I used to think magic was the song of a blackbird, or the way a starlings feathers shimmer in the light. Now, magic is my daughter’s smile. The way her soft head fits in the crook of my arm as she sleeps. The tiny fingers that grip mine, that crave safety, security. I am my daughter’s safe space, and nature is mine.

Sleepless nights, exhaustion, the turning-upside-down of your previous life – new parenthood is hard. Once the new fatherly glow of the first week starts to fade, the nappies start to pile up, and so do the dishes, and the laundry. Suddenly, you’re living in a house of cards, only one gust of wind away from collapse. At least, this was my experience. And my solution was… get outside.

My favourite thing to do is pop my daughter in her snazzy leopard print baby carrier and go for a walk. Morning, noon, night – whenever she’s a bit grizzly and won’t settle, or I’ve been pounced on by the New Dad Anxiety – it’s in the carrier and off we go. And suddenly, with a gentle breeze and a lilting birdsong in the air, things settle for us both. The swaying sends her off to sleep, and I get the space to breathe, to ground myself and focus on what’s happening outside my head, outside our family bubble. 

My daughter was born at the start of spring, when early morning childcare shifts saw me feeding her before the sun was up, cocooned in darkness – the oppressive gloom feeling suffocating and endless. But then the sun would rise, the world outside would wake up and my mood would lift. And steadily, steadily, the sun appeared earlier, and things got easier. My daughter slept longer, the night feeds got fewer and further between. We got into a rhythm, we knew what we were doing – she spent more time awake and showed more interest in things around her. And, as the swifts arrived and I delighted in watching them whirl overhead outside our home, an even more precious gift appeared – my daughter’s first smile, just for me. My daughter was growing with the season, with chicks holed up in their nests, and as they slowly fledged and learned about the world around them, so did she. 

Now, we walk around the park and hear a song thrush mimicking – a Greatest Hits of the bird world – first buzzard, then oystercatcher, before settling into its own distinctive song. Wall lizards bask on the rock faces of Clifton, and we admire peregrines battling buzzards in the Gorge (I say we... one of us still tends to sleep through the most exciting bits). But all of this keeps me going in the tough times and the tired times. 

I hope that by showing my daughter that nature is my safe space that it may become hers too.

But I have been lucky – I’m working reduced hours and so I can take this time with my daughter in the places I love. Not every dad gets this, especially in the UK, where our statutory paternity leave allowance is the lowest in Europe, and ranked 40^th out of 43 in OECD countries. 

As I write this, a group of dads organised by The Dad Shift are lobbying to change paternity leave entitlement, and MPs from the Women & Equalities Committee have openly called for it to increase. My walks with my baby are such a time of bonding for us: the closeness of the carrier, with her pressed to my chest, builds our relationship and I deeply feel for anyone who doesn’t have the time to spend doing this.

Two weeks does not give dads enough time to adapt to life as a parent, to support their partners or to spend this critical time bonding with their babies. It upholds gender stereotypes and helps uphold the outdated idea of men as dads who don’t look after their babies, and whose sole responsibility is to work. This is harmful to dads, their partners and their children – it is time it changed for everyone. 

I have been very privileged to have the time to connect with my daughter and to make sure her first experiences of the world are of the amazing nature on our doorstep. To make sure she knows the wonder of the outside, and the love in her dad’s heart. I only hope other dads get this chance too.