Jordi Nopca: "The first few months of our son's life put our relationship and my mental stability at risk."

BarcelonaHaving a child transforms you and changes the world you know. The way to explain this metamorphosis was to turn the characters inThe future is a small flame in animals. I made the main family hedgehogs. I thought it was a good metaphor for how I felt. I'd built myself a shell of spikes, not to harm anyone, but to protect myself from them.

It explains very well this desire to stay at home.

— Having a child forced me to abandon the outside world. What I had inside the house became the most important thing, and at the same time, the most dangerous. Let me explain: the first few months of our son's life put our relationship and my mental stability at risk.

What factors generated that risk?

— We went from sleeping nine hours straight to sleeping very little, and with many interruptions. The nights and early mornings became hell. We were often able to get a little sleep in the morning, as if we were coming back from a long night of partying, but we were so out of it that it was very difficult to achieve. Having a child makes you discover what it means to live on the edge. This life on the edge meant the discovery of an unsuspected and terrifying temper. I had to do a lot of work to try to erase it.

What helped him?

— In the first few months, when I needed more energy than ever, I felt like I had nothing left. The kitchen became my safe haven. Washing dishes or cleaning them had never been such a relaxing activity.

What was particularly hard for you?

— We were deeply distressed that he slept so poorly. Just as the lack of rest turned us parents into zombies all day long, our son didn't seem to be affected. In fact, after a particularly rough night, he would draw energy from some unexpected corner and wouldn't stay still. We were worried that he would never want to leave our bed. He would lift his legs high and drop them on us, as if they were rocks thrown from a catapult. When we got him to sleep in his own bed, things started to improve. Six years later, our youngest daughter is back in our bed, but we don't take it so seriously.

It has been rebuilt.

— Time for me is practically nonexistent, and if it exists, it's of terrible quality. I only have moments for myself when I'm pressed for time. I haven't yet finished patching up the identity that was shattered with the arrival of my first child.

Humor helps in everything, right?

— My sense of humor is often born from desperation. With such a difficult parenting experience as my first, desperation gave rise to situations that, viewed from a distance, had a certain amount of ridiculousness and humor. When I decided that, instead of recounting my misadventures in autobiographical form, I would build an entire world for the characters, the humor flowed naturally. I like to think that The future is a small flame It has little to do with parenting manuals, but at the same time, it is a sincere and honest vision of the great challenge that the first year of a child's life represents.

What imaginary world do you share with your oldest son right now?

— After overcoming the dinosaur, alien, and robot phases, at home we find ourselves immersed in the monster phase. We draw, we dedicate long dissertations, and sometimes, when a door slams shut because of the wind, we might think one has broken into the house. At the same time, we're in a highly scatological phase. I'd say we've exhausted all the humor there is in poop, butts, and farts; we're trying to move on from this.

Tell me about an unforgettable moment.

— A couple of summers ago, Marcel gave me my first profound reflection while we were swimming. I was holding him in my arms as we watched the clouds pass by when, out of the blue, he said, "One day you'll die and leave me alone, won't you?" I replied that, with a bit of luck, this would happen many years from now, when I was old, but the answer didn't quite convince him. His eyes filled with tears, and he threw himself at me.