A couple of days ago we went up at 11pm as normal to give the lad his final change and feed before our bedtime, and when we put the light on we saw he'd got a vivid dark blue mark across his crown - one that proved almost indellible, particularly as that is the soft part of his skull so scrubbing was not an option. Took me almost 15 minutes of gentle washing with a soapy flannel to get it off.
The missus espoused several worrying theories as to how this mystery might have occurred, including the possibility that he'd been 'marked' by aliens for abduction that night.
Turned out it was dye from her new blue sweatshirt, that he'd picked up earlier that evening while cradled in her arms......d'oh!
Still, better to cover all the options, eh?!
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Friday, November 17, 2006
What am I like?
I've been thinking about whether fatherhood has changed me at all. It's certainly changed my lifestyle somewhat - I now look upon an evening out with the sort of fevered anticipation normally associated with small children on Christmas Eve.
Has it made me feel more mature? Yes, probably. I take my responsibilities to the nipper seriously, and my desire to be an adequate parent overwhelms all others. I think perhaps it's made me a bit more human as well. I've never 'done' people particularly well in the past, and have sometimes felt that being completely alone on a desert island would be preferable to having to be sociable. But now I can just sit and watch the nipper sleeping and be endlessly fascinated by every tiny movement, shiver or twitch, and I think that this basic human interest is permeating into my dealings with the outside world too.
The need to constantly communicate with him is also a bit of a change for someone who often prefers complete silence, although of course it will be better when his responses develop from cries, squeaks and grunts....
And we haven't even found the precision organisation required to do anything from a family visit to buying a newspaper particularly challenging - neither myself nor the missus are exactly noted for our spontaneity, we're both devoted planners anyway an neither of us particularly like surprises.
All in all it's basically a new life, much like the old life only without the beer.
Has it made me feel more mature? Yes, probably. I take my responsibilities to the nipper seriously, and my desire to be an adequate parent overwhelms all others. I think perhaps it's made me a bit more human as well. I've never 'done' people particularly well in the past, and have sometimes felt that being completely alone on a desert island would be preferable to having to be sociable. But now I can just sit and watch the nipper sleeping and be endlessly fascinated by every tiny movement, shiver or twitch, and I think that this basic human interest is permeating into my dealings with the outside world too.
The need to constantly communicate with him is also a bit of a change for someone who often prefers complete silence, although of course it will be better when his responses develop from cries, squeaks and grunts....
And we haven't even found the precision organisation required to do anything from a family visit to buying a newspaper particularly challenging - neither myself nor the missus are exactly noted for our spontaneity, we're both devoted planners anyway an neither of us particularly like surprises.
All in all it's basically a new life, much like the old life only without the beer.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Taking stock
The missus has taken the littl'un off to the in laws so she can get a bit of daytime support for a couple of days.
I've had the house to myself, which has given me a chance to take stock after the whirlwind first six weeks. It's certainly quieter, and having a couple of nights' reasonably unbroken sleep has been good for the soul. I'll be ready to have him back in my life tomorrow though, I miss the little feller.
The weekend sees him go on his first demo, the big climate change rally in Trafalgar Square. We'll be making sure we get a few stickers to adorn the Baby Bjorn on the day...
He's already smiling at us, and not just because he's about to fart or poo either - genuine smiles. Hopefully he'll remember who I am when we see each other tomorrow night?
More horror stories from our NCT friends of screaming, colic ridden sprogs has again emphasised how lucky we've been so far with our even tempered boy. He might have a hairline that's more receded than mine, and from certain angles he looks worryingly like Buster Bloodvessel, but he also seems to have a temper that goes a lot further as well!!
I've had the house to myself, which has given me a chance to take stock after the whirlwind first six weeks. It's certainly quieter, and having a couple of nights' reasonably unbroken sleep has been good for the soul. I'll be ready to have him back in my life tomorrow though, I miss the little feller.
The weekend sees him go on his first demo, the big climate change rally in Trafalgar Square. We'll be making sure we get a few stickers to adorn the Baby Bjorn on the day...
He's already smiling at us, and not just because he's about to fart or poo either - genuine smiles. Hopefully he'll remember who I am when we see each other tomorrow night?
More horror stories from our NCT friends of screaming, colic ridden sprogs has again emphasised how lucky we've been so far with our even tempered boy. He might have a hairline that's more receded than mine, and from certain angles he looks worryingly like Buster Bloodvessel, but he also seems to have a temper that goes a lot further as well!!
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Famous last words....
