**Diary Entry 15th October**
My wife and I were meant to be a united front when our first child arrived, but instead, I let her down. My behaviour grew worse each day, and she nearly walked awayuntil a humbling moment in front of our entire family forced me to see the truth. An unexpected act of kindness from my parents ended up saving us.
Just three weeks ago, my wife, Eleanor, 25, and I, William, 29, welcomed our beautiful daughter, Beatrice. Shes the light of our lives, but the strain of parenthood hit harder than I expected. Whenever Eleanor asked for my help, Id brush her off with the same excuse:
*Let me restmy paternity leave is barely a fortnight.*
She bore the burden aloneendless nights rocking a fussy baby, the exhaustion creeping in until she could barely stand. Beatrice rarely slept longer than an hour, yet I hadnt so much as changed a nappy. What shames me most is that Id vowed to share the load equally. Instead, my idea of helping was handing Eleanor a cuppa while she paced the nursery at 3 AM.
By last Saturday, she was running on fumes. Wed planned a small gathering at her mothers in Cambridge to celebrate Beatrices one-month milestone. Family and friends cooed over the baby while I flitted about, soaking up the attention. At one point, I overheard myself joking:
*Blimey, this paternity leaves been a lifesaverimagine juggling work and a newborn!*
Eleanors face fell, but she said nothing. Then, mid-conversation, she swayedeyes glazedbefore crumpling to the floor. The room erupted. Someone thrust a biscuit into her hand, murmuring about low blood sugar. She insisted she was fine, just knackered, but when our eyes met, I knew Id failed her.
The drive home was silent. The moment the front door shut, I snapped.
*What were you playing at? Now my parents think Im useless!*
She stared at me, drained. *Im not the enemy, Will. I just needed sleep.*
I stormed off, stewing in self-pity. The next morning, I ignored them both, sulking like a child. When Eleanor finally packed a bag for her mums, I nearly let her gobut then the doorbell rang.
There stood my parents, grim-faced, with a woman named Mrs. Higginsa professional nanny theyd hired for two weeks.
*Shell teach you how to care for your child,* Mum said firmly. Then Dad pressed a brochure into Eleanors handsa week at a spa in the Cotswolds.
*Youre going,* he said. *Proper rest. No arguments.*
I was stunned. My wife left the next day, and by the time she returned, Mrs. Higgins had run me ragged. Nappies, burping, pacing the halls at midnightId never been so exhausted, or so ashamed. My parents stayed, sharing stories of their own early struggles, until it finally clicked: this wasnt about me.
When Eleanor came home, I pulled her close. *I sold my vintage football memorabilia to pay Mum and Dad back,* I whispered. *You and Bea come first.*
That night, we talked properly for the first time in weeks. My parents intervention didnt just give Eleanor respiteit rewired my priorities. Pride means nothing if youre too selfish to lift a finger for the people you love.
Some men never learn. But thanks to them, I did.
