Daniel Radcliffe finds being a parent scary – I have some bad news for him

He’s right – but he needs to know these new feelings aren’t temporary (Picture: John Nacion/Getty Images)

When I read Daniel Radcliffe’s words on parenting earlier this week, I felt nothing but complete sympathy.

‘It’s frankly terrifying to have a human being in the world that I care this much about,’ the 34-year-old actor said about his son.

‘Everything he does is going to affect how I feel about my life for the rest of my life. So, you know, that’s intimidating.’ 

He is totally right.

Being a parent is absolutely terrifying – and I hate to tell him this, but it only gets scarier as your children get older.

When I first fell pregnant with my son, Theo, now five, I could hardly believe it. 

Apart from a slight queasiness on my morning commute and being absolutely exhausted on my evening one, I didn’t feel any different.

It only felt real when I had my first scan at 13 weeks and I could finally see and hear for myself that there was a baby inside me.

I can’t see it getting any easier (Picture: Sarah Whiteley)

Even so, I was painfully aware that roughly one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage – and having several friends who had gone through just that – it was incredibly scary, not having a clue what was going on.

I worried constantly. ‘Was he OK? What if something went wrong? What if I lost him?’

My concerns eased slightly when I started to feel him move, but if he went quiet for a few hours, those fears would rise again rapidly.

When I mentioned it to a friend, she smiled. ‘Wait until they’re out in the world,’ she warned me. ‘That’s when the real worries start.’

Naively, I didn’t believe her. I thought once they were in my arms – where I could see them – I’d feel so much better.

Turns out, I was wrong and she was completely, 100%, absolutely right.

Because despite Theo arriving a perfectly healthy 8lbs 1oz, all of the vests I’d been convinced would be far too tiny for him, hung off his tiny body and skinny little arms.

He just looked so small and fragile.

Like most new parents, when we first arrived home, I had no idea which cries meant what. I couldn’t work out if he was in pain, hungry, or simply tired.

At just 10 days old, when he didn’t poo for a day and a half and was twisting in obvious distress, I was beside myself with worry.   

Twice, when he was about a year old, he came out in red, raw-looking rashes, which had me rushing down to our local walk-in centre at 5.30pm on a Friday evening.

‘I’m sure he hasn’t got meningitis – but could you please make sure?’ I asked the doctor frantically.

Having worked in a job where I interviewed the one-in-a-million people who had the best – and worst – of life thrown at them, I just couldn’t take the risk of not checking absolutely everything with my own little one.

And when I went back to work and he started nursery, it was just another cause for anxiety.

On my first morning back, I had to physically force myself onto the train. Not only would it be the longest time I had been apart from him, it would be the furthest I’d physically be away from him.

Given I worked in central London, it would take me an hour on the train to get back to him if he needed me – even longer in a taxi. 

Admittedly, with time, this feeling eased, but I could never quite shake my worries completely. Especially when the nursery’s number would flash up on my phone in the middle of the day.

When Immy, now four, came along, I was marginally more relaxed during my pregnancy – only because I knew what was to come, and I still had moments where I’d give my bump a gentle prod to get a reaction out of her.

Even though they’re getting older than I’d like them to be now, I still worry about them and for good reason.

Just this week, Theo, who is now in year one, came out of school with a black eye after a little girl kicked him in the face when they got a little too close on the climbing frame.

Meanwhile, Immy, who is in her final year of nursery, fell over a log in the garden and had a nasty cut on her hand and scratches on her face.

And I can’t see it getting any easier.

My niece has just started secondary school and my sister told me she is living on her nerves now that she walks to school with her friends alone.

Soon there will be the teenage nights out to contend with too and I’m now beginning to understand why my dad was always so happy to come and pick me and my sister up from outside whatever club we had found ourselves in. He just wanted to be sure we got home safely.

I can’t even let myself think further than that – about my children moving out of home, finding a job they’ll enjoy, meeting someone who treats them well… there’s so much ahead of them, and so much to worry about.

Because again, Daniel is right. Loving someone as much as you love your children is a terrifying concept. The thought of anything happening to them, well, it’s not worth thinking about.

And as much as we also have a lifetime of joy to look forward to with our kids and memories to make, for Daniel, myself and I’d imagine most other parents there’s also a lifetime of fear ahead of us, too.

Welcome to parenthood!

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Welcome to parenthood!