'I know I will be a good dad. My fear lies in providing a home. Am I up to it?'

When student RICHARD DUFFY learned in February that he was going to be a father, he was stunned, then freaked out, then panicked…

When student RICHARD DUFFYlearned in February that he was going to be a father, he was stunned, then freaked out, then panicked. As the due date nears, how does the now-unemployed graduate feel about the future?

LAST FEBRUARY I was sitting comfortably on my girlfriend Sinéad’s couch playing Pokémon. She asked me to put away the game; she had some news. I didn’t want to: I had only recently started, and I was just about to catch a Pikachu. But Néad convinced me to put down the game and listen to her while she told me about what she got up to the day before.

It wasn’t a normal day with mundane work anecdotes and lunchtime jokes. It was a day of difficult-to-decipher tests and tactless nurses. As Néad told me the story, I could see where it was going. I stopped playing Pokémon. I willed there to be a twist at the end of the tale. Instead she concluded where I feared: “I’m five-and-a-half weeks pregnant.”

I don’t think I did too badly with my initial reaction. I was stunned, but I didn’t do or say anything outlandish. We spoke a little about what would happen next. Mainly, we were both too stunned to process the information. My shock was fresh, hers still there from the day before. Even still we smiled, we hugged.

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Over the next few days we told our immediate families and some close friends, but Baby would remain a secret to the wider world for a while yet. Throughout this time I remained stunned. Sometimes in an excited kind of way, sometimes in a petrified way. It was a few weeks before I finally came through this stunned state.

When I did, I freaked out.

I am quite confident I will be a good dad. I bond well with children. My cousins all seem to like it when I hold them upside down. I know there are many more complicated layers to keeping a child happy, but I’m also aware of how often holding them upside down does the trick. My fear lies in providing a home.

This fear first manifested itself from a purely financial perspective. Néad is working; I am not. Néad is making just above the level of being able to support herself on her own. I am still a student and won’t be able to enter the jobs market until just a few weeks before Baby’s due date, in October. To counter the financial burden we looked into what supports were available. What was child benefit like? How much maternity leave does Néad get and at what rate? What kind of dole would I be entitled to while I looked for work?

We did our research and discovered something horrible: we would both be financially better off if I ran away.

If I ended up on the dole, my payments would likely decrease if Néad and I lived together, because her income would be taken into account when calculating my entitlements. On top of this, if I wasn’t around, a whole world of single-parent payments and support would open up for Néad, although these supports would be available only if she tried and failed to sue me, or if I was nowhere to be found.

In no way do I begrudge the supports available to single parents, and I also feel that the support available to a family with two earners is adequate, but we find ourselves nicely and neatly in a crack in the system. Not that I’m planning on staying on the dole: it’s just that the jobs market is not exactly booming at the moment. Add to that the fact that I’m trying to break into journalism: it’s troubling how many tutors and guest lecturers told us journalism, for the first few years, is only good for the occasional bonus on top of bar work.

I had planned on moving to New York next year; I’m now looking at what’s affordable in Balbriggan – affordable on Néad’s salary, which must also support a baby and, potentially, her unemployed boyfriend.

In the midst of all of these financial fears, I also started to panic about what kind of a home it might be for a child, even if finances were available. Néad and I have had a somewhat tumultuous relationship. It took months of relentless pursuit by me before she accepted me as a boyfriend, then we broke up after a few more months. We were apart for most of a year before we got back together again. When Baby entered the equation we were just nine months together, and I was still scared. I wasn’t sure we had the strength we had last time we were together, the time it all fell apart.

We were bringing a baby into a house we couldn’t afford, in a relationship that was strong but had previously been stronger and had fallen apart anyway.

The problems we are facing are not minor ones, and the price of failure is terrifying, but these problems are not insurmountable. We have made pretty good progress so far. My reservations about the strength of our relationship have all but vanished, reduced to the odd niggle, which I would expect even happily married couples have on occasion. We are both facing great challenges, but we are facing them together. We share numerous fears, we have bonded over this experience, and we are closer than we have ever been – and it is largely because of Baby. Not that Baby now carries a burden in keeping us together; simply that Baby gave us the kick we need to see our own strength.

My fears dissipate in the face of Néad’s joy. She is beyond excited at the prospect of being a mother, above any fears. Even through the pains and exhaustion of pregnancy she is giddy about the life growing inside her. But what makes me smile, no matter how afraid I might feel, is Néad’s smile when she thinks of how she is having a baby with me.

That smile dispels any petty fears for our relationship or blind panic about the road ahead.

Finances continue to challenge us, but slowly it is becoming more manageable. My career is nowhere close to stable but I am finishing an internship with RTÉ, and (have you noticed?) there's this article in The Irish Times. Still, I won't know if I'm bringing in enough money until Baby's about a month old. It's possible that we'll be doing just fine by then; it's equally likely that we'll be entering panic stations.

In a phenomenally generous manner, my parents are helping us for a few months to get a secure footing while we sort out a more permanent arrangement. For a number of reasons, that generosity bothers me. For a start, it’s a lot to give, and I don’t want to be a burden. But also, I’m 24 years old, the same age my mother was when she had my sister (whose arrival was planned). I’ve got my own family now: I don’t want to have to ask my parents for help any more. If they could do it, why can’t I?

Luckily, a friend gave me this piece of advice long before my parents made their offer: “No matter what people offer you, you swallow your pride and you take it, because it’s not for you, it’s for Baby.” His words helped me accept my parents’ gift with the gratitude it deserves.

All of the worries and fears are about me: am I up to it? But I don’t have any worries about Baby. Baby will be amazing. All concerns lie on whether I am going to be as good a provider as awesome Baby deserves.

If I’m really lucky, with Néad’s help, I’ll be able to provide a mansion of joy for my child. But my realistic goal is that we’ll be able to sit down one day, my child and I, relaxed, with no pressing concerns, and play Pokémon together.