Thousands of years ago when my five-month-old son was born, I started this column by telling you that I didn’t know who he was. I told you this for two reasons. The first was because he was just a handful of days old, and the most incomprehensibly tiny thing I had ever seen. His entire existence revolved around nothing but sleeping and screaming. That was it. He wasn’t really a person back then, just a boot-up sequence.
But also, looking back, I was in absolutely no position to describe anyone’s personality. Those first few weeks, that first month, was spent looking at the world through a pinprick. A new baby is a huge full stop in your life, marking the divide between who you were and who you’re about to become. Clambering out from underneath it – at the same time as keeping another human alive on almost zero sleep – takes up every scrap of your energy. I suspect that I didn’t know who my son was because, for what seemed like an eternity after he was born, I wasn’t sure who I was.
However, the boot-up sequence is now ending its cycle. Our son is no longer a newborn. He can focus on things. He can reach out and grab things, often seconds before cramming them into his mouth. Teeth are about to arrive. Hair is a going concern. Emotions are something to experience, and not just something to quietly tick through in his sleep. The boy is a proper person now, so – with your permission – I’d like to describe him to you.
Our son is the happiest person I’ve ever met. Joy – full-scale, large-hadron, heart-dissolving joy – has become his default setting. Everything tickles him. Faces, textures, colours, noises; they are all without question the most delightful thing he has encountered. Even when he’s tired or hungry or in pain, he’ll do his best to smile through the discomfort. And that’s admirable of him, but God knows it’s heartbreaking to watch.
He’s cheeky and diffident in equal parts. If a stranger tries to smile at him, he’ll blush and bury his head in the nearest object. But, once he gets to know you, you’re in tight. I think he realises that the sight of him sticking his tongue out makes me happier than anything else on the planet, because that’s how he greets me now. I hope he never stops sticking his tongue out at people, even if it’s likely to work against his favour in the event of him attempting to become a high court judge.
And he’s starting to look like me. Admittedly, this was never exactly the plan – my wife is physically my exact opposite, and such a brilliant mix of various nationalities that her genes should have diluted the absurd Aryan streak that runs through my half of the family like an iron rod – but it’s happened nonetheless.
Thankfully, there’s still plenty of her in there so, while he’ll have me to blame when people tease him about looking like the Milkybar Kid, at least he’ll have her to thank for his pretty eyes. Of course, it’d be ridiculous to assume that this is it for him. As his horizons open, his perspective will change. Other influences will creep in. He’ll have good days and bad days, and make as many stupid decisions as everyone else. But now I know him. Whatever happens down the line, this is him at his purest. And he is loved, completely.
So that’s who my son is now. I can’t wait to see who he’ll be next.
