesome I am. I mean, I am fucking awesome, don’t get me wrong, but I would rather they told me that in their own words (without swearing like their old man, naturally).
Having said that, I don’t think Father’s Day is as commercial as Mother’s Day. Ok, the card manufacturers still rub their hands together with glee for both occasions, but the florists and chocolatiers aren’t quite as enthused about the Dads. Whereas Mother’s Day is all about the bouquets, afternoon teas and boxes of chocolates, Father’s Day is much more simple: pub and an afternoon nap. Sorted.
Now, my wife would argue there is nothing special about a trip to the pub and an afternoon nap, bearing in mind this is my masterplan for most Sundays, but there is one subtle difference on Father’s Day – she isn’t allowed to complain about it. Not that she ever does anyway, but it’s nice to know I have the fall-back position of relying on my ‘get out of jail free’ card, if she does start to grumble about the fact my ‘nap’ has now entered its third hour – which is more sleep than she usually gets all night: it’s my special day, so I should be able to do what I want.
Father’s Day is a time for remembering the menfolk of the world, including those Dads and Grandads who are sadly no longer with us. I don’t think any of us would dare to suggest we have it harder than the mums, but that doesn’t mean we have it easy either. Being a Dad can be a tough job, and I sometimes wish that the naff greetings cards the likes of Clintons churn out would reflect that.
So, with that in mind, I’ve had a go at writing my own poem about being a Dad. Enjoy.
***
Being a Dad can be tricky
Being a Dad can be tough
You’re supposed to stop swearing and farting
And walking around in the buff
That first ever cuddle is amazing
I cried like a girl, I’ll admit
But the novelty starts to wear off
When you’re up to your elbows in shit
Babies only come with three settings
There’s ‘sleep’ and then ‘crap’ and then ‘cry’
And you’ll never predict which one’s coming
No matter how hard you might try
The stuff babies need is astounding
I must have spent thousands of pounds
And believe me when I say that a ‘breast pump’
Is not nearly as sexy as it sounds
It all starts with the changing of nappies
Cleaning bottoms of numerous poos
Then before you know it they’re walking
And you’re spending a fortune on shoes
Their first word is a magical moment
That first ‘Daddy’ will make you choke up
But wait ‘til a month or so later
And you’ll be wishing they’d shut the fuck up
You’ll know every ‘Peppa Pig’ character
Want to tear Nanny Plum limb from limb
If you’re lucky you’ll avoid Justin Fletcher
(there’s something seriously not right about him)
Before you know it, you’re having another
“Maybe this time we’ll get it right?”
Only later, you realise that’s bollocks
As you cry yourself to sleep every night
Child number two is a nightmare
Doesn’t sleep, likes to fight, is a pain
And you make a promise with your partner
There’s no way that you’ll do this again
Kiss goodbye to relaxing holidays
A night out? That’s a thing of the past
The house you were once so proud of
Now resembles a nuclear blast
You’ll be knackered and struggle to function
Find it tricky to even converse
As you pray that brown stain is just chocolate
And not something so very worse
But for every night with no sleep
There’s a day when they just melt your heart
There’s a giggle, a hug and a kiss
For each scream and explosive fart
Each shirt ruined by vomit or wee spray
Is paid for by a wonderful smile
Getting handmade cards from your boys
Makes the whole bloody thing so worthwhile
Show your kids just how much you adore them
Don’t waste time being grumpy or sad
Ok, it’s not the easiest job ever
But it’s the best damn job I’ve ever had.
Just ‘awwww’. Love the humour of this and that it is, in fact, spot on! Popping over from #BISS
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