I'm loving being a dad, much more than I ever thought possible. There's no way to describe the sense of pride I have when out in public with him - I want everybody to admire him and think he's as perfect as we do. Silly really...
This will almost certainly prove to be famous last words, but...whisper it quietly... it really doesn't seem to be all that much of a struggle so far, either. Obviously his excellent temperament is a big help in this case, but nothing I thought I'd hate (crying very loudly, puking on my t-shirts, nappy changing, etc) has proved to be anything of a burden.
Even the broken sleep, which is nothing new to me anyway, I'm managing to laugh off pretty easily with a few judicious cups of coffee. Although I must admit the missus' sterling night-time duties have played a big part in this!
There, now I've gone and said it. I'll get home tonight to find he started bawling at midday and he won't stop again for another eight years.
This will almost certainly prove to be famous last words, but...whisper it quietly... it really doesn't seem to be all that much of a struggle so far, either. Obviously his excellent temperament is a big help in this case, but nothing I thought I'd hate (crying very loudly, puking on my t-shirts, nappy changing, etc) has proved to be anything of a burden.
Even the broken sleep, which is nothing new to me anyway, I'm managing to laugh off pretty easily with a few judicious cups of coffee. Although I must admit the missus' sterling night-time duties have played a big part in this!
There, now I've gone and said it. I'll get home tonight to find he started bawling at midday and he won't stop again for another eight years.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
He sleeps, he feeds, he cries, he poos, he sleeps again.
Babies don't have a lot of variety in their lives at this stage, do they? And neither do new parents, truth to be told.
Junior is going through the aforementioned routine day after day. Of course he's still too young to communicate in any way with us, or to show any visual recognition, affection or any of that stuff. It'll come though.
I'm worried that he might be boss-eyed. If he is, he'll have got it from me, I had to have my eyes operated on as a very young lad, although they're OK now. My only spell as an in-patient in my life as it goes, and even though I was only about five or six years old, it was awful. I can remember one of my fellow patients was in there because he had managed to stick a pencil into his eye - the nurses had to hold him down mob-handed to force some medicine into him, the majorioty of which he used to sick back up immediately afterwards...little sod.
Anyway, I digress. Despite the lack of real action, we still love him of course. He seems a reasonably contented chap, he likes clasiscal music and Richard Hawley, but not the free jazz experimentalism that I'm quite into just now, which causes him to bawl at the top of his voice. I'll have to play that stuff with the headphones on, methinks...
Junior is going through the aforementioned routine day after day. Of course he's still too young to communicate in any way with us, or to show any visual recognition, affection or any of that stuff. It'll come though.
I'm worried that he might be boss-eyed. If he is, he'll have got it from me, I had to have my eyes operated on as a very young lad, although they're OK now. My only spell as an in-patient in my life as it goes, and even though I was only about five or six years old, it was awful. I can remember one of my fellow patients was in there because he had managed to stick a pencil into his eye - the nurses had to hold him down mob-handed to force some medicine into him, the majorioty of which he used to sick back up immediately afterwards...little sod.
Anyway, I digress. Despite the lack of real action, we still love him of course. He seems a reasonably contented chap, he likes clasiscal music and Richard Hawley, but not the free jazz experimentalism that I'm quite into just now, which causes him to bawl at the top of his voice. I'll have to play that stuff with the headphones on, methinks...
Monday, September 25, 2006
The point of Dad....
...at this stage seems to be very much a support role.
As a result of her op, the missus cannot lift anything heavier than a kettle for six weeks. Given that we can't live on tea and coffee alone, it's meant an awful lot of fetching and carrying for yours truly, not to mention dusting off my less than stellar culinary skills.
It's amazing what you need to manage a small baby at home - almost none of which we actually own. I'm now on first name terms with the friendly staff at Mothercare after an unbroken run of six successive days' visits, never coming away with less than a stack of equipment/clothing etc etc.
This burden is all entirely fair enough of course, and scarcely matches what the missus has had to put up with. I had no dead weight to lug around for nine months, no agonising pain during delivery, no major hormonal changes to deal with, and no spending hours with my tits out while a small creature snuffles on them like an anteater over a termite hill.
I reckon I'm getting off quite lightly...
As a result of her op, the missus cannot lift anything heavier than a kettle for six weeks. Given that we can't live on tea and coffee alone, it's meant an awful lot of fetching and carrying for yours truly, not to mention dusting off my less than stellar culinary skills.
It's amazing what you need to manage a small baby at home - almost none of which we actually own. I'm now on first name terms with the friendly staff at Mothercare after an unbroken run of six successive days' visits, never coming away with less than a stack of equipment/clothing etc etc.
