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Protective Instinct


The first time I felt a protective instinct, it was probably with a girl friend. There’s something about women that make them look vulnerable, and makes you feel protective. It’s a good feeling. You are the stronger one, and you won’t let any harm come her way.

With a daughter, its that feeling multiplied by a hundred. She’s delicate. She’s tiny. Her clothes are so tiny my hands don’t have the dexterity to fold them properly. Her entire hand can grip half my finger. If she rubs her eyes she can cut her skin with her nails. Her shoes placed one behind the other are about half my shoe in length. I weigh ten times her weight.

If aliens attack I’ll fight them off and save the world, just so she’s got a good place to grow up.

Is it a good feeling? Sometimes. Sometimes it’s too much of a good feeling to handle. It also sucks when I fail. When she falls. When she pukes. When she bumps her head. Trips. Slips. Falls sick.

Aliens? I can’t even fight viruses. (I recently learnt that neither can antibiotics). If I can have a super power, I’d want the ability to never let my daughter to get into any trouble.

Unfortunately honey, I don’t have it. Which is why a lot of times I have to go against all my instincts, and let you fall. If I can’t always stop you from falling, then I guess I have to teach you to always get up.
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I became a father on 17th April 2010. Even though I was prepared for being a dad, I was not the least bit prepared for what it meant to be a dad. This blog is about some of the pleasing, joyful, horrid, wonderful and annoying realisations that I've had as a parent of a beautiful baby girl.
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