The arrival of our daughter, Despina, who recently celebrated her second birthday, has undeniably reshaped our family dynamics. Rather than dwelling on the well-documented realities of having less personal time and providing her with a more relaxed upbringing, I’d like to delve into the intriguing new dynamic that has emerged. Picture this: a very proper and intelligent six-year-old boy alongside an anarchic, irresistibly cute two-year-old girl—both vying for our limited time and attention. As we witness their growth and contribute to their experiences, existential reflections naturally arise.

Johnny, our inquisitive and bright young lad, already possesses impressive skills. He started to read small sentences and tackles basic mathematics. He is currently fascinated by Pokémon and multiplication tables. Johnny eagerly discusses the unique powers of Pikachu and Charizard and showcases his ever-expanding abilities in reading and math. However, it’s evident—to us and his teacher—that he’s outgrowing the challenges at pre-school. We recognize the need to engage him with more complex activities. Beyond academics, Johnny is bilingual, relishes playing football twice a week, and is mastering the art of swimming. Yet, his most remarkable trait lies in his capacity for empathy, leaving us both astounded and, yes, mildly concerned.

Despina, on the other hand, is a force to be reckoned with. Strong-willed and opinionated, she demands constant attention—from us and her older brother. Her communication skills are impressive; she deftly manoeuvres through interactions to extract maximum cuddles, sweets, or attention. Despina’s obsession with her attire and hair is amusingly ironic, given that her mother, Sunshine, remains unfazed by appearances. Clad in her little dresses with her curly hair, Despina captivates everyone in our social circle—grandparents, friends, aunts, and uncles—all eager to entertain her. Although she hasn’t yet formed complete sentences, her English and Greek comebacks are downright hilarious, adding to her irresistible charm.

Johnny has become acutely aware of the “preferential” treatment Despina receives, and it’s safe to say he’s not thrilled about it. Witnessing his occasional bouts of jealousy is oddly reassuring—it’s a natural response for a child his age. To address this, we’ve taken deliberate steps to balance the scales. Firstly, we’ve subtly shifted the spotlight back onto Johnny in the presence of others (although whether they’ve fully grasped the message remains uncertain). Secondly, we’ve made a conscious effort to spend quality one-on-one time with him. Whether it’s during the day or during special outings—like our theatre trips sans Despina—we ensure he feels valued and cherished. As for Despina’s toy demands, we’ve adopted a hands-off approach. Johnny’s toys are his own, and he shouldn’t be coerced into relinquishing his favourites just to prevent Despina from causing chaos. After all, fairness and autonomy matter—even in the midst of sibling antics.

Johnny and Despina are undeniably a handful, yet the sheer joy they bring more than compensates for any challenges. Whether it’s biology, evolution, or some cosmic magic, I find myself laughing at their not-so-funny jokes, yearning to envelop them in constant hugs and kisses. As I write this, I grapple with the inadequacy of words to capture the depth of my emotions. Allow me to illustrate through a recurring scenario: I return home late from work, stress clinging to my shoulders, a tinge of anger colouring my world. In that moment, I unplug—laptop and tablet stowed away, phone on the charger, smartwatch abandoned. We converge in the bathroom: Johnny under the shower’s spray, Despina in the bath. Armed with shampoo, I conjure funny hairdos or playful “beards,” teasing them both. Once dressed, one child accompanies me, the other their mother. Our bedtime ritual unfolds—stories read, Despina sipping her milk, eyelids surrendering to sleep. Amid this practical yet sacred routine, I relax completely. So much so that Sunshine often has to urge me to shed my work attire and prepare dinner. As I lie beside them, the amalgam of bliss, contentment, and unconditional love envelops me—a feeling beyond mere words.

The social media algorithm has somehow tuned into my parental vulnerabilities, bombarding me with videos that solemnly declare it will all end soon. According to these digital oracles, a staggering 90% of the precious time I’ll ever share with my children will unfold before they reach a certain age—well before adulthood claims them. And yet, as much as I yearn for their wings to unfurl and their horizons to expand, an undeniable terror grips me at the thought of their eventual departure. I find comfort in the wisdom of parents who assert that once their teenagers hit sixteen, they eagerly anticipate their departure from home.

This is part of a series of entries titled Fatherhood Diaries where I record thoughts on life as a new dad. Click here for all the Fatherhood Diaries.