This burden is all entirely fair enough of course, and scarcely matches what the missus has had to put up with. I had no dead weight to lug around for nine months, no agonising pain during delivery, no major hormonal changes to deal with, and no spending hours with my tits out while a small creature snuffles on them like an anteater over a termite hill.
I reckon I'm getting off quite lightly...
Monday, September 18, 2006
The most inappropriately-named blog in the world...
...as I realised in the early hours of Sunday morning when the surgeon held up the small, slimy wriggling blue thing that was - and is - my son.
Right now, I feel as though it wasn't just him that was born at that moment, it was me as well. It's almost as if the whole of my life to date has been pointless, or perhaps fairer to say that from that moment on I have become a totally different person, a child with so much to learn again.
I thought I'd lived a fulfilling life up to now. I've been to some of the greatest gigs in history, experienced the highest highs, visited wonderful countries and cities, enjoyed love, sex and all of that...but you could wrap all of this up in the most beautiful wrapping paper and I wouldn't swap the lot for a minute of holding him in my hands, watching his face pull all sorts of silly expressions as he learns what he can do now he's in the outside world.
Of course this Nirvana is sure to pass, but the point of a blog like this is to capture the moment, and that's how this moment is for me right now, as I sit here at 7am getting myself ready to go back to the hospital (it was a C-section job - more of a case of reluctant son than Dad in the end!).
I'm looking forward to getting him and the missus home - it was very lonely last night, although I guess I should be grateful for a reasonably unbroken sleep.
Bloody hell, who would have thought...certainly not me anyway.
Given how foolish I feel for all my previous reservations, I'm not sure whether I'll continue this blog. Probably will though, it's good to unload my hopes and fears safe in the knowledge that just about nobody is reading it anyway!!
Right now, I feel as though it wasn't just him that was born at that moment, it was me as well. It's almost as if the whole of my life to date has been pointless, or perhaps fairer to say that from that moment on I have become a totally different person, a child with so much to learn again.
I thought I'd lived a fulfilling life up to now. I've been to some of the greatest gigs in history, experienced the highest highs, visited wonderful countries and cities, enjoyed love, sex and all of that...but you could wrap all of this up in the most beautiful wrapping paper and I wouldn't swap the lot for a minute of holding him in my hands, watching his face pull all sorts of silly expressions as he learns what he can do now he's in the outside world.
Of course this Nirvana is sure to pass, but the point of a blog like this is to capture the moment, and that's how this moment is for me right now, as I sit here at 7am getting myself ready to go back to the hospital (it was a C-section job - more of a case of reluctant son than Dad in the end!).
I'm looking forward to getting him and the missus home - it was very lonely last night, although I guess I should be grateful for a reasonably unbroken sleep.
Bloody hell, who would have thought...certainly not me anyway.
Given how foolish I feel for all my previous reservations, I'm not sure whether I'll continue this blog. Probably will though, it's good to unload my hopes and fears safe in the knowledge that just about nobody is reading it anyway!!
Monday, September 11, 2006
And still...
Beginning to wonder if he wants to come out into the world.
Mind you, I'm glad in many ways that he's not looking likely to be born on September 11th - hardly an auspicious day for your birthday.
Mind you, I'm glad in many ways that he's not looking likely to be born on September 11th - hardly an auspicious day for your birthday.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Monday, September 04, 2006
Two down, three to go...
That's two out of the five NCT couples who've dropped so far. We're still waiting, although the due date draws ever nearer, and the missus still believes that she'll conform to the tradition of her family and deliver early.
So it could be any time from the next couple of hours right through to the end of September. I really hope it's sooner rather than later - I can't stand the sense of powerlessness over proceedings, nor the seemingly random nature of these things.
We're starting on the pineapple, raspberry leaf teas, hot curries etc etc and will see what happens.
I just want to hold the little fella, to know that it finally is reality and my new role as a dad is underway properly. Naturally the missus is super uncomfortable, so she just wants to get something approaching her body back. Understandable.
The size issues appear to have receded - scans show that he's normal apart from long legs (just like his dad had when he was born) so no early induction or any of that nonsense.
Just counting the hours/days/minutes.....
So it could be any time from the next couple of hours right through to the end of September. I really hope it's sooner rather than later - I can't stand the sense of powerlessness over proceedings, nor the seemingly random nature of these things.
We're starting on the pineapple, raspberry leaf teas, hot curries etc etc and will see what happens.
I just want to hold the little fella, to know that it finally is reality and my new role as a dad is underway properly. Naturally the missus is super uncomfortable, so she just wants to get something approaching her body back. Understandable.
