To be a father of girls is to live one’s life in a constant state of mild confusion – punctuated by periods of total bewilderment.  Young sons seem reasonably straightforward.  After all, all fathers were small boys once – and, to a greater or lesser extent, deep down, still are – but we have no direct experience of what to expect from young daughters.

Most fathers have time to come to terms with having a daughter.  To begin with (if this is your first child) there is the challenge of getting used to parenthood and realising that your life is never going to be the same again.  Of course, if your new daughter is not your first born, then you have probably already just about come to terms with that.  Either way, in the very early stages, one baby is much like another and the gender (with the obvious exception of nappy changing) is not a particularly significant issue.  No, your new daughter’s girliness, in whichever of its many and varied forms it may manifest itself, will develop over time – and your fatherly experiences with it.

I had no such luxury.  When I met The Goddess (as she will be referred to in this blog) her daughter was ten years old.  Then, barely a year after getting together, we had twins.  TWIN GIRLS!!!  At the age of forty I had gone from having no daughters at all to being the father of three of them in less than 18 months.  To say that was a shock to the system is putting it mildly.  Less than five months after the twins were born we found that The Goddess was expecting again (the debate over whose fault this was still rages and will doubtless surface here from time to time).  Surely not a fourth.  PLEASE not a fourth.  Fortunately, this one was a boy.  What a relief.  Apart from being one myself I already had a son so I felt on much safer ground – and very slightly less outnumbered.  This blog will be about my experience as a father of girls over the last ten years and whatever delights, surprises, traumas and triumphs lie ahead.  Sit back, enjoy – and please comment and feedback too.

I suppose I ought to begin with a quick tour round the little ladies themselves.  I will use codenames for each of them.  Partly because I am instinctively reluctant to identify my children too precisely on the internet and also because I think I should preserve their anonymity to minimise their embarrassment – especially as they grow up.

Number One is the oldest.  As I met her at the age of ten she’s not strictly my daughter.  However, having lived with her since then and watched her blossom into a wonderful twenty year-old woman it feels as though she’s my daughter – and she calls me ‘daddy’ which, I think, clinches it.   Fortunately for me she made the transition to being a father of girls relatively easy.  She was almost a tomboy, never wore skirts or dresses (apart from to school) and her bedroom reminded me more of mine at her age than it did that of my sister’s.  It’s fair to say that she has changed a lot since then and it has been like watching the transition from caterpillar to butterfly in very slow motion.  She is now every inch the glamour puss, is studying Fashion, Marketing and Branding at University and has her own very successful beauty blog at www.thefridaygirl.co.uk .  I realise that has just blown her anonymity but she would never forgive me if I didn’t plug her blog – which happens to be extremely good so do please check it out.

Twin number one – aka The Little Princess – is as pink and fluffy as it is possible to be.  The girliest little girl you could ever meet and it’s probably just as well that I have had time to adjust as she grew up.  She also has Aspergers, so the parenting journey with her has been quite a voyage of discovery.

Twin number two is G-mouse.  Now she IS a tomboy.  She flatly refuses to wear skirts, dresses or anything remotely girly under ANY circumstances.  For school she wears boys’ grey trousers in the winter and grey shorts in the summer.  She also shares some of my main interests including history and heraldry.

Finally, although not one of ‘les girls’ we have The Little Master who will also sometimes be referred to as HB – his nickname at home.

To give you perspective, Number One is 20, the twins a little over eight and a half and HB is seven.

Laugh, roll your eyes or sympathise as you read my parenting experiences, pitfalls and serial bewilderments.