Thank heavens for microwaves and PVR. Since March 26, it now takes me three hours to watch a 30-minute TV programme and four trips to the microwave to enjoy a hot cup of tea or coffee.
On that day, life as I knew it changed when my wife, Shihaam, gave birth to a baby boy. Aqeel is our first child and, from the moment he entered this world kicking and screaming, he has ruled our lives.
This has not come as a surprise to me - far from it. Anybody and everybody who has kids warned, I mean advised, us that having a child would change the rules - heck, it meant a whole new ballgame.
It's just that I thought I would be better prepared. I mean, I'm the fun uncle, my nephews and niece adore me (I think). And hey, aren't babies always happy to be in my arms?
In my self-absorbed world, I always envisaged the following scenario playing itself out: Our child cannot stop crying. He is miserable. We don't know if he is tired or has a wind. We do know whether he is hungry, wet or has pooped himself into a state of discomfort. But this bit of useful information is actually more of a hindrance than a help - it simply magnifies the fact that we don't know what is wrong.
Mommy can't stem the tide of tears, neither can granny. But then along comes dad and, within seconds of scooping up his son into his arms, the wailing ceases and calm once again reigns in the House of Bawa.
You see where I'm going with this - I'm kind of a Superdad.
The reality, however, is far, far removed from the dream.
Don't get me wrong. Aqeel does seem to enjoy me holding him and we share some amazing moments when his face lights up into the cutest smile while I'm telling him that I'm his daddy (no, it's not a wind that causes his reaction, he really does smile when I tell him I'm his daddy).
But I definitely don't have any superhuman powers when it comes to soothing him during troubled times.
And when the crying reaches a crescendo, I look for the quickest way out (thanks, grannies). Not that this cowardice sits well with me. But I have had to come terms with the following:
As night editor of The Star, I work under intense pressures while trying to bring South Africa's biggest quality daily newspaper out in good shape and on time, yet I am at a loss when having to deal with the whims of a new-born baby. Bringing out a newspaper compared to bringing up a baby - no contest, I've learned.
What bothers me is not only that I don't possess the magic touch when it comes to my own son, but that I don't seem to want to rush to his aid whenever he makes a noise - especially at 3am.
I know it drives Shihaam nuts, but hey, what happened to tough love? If we jump every time Aqeel goes "ga-ga"or "goo-goo", won't we be spoiling him and creating future problems?
Well, that's my defence at 3am, when I'm feeling so sleep-deprived I can't think further than my next snore, and I'm sticking with it.
Then there are the nappies. With a wife who has taken to motherhood in a wonderful way and, at various stages, two grannies around to do the dirty work - quite literally - I have managed to avoid changing a nappy for seven whole weeks.
For those new-age dads and disappointed females shaking your heads at this point, allow me to explain something to you:
There are some parents who go through life in denial, believing that their children can do no wrong and that their poop does not stink - I am not one of them. I am a realist and am fully aware that my son's poop does indeed stink - and then some.
I also know that my days of hiding from the poop will soon be over. In a matter of weeks, there won't be a granny to step in. Also, Shihaam will eventually tire of my lost and helpless looks when it comes to the intricacies of nappy-changing. And it doesn't help that the process isn't that intricate any more.
Actually, it's quite simple. And with disposables, my pin defence has been taken away.
Pin defence, you ask? Well, it is not exactly original. Shihaam's father told me a story of how, the one time he tried to change her, he stuck the pin into her rather than the nappy.
Her mom was so horrified, she banned him from ever trying to change a nappy again. He has never confessed to doing it on purpose, but he always seems to enjoy telling the story.
I, however, will never have the luxury of such a story. Damn you, Velcro, you have nothing on a nice, sharp pin.
Bottom line, Shihaam expects me to, sooner rather than later, get my hands dirty in all aspects of parenting - or the poop will really hit the fan.