I fought in Afghanistan, and thought I'd never experience anything that changed me as much … but then my baby arrived.
Back when I was in the military, having a baby was the furthest thing from my mind.
Regularly deploying to Afghanistan as part of a special forces unit was tough enough without having to tell a family “daddy has to go to work now. I may be back some time in the next six months – if I make it back at all”.
I was determined not to subject my family to that kind of lifestyle.
Even within the small groups we train and serve with, on every deployment (and sometimes in training) there was a fatality or major casualty. A lot of it goes unnoticed by the general public – but in the years from 2008 to 2013 when I left the unit, I lost count of the ramp ceremonies and funerals that I attended. Mates lost, and families shattered.
It was hard enough having to call my family and tell them that it’s wasn’t me that had been injured or killed, whenever it made the news back home. I couldn’t begin to imagine the grief of families unfortunate enough to lose a father, brother, or a son.
I was committed to my job. I’d trained hard to earn my position amongst some of the toughest and best men this country has ever produced. As far as I was concerned having kids was still a very, very distant blip on my personal radar.
So I was surprised – and even a little confused – at the emotions that stirred when I took my girlfriend Theresa (who is now my wife) to a BBQ at the home of a mate I’d served with.
She picked up one of my mate’s kids – and I was suddenly filled with a feeling of reassurance. It was an odd sensation. But as soon as I saw her holding that child, a part of my brain lit up, telling me “maybe she’s the one”.
Decision time…
I left my unit in 2013, and switched to something a little more mundane – a career in change management. It’s rewarding but mostly contract work, which makes things tough. I can find myself bounced off a contract if the company suddenly changes tack, and there are times when I’m not bringing in money for much longer than I’d planned.
When Theresa and I decided it was time to start trying for a baby, I was between contracts and legitimately concerned about how I was going to provide for my family. She asked if I wanted to wait until later, but at the age of 42, I really didn’t feel that taking more time was a luxury I could afford.
So I made a decision. We’d start trying for a baby, and if my current career path didn’t work out, I still had options. Regardless of what kind of work it was, I would do whatever it took to provide for my family.
Holy hell
So, I’m now a dad. But only after witnessing a labour that left me shocked.
I’m a former special forces soldier. I’ve seen the kinds of suffering that other people go through, up close and in horrifying detail. I thought if anyone could be resilient to seeing someone else in pain, it’d be me. But I was still deeply affected seeing Theresa in that amount of pain.
By the 19th hour, left alone by the midwives for a moment during Theresa’s ordeal, I broke down and cried.
I still stayed with Theresa every step of the way – and that felt like the most important thing I could do. If I can impart any wisdom to any man about to go through childbirth for the first time, it’s very simple: Just let it flow. Go with whatever happens, and be there by her side.
Acceptance and love
I’ve learnt that becoming a parent is a gift to be celebrated above all else.
Looking ahead to what lies in the future for my son, and what I want to provide more than anything else, is acceptance of who he is.
Life is tough enough without the expectations of his parents or the judgement of generations past being imposed on him or influencing his decisions.
When you were growing up, how many parents did you see at the sporting field trying to live vicariously through their children? Or, God forbid, have you ever heard a mate complain that their child hasn’t turned out how they’d hoped?
As dads, we owe it to our children to be the best version of ourselves that we can be – which includes responding to whatever they throw at us with acceptance and love, even if it’s not what we expected or dreamed of for them.
Which is why, having had a chance to think about it, I would be okay with my son making the choice to follow in my footsteps and head into the military – despite everything I’ve gone through, the mates I’ve lost and things that I can never un-see.
At the end of the day it’s our children’s dreams and goals that count – and we’re all lucky as dads to be part of that journey with them.