The size issues appear to have receded - scans show that he's normal apart from long legs (just like his dad had when he was born) so no early induction or any of that nonsense.
Just counting the hours/days/minutes.....
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Those were the days...
Time was when a typical Tuesday night in the Smoke would have meant a few beers after work, a gig, maybe a curry even? Tonight, on the other hand, I have a water birth workshop to go to.
Goody.
Still, I'm sure it'll be useful, as this has become our birthing method of choice, following recommendations from others, several of whom swear by its comforting properties.
The first of our NCT couples has had their baby. All seemed to go well and the missus was greatly relieved to hear that the mum in question found the whole thing less painful and hardcore than she was expecting.
As soon as we get into September (so he's not disadvantaged on schooling years) I reckon the missus will be wolfing down hot curry, drinking fruit teas and jumping up and down to get him out - she's fully into the maximum discomfort zone.
I'm just keeping my usual watching brief, helpng where I can and trying to keep my emotions in check. Not an easy task of late...having a little cry to Jeff Buckley's 'Hallelujah' is all well and good, but perhaps not ideal while on an exercise bike in a crowded gym...
Goody.
Still, I'm sure it'll be useful, as this has become our birthing method of choice, following recommendations from others, several of whom swear by its comforting properties.
The first of our NCT couples has had their baby. All seemed to go well and the missus was greatly relieved to hear that the mum in question found the whole thing less painful and hardcore than she was expecting.
As soon as we get into September (so he's not disadvantaged on schooling years) I reckon the missus will be wolfing down hot curry, drinking fruit teas and jumping up and down to get him out - she's fully into the maximum discomfort zone.
I'm just keeping my usual watching brief, helpng where I can and trying to keep my emotions in check. Not an easy task of late...having a little cry to Jeff Buckley's 'Hallelujah' is all well and good, but perhaps not ideal while on an exercise bike in a crowded gym...
Monday, August 14, 2006
Wow...
Wow! This weekend I had what alcoholics call a moment of clarity.
We'd put the new cot together and the missus decided to break out the little mobile thingy that hangs over it and spins round to give junior something to look at. And once that was done she set it off just to try it out. As I looked at it whirring round and listened to it playing that classic baby jingle (you know the one) I just felt a sudden realisation hitting me and almost knocking me over. It was almost as if he was lying there already.
In fact it was more a tsunami of emotion - took me a while to get over it and still had a few secret tears at night-time.
Strange days indeed....
We'd put the new cot together and the missus decided to break out the little mobile thingy that hangs over it and spins round to give junior something to look at. And once that was done she set it off just to try it out. As I looked at it whirring round and listened to it playing that classic baby jingle (you know the one) I just felt a sudden realisation hitting me and almost knocking me over. It was almost as if he was lying there already.
In fact it was more a tsunami of emotion - took me a while to get over it and still had a few secret tears at night-time.
Strange days indeed....
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Clanking to the top of the coaster....
We're a bit closer to the point of no return now; the rollercoaster will soon be tipping over the edge into oblivion...
Well, of course if you're being pedantic, the point of no return was in fact when we found out about junior last January. But my analogy wouldn't work then, since a rollercoaster that took eight months to get to the top would be a bit dull....
Anyway, nothing dull in our home right now, thanks to the almost daily deliveries of flat-pack baby furniture, prams, car seats and miscellaneous peripherals. At this rate we'll have to move house just to fit it all in, and this is before we've bought any brightly coloured bloody toys!
I see what they mean about the cost of child-rearing.
I still can't make it all real in my mind. I get occasional flashes, a bit like an acid flashback (not that I'd know about that of course), of life after he arrives, but my consciousness soon returns to child-free. It's weird.
Given that the missus is approaching the 'could drop at any time' window, this won't last for long, however...
Well, of course if you're being pedantic, the point of no return was in fact when we found out about junior last January. But my analogy wouldn't work then, since a rollercoaster that took eight months to get to the top would be a bit dull....
Anyway, nothing dull in our home right now, thanks to the almost daily deliveries of flat-pack baby furniture, prams, car seats and miscellaneous peripherals. At this rate we'll have to move house just to fit it all in, and this is before we've bought any brightly coloured bloody toys!
I see what they mean about the cost of child-rearing.
I still can't make it all real in my mind. I get occasional flashes, a bit like an acid flashback (not that I'd know about that of course), of life after he arrives, but my consciousness soon returns to child-free. It's weird.
Given that the missus is approaching the 'could drop at any time' window, this won't last for long, however...
