Straight From Cassandra's Lips

If you’ve not already experienced this, then I ask all new fathers to prepare yourself. You will, at some point in the early stages of being a father, become invisible to new mothers. I can only assume this visual glitch stems from some kind of molecular disruption within the genetic makeup of a man once he has a child. Possibly our pheromones exude less of what attracts a woman, and instead replaces it with a scent that modifies a woman’s vision, rendering anything "mannish" dreary to her intelligence (I dare say it’s the same thing that forces a woman to take no interest in football and Formula 1). Whatever it may be, I’ve lost count of the times it’s happened to me. Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not on a personal misogynistic quest to berate women for not being, "sensitive" to new fathers, nor am I rebuking women for not listening to me – my wife’s being doing it for years so I’ve gotten used to it. I mention it because it’s a natural phenomenon worthy of attention.

I realised I had the powers of invisibility when Amelie received her second set of inoculations at 12 weeks (it’s the two that consist of diphtheria, pertussis, tetanus, polio, hib, and pheumococcal). I was meeting Carla at the local doctors after I finished work. She wanted me there in case Amelie freaked out, a precautionary measure in the eventuality she couldn’t rein in the "burning bird" within her. The traffic was in my favour and I arrived twenty minutes before the appointment. The waiting room was packed to the gunwales with new mothers, each carrying an infant and an air of apprehension about them. I took a seat next to a woman who was feeding her newborn from an unusual looking bottle while simultaneously engaging in light conversation with another mother who was pacifying her baby with a rattle. When a noticeable lull presented itself, I asked the mother what kind of bottle she was using. Because I was still sat alone, I added quickly that my daughter, who was having her inoculations today and would be here any second with Carla (phew!), was using Dr Brown’s. Amelie contracted colic the first few days after being born, and after searching around the Internet, I found this was the bottle of choice. I even went so far as to go into the preferred medication that might assist hers, or any baby break down the bubbles that cause colic. All of it sounded reasonable, and plausible, so I expected nothing more than a congenial conversation to ensue. That wasn’t the case. Instead, and unbeknownst to me at the time, I was undergoing a metaphysical change. Sure, the mum did acknowledge me to begin with, but then, as if by magic, I began to fade away, and all talk was quickly redirected to the other woman. It was very confusing, but I assumed at the time she believed it was "mother’s talk", and wouldn’t be of any interest to a man, regardless if it was the man who asked.

The same thing happened a few weeks later when, at the Malthouse drinking a cappuccino or two, one of the barmaids came over and began cooing over Amelie. We were used to such attention because Amelie radiates an aura of adorability normally only reserved for Andrex advertisements. She did the usual thing and asked how old she was, and then drew a comparison to her own child at Amelie’s age. And it was with genuine interest I asked how old her child was, but you guessed it, she threw the answer back to Carla. We’ve spoke with this particular barmaid two more times since that first meeting, and on both occasions when I’ve asked her a question, the answer seems to precious for me to receive.

These are not just isolated incidents either. I’ve asked a couple of fathers I know and they’ve experienced this same trend. One of them referred to his experiences as the Cassandra Syndrome. For those of you unfamiliar with Greek Mythology, Cassandra was a beautiful woman loved by Apollo, so much so he granted her the gift of prophecy. When she did not return his love, he placed a curse upon her so no one would believe her predictions. For my friend, the Cassandra Syndrome was about warning other mothers about the problems he predicted, or could foresee happening to their children based on his own experiences with his. I don’t need to overegg the pudding by telling you the outcome.

I tried getting the woman’s perspective on why this is, you know, before I reached a conclusion that inevitably would end with me offending most women in the world. Carla believes it is this: Mothers listen to mothers. It’s not that they don’t believe a father can be interested in baby matters, it’s just more comfortable, and normal, for them to believe a mother would be more interested. I guess what she was trying to tell me was, until the day I pass a melon through my urethra, don’t expect too much eye contact.