Terrified Dad

Last weekend we agreed to meet our friends in the local pub for Sunday lunch. Given that Becky and I have only really been out socially twice since the boy was born this was treated with more pomp and circumstance than the trooping of the colour.

We packed the changing bag, secured Noah in his buggy and off we went…. and when we got there, settled into our table and unpacked, spilling bottles and toys, blankets and buggies everywhere I took a long, deep drink of my pint and was hit by a sudden realisation - We had turned into one of those couples that used to drive me mental in pubs!

When I was young, free and single I would enjoy nothing more than nursing my hangover on a Sunday with a hearty lunch, a couple of pints and a read of the paper in a convivial, but most importantly, quiet surrounding. I would scowl hard at the intrusion of these bloody middle class idiots with their smelly children and stupid pram contraptions taking up far too much room. They should be at home with those children not cluttering up my pub and ruining my Sunday. How bloody dare they!

Now here I was, my worldly belongings cast to the four corners of the pub like some makeshift Everest assault, my son mashing carrot into the leather sofa and shouting, “Bob, Bob, Bob!” at the top of his voice and my friend Brad holding his son up above his head and having a sniff of his bottom!

And while this chaos reigned, out the corner of my eye I caught sight of a man just a couple of years younger than me – and far less tired looking – on the other side of the pub. He sat with a woman who looked not dissimilar to my partner Becky, two drinks in front of them and surrounded by newspapers. A deep scowl was etched across his brow as he stared straight at our group. I could tell I was just messing up his laid back Sunday.

I nodded and smiled jovially towards him thinking, enjoy it while you can my friend because one day all of this will probably be yours!

Next week we take the drums to the pub!