Norah.

What’s the point of me writing for a living if I’m not even going to write about my beautiful, brand-new baby daughter?

She’s cute as hell, Norah. But of course she is — I helped make her.

Recently and for once, rarely, words have failed me. I’ve been left speechless, emotional, sleep deprived, overstimulated, but absolutely amazed in between all of those emotions and feelings.

I, alongside the absolute champion that is my wife, am now responsible for a little person, who relies solely on us, for anything and everything.

The manchild I once was is now a thing of the past. I’ve now evolved into a parent manchild. Wow. Someone help me. Someone help Kel.

She was a Norah before she was even born. And seeing her for the first time made her a Norah all the more. She was never going to be anyone else.

Hard to get my head around how much she’s changed in the eight weeks she’s been here. But then again it’s hard to comprehend she’s been here for that long already. We’re always trying to make the most of every day, week, and now the couple of months we’ve been lucky enough to know her.

We’re still very much in the trenches, which is the only way it can be described. Chicken Korma poos at a rapid rate, erratic bouts of sickness, unwarranted crying, and confused and at times angry facial expressions.

Well, she is my child after all. Resting bitch face is a Callaghan trademark.

But coming through are the smiles, the interactions, and the general inquisitiveness of life a baby eight weeks old should be having. And it’s amazing. More than.

I didn’t know what to expect, and I’m glad. The fears and anxieties I had beforehand have now subsided. But only to be replaced by worries and the relentless questioning of whether I’m doing enough, as a dad and as a husband, to fit into the puzzle of family life.

I’m sure I am. Well, I know I am. But what’s life without a little bit of mental self-sabotage to make sure I’m alive, and still be the wonderful overthinker I’ve grown to love about myself*.

*I don’t love it about myself in any way, shape, or form. But who doesn’t like to think they think too much?

I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. But isn’t that all part of the fun? I know more than I did this time a couple of months ago, that’s for sure. If you’d told me I’d have to change as many nappies as I did in the first few days of Norah’s life alone, I would have said get your things and get out of my face.

But shit happened, literally.

There’s still a balance for us to find, and it won’t happen overnight. But I’m proud of us, but moreso proud of my wife, on how she’s dealing with everything every day. With a smile on her face. Attacking things head on. Bossing it like the resilient and steely warrior she is, leading me into parental battle, looking at me with piercing eyes telling me to get up, get over it and get on with it. No excuses, we parent together or die.

We ignore all the guidance and advice we’ve been given, with respect and love for each and every person who’s attempted to help and direct us. We’ll be doing things our way (Kel’s way), thank you very much. It’s the only way to do things in my view. Norah agrees, nodding her head from the theme park seat we’ve just strapped her to.

No rulebook, no YouTube tutorial. We’re not assembling an Ikea flatpack here. To be honest, no YouTube video has ever helped me in that instance, either.

We’re winging it. According to parents worldwide, they’re all doing the same, too. I haven’t met a parent yet who’s come away unscathed from the trials and tribulations of raising children.

It’s not easy, but it’s worth it. I feel like we’re only minutes into a marathon journey, but nothing worth having comes easy, right?

We still and always will be Dave and Kel: individual people with goals and ambitions and ideas to be better for life and in life. But collectively, we’re also a team, working together to bring up a beautiful, smiley, dreamboat of a little girl in the right way, amidst all the shocks and horrors of this world.

She’s a life changer, and even the words I’ve written will never be enough.

So far, so very good. Now I’m off to buy nappies, baby cream, baby grows and some other kind of equipment or apparatus I have a simplistic topline understanding of. I’ll probably come back with an Ikea flatpack. Here’s hoping.