Dear Diary,
This morning I woke to the usual clatter of the kitchen. Emily, my wife, hovered over the kettle, a look of concern on her face.
What did you think I meant? I muttered, halfamused, halfirritated. Did I lie to you then? I told you I didnt like children!
She burst into tears. James, how can you not love our own son? Our future? You never even call him by his name what is he to you, that one?
Our oneyearold, Oliver, a chubby little creature with a mushycerealcovered mouth, flung his rattle from his tiny hands. The baby froze for a moment, sucked in a breath, then let out a screech so shrill my ears rang.
I raced to the high chair, lifted Oliver into my arms, and glanced at Emily. She was still clutching the babys blanket, while I continued to eat my toast.
Dont worry, love, hell be fine, Emily cooed, trying to soothe herself. Dad will pick him up. James, could you hand it over? Hes rolled onto your foot.
I lowered my gaze. A yellow plastic giraffe lay a centimetre from my boot, halfcovered by a houseslip. I nudged it aside with the tip of my toe and spread butter on my slice of bread.
James! Emily snapped. Why are you kicking it? Cant you lean down a bit?
I stood silently, walked over to the espresso machine, pressed the button, waited for the dark stream of coffee to fill the cup, then turned back to my wife.
Im late, Emily. My meeting starts in forty minutes and I havent even had breakfast yet. The traffic outside was a nightmare, the roads jammed as usual. Grab the rattle yourself! I dont want to get near the babymy shirts white, I cant have it stained.
What does the shirt have to do with it? The boys crying and you act as if it doesnt matter.
Your son cries twentyfour hours a day, I replied evenly. His entertainment is to test my nerves. Right, Im off. I gave Emily a quick kiss on the cheek and dodged Olivers sticky little hands.
Papa! Oliver gurgled, his toothless grin wide. I barely registered the sound.
Bye, I called over my shoulder and bolted out of the kitchen.
A few minutes later the front door slammed shut. Emily flopped onto a chair and sobbed out loud, asking herself why I treated her this way, what she had done wrong, and what fault the child might have in the eyes of his father.
Oliver, sensing his mothers mood, fell silent and began smearing the last of his porridge across the table. Emily, wiping away tears, tried to compose herself. She didnt want the baby to become upset either.
The memory of a conversation with me after our wedding flashed in her mind: Emily, to be honest, I dont like childrenany children. They make me nervous. The noise, the mess, the endless whining why should we have them? Lets just stay childfree. She had laughed then, waving it off. Oh, James, all men say that until they actually have a child. Instinct kicks in, youll see.
No instinct ever woke in me; I still cant stand my own son.
By lunchtime Emilys parents arrived. Margaret Clarke, her mother, burst through the door first, followed by her father, George Clarke, lugging a box of a new building set.
Wheres our little chief? Wheres our little manager? George boomed from the hallway. Come over and show us what youve built!
Oliver squealed with delight, and for the next two hours the house was filled with blissful chaos. Emily finally managed to sit on the sofa with a cup of tea, watching her father assemble towers while her mother spoonfed Oliver fruit purée, chanting silly rhymes.
Emily, you look pale, Margaret observed. James was late again yesterday?
No, he was on time, Emily answered, looking away. Im just tired.
Margarets lips tightened. Shed seen everything: the empty walls with no family photos, only the ones from the hospital where James looked like a hostage. She knew her soninlaw never asked about Olivers teeth or vaccinationshe never showed any interest in his own child. Shed heard Emily complain countless times.
Does he ever go near him? George asked quietly.
Dad, dont start. Hes busy with work, hes exhausted.
Work! George snorted. I worked two jobs when you and your brother were growing up. Yet I never missed a night watching over the nursery so the mother could sleep. And youwhat a wanker.
George, lower your voice, Margaret hushed. Emily, perhaps you should talk to him? A boy needs a father, a male role model.
Emily sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. She felt ashamed of James in front of her parents, and even more ashamed for choosing a father she knew was unsuitable for Oliver.
What does he say? Margaret pressed. Let him grow. When he becomes a man well talk. Until then hes your responsibility.
Only yours? Margaret exclaimed, dropping a towel. Did you both conceive him? Did you even have a say in his creation? What a dreadful mess!
That evening, after the parents left, Emilys mood soured again. James would be home soon, and she still had to finish dinner, clear toys, and make sure he didnt step on anything or start wailing.
James came back at eight oclock.
Hey, he tossed his keys into the bowl. Anything to eat? Im starving.
Meatloaf in the oven, salad on the table, Emily called from the hallway, wiping her hands. Oliver said two new words today: baba and give.
Wonderful, James replied blandly, shrugging off his jacket. Hope give wasnt about my pay. My salarys already stretched thin.
He chuckled at his own joke, headed for the bedroom to change, while Emily froze. It wasnt just rudeness; it was outright indifference to our only heir. Whether the child said a word or barked, the reaction would be the same.
Olivers teeth were throbbing. He whined from dawn till night, and the whole family was sleepless. Emily cradled him, applied teething gel, turned on cartoonsnothing helped.
