Wifey's pregnancy has brought to the fore-front of my conscience a fear of a phenomenon I have long-witnessed, but buried deep with the other things I would have to worry about much later, such as ear hair, how best to invest my pension...and fatherhood. One of the most pivotal events leading to my conclusions occurred in front of a chicken shop where I was basking in the afternoon sun, drying after a surf, awaiting my perri-perri burger. A dual-cab work ute pulled up at the traffic lights beside me and behind a faded Triple J sticker I saw a young(ish), presumably once-cool man clapping along to some awful kids' album in an effort to please a non-plussed infant in the rear. As you have probably realised, this event has remained vivid in my mind: the horrific realisation that babies, if left untreated, will turn the hippest of dads into dags.
But is this inevitable? Or are there steps that can be taken to avoid such outcomes?
The first area that needs to be addressed is the music. I love music: I love new music, I love Australian music, I love live music. Now to the perceptive ones amongst you this will be sounding an awful lot like an ad for a radio station and that is no coincidence: I am a dedicated fan of Triple J and in many instances my alternative music taste defines me (tonight, for example, I chose brushing my teeth over seeing who won The Voice). In fact, Disneyland and Vegas aren't the only remarkable experiences Baby has had in utero - the next stop on the very same trip was to the Palm Desert's Coachella Festival: a three day wonderland of musical acts from around the world. Baby witnessed Dr Dre and Snoop Doggy Dogg bring Tupac Shakur back from the dead! So the thought of driving around pumping out 'Big Red Car', rather than (fellow Coachella headliners) Radiohead is a little soul-destroying.
Fortunately, I feel that there are some solutions. I have it on the good authority of colleagues who share my taste in music, that children are fairly fond of (another Coachella act) Gotye, in particular his international smash-hit 'Somebody That I Used To Know'. Of course, it is kind of cheating using a children's tune as recognisable and appealing as 'Bah Bah Black Sheep' as the opening bars, but if that's what allows me to continue listening to the artists I love, I can let that one slide! I figure that in a similar vein, there are many more artists who sing in a tone that could surely sooth the troubled soul of a wordless, teething demon; Josh Pyke and Laura Marling for example, though at least one of those would require some censorship.
Then there is the ultimate, wonderful solution of great artists covering kids' songs. ABC Music's 'Rewiggled' brings together the artists I know and love in a collection of covers tributing gods of children's entertainment, The Wiggles. I'm not quite sure if the appeal is the same for children in, say, 'Getting Strong!' when Kevin Mitchell of Jebediah is screaming it out, as apposed to Anthony Field of the blue skivvy, but it certainly makes it more enjoyable for me.
So that's music covered, but how about general appearance? There is a particular parenting accessory that many fathers choose to use, clearly feeling that it assists them in maintaining something of their old freedom, while allowing their baby to tag along for the ride. The accessory to which I refer is the baby carrier, specifically the design that has Baby floating like a confused star, legs and arms in a seemingly fixed position on the front of the strap-ee. Many a time have I witnessed a father trying to look unchanged as they stand in what they believe to be a casual pose in the middle of a shopping centre, sipping their chai late and talking on their phone, doing their darndest to pretend that Baby isn't there (and presumably the lower back pain is courtesy of a truly-satisfying beer gut). THIS IS AND LOOKS RIDICULOUS. If your idea of maintaining "cool" is not having a baby, DON'T have a baby!
"Cool" can be maintained (in my inexperienced, entirely subjective, narrow-minded view) by not giving up on thinking about what you're going to wear everyday and taking shameless pride in being a father. But I suppose that it's understandable if in the sleep-deprived bleariness that is you stumbling out of bed, tending to your child and somehow finding yourself standing in front of a zoo exhibit trying to convince them that the chimpanzees are interesting enough to stop them crying; the mere fact that you managed to put on a combination of top and bottom that are united in their distinct absence of baby-spew staining seems like enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment