My wife was still pregnant with our first child when Father's Day rolled around in 2000 and I decided that that was near enough.

She was a good sport and played along, even getting me my first Father's Day present - though I have no idea now what that might have been.

But if I don't remember much from my first Father's Day, I recall much more from my first day as a father.

As is usually the case, it did not quite go to plan.

Our son decided he was entering the world just two days after the obstetrician declared he was still a week away.

I remember thinking how few cars were on the road in Sydney as we drove to the hospital and I remember thinking how strange it was that we were finally about to meet the little person who had already become the centre of our lives over the previous few months.

After several hours at the hospital it was decided to perform a caesarean and my wife was wheeled off in one direction as I was directed in another to "gown up" for the surgery.

I remember my son entering the world with a cut above his eye where the surgeon's scalpel nicked him and I remember his pink, warm skin and hearty bellow.

I remember being in the hospital room with my wife and new son just a few hours later and wondering what the hell we had all got ourselves into.

I remember the excitement, the thrill, the joy and the sheer dread that I suspect every parent feels the first time around.

I remember thinking how incredible it was that this miracle I had just lived through was being repeated literally thousands of time every day right across the world.

And I remember knowing that my life would never be the same.