Hello Noah

After 2 weeks now, I think I can say that my mind has calmed somewhat from the spinning whirlwind I was in and I am able to think reasonably straight enough for another blog post. To say we were caught by surprise would be understating the fact that 12 days ahead of his expected arrival, little Noah decided enough was enough in his womby residence and started knocking on the proverbial door to be let out into the world. I may have previously mentioned that one of my biggest fears for the birth was to be either stuck at work or stuck in traffic once the call came through that the time was upon us, thankfully this passed without incident and I was able to drive Mrs T through the city to the hospital in the relative calm of 8pm traffic. With the exception of the Garda checkpoint literally 100 yards from the hospital (cue lots of frantic pointing to the pregnant belly and shouting from me to the bemused Garda), we made it in good time and were admitted into the Labour ward before you could say "stone me, we're having a baby". Having had a false alarm the previous week, we were both not fully compus mentus that this was really it until the Midwife gave us the reassurance that yes, you have just begun labour. Being a professional novice at this arena, I retreated into the background as the midwives went about the necessary business and tried my best to live up to my primary objective of staying out of the way and not getting on Mrs T's nerves.

A mostly sleepness night passed (well, mostly for me, unfortunately completely sleepless for Mrs T) and the morning found us still sans baby with the indication being the afternoon to meet and greet the little one. For the purposes of weak stomachs and nervous dispositions everywhere, I will fast forward to 12:46pm on 2nd July 2008 when I first saw the face and heard the first cry emit from my son. Actually, I am going to use the powers of retrospective thinking to rewind about 3 minutes prior to that when I first saw the tiniest most perfect little ear emerge which turned me into the blubbering mess I continued to be for the ensuing few minutes. As Noah was handed over to meet Mrs T, to say the sheer enormity of the moment overwhelmed me would be to understate the quite frankly, superhuman efforts displayed by Mrs T up to that point. I remember reflecting that nothing I could potentially go on to achieve in my life would be a fraction as impressive as what I had just witnessed, Mrs T has one-upmanship on me forever it would appear (no gloating if you're reading...). I had spoken to fellow Dads about the moment their respective children arrived and the common theme was one of "there is nothing quite like that moment in the world", this is a hard assertion to quantify but I can now appreciate where they are coming from. I am still at a loss to fully describe the feelings I had as I looked at the first few seconds of life for little Noah but, being the eminent wordsmith I pretend to be, I will have a go so hold your breath and read on...

Imagine a balloon if you will, just a regular party balloon. Now imagine that balloon is released into the sky with a thousand other balloons. Imagine each individual ballon is then filled with so many feelings of joy and ecstasy, the sort of head-exploding, uncontrollable, delirious joy, joy as defined by Marco Tardelli in 1982, joy that consumes your very being, joy that touches the core of your essence and envelopes you in its gloriousness. Imagine each balloon is literally straining to contain these feelings, now imagine every one of the balloons crammed into your head and burst at the same time. Your mind is overpowered by the joy, you cannot think straight, you have tunnel-vision focused entirely on your new baby, everyone else in the room appears to be operating in slow-motion and in a distant blur, you are aware of talk but all you can hear are the cries of your baby, the wails emitting from their tiny lungs in synch with the tears rolling down your face. You attempt to speak but you are drunk with the joy and make little coherent sense. You realised you havent breathed in what seems like a lifetime and with one almighty gasp you are brought crashing back into the reality of the room. Your head is still soaring but you can now interpret the joy in your mind and the first hug, the first kiss, the first hold engross your soul so entirely that you know things will never be the same again. .

The above goes some way to describing the emotions I experienced but there is still a large portion I simply cannot transcribe. It is a surreal image in my head that can only be understood by those that have also seen it. It is Ulysses meets Dali, backwards in a foreign tongue, written in code that is incomprehensible to the nescient but unequivocally clear to the learned. What I can say with confidence is that it is an extraordinary feeling and one that will always stay with me and for that, I am eternally grateful. The ensuing days getting to know our new addition were superb, from learning how to hold and feed him without fear to dressing him in under 40 minutes with steady hands, each little task was strengthening the bond with him. I can now hear his cry in my head and this little sound carries me through my working day and leaves me with an aching to rush home and see him again. To see what is new that day, if he has any new hairs on his head, any new scratches on his face (where are those nail clippers again...?), any new noises he has learnt to vocalise, to see him breathing in the world around him with such curiosity in his eyes makes everything worthwhile. Yes, I am tired...No, I don't care. Life revolves on a new pivot now and the pivot is Noah. My little boy.

There are 2 words I have purposefully omitted from this post so far and, just for this post, I am going to keep it that way. To see Noah in all his newborn glory gleefully swamping down his first bottle and announcing himself to the world with the finest burp I have ever heard, all the stresses of the last few month vanished in an instant and we were able to look at this tiny marvellous creation and appreciate him for just that. We have been through enough up until now, and, with hospital visits scheduled for next week, there is plenty more ahead but just for now allow us this blissful unspoilt joy. For now.