James had a day off. He sat in the living room with his laptop, trying to watch a series with headphones, but the babys cries pierced even the noisecancelling.
Around two in the afternoon Emily tried to put Oliver down for a napthe only chance she had to shower and enjoy a moment of quiet. Oliver fought back, arching his back, flinging his pacifier, shrieking so loudly the chandelier rattled.
The bedroom door swung open; James stalked in.
Emily, how many times must I hear this? he roared. Ive been listening to this concert for four hours! My head is splitting!
Oliver, frightened by the shouting, began to whine hysterically, and Emily snapped.
You think I enjoy this? He has a tooth coming in! It hurts him!
Do something! Shut him up! Give him medicine!
I gave him! He just needs to sleep!
James loomed over her.
Listen, stop tormenting him. If he doesnt want to nap, dont force it. Let him crawl, scream in another room. Put him in the kitchen and close the door behind you!
Are you out of your mind? Emily stammered. Hes only a year old! He cant go without a daytime nap.
If he doesnt nap now, well have a nightmare this evening. Neither your nervous system nor mine can survive.
Fine, I dont care about his system! Skip the nap and hell crash faster tonight. Logical, isnt it?
I was fed up with the constant whining. I wanted peace at home, clear.
Peace? Emily said, holding the sobbing infant. You want peace? And me? Do you realize I havent eaten all day? I cant even use the bathroom without him?
If he doesnt fall asleep, Ill just collapse, James. I need that hour. Me!
Ah, here we go again, James rolled his eyes. Motherhero complex. Everyone births, everyone raises, and youre the most miserable of them all.
Let him onto the floor, let him play. Then you go make dinner or whatever you need to do entertain yourself.
Do you even understand what youre saying? Emilys voice trembled. Its your son. Hes in pain, his teeth are breaking through. You suggest depriving him of sleep so you can watch your rubbish series?
Im offering a solution! James shouted. If he wont sleep, dont force him! Simple!
Oliver cried again, burying his face in his mothers chest. Emily looked at James with disgust.
Get out, she whispered.
Out of what? James asked, bewildered.
Out of the room. And shut the door.
James stood for a second, snorted, and stalked out, slamming the door loudly.
Twenty minutes later, exhausted Oliver finally drifted off, breathing heavily in his sleep.
Emily slipped into the kitchen. James was at the table, munching a sandwich and scrolling through his phone.
I called your mother yesterday, Emily said, leaning against the doorway.
James tensed, putting his phone down. Why?
I wanted to understand whats happening between us. I asked her what kind of man you are, how your parents raised you.
She told me his father never let him off his hands. He went fishing from the age of three, read books, grew up surrounded by love. Where did this come from, James?
James turned slowly toward her. One more time, he rasped, you complain to my mother and well have a serious fight.
I wasnt complaining. I was asking for advice.
Advice? He smiled bitterly. She told me Im a coldhearted bastard, that Im tearing the family apart.
You turned me into a monster, James. Good job! Did you get what you wanted?
Am I a monster? Emily asked quietly. Look at yourself. You live with us like a flatshare neighbour. You never call your son by his namehe, that little one, this thing. Do you hate him?
James was silent.
I dont hate him, he finally managed. I just I dont know what to do with him. He cries, hes smelly, he demands, demands, demands! I come home to a mess and I just want quiet, a film, a chat with you.
This is only temporary, James. Children grow
They grow for far too long, Emily. I warned you, I was honest: I dont like this. Did you think I was joking? That your great love would change me?
I thought you were an adult. I thought I dont like children and I dont like my own child were different.
They turned out to be the same, he said, tossing his halfeaten sandwich into the bin. Im going for a walk. Need some fresh air.
Go, Emily said, turning to the sink. Go. Oliver and I will manage.
He left, and Emily dialed her parents, desperate for a solution.
That night Oliver woke in high spirits. The tooth pain had eased; he toddled around the carpet trying to catch the family cat, Mr. Whiskers, who was hiding under the sofa.
James returned two hours later. Emily didnt react. He flopped into his armchair, reached for the remote. Oliver ran to him, clutched a toy car, and shouted, Pa!
James gave a quick, annoyed glance and snapped, Put him away. I want to watch the telly in peace! Why is he stuck to me? Go bother Mum!
Emily scooped Oliver up, carried him to the bedroom, and after an hour hauled out two massive suitcases. Before James could protest, there was a knock at the doorEmilys parents had arrived to collect her and their grandson.
Emily had been coaxed for months by her mother to return, but she never budged. She filed for divorce a few days after moving out; she wont go back to living with James. James suddenly saw the light, tried to arrange meetings with his wife and child, but Emily decided everything would go through the courts. Oliver will be raised by his grandfathera proper English bloke, all grit and nothing soft.
Looking back, I realise I let my own pride and fear dictate how I treated my family. I thought I could keep the house quiet by ignoring the very thing that gave it life. The lesson Ive learned, though hard and bitter, is simple: a child does not need a perfect parent; they need a parent who shows up, listens, and lovesno matter how noisy the world gets.
