Less than a month until our family increases by one, and I am trying to remember what life is like with a baby. The arrival of a second child is usually a question of recalling the arrival of the first, only with less nervous staring, tip-toeing around and constant doubt about what one should or shouldn't be doing.
For us, it's a little different, and it's not just because of the age-gap of five and a half years.
When Rosalie was born, I had only been out of the spinal unit for a week, and we were living in a small flat in Aylesbury, miles away from family and friends (with the exception of Penny mum, who stayed with us and helped enormously). It was difficult to identify the life-changing element of new parenthood; our whole lives has changed so profoundly in the previous three months.
In some ways we were fortunate. I didn't have the demands of work forcing me out of the house. We were able to spend a lot of time together. England were playing Australia at cricket in one of the most thrilling Ashes series (and it was on freeview). I spent many hours with Rosalie asleep on me while I lay on the sofa, and shifted my gaze between our newborn daughter and Freddie Flintoff (It's no contest: Rosalie is infinitely nicer to look at, but I must concede that Flintoff is the better cricketer).
There was almost a feeling that everything else had been put on hold, just so that we could treasure those first few months (just to clarify, I'm not advocating spinal cord injury for expectant fathers).
In other ways, we were less fortunate. I could hardly get into the kitchen, let alone cook or wash up. I was struggling to stay on top of bouts of excruciating neuropathic pain (while this is still a major part of my life, it is undoubtedly less than it was, if only because I am better at living with it).
Perhaps most difficult all, I was emotionally very raw, and felt like all of my hoes and dreams of fatherhood had been dashed. Yes, I could lie around like a cricket-watching Moses basket, but I was nervous about moving with the baby, let alone taking a toddler out or visiting a playground.
When I look back on that time (writing a book has some advantages), it is easy to remember that feeling, even if I am able to do so much more than I could have imagined. And when I teach wheelchair skills to newly injured people, I am especially careful to take the opportunity to try and offer reassurance to any parents that it's still possible to do the really important stuff.
All I have to do now is remind myself how...
For us, it's a little different, and it's not just because of the age-gap of five and a half years.
When Rosalie was born, I had only been out of the spinal unit for a week, and we were living in a small flat in Aylesbury, miles away from family and friends (with the exception of Penny mum, who stayed with us and helped enormously). It was difficult to identify the life-changing element of new parenthood; our whole lives has changed so profoundly in the previous three months.
In some ways we were fortunate. I didn't have the demands of work forcing me out of the house. We were able to spend a lot of time together. England were playing Australia at cricket in one of the most thrilling Ashes series (and it was on freeview). I spent many hours with Rosalie asleep on me while I lay on the sofa, and shifted my gaze between our newborn daughter and Freddie Flintoff (It's no contest: Rosalie is infinitely nicer to look at, but I must concede that Flintoff is the better cricketer).
There was almost a feeling that everything else had been put on hold, just so that we could treasure those first few months (just to clarify, I'm not advocating spinal cord injury for expectant fathers).
In other ways, we were less fortunate. I could hardly get into the kitchen, let alone cook or wash up. I was struggling to stay on top of bouts of excruciating neuropathic pain (while this is still a major part of my life, it is undoubtedly less than it was, if only because I am better at living with it).
Perhaps most difficult all, I was emotionally very raw, and felt like all of my hoes and dreams of fatherhood had been dashed. Yes, I could lie around like a cricket-watching Moses basket, but I was nervous about moving with the baby, let alone taking a toddler out or visiting a playground.
When I look back on that time (writing a book has some advantages), it is easy to remember that feeling, even if I am able to do so much more than I could have imagined. And when I teach wheelchair skills to newly injured people, I am especially careful to take the opportunity to try and offer reassurance to any parents that it's still possible to do the really important stuff.
All I have to do now is remind myself how...
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