Matthew Cain's blog

I’d love to know what my daughter sees when she looks at something. She’s almost a year old and I know her so much more than I did in the early days. I put that down to her developing a personality but I’m sure she’d put that down to me talking to her more. But I still don’t always know what she’s looking at and until she can talk, I’m probably going to be none the wiser.

Sometimes it’s obvious, of course. She loves gazing at the halogen lights in the ceiling of our basement. They sparkle and attract her attention, particularly when they are hot from me spending too long watching football. She loves watching the washing machine in action which offends my sensibilities much less than the idea of putting her in front of the TV.

She also loves looking at herself in the mirror (funny, that). It’s not clear that she understands exactly what is happening. She will wave and reach out to touch herself – and when she swings the cupboard mirror towards her she is surprised that there’s nothing behind it. But she still looks at both versions of me, uncertain as to where she should place her trust.

My daugher, Eloise, also loves looking at other people and is now (increasingly) disappointed when they fail to respond to her overtures (it’s genetic, I think). Her mother is convinced that she also likes looking at animals – dogs mostly but conveniently this also fits her agenda to get a dog.

However, there are some times when she looks at something and I desparately search to find out what she sees. It could be a white ceiling or an empty wall, a light switch or a piece of fluff on the carpet. Sometimes it’s the excitement of a chair leg. As my wife said yesterday, the world would be an amazing place if it was as exciting for everyone as it was for Eloise. But if I could unlock that secret to her mind, I would understand her just a little bit better.

I got home on Tuesday night in time to put my daughter Eloise to bed because my wife had to go out to a meeting. We had a nice time playing in her nursery. She’s started to walk, supported by a little trolley of bricks and her teeth are less painful as two top front teeth have emerged – in time for her first birthday as her mother said. She didn’t like her bath much – she spent most of the time stood up trying to pull the plug out – but she had fun in her own way.

After putting her to sleep I picked up her dirty nappy which made me reflect on how ‘I’d do anything for her’ (sorry for thinking in cliches) and also that she wouldn’t really understand until she had children of her own – but that she wouldn’t understand that fact until she did.

I got downstairs and got a text from my wife. The nanny was sick and wouldn’t be able to look after Eloise on Wednesday. I was in a panic. Karen had meetings all day and I had two really important meetings. Neither of us were going to compromise so we needed to find someone else. We did, finally (my Dad) at 11.30pm. We were getting pretty desparate at one point and wondering where else we could turn but I didn’t feel particularly good when I checked on her on my way to bed.

It felt so wrong. Only minutes earlier I’d been thinking that I’d do anything for my daughter and here I was desparately trying to get her off my hands on anyone I could get hold of – just to go to a couple of meetings. They weren’t any old meetings and I’m still pleased that I went (and delighted that she got to spend time with my Dad and that he could step in).

I’ve always tried to balance the various calls on my time (Karen, work, LFC, family, Labour etc) but some times you have to let people down to do everything you want. And you can never explain it properly to your children (or if you can, I haven’t found the way).

I’m writing this because fatherhood is great – but I rarely hear about the difficult moments so feel a duty just to express how it feels when it’s difficult and when you let them down.

I got home in time to take over childcare from our nanny. It proved to be the highlight of my day (and today was full of good points).

I was reading Eloise, my 11 month old, a story. It’s fairly simple and usually brief. She fidgets whilst I try to sound interested in the Q&A structure with a pop-up flap page which reveals the answer.

It’s called ‘what does baby do’ and I’m sure helps her understand social situations. Apparently children from a very young age (c. 2 years) can re-enact social situations (such as going to a restaurant and being offered a seat and ordering from a menu). So ‘what does baby do’ is designed to help her understand an appropriate response to her grandparents leaving.

Anyway, tonight was different. Tonight, she sat on my lap, listened to the story, lifted the flap and joined in three of the actions. It couldn’t have been any better. And she expressed frustration when the story finished. It even took longer than normal because she was so engaged in the process of lifting the flaps.

I’m developing a thesis about fatherhood: that Dads become more engaged as the mother becomes less useful. Let me explain: In the early days I was only useful to Eloise for changing her nappy. And that could be done by anyone. Now she no longer needs her mother for feeding – and has more complex needs – I can provide them. It’s altogether more fulfilling.