Those early days were not pretty: When the something’s-not-quite-right fog cleared the incessant quarrelling began, and resentment and anger spewed from those fights.
I resented the fact that my contributions were not appreciated. I felt that my wife was being overly nitpicky and emotional and unreasonable in her criticisms of me.
I resented not being seen for doing my share of the heavy lifting when it came to minding the child.
But I now know that I wasn’t really doing any share of anything: I just wasn’t in tune to what she wanted and was dancing to my own beat. It came from a place of hubris.
In fact, when first confronted, I fobbed her off. I thought all her grievances can’t be true, that she was hallucinating. She resented not being listened to and my stubborn defensiveness.
Eventually, we grew sick of bickering. We realised the only way forward was through more listening, more empathy and more patience. It was new territory for us after all; we too needed to have our baby steps.
So, were lessons learnt? I’d like to think so.
Things were far smoother – but by no means a cinch – when our second child arrived some years later. We obviously were a lot more battle-hardened and savvier as parents and spouses by then.
And I also did far better with the chores: This time, I could outsource some of the work to an eager beaver three-year-old.
