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[workingclassdad]

Because being guy and girl is just as important as being mum and dad. Love this one ❤️ #ParentsAndPartners https://www.instagram.com/p/BtovW22gk4B/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=vtxj9ohwkvum

[workingclassdad]

Being a parent and a person. Part 2.

I never intended to write a part two to my previous post, but following certain events at the weekend, it seems quite necessary. 

Never have I wanted to punch a complete stranger square in the throat as much as I wanted to on Saturday night. 

Connie’s parents visited us for the weekend, which was fantastic. We hadn’t seen them since the weekend before Christmas, so it was lovely to catch up and even lovelier for them to spend some time with their granddaughter. 

We grabbed a spot of lunch at a little pub called The Telegraph - it seems we only really go there when they come to visit. That’s not on purpose, it just works out for us with the location of the hotel they usually stay at. It’s become a bit of an unintentional tradition. 

Of course, Marla was with us. We had a healthy supply of milk and nappies too - isn’t it crazy that we parents can bring that stuff out with us!? 

At around 4:30pm we headed to a Wetherspoons. There are two in Derby - one which plays music and is quite lively, and another which plays no music and is mostly frequented by people - like us - who just wanted a quiet drink and a catch up with friends / relatives. 

We had a great evening. Marla slept through the whole thing. Were it not for the pram, you wouldn’t have even known she was even there. That was until we stood up to leave. 

It was around 6:45pm and some absolute cow (there’s another C word that I would prefer to use for the woman) decided to loudly pass comment about “bringing a baby here” at such a time. 

Excuse me???

It wasn’t even 7pm. It was only just starting to get dark outside. 

Marla wasn’t bothering anybody, she was asleep. 

Now we’re parents, are we not to leave the house? 

What fucking business is it of hers anyway? 

Even the woman’s partner / owner looked embarrassed. Much like a dog owner who’s mutt had just needlessly snapped at somebody’s ankles. He was mortified. He’ll tell himself that it’s unlike her, but he knows in his heart that she’s done it before, and she’ll do it again. 

It’s probably for the best that she be put down. 

Steve out. 

[workingclassdad]

Being a parent and a person

Here’s an interesting fact; it turns out that you CAN be a parent and still lead a normal life! Out of all our friends, Connie and I were the first couple to have a baby. It was all very exciting for everybody and incredibly fun sharing our fantastic news. 

Something we didn’t expect though - and bear this in mind if you or a friend are expecting a baby - people would start treating us differently because we were about to become parents. This became even more apparent when baby Marla actually arrived. 

Granted, Connie would not be drinking alcohol while pregnant or while breastfeeding. Granted we might be a little tired out. Granted, we would be attending gatherings with a baby going forward. All these things considered, I would still like to be included in plans with my friends. 

Instead, for quite some time, people would make assumptions on our behalf regarding what (they think) we would want to do. 

“We didn’t think you would want to do that because of the baby...” 

“We assumed you’d be too tired...”

“I bet you’ll be wanting to go home soon to get some rest...” 

Hang on, just because I’m a parent doesn’t mean that I’ve suddenly become incapable of being able to leave the house. Guess what - we have brought a whole bag full of nappies, wipes and baby formula! With the exception of entering a nightclub, we’re still more than able to enjoy the same things we always did. 

Even if we are too tired on a particular day or can’t make it for whatever reason, it’s still nice to be thought of and invited as we would have been before. I can (sort of) see where people were coming from and I know that they were only trying to be considerate friends. I get it. 

With that being said,

on behalf of all parents, we don’t need you to be considerate for us.

[workingclassdad]

Another Day, Another Disaster.

I was a journalist once upon a time. You may recall in a previous blog I mentioned dropping out of university for what (I thought) was my dream job. Well, that was it. I now work in marketing, but remain an avid newsreader. 

That said, as of late, I find myself more and more reluctant to read or listen to the news. 

One of the things they teach you as a reporter is that bad news sells. It’s quite sad really - we’re rarely interested in good news, the ‘shock factor’ from reading horrifying headlines sells papers far more. 

I try to remind myself of this every time I scroll through news stories on my lunch break. I have to, because I genuinely fear for the world that my daughter will grow up into. 

My elders regularly talk about the world as it was 20 years ago. You’ve probably heard the same things I have. Wild claims about ‘going to sleep with the front door open’. 

What will we speak of in 20 years time, when my daughter asks what the world we grew up in was like? 

