The Flagging Dad - Exciting Announcement
A book launch (kind of)
Hi folks,
Over the past couple of weeks, I have been doing some thinking…
Basically, I have written a full book, The Flagging Dad, a humorous account of the first five years of parenting (from our eldest son’s birth to his first day at primary school), which I’m really proud of.
I’ve decided I’m going to start sharing it chapter by chapter on Substack every Thursday. The chapters are all around 1,000 to 2,000 words and will work as standalone pieces. I’ve put up a handful of excerpts over the past year, including Chapter 1, and they have gone down well, so I live in hope that people will enjoy the whole thing in chronological order.
My pal has kindly given me a proper microphone, so I will add voice recordings when I can (could have only been a lend, actually. Need to clarify that...)
These posts will be free to everyone, but depending on how it goes, I might add a paid option at some point with some extra, as-yet-undecided bonus stuff perhaps. I’m under no illusions that anyone would go for it - in a world where you can access every song ever written ad-free for £11.99 per month, why would people pay anything for a few words on a screen from some nearly middle-aged bloke from Leeds who, just yesterday morning, couldn’t figure out how to fold up a postal box at the Post Office and had to ask the man?
But... Substack keeps telling me to do it, so I might. At some point. Suppose my mum may sling me a few quid?
Anyway, below is the blurb for The Flagging Dad, some kind endorsements from people I admire, and Chapter 1: Becoming a Parent, in case you haven’t read it/would like to re-read it.
The book will resume with Chapter 2: A New World next Thursday.
Since starting on Substack last year, I’ve found it to be an incredibly warm and encouraging writing community, so THANK YOU for the continued support. I’m excited to see how this goes and very much looking forward to sharing my book with you all.
Cheers.
Andy
The Flagging Dad by Andy Carter
How becoming a parent made me (almost) an adult
Nothing can prepare you for navigating life’s biggest responsibility on three hours’ broken sleep, often covered in vomit. The thrills and spills of your twenties come to a shuddering halt, replaced by weaning woes, teething troubles, and marital spats about whose turn it is to take a shower.
It does, though, get easier, and after wading through the trenches of the first year, stress, snappiness, and eye-stinging exhaustion make way for the magic of those first milestones and moments of unbridled joy as your baby starts to become a real person.
Life is good. Being a parent is wonderful. You can finally see what all the fuss is about.
So why not have another one?
Endorsements:
'Like having a chat with your best mate down the pub. Honest, heartfelt and very funny. Andy Carter isn’t afraid to tell you the truth.' - Jessica Knappett (Actress, writer and comedian. Star of Avoidance, The Inbetweeners Movie, Drifters and Taskmaster.)
‘Very funny and relatable.’ - George Lewis (Award-winning comedian and author of Don’t Panic!)
‘Andy Carter's warm, witty and moving tales about life as a new parent is a joy. His wry humour and touching tales provide an amusing and heartfelt insight into the life of a growing family.’ - Liam Thorpe (Award-winning political editor of The Liverpool Echo)
‘Andy is a natural storyteller.’ - Rachel Parris (Comedian and host of Late Night Mash)
‘A fantastic, honest and hilarious insight into life and marriage after children. Refreshing to read.’ - Becky Lomas (Senior journalist at Bauer Media, newsreader at Hallam FM News and Pulse Radio.)
‘Extremely funny and relatable – highly recommended.’ - Duncan Beiny aka DJ Yoda (Award-winning hip-hop DJ)
I am represented by my terrific agent Amy O’Shea at Graham Maw Christie Literary Agency. She can be contacted at amy@grahammawchristie.com
Becoming a Parent
Peter Andre won dad of the year (two years running?!), how hard can it be?
Joshua was born at Harrogate District Hospital on 18th November 2017, weighing 8lb, 10oz. This was, of course, wonderful. The 40 hours before he arrived, not so much. Contrary to what you see in films - water breaks > baby in arms of beaming mother - labour can drag on a bit. When Louise’s contractions started at 5 a.m., I drove us to the hospital, but we were turned away by the midwife.
‘Just go home and relax for a few hours,’ she said.
Relax?
Back in our living room, I tried to make myself useful by massaging Louise’s back but made the error of offering some shushing noises.
‘What the hell are you doing, Andy? Are you trying to get me to sleep?’
In a more successful distraction tactic I put Kitchen Nightmares on the TV. After ten minutes, I was hooked and, with Louise’s contractions becoming more intense, tempted to shush her again so I could fully focus on a heated dispute between Gordon Ramsey and a lazy sous-chef.
Ten hours later, we returned to the hospital where, mercifully, Louise was now deemed ready for the maternity ward. Assuming this meant the baby’s arrival was imminent, I started my motivational mantras - ‘You can do this! I’m so proud! I love you!’ - far too early, as it turned out. After 4 hours and 45 minutes Louise had to settle for silent, increasingly feeble forehead dabs before I nodded off, drooling on myself in a plastic chair.
I woke to loud cursing, unsure how long I’d been asleep. It appeared things were progressing. I’d cricked my neck but thought better of complaining and frantically resumed forehead dabbing.
‘GET OFF ME!’
‘Are you okay?’
‘DO I LOOK OK?’
She did not.
How could I help? Surely there must be some way? I cast my mind back to our NCT classes Our teacher, an eccentric lady with wiry hair, specialized in guru-style advice rather than practical tips. When Louise asked which foods to avoid during pregnancy, she said, ‘Eat whatever you want.’ When asked for breastfeeding advice, she paused for a moment, then, told us ‘Just go with the flow.’
