For the first time in my life, people need me - and I'm loving it

With my dumpier looks and stain-proof clothes, having a baby has mutated me into an adult at last 

We're about to celebrate a proud anniversary. This Monday, it'll be exactly year since my wife and I last had a day off. I can remember it all so vividly: 28 December 2014. Despite the triple-threat of Christmas, heavy pregnancy and a house fire that left my parents temporarily homeless, we carved out a full day of absolutely nothing. We spent it unwashed and in bed. No appointments. No commitments. No expectations.

Yes, it was selfish and disgusting, but it was also quite beautiful. Our total inertia was so profound that we barely even managed to sweep the pile of Quality Street wrappers on to the floor to make room for pizza. It was the sort of ridiculous indulgence you think nothing of when you're in your teens and 20s, but this time we were saying goodbye to something. The whole day was a Viking funeral for our old way of life.

Less than a month later, everything changed. Our baby arrived, and doing nothing became a luxury we could no longer afford. When we weren't feeding him or rocking him to sleep, we were working twice as hard to stay afloat. On the rare occasions that we both made it out of the house without the baby - something that's happened a grand total of twice, so far - he'd be the sole topic of conversation. Wherever we go now, whatever we do, the shadow of responsibility looms heavy over us; it's the overfilled nappy of Damocles.

It'd be silly to assume that this year hasn't changed me. I mean, just look: I'm dumpier now, and my scalp looks like an aerial shot of a nuclear testing facility. I only buy clothes if they'll adequately hide stains. I've turned into a real adult, on the basis that most real adults look as if they've been punched in the face to the point of collapse.

On top of this, I feel changed. This year has been full of the sort of stuff - birth and illness and death - that tends to leave a mark. As a result, I've become a little more forthright, which basically means that I'm an arsehole now. My time is short and my resources are stretched, so my tolerance for bullshit has hit a historic new low. Admittedly, this is unfortunate, because I've just spent the last three months liveblogging X Factor - which is essentially the patient zero of bullshit - but it's over and I'm still alive, so up yours, Simon Cowell.

Still, it wasn't a bad innings. I had 34 years of larking around, which is decades more than some people get. Even a generation ago, a man who still had the time and money to play video games and buy trainers at this age would have been shunned by the community for being a freakish, creepy, wet-mounted man-baby.

In truth, there are moments where I miss my carefree old life; fleeting moments where my dreams of a nice holiday will be scuppered by the footnote "No children allowed", and also by the realization that it'd leave us so poor that my son would be forced to poo in his hands for the next couple of years.

But this happens less and less. For the first time in my life, I've got a clutch of people who actively depend on me, and that really means something. The responsibility is huge, but that doesn't matter because it means we're building  something solid. Hand on heart, I wouldn't change a thing.

This was the year I grew up. But 2015 was also the year I realized that I could handle it.