Last week Piri Weepu became an unwitting poster boy for hands-on fathers everywhere as we wondered how a photograph of a tender nurturing moment between father and baby could be turned into an ideological football rather than accepted at face value.
As others have pointed out, the image of a tough burly All Black with his precious baby in his arms sets an admirable example to other Kiwi dads. Weepu is a powerful and positive role model - exactly what we need in light of the cases of baby abuse that continue to infect our nation. So what if the nutrition was being administered via a bottle? How else is a man supposed to feed his baby?
Yet it seems the establishment, some vocal groups with entrenched opinions about raising babies, place little value in the role of men as hands-on parents. My husband experienced this for himself as a brand new dad. One Friday night in March 2003 he had to leave National Women's hospital on the dot of 8pm for this was when visiting hours ceased. And no exceptions were made even though our daughter was only two hours old and I had just undergone an emergency C-section.
As I could hardly move, I was incapable of looking after myself let alone a newborn, so our baby was cared for in the hospital's nursery. All three members of our freshly minted family spent the first night apart. It was plain weird. Kevin went home and toasted his new position in life with a shot of Cointreau while I lay awake all night in my private room listening to doors slamming and thinking that some of the throat clearing noises from down the corridor sounded rather manly.
The next afternoon we transferred to Birthcare in Parnell. After about sixty hours with no sleep, I planned to settle our daughter in the nursery and get straight to bed. "Where's the nursery?" I asked gaily at the reception desk with my baby in my arms. "There's no nursery here," the woman behind the desk replied. "You're all in the same room."
