Stephen Mullan asks: Which baby is more important at the Edinburgh Fringe?

The first 10 days of the Fringe are a blur, my body battered and bruised from living in fight-or-flight mode daily, while my liver screams for a break—not from alcohol, but from the constant adrenaline that artists inevitably live on. On that tenth day comes my medicine, my calm, my meaning, and frankly, the absolute love of my life, my daughter.

She arrives tanned and full of joy after spending weeks in Portugal, her birthplace. She’s in rainy Edinburgh to be with her dad again on her birthday, again, and she sprints through the arrivals terminal to latch onto me: ‘I’ll squeeze your head off!’ For a moment, perspective is restored.

Yet, it isn't long before a familiar feeling sits in the pit of my stomach. Despite everything going on in the world—wars, persecution, mistreatment of children, a cost of living crisis, political unrest, and the hell of social media—what is more important, my child or my show? The honest answer: my show.

I am ashamed to say that, even though I have been by my child’s side for much of her six years on this planet, something has changed this past year. I never wanted to put my work before my child’s needs. I thought I had the right balance until recently, when health issues stopped me from working for a month, stopped me from getting out of bed for the school run, and stopped me from being the father I want to be.

As only she could, her words cut through me one day while I was collapsed on her mother’s couch, falling in and out of sleep. In a hug, she whispered in my ear: ‘I miss you.’ The crack in my heart was far more painful than the fevers and the aching weeks in bed. I was doing it all wrong.

Being a father at the Edinburgh Fringe has a strange way of bringing me back into balance. She carries life and the Fringe so lightly. It’s joyful to see her eyes light up at the clown on the tricycle, the stunning 6ft 6 drag queen striding down the cobbles, the circus tent, the funny posters, the music and dance.

I can see them all again through her eyes. It’s all a joyful carnival: ‘This is crazy Daddy,’ and it is, brilliantly crazy. For those moments, the dark clouds of my narcissistic artistic self, lift, and the worries about sales, reviews, and stars are washed away by a little girl of sunshine walking through a live entertainment wonderland.

It seems, I have a very messed-up idea of what success is; somewhere along the way, I forgot.

I agree with Picasso: 'Every child is an artist.' I've raised her to embrace this, without aiming for a career in it. My dream of creating has been tainted by trying to make it a career. I know the novelty of my audience singing happy birthday to her on stage will fade, and she may grow bored of watching me perform. Yet, she inspires a new way of living as an artist.

Now, I have new heroes in comedy. They used to be comedians who inspired me on stage. Now they are comedians who inspire me off the stage. The fathers who have families, who don’t glorify the late nights, the money, or the fame, but the ones who are there for their kids.

Of course, some can do both. But if push comes to shove, I know which baby I will be choosing. It’s a privilege to do what I do for work, but it’s a blessing to have a child in my life to show me there is way more to life than living for the laughs.

Stephen Mullan’s new stand-up show Rascal about being a single dad is at the Assembly George Square, The Box, between August 2nd to 11th and 13th to 25th at 7.45pm