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
That's your last, last hurrah over boyo...
...and now it begins to get very serious.
Safe in the knowledge that my carefree life really would be over soon I've had a series of "last hurrah" trips away with various mates, including a madcap jaunt down to Magny-Cours F1 cicruit to see ex-Pink Floyd man Roger Waters play, plus a racing/boozing trip ooop north with my best mate and former Best Man, who is coincidentally also about to become a dad.
But now all those fun and games are over, junior is just over a month away from making his scheduled appearance and I'm shitting bricks, to be honest.
I really know nothing of what I face, as the hilarity which greeted my hamfisted attempts to bathe a very realistic 'dummy' baby at the most recent NCT class would attest.
I haven't been able to bring myself to pick up any of the countless books on child-rearing that are piling up at home, but I guess I better make a start...it'll be less harrowing than watching news coverage of the rape of Lebanon anyway (ooops, bit political there, sorry).
What has seemed like quite an imaginary thing so far, almost an out-of-body experience, is no longer such, but, unlike the missus, I feel no bond yet with the wriggling thing hidden inside her. What if I can't feel the necessary unconditional love for him when he finally comes out? The prospect of being an inaequate dad haunts me and is driving me crazy...
I have the same feeling of trepidation right now as you get on the initial drag up the rollercoaster ride. We haven't quite crested the top and started to roll very fast under our own steam, but we're close....very close.
Safe in the knowledge that my carefree life really would be over soon I've had a series of "last hurrah" trips away with various mates, including a madcap jaunt down to Magny-Cours F1 cicruit to see ex-Pink Floyd man Roger Waters play, plus a racing/boozing trip ooop north with my best mate and former Best Man, who is coincidentally also about to become a dad.
But now all those fun and games are over, junior is just over a month away from making his scheduled appearance and I'm shitting bricks, to be honest.
I really know nothing of what I face, as the hilarity which greeted my hamfisted attempts to bathe a very realistic 'dummy' baby at the most recent NCT class would attest.
I haven't been able to bring myself to pick up any of the countless books on child-rearing that are piling up at home, but I guess I better make a start...it'll be less harrowing than watching news coverage of the rape of Lebanon anyway (ooops, bit political there, sorry).
What has seemed like quite an imaginary thing so far, almost an out-of-body experience, is no longer such, but, unlike the missus, I feel no bond yet with the wriggling thing hidden inside her. What if I can't feel the necessary unconditional love for him when he finally comes out? The prospect of being an inaequate dad haunts me and is driving me crazy...
I have the same feeling of trepidation right now as you get on the initial drag up the rollercoaster ride. We haven't quite crested the top and started to roll very fast under our own steam, but we're close....very close.
Monday, July 10, 2006
The baby whisperer...
Just been to the first session of our NCT ante-natal course. What I don't know now about cervical dilation and vaginal mucus just simply isn't worth knowing....
Actually, despite my substantial misgivings about taking part, it proved to be a reasonably insightful morning's work, in the company of a couple of other wide-eyed middle class dads-to-be who presumably I'm now expected to arrange trips to the pub with to 'talk babies'. Given that I hardly have enough time to see my actual friends these days, this seems unlikely, nice guys though they are...
Perhaps the highlight for me was finding the potential answer to one of the problems we have right now, which is that junior is not in the 'correct' position of head down into the pelvis facing his destiny. Apparently I have to get an empty toilet roll tube, place it at the bottom of the missus' belly and talk to him through it, as the sound and vibration will coax him down into the right spot and then gravity (his head is heavier than anything else) should keep him there.
No, that's not made up, I swear.
There are five NCT sessions, the first two on the labour process in all its gory, sorry glory, then others on things like caesarians (oh, goody!), breastfeeding and, most useful to me, what to do in the terrifying first days after the baby arrives.
I have no idea yet what will happen when junior leaves the hospital and comes home for (hopefully) good. How do I hold him (I'm legendarily crap at holding babies)? What do I do to keep him amused? How many hours should I spend studying his every motion with a pained look of worry on my face?
All this and more will no doubt be answered between now and the beginning of August...
Actually, despite my substantial misgivings about taking part, it proved to be a reasonably insightful morning's work, in the company of a couple of other wide-eyed middle class dads-to-be who presumably I'm now expected to arrange trips to the pub with to 'talk babies'. Given that I hardly have enough time to see my actual friends these days, this seems unlikely, nice guys though they are...
