My Life Story

The day everything changed — becoming a dad

Queen's Medical Centre, Nottingham

I'd been awake for 31 hours when they finally placed him in my arms. He weighed 7lb 4oz and had the most serious expression I'd ever seen on a person — like he was already sizing up the world. I remember walking to the car park alone at 5am just to cry without worrying anyone. Not sad tears. Just overwhelmed ones. The sky was going pink over the hospital roof and I thought, "I'll tell him about this moment one day." I still haven't. But I will.

Sunday mornings at Nan's house

Nan's terraced house, Coventry

Every Sunday without fail. The smell of Nan's house was its own language — lavender, frying bacon, and something sweet from the sideboard biscuit tin she pretended was for special occasions only. Grandad would be watching wrestling on the telly with the sound down. Nan always said he'd go deaf but it was really because she wanted to hear the radio in the kitchen. I'd sit on the carpet and be given my weekly 50p. It felt like a fortune. These were the most ordinary moments of my childhood. They are also the ones I miss most.

Things I want my children to know about who I really am

I am not who I appear to be in photographs. I am funnier, more anxious, more hopeful, and more frightened than any photo suggests. I grew up feeling like I didn't quite fit. I spent most of my twenties performing a version of confidence I hadn't yet earned. I made mistakes I'm not proud of and some I don't regret at all. What I want you to know is this: I have loved being your parent more than I have loved anything. Not in a sacrificial way — in a "this is what I was made for" way. If you're reading this after I'm gone, please know the ordinary days were my favourite. The car journeys. The terrible films we watched. The kitchen table at 7am. Those were my best moments. Every one of them.