Vampire parenting

My friend and his wife became parents for the first time a few weeks ago. They live in another part of the country but by the power of Facebook we have been able to follow the first few weeks of their beautiful baby boy’s journey, and their own transition into the super scary world of parenthood.
We’ve seen the hazy, dazed first photos from the hospital. The pictures of him arriving home, complete with the picture of my friend driving 25mph on the motorway. We watched over the next few days as the shellshock sank in and the bags under the eyes got a little heavier. And we’ve seen their boy get cuter by the day.
They are hopelessly in love with their boy, as all parents tend to be, and at times hopelessly lost in new parentsville.
My friend told me he didn’t sleep the night they brought his boy home from the hospital so concerned was he that the mere act of closing his eyes would cause the child to stop breathing. And when the child coughed in the night, he and his wife contemplated ringing the doctor. In fact, he confessed, they had thought on rushing him back to the hospital. We’ve all been that particularly neurotic soldier, I told him, and explained our own newborn Exorcist-worthy projectile boke experience complete with phone calls to the doctor and parish priest.
My friend has traded his nippy, sporty car in for a sensible, reliable one with bigger boot space. He swears that the tiny bundle of cuteness that he adores has totally turned their world upside down and inside out. The child is three weeks old and he is already worrying on university fees.
I suppose it’s because I have been down this road once, twice or four times that people like to bounce ideas off my addled, sleep-deprived brain. Usually they get nonsense replies to their inquiries, but from time to time, even I have to admit, I talk sense.
I told my friend becoming a parent is a lot like becoming a vampire. Your old, human self – the one used to the nice cars, not worrying about stuff, a reasonably clean and presentable house, sitting on chairs void of sticky sweet substances which are a nightmare to wash out – dies in a painful and dramatic way. But, I told him, you do come out the other side of this humongous transformation with immortality, superhuman strength and a penchant for fresh blood. OK, perhaps without the taste for blood, but the other stuff is true.
Then there’s the love. The massive love. The boundless, eternal, life changing, enormous wealth of parental love. Before your own child comes along you look at friend’s babies and perhaps think ‘super cute’. They are maybe on a par with puppies, those baby polar bears you see on posters and fluffy kittens. But when your own child comes along you would happily, without hesitation throw yourself under a bus to save them from harm. That you would gladly take on a ferocious grizzly bear with your bare hands if it threatened your offspring. Having children gives you superhuman strength. Parental feelings are that powerful. That terrifying.
When you hold your son or daughter in you arms, feel their warm body next to yours, feel their warm, gentle breath on your skin. That is a thing of beauty, nothing on earth can compare. Not the most beautiful art, the soul stirring music. Everything pales. Those little wonders is what living life is all about.
When they giggle and laugh at nothing but your smile, they are sharing the meaning of life. That joy, of simply being alive, of enjoying that exact minute, enjoying every moment is what they are ultimately teaching us. As we grow older we forget. Our children are there to remind us. Never mind yesterday, don’t worry about tomorrow. Live for this moment and enjoy it. Laugh, love, live.
The highs of parenting are so high it’s a wonder we don’t get vertigo, and the first few weeks of parenthood are a mixture of dizzying highs and lows.
My advice to him and to all new parents is the same. It’s best to just buckle up and just enjoy the ride.