Perhaps the highlight for me was finding the potential answer to one of the problems we have right now, which is that junior is not in the 'correct' position of head down into the pelvis facing his destiny. Apparently I have to get an empty toilet roll tube, place it at the bottom of the missus' belly and talk to him through it, as the sound and vibration will coax him down into the right spot and then gravity (his head is heavier than anything else) should keep him there.
No, that's not made up, I swear.
There are five NCT sessions, the first two on the labour process in all its gory, sorry glory, then others on things like caesarians (oh, goody!), breastfeeding and, most useful to me, what to do in the terrifying first days after the baby arrives.
I have no idea yet what will happen when junior leaves the hospital and comes home for (hopefully) good. How do I hold him (I'm legendarily crap at holding babies)? What do I do to keep him amused? How many hours should I spend studying his every motion with a pained look of worry on my face?
All this and more will no doubt be answered between now and the beginning of August...
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
So farewell then...
...to my study/office/den/refuge in our house.
Now cleared of all my stuff to make way for spare bedroom furniture. The first casualty of the impending familyhood!
I'll miss playing on the computer and watching baseball games online up there, although I won't miss the amount of junk that ended up collecting in the room - enough to take a whole day of clearing before I could even see the floor.
It makes me realise how materialistic I've been in the past, buying all sorts of stuff just because I could. Oh well, that spendthrift largesse is about to become the second casualty...
Now cleared of all my stuff to make way for spare bedroom furniture. The first casualty of the impending familyhood!
I'll miss playing on the computer and watching baseball games online up there, although I won't miss the amount of junk that ended up collecting in the room - enough to take a whole day of clearing before I could even see the floor.
It makes me realise how materialistic I've been in the past, buying all sorts of stuff just because I could. Oh well, that spendthrift largesse is about to become the second casualty...
Thursday, June 29, 2006
...and a big fella too!
Given that his father is one of the few people who can look Peter Crouch squarely in the eye, it's no surprise that Junior is a bit on the big side at this early stage of his life.
Well, no surprise to us, but plenty it seems to the NHS, who've dragged the missus in for diabetes tests as a result of seeing the rather large figure thrashing about inside her.
Needless to say, nothing's come up, so we can tick that particular problem off the list (and add another few quid to the NHS deficit - not our fault, guv).
The missus is ma-hooosive now though, even with another two-and-a-bit months to go. It's looking increasingly like an induced early arrival or Caesarian is going to be the order of the day - otherwise he'll be too big for the crib, let alone any of the (few) items of clothing we've already bought! Still, I've got a few spare t-shirts in the cupboard - some of the now shrunk-in-the-wash gig shirts may well be a perfect fit, although I guess the Foetus Interruptus one may have to stay where it is...
The missus' cousin has just had a baby boy, which is a good thing in terms of sharing experiences and also provides an occasional playmate on our visits there, which may well become more regular in future, and no bad thing too.
Well, no surprise to us, but plenty it seems to the NHS, who've dragged the missus in for diabetes tests as a result of seeing the rather large figure thrashing about inside her.
Needless to say, nothing's come up, so we can tick that particular problem off the list (and add another few quid to the NHS deficit - not our fault, guv).
The missus is ma-hooosive now though, even with another two-and-a-bit months to go. It's looking increasingly like an induced early arrival or Caesarian is going to be the order of the day - otherwise he'll be too big for the crib, let alone any of the (few) items of clothing we've already bought! Still, I've got a few spare t-shirts in the cupboard - some of the now shrunk-in-the-wash gig shirts may well be a perfect fit, although I guess the Foetus Interruptus one may have to stay where it is...
The missus' cousin has just had a baby boy, which is a good thing in terms of sharing experiences and also provides an occasional playmate on our visits there, which may well become more regular in future, and no bad thing too.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Is it really so long....
...since my last post? Time really does seem to zip by, especially with the World Cup as a big distraction.
We went to visit the maternity ward and labour rooms of our local hospital at the weekend, along with just about all of north London's expectant parents it seemed. As we packed, sweating, into one of the labour rooms I started to doubt the wisdom of this venture - it didn't tell me anything I din't know already ("there's the bed, there are the scales, that's a window, etc etc...") but the blood-curdling screams issuing from the other rooms certainly unsettled all the first-time mums and dads, ourselves included.
What it did confim is that this part of the process really isn't going to be a lot of fun. While I'm quite happy to sit around keeping the missus company in the interminably dull early stages, I don't want to be there when it all goes off anyway - the only piece of advice my dad has been moved to give me so far is to stay away from the business end of labour, so has a friend who has recently been through the experience. All the bullshit and "new man" machismo you read in the papers is just that, in my opinion.
