Editorial Ovi issue 6

Can I ask the fathers a question? When do I become responsible and all grown-up? I have been a Dad for a number of weeks now and I don't feel that much different. Sure, my nerves are a little frayed with my wife, but I put that down to the 4am feeds, and I seem to have miraculously shed three kilos, but that could be because I have not had time to enjoy a few beers with the lads over the past few weeks.

'Fatherhood changes you!' proclaim all the Prepare Yourself for Parenthood books, but all I have changed is the bin bag full of dirty nappies and the way I address myself. Seriously, I have gone from calling myself 'I' and 'me' to referring to myself in the third person, it is suddenly 'Daddy will do that' and 'Daddy will wipe that' - is that it? A grammatical change is all they were rambling on about?

When the midwife first handed me my daughter (a recurring theme in my articles this month - the baby not the midwife) I looked at her quite baffled, as if to ask, "Why have you given her to me?" My brain could not comprehend that this was the little womb squatter inside my wife's belly these past 39 weeks and six days. This bewilderment led to issue six of Ovi becoming the 'Parenthood' issue.

Being Ovi, we are not writing about the preferred direction to wipe the mustard coloured shit off a baby's arse, nor will we lamenting the fact that the constant breasts on display are not for your entertainment. Ovi has tried to take the twist of parenthood, or should I say fatherhood, and given it some flavour, some panache, some flair and some of us really need some sleep.

The team have worked hard for issue six and we are once again grateful to our guests for bringing an added dimension to the proceedings and writing about subjects that do not involve placentas, epidurals or tearful men. We still want more guests to join us in our ongoing march to a blurry future, we can see something exciting far off in the distance but we can't make it out, similar to a shortsighted bloke before he puts on his glasses.

Thanos has been particularly gushing this month. He has been piling on the compliments and making me squirm with awkwardness. I even blushed a few times, felt the goosebumps on another and wiped a solitary tear from my cheek reading his kind words of fatherly, err older brotherly wisdom.

Before I come over all Waltons on you, I will bid you happy reading. Now, how do I remove this breast pump?

Asa