Will we fondly recall how most people walked the streets without carrying a knife in their pocket? Maybe we’ll talk of bars and taverns like they’re some sort of lost city - and nobody will ever believe they ever existed. Perhaps we’ll speak of a mythical red passport that gained you entry into a large number or European countries...

All jokes aside, here are a few of today’s (Non-Brexit related) headlines: 

Homeless man found dead as temperatures plummet

Man cut his dog’s head off and set it on fire

Vegan child punched and force-fed bacon

Teenager stabbed to death in 8th London murder this month

Quite frankly, it’s terrifying. 

The only ‘good news’ stories that I could find online today were built upon celebrity drivel that only serves to fill working class people like me and you with a sense of worthlessness when it comes to their own accomplishments. 

There was one story that made me feel a little better about the world and that was about a potential cure for cancer that could be made available within the next few years. A big well done to the guys and gals that have managed to pull that off - a cancer cure is something the world greatly needs. I hope their research goes the way we all want it to. I also hope that Donald Trump manages to finish his term as president without starting an apocalyptic nuclear war. I hope that we manage to stop ruining our oceans and climate for the sake of wrapping everything in plastic. I hope that this Brexit nonsense doesn’t leave the UK and ultimately me, my family and Marla’s future in financial jeopardy.  Most of all, I hope that there is actually far more good in the world than the news speaks of in their pessimistic bid to sell papers. 

I hope. 

[workingclassdad]

The best three months of my life ❤️ #babygirl https://www.instagram.com/p/BtQoJi4AKCp/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=toalk8mi1t1u

[workingclassdad]

Dad Rant.

At the prime age of 27, soon-to-be 28, I have made a decent living for myself. I have a steady job with a good salary. I went to college, and even attended university for a while - I dropped out because I was offered what I thought was my dream job - DOH! 

I’ve had a job of some sort since I left school at 16. I only ever needed to claim job seekers allowance for about a month when I was 18, and I have been paying Mr Taxman this whole time. 

Now that I have a baby, I find myself needing to take my slice of pie out of ‘the system’ that I have been paying into for the last 12 years, but it would appear that I (very marginally) earn ‘too much’ to do so. 

Connie and I don’t live near our families. We don’t have the luxury of a relative close by that we can take our daughter Marla for a day or two a week. That means, like many other people, we will have to pay for childcare if Connie is to return to work. 

Childcare for Marla will cost a minimum of £50 a day. Fifty. 

That means that for Connie to return to work full time, it will set us back by £250 a week. That’s a THOUSAND POUNDS per month. 

I am sorry. Yes, I make a reasonable living, and so does Connie. But do we earn so much that we have an extra grand just kicking about once we’ve paid for all of our outgoings? No. Of course it doesn’t. We’re lucky if we have an extra £300. 

For Connie to return for three days a week - the likely plan at the moment - we will have to pay £150 a week - or £600 a month. Of course, Connie only working part-time will mean a decrease in our household income, so we’ll have to find that £600 a month while also earning less than we do at the moment. 

Makes sense. 

I think the thing that annoys me most about the whole thing is just how backwards it all is. How it encourages people not to go to work because actually they’ll be better off. How, despite me being forced to pay more into the system due to my income amount, I can’t claim anything back. 

We’re not poor enough to have everything paid for by the government, but we don’t earn enough to be able to afford it all on our own, without support.

Stuck firmly in the middle where a #WorkingClassDad belongs. 

Rant over. Steve out. 

[workingclassdad]

Dad Highlights: 0 - 3 Months

There’s no denying that the last three months have been a roller coaster unlike any other. Having a daughter has completely changed my life in ways that I wouldn’t have even imagined. It’s hard to pick out my favourite moments, but here are a select few that I will remember forever. 

Putting Marla in her sheep onesie. 

Years ago, long before Connie and I were even thinking of having a baby, we were gift shopping for one of my nieces. We happened to stumble upon a fluffy sheep onesie and immediately fell in love with it. Despite having no intention to have a baby for several years, we bought it - knowing that it would no longer be in the shops when we were finally ready. Putting Marla in that sheep outfit for the first time was like years of waiting coming to a beautiful end, and the fact that she wore it to come home from hospital made it all the more special. 

Introducing her to the family

Again, only a small memory - but sometimes those are the most precious - introducing Marla to her grandparents was a moment like no other. Seeing family from Connie’s side and mine as they instantly fell in love with their new granddaughter / great granddaughter / niece gave such a magical feeling. Hearing about Connie’s sister trying to change a nappy for the first time was also quite amusing. 