As much as I resented spending £250 on the classes, I suddenly remembered the “Advice for birthing partners” list. One of the points was about supporting your partner’s pain relief decisions, but I was unsure this needed stating. ‘She’s sticking with paracetamol. End of,’ didn’t feel like the right thing to say in this moment. I could see the writer of the list had clearly struggled to make ten points, because ‘back rub’ and ‘shoulder massage’ each had their own bullet point. One bullet point, though, had caught my eye: ‘Create a birthing playlist.’
Perhaps I attached disproportionate importance to the task, but I spent an entire Sunday afternoon creating a relaxing Spotify mix I thought Louise might enjoy. When the midwife predicted our baby would be here within an hour, I sensed my time to shine. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got this…’ I said and produced two portable speakers from my rucksack. Louise, admittedly occupied, would have been hard pressed to give less of a shit, but the trendy Australian midwife nodded in approval, likely hoping it spelt the end of my inane small talk. ‘Which part of Australia are you from?’ ‘Is it hot?’ ‘Do you like cricket?’
A couple of tracks in, the midwife looked at me without smiling and said, ‘What is this rubbish? The Dawson’s Creek soundtrack?’
I felt attacked.
Sadly ‘within the hour’ turned out to be wildly inaccurate and it was a further six hours before Joshua arrived. When his head, then body finally emerged, it was, as the cliché goes, the best moment of my life; scrunched up, covered in gunk, and much hairier than I’d anticipated. He was perfect. As my amazing wife held our tiny son for the first time, I felt overwhelmed and started to cry. I couldn’t believe he had entered this world to the accompaniment of a Red Hot Chili Peppers album track. What was I thinking?
I’d been advised (by Louise, not NCT class teacher) that skin-to-skin contact helps dads bond with their baby, and I was looking forward to this special moment. However, as I took my top off in public, for the first time since that wedding reception with a free bar, it became clear there’d been an issue delivering the placenta. The colour drained from Louise’s face, and she was losing a lot of blood. In scenes reminiscent of a Grey’s Anatomy season finale, the room flooded with doctors, nurses, and complicated medical equipment, while I stood topless, helpless, and more scared than I’ve ever been in my life. Amidst the chaos, the midwife passed Joshua to me.
‘Um. Hello,’ I said, sweating, shaking, and sobbing.
Solid first impression.
Thankfully, the staff were incredible and calmly fitted an intravenous blood transfusion, which worked, and the doctor told us Louise would be okay. Mum and baby were both going to be okay, and that’s everything, isn’t it?
Louise, who leaves nothing to chance, had found out the gender at 16 weeks, paying £60 for a 4D scan at a clinic on an industrial state in one of Leeds’s less salubrious areas. I told my Bulgarian colleague, Dragomir, that we were thinking of calling him Joshua but he didn’t seem impressed. ‘Hmm. Joshua? That’s okay, I guess, but you could have called him a stronger name like Otto or Helmut.’
I was not calling my son Helmut.
Given the complications, we stayed in a private ward in the hospital for the next four days where we lived on Quavers and Lucozade and learned how to look after a tiny human that so far did only three things on repeat: cry, feed and poo. Sleep deprived, emotionally drained, and wearing the same undersized t-shirt for 72 hours, was a disorientating start to fatherhood, but witnessing Louise and Joshua’s early bonding was beautiful and, as she smiled and chatted to him, I was astonished by her Wolverine-esque recovery, while I was still struggling with my cricked neck.
Eventually, the nurses deemed Louise fit to leave the ward, so we tentatively put Joshua in his car seat and walked out of the hospital in a jubilant mood that even the £78 parking ticket could not quash.
‘Um, can we use your card, Louise?’
(I’d spent a lot at the vending machines.)
Having only just passed my test, I was petrified about driving home with such precious cargo. My driving instructor, Barry, was a man in his sixties who liked drinking Carling, ‘not at work though,’ he’d assured me with a chuckle. Several times. Barry had never met Louise but, for some reason, held the conviction that she was a dangerous driver.
‘I bet your missus would have overtaken that truck. Believe me, Andy, that would have been a bad move.’
This wasn’t the only thing Barry made assumptions about. During one lesson, we were practising reversing around a corner when he said.
‘Once I was driving at night and I saw a cyclist with no lights on. I didn’t hit him, but I could have done. What was he thinking?’
‘I don’t know, Barry.’
‘Do you want to know my opinion, Andy?’ He said, looking out the window. ‘I think he’d decided this world was no longer for him. He’d had enough.’
I thought this a rather bleak conclusion to draw and worried about how many other people Barry had deemed suicidal over the years, but I kept driving and he got me over the line in time for Joshua’s arrival, for which, I will always be grateful.
Heart pounding, hands at 10 to 2, I drove no faster than 30 mph, earning several critical comments from Louise without her lifting her adoring gaze from Joshua. When I pulled up outside our house, my relief at getting us safely home was soon overshadowed when I couldn’t work out how to unclip the car seat and had to ask Louise for help. As we opened the door, I made a mental note of this huge moment in our lives and vowed to cherish it.
‘Welcome home, son.’ I said aloud, and he started bawling.
‘I think he’s done a poo, Andy.’
And so, it begins.
*
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this piece, I’ll be incredibly grateful if you like/share it as I attempt to drum up some interest, and I’d love to hear people’s comments about their own experiences (or your thoughts on the whole sharing-a-book-on-Substack idea.) Cheers!
Chapter 2: A New World will be up next Thursday.
Finally… I will continue writing new Monday posts, though not every week for a while to avoid overkill.
Congrats!! Look forward to reading - and I hope Barry the driving instructor is on your subscribers list
Love the first chapter, can’t wait to read more!