A new centre of gravity

Don't worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you.  

Robert Fulghum

At 10 minutes past 6 on Wednesday the 8^th September I went out for my last run without a child to care for. We covered 5.37 miles of the Buckinghamshire countryside in gorgeous, early autumn sunshine, and I was entirely unaware of the new way of life which lay in wait around the corner. My world then was a little haphazard, but generally I felt composed and in control of my destiny. The sun sank, the shadows grew, and I ran confidently on.

My wife was already a week past her due date, so we ordered an Indian takeaway as a treat to keep ourselves occupied and to distract from our mounting anticipation. Our house sits on a precipitous little track, one side of which cuts away to leave a mini-cliff-edge. This is the side over which the delivery man reversed his car, leaving his rear left tyre spinning helplessly in mid air and our road completely blocked. It was fortunate that, aided by two helpful neighbours, we managed to shove his car back up onto the road, because approximately 90 minutes afterwards my wife pointed out to me that her waters had just broken.

Having successfully flooded a labour room in the hospital birthing centre, legs creaking under the back-breaking weight of our 7 overnight bags, thoroughly sleep-deprived and emotionally charged, I suddenly found myself standing in a brightly-lit operating theatre, arms full of my precious newborn son, eyes locked onto his vulnerable and inquisitive gaze, as I initiated a 3-way superhug with Mum, Dad and baby.

When I imagined this moment, I had anticipated an explosion of heady joy; instead I felt profound, immovable love, which existed in everything around me and within me in the same moment. For the first 2 days of his life, I held myself together pretty well; carried bags, stuffed baloons into cars, changed nappies, and did what little I could for my wife. I felt exhausted but fulfilled. 3 days later, looking at a photo of myself post-emergency-c-section in vivid blue scrubs and hat, I sobbed tired tears of relief that my wife and son had come home safely.

So we were home, and tired, and very emotional. It can be tough, but it’s always amazing. Something new happens every day. I told my wife that it’s like showing a visitor around your hometown – except that we’re showing him around the whole world! My days of living life on a whim are gone – everything I do from here is answerable to my son, Harry William Phipps. I am the luckiest man alive.

Since the birth, we’ve been the epicentre of optimism – a newborn baby brings out the very best in people, and we have loved introducing him to friends and family.

I even dragged myself back out for training soon afterwards. Ouch. My theory that baby=stress=weight loss didn’t quite come through for me. Instead, I gobbled my way through a lot of cakes during those 2 weeks of paternity leave. My legs are extra tired, my eyes much heavier, but I’m finding my way out again into this terrifying and wondrous new world.