Seeing Marla smile for the first time

A moment like none-other. She would grin when she needed to burp as you would expect but seeing Marla fully light up in response to something you do is without a doubt one of the best parts of being a parent. I can instantly forget even the worst day at work just by seeing that beautiful smile when I get home. 

Marla’s first Christmas

Being only one month old at the time, of course Marla had no idea that it was Christmas, but that didn’t matter - obviously she had WAY more presents than any other person. Connie and I had my parents over to stay which made it feel incredibly intimate too. Sharing Christmas dinner around a table for the first time with our new baby in our new house made me see the true meaning of family. 

My least favourite part?

You might think it’d be the sleepless nights, or maybe even the poop explosions that occur almost daily. You might expect it to be those moments when Marla decides to be sick all over herself seconds after you’ve finished getting her dressed. You’d be wrong. 

Without a doubt, the worst part about it all is having the theme song to Peppa Pig stuck in your head 24 hours a day. I'll start whistling it as I’m cooking dinner or getting ready for work. I’ve seen all the episodes that are available on Netflix at least four times. I find myself starting to question the motives of the characters and fish out plot holes in the story-lines. Why was Mr Bull a bus driver in one episode but a road digger in the next? How on Earth was George’s first word ‘dinosaur’? Why are Peppa and Suzy Sheep still friends after all their falling out? Generally parenting is fantastic, but not Peppa Pig.  Peppa Pig can fuck off. 

[workingclassdad]

Marla’s first swim

There are a number of things when raising a baby that you know will either make them smile or make them scream. It really is 50/50 and just because you got one reaction on any given occasion, it doesn’t mean that you’ll get the same reaction if you repeat the activity again. 

Swimming is one of those things. 

There was some prep work to be done first - Marla had no swimwear so we would need to go shopping - oh the joy. Connie has it in her head that, despite me taking no enjoyment in going shopping generally, I am supposed to enjoy shopping for Marla. It’s even worse because the clothes are just as expensive as adult items but will last a maximum of 12 weeks and (optimistically) be worn 10 times. 

After choosing a swim outfit and picking up some swim nappies, we were ready. 

Swimming, like a Cadbury Freddo, is something that never fails to get more expensive. Knowing that Marla may not even like swimming, I was a little hesitant at the latest price for admission, but we had come this far. 

There were no family changing rooms so, given that all of our swimwear was in a single rucksack, we ended up using a disabled changing room and dressing Marla on a bench. The somewhat outdated centre was also equipped with lockers that refused to take your modern coins as payment. It took three attempts with different lockers before I found one that worked - and believe me, I tried different coins, and went as far as licking them and giving them the old ‘lucky rub’. Nightmare. 

Finally, we were all dressed and ready to go. We went to a ‘teaching pool’ which was no deeper than 0.9m and maintained a steady temperature of 31 degrees. Connie carried Marla on her chest as she walked down the steps into the pool. Marla was looking at me the whole time over Connie’s shoulder and I was waiting for that make or break reaction. Smile or scream? 

Neither, as it turns out. Imagine the look on your face when you try new food and can’t decide if you like it or not - That was Marla’s face. I followed Connie into the water, thinking there was no way in hell that the pool was heated to 31 degrees, and slowly joined them. By this point, Marla was starting to kick her legs a little like she does when she’s laying on her play mat. There was even a hint of a smile starting to come through.  

I found a little rubber watering can and poured the water over Marla which she seemed to like. I tried pouring it over Connie but she didn’t like it quite so much. I tried turning it into a water cannon but she didn’t approve of that either. She’s such a killjoy. 

Wondering what other ways I could satisfy my urge to play with all the kids’ toys, I grabbed a large rubber float and leant across it while holding Marla on the other side. I pulled her up onto the float while my legs dangled in the water and felt a bit like Jack from The Titanic - but better looking obviously. 

After about 20 minutes or so, Marla started to shiver a little, so we decided to get out. I was amazed at just how much Marla had taken to the water - I have no doubt that we’ll go again soon (and pray she continues to like it). 

Swimsuit: £12, Swim Nappies: £8, Parking: £3, Admission: £9,  Taking your daughter swimming for the first time: Priceless. 

[workingclassdad]

My Working Class Saturday

Who knew that adding a third human being to a family of two would multiply the amount of dirty clothes by a million? You would think that a baby that wears clothes the size of tea towels could never add such a contribution to the laundry? 

You’d be wrong - or so I am told. 