Even the missus is doubtful that she wants me there when it really gets messy and unpleasant, and fair enough. I guess it'll all be decided on the day, but it's been a source of tension so far, so thanks for that to all the fucking blokes who can't wait to discuss the issue in the media - just leave us alone will you!
We went to visit the maternity ward and labour rooms of our local hospital at the weekend, along with just about all of north London's expectant parents it seemed. As we packed, sweating, into one of the labour rooms I started to doubt the wisdom of this venture - it didn't tell me anything I din't know already ("there's the bed, there are the scales, that's a window, etc etc...") but the blood-curdling screams issuing from the other rooms certainly unsettled all the first-time mums and dads, ourselves included.
What it did confim is that this part of the process really isn't going to be a lot of fun. While I'm quite happy to sit around keeping the missus company in the interminably dull early stages, I don't want to be there when it all goes off anyway - the only piece of advice my dad has been moved to give me so far is to stay away from the business end of labour, so has a friend who has recently been through the experience. All the bullshit and "new man" machismo you read in the papers is just that, in my opinion.
Even the missus is doubtful that she wants me there when it really gets messy and unpleasant, and fair enough. I guess it'll all be decided on the day, but it's been a source of tension so far, so thanks for that to all the fucking blokes who can't wait to discuss the issue in the media - just leave us alone will you!
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Days run away
If this blog seems to have slowed up a bit lately, it's naturally enough because these 'middle' weeks of the missus' pregnancy are fairly uneventful as it goes.
The calm before the storm I guess. Junior is starting to make his presence felt, kicking hard enough to be felt when he's up and about, which is a fair amount of the time. I do hope he doesn't inherit my difficulties with sleep, although at least the sleep disturbed evenings created by a newborn will have no fear for me, as that's been my life for decades anyway.
There also seems to be an unending amount of news and views about all things to do with pregnancy and children in the media at the moment, although perhaps this has always been there but I've successfully zoned out in the past. Maybe it's a bit like when you buy a new car and suddenly you notice all the other ones the same as yours out on the road.
Still, I reckon it's about the only time I've been up with fashion in anything in my life, if all the media comments about kids being the latest fashion essential are to be believed...
The missus has now moved into the "I'm tired all the time" third trimester. I have a big book on fatherhood, bought for me by my father-in-law, to plough through - it'll probably be as tiring on my patience.
And all the while the days count down. I'm in a nervous, "slghtly troubled by the whole prospect" sort of phase right now. Hopefully this will lift before long. I'm keeping it to myself and this blog anyway.
The calm before the storm I guess. Junior is starting to make his presence felt, kicking hard enough to be felt when he's up and about, which is a fair amount of the time. I do hope he doesn't inherit my difficulties with sleep, although at least the sleep disturbed evenings created by a newborn will have no fear for me, as that's been my life for decades anyway.
There also seems to be an unending amount of news and views about all things to do with pregnancy and children in the media at the moment, although perhaps this has always been there but I've successfully zoned out in the past. Maybe it's a bit like when you buy a new car and suddenly you notice all the other ones the same as yours out on the road.
Still, I reckon it's about the only time I've been up with fashion in anything in my life, if all the media comments about kids being the latest fashion essential are to be believed...
The missus has now moved into the "I'm tired all the time" third trimester. I have a big book on fatherhood, bought for me by my father-in-law, to plough through - it'll probably be as tiring on my patience.
And all the while the days count down. I'm in a nervous, "slghtly troubled by the whole prospect" sort of phase right now. Hopefully this will lift before long. I'm keeping it to myself and this blog anyway.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Boys will be boys....
Although there's always the potential for 'Daddy's girl' style affection, I guess if you ask most men whether deep down they'd prefer a boy or a girl you'll get the answer "a boy".
And while the nipper's health is my main concern I fit into this group as well, if I'm being honest with myself. It's probably becuase I'm a fairly unreconstructed male (interests: beer, music and sport) as well as a big kid (I own both a Scalextric and a Stiga table ice hockey game) at heart.
I like the idea of a bit of rough and tumble and making a mess around the place. Take this comment from an email a mate sent to me the other day:
"Another thing about boys... is that they can be disgusting. At the moment Daniel is doing an experement, to find out the best thing for mould to grow on. We have got seven plastic bags on the kitchen window sill (nice and hot, plenty of sun!!), all containing different things like soggy bread, cheese, cake, tomato etc. In five days' time (according to his book), we will have to compare all the different types of mould etc, and see which one has flourished the best!!"
Bring it on I say!
