When a friend gave me her newborn baby to hold, my only thought was when it was acceptable to hand it back and go out and have a cigarette. I wasn’t what they nauseatingly call “broody”. So when I met my new partner, having children was not a consideration. We were too busy having sex. Unfortunately, she became pregnant. Condoms are so annoying. She was pretty erratic about taking the pill. How ironic that phrase “family planning” sounds now. Not for us the happy tears when the blue line appeared on the testing kit. Instead, I hoped she would have a termination; previous girlfriends had. She didn’t want to, so I had to make the best of it.

Fast-forward one year and we now have a son and I don’t have a life any more. Previously, existence was about going to the pub, meeting women and working to pay for the above. Now I work to support my partner and child, and it’s awful. Perhaps the cruellest part of it is that if my son wasn’t around, my partner wouldn’t be in the picture either. I would have left her ages ago. We weren’t particularly compatible, except in bed, and now even that has dried up. I was attracted to her because she was young and silly and carefree. Now she’s young and resentful and a nag. We’re still together because I would feel like a bastard if I left her.

They say you look at your parents in a new light when you become a father yourself, and I certainly do. I look at my dad and feel apologetic

What I’m really thinking: the reluctant dad, The Guardian, July 19