I won’t lie, Connie handles the laundry in our house. I’ve tried a few times (Approximately two) but it always ends with an abrupt “oh, just give it to me” from Connie before she corrects all my washy wrong-doing and does it ‘properly’. 

Since about the last month of her pregnancy, Connie has been telling me that we need to buy a tumble dryer. Little Marla has been here for almost three months now and I would be lying if I said that I hadn’t noticed piles of clothes starting to form around the house like stalagmites on cave floors.  I did a spot of research and decided that the best option was to go on the Currys website and order the dryers by price - cheapest first obviously. Special thanks go to Connie’s parents who gave us a spot of Christmas money to put toward this very appliance. 

I took Connie and Marla down to our nearest store and promptly found the one I wanted. I stared at it for a bit, opened up the door like I had some sort of clue as to what I was doing or should expect to find, before looking up across the store to try and find a customer assistant. 

Side note: Why is it that when you’re just browsing you have 18 members of staff approach you, but when you actually want to buy, they disappear like a squadron of meerkats that have just seen a golden eagle flying overhead?

Eventually we purchased and came to the realisation that we would never fit me, Connie, Marla and a tumble dryer into Connie’s piddly hatchback. I would need to drive home to drop off the family, and then return on my own to wrestle the thing into the back of my slightly larger but still fairly small car. 

After a fair bit of doing (With only minimal help from the much stronger warehouse worker at Currys, honest...) I got the dryer into the boot of my car and gave myself a pat on the back. A self high five if you will. Upon arriving home, Connie and I carried it to its designated spot in the conservatory, where it would fix all of our laundry problems forever... right? 

Wrong. 

The dryer has now been sitting proudly in our home for a solid 48 hours without actually being plugged in. Funnily enough we did finish a load of laundry yesterday (Around 27 hours after the arrival of our new toy) but Connie decided to keep it old-school and hang the clothes up as normal anyway. Money well spent then.  At least it puts an end to the “we need a tumble dryer” charade. Hopefully now though it will make Connie see that when I say I’ll get around to something, eventually I will - Even if it does take me a few months. 

[workingclassdad]

This will be my daughter and me one day, I’m sure of it.

[workingclassdad]

Baby’s first night at home

Everybody tells you when you’re about to have a baby “it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do”. Of course, they also say this about countless other things in life, so you can understand why I semi-ignored the claim. The thing is, they’re right. It is by far the hardest thing you’ll ever do - and from what I gather, my partner Connie and I have actually been lucky in a lot of ways. 

Our bundle of joy is called Marla Rae Ashby. She stole my heart the moment I saw her for the first time. FYI, love at first sight is a legitimate thing folks, and it happens when you have a child. 

Marla has always been fairly ahead of the curve. Within seconds of her being plonked on her mummy’s chest when she was born, she was lifting her head up and looking around the room. She barely even cried - she just took the world in as she saw it for the first time. This continued for pretty much her entire stay at the hospital. Her first night at home however would show us a different side. 

Whether it was a change in her surroundings or just a general sense of feeling unsettled I do not know, but we couldn’t put her down that night. I remember rocking her to sleep and singing to her (In case you were wondering, it was ‘can’t help falling in love’ by Elvis) and she would look so peaceful. As long as she was in your arms, she would be content. Then, you guessed it, the moment we tried to lay her to sleep in her own little moses basket, she would wake in tears and screams. 

In the end, Connie and I resorted to taking turns staying awake while holding her for an hour or so at a time. Around 4am, I remember sitting in bed with Marla in my arms asking myself how I would manage for the next few weeks if it continued, and this was only our first night at home. Something must have clicked over the following 24 hours because little Marla was happy to go to sleep in her own bed after that night. 

Thank god. 

[workingclassdad]

Welcome to Working Class Dad

My new job offers me a fantastically long lunch break. I have wanted to start up a blog for a long time now and an hour a day with not a lot to do (besides eat some crisps and sausage rolls) seems like the perfect opportunity to pour out my thoughts. From the off, i'll make two promises. Firstly, I will never lie on this blog. Consequently, that could mean that it isn't always as interesting as the witty tripe you might find on other parts of the internet, but that's life I suppose. I will always have an opinion. Whether you agree with it or not is up to you. Of course I'm not so self-absorbed that i would ever expect everybody to agree with me. That's the beauty of democracy - we're supposed to have different views, and i will always respect an opinion that differs from my own. 

If you're happy with that, then welcome to my little blog, and if it’s your thing, give me a little follow.