And while the nipper's health is my main concern I fit into this group as well, if I'm being honest with myself. It's probably becuase I'm a fairly unreconstructed male (interests: beer, music and sport) as well as a big kid (I own both a Scalextric and a Stiga table ice hockey game) at heart.
I like the idea of a bit of rough and tumble and making a mess around the place. Take this comment from an email a mate sent to me the other day:
"Another thing about boys... is that they can be disgusting. At the moment Daniel is doing an experement, to find out the best thing for mould to grow on. We have got seven plastic bags on the kitchen window sill (nice and hot, plenty of sun!!), all containing different things like soggy bread, cheese, cake, tomato etc. In five days' time (according to his book), we will have to compare all the different types of mould etc, and see which one has flourished the best!!"
Bring it on I say!
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
It's a boy, Mrs Walker, it's a boy!
Not wishing to tempt fate by using the immortal opening lines of The Who's Tommy (after all, despite being a pinball wizard young Tommy Walker was deaf, dumb and blind of course) but it neatly sums up in as rock 'n' roll a way that I can the latest news...it is indeed a boy.
It's funny, we were utterly convinced this was the case, despite any actual evidence to support it, beyond a lot of old wives tales about morning sickness (absence of) and the last doctor who examined the missus syaing the babay seemed "rather large" - a claim totally refuted by the ultrasound-wielding quack who did the honours this morning and said Junior was aboslutely standard size.
So...it's a boy. That means tough times during the 'terrible twos', no moments of peace and quiet while he hyperactively tears the house apart, incessant video games, a need to stay fit for garden/park sports well into my 50s...however, once he reaches his teens at least we'll probably start to reap the benefits of not worrying ourselves to death every time he goes out of the house....
Now the gender is determined, it will soon be time to begin horse trading over names. I've already laid down the law that I want him to have three first names, like a lot of my old cricket heroes used to have. Beyond that, all bets are off.
It's funny, we were utterly convinced this was the case, despite any actual evidence to support it, beyond a lot of old wives tales about morning sickness (absence of) and the last doctor who examined the missus syaing the babay seemed "rather large" - a claim totally refuted by the ultrasound-wielding quack who did the honours this morning and said Junior was aboslutely standard size.
So...it's a boy. That means tough times during the 'terrible twos', no moments of peace and quiet while he hyperactively tears the house apart, incessant video games, a need to stay fit for garden/park sports well into my 50s...however, once he reaches his teens at least we'll probably start to reap the benefits of not worrying ourselves to death every time he goes out of the house....
Now the gender is determined, it will soon be time to begin horse trading over names. I've already laid down the law that I want him to have three first names, like a lot of my old cricket heroes used to have. Beyond that, all bets are off.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Oh, youth....
The missus is looking proper pregnant now, more than four months in. We've done the scouting for nursery furniture, baby buggies etc. but not bought anything yet due to severe superstition.
Two events, one just passed and one coming up, are going to add some closure to our youth for sure. The first was a trip to see the new movie about Glastonbury. Hard to see how the director could have captured the essence of that festival any better - it was brilliant. Glasto was where we met so has a special place in our hearts, although we'd decided to 'retire' even before the imminent sprog became an issue.
That, plus hormones, was perhaps why the missus blubbed like a baby throughout most of it. It was tears for her youth, for our youth (we were 'only' 30 when we met) and for times now gone. There was also an element of fear for the future too - something I'm well familiar with.
Now we're preparing for our last 'proper' holiday as just the two of us, also a watershed moment. And where better than Las Vegas to mark this particular rite of passage. It's an incredible, crazy fantasy land, inspiration for my favourite book (Fear and Loathing...) and something of a historial obsession for me in recent years.
When that's done, we'll be seriously knuckling down to preparations, including the NCT courses and all that jazz.
In two weeks time we also get to find out the gender of the nipper....gulp!
Two events, one just passed and one coming up, are going to add some closure to our youth for sure. The first was a trip to see the new movie about Glastonbury. Hard to see how the director could have captured the essence of that festival any better - it was brilliant. Glasto was where we met so has a special place in our hearts, although we'd decided to 'retire' even before the imminent sprog became an issue.
That, plus hormones, was perhaps why the missus blubbed like a baby throughout most of it. It was tears for her youth, for our youth (we were 'only' 30 when we met) and for times now gone. There was also an element of fear for the future too - something I'm well familiar with.
Now we're preparing for our last 'proper' holiday as just the two of us, also a watershed moment. And where better than Las Vegas to mark this particular rite of passage. It's an incredible, crazy fantasy land, inspiration for my favourite book (Fear and Loathing...) and something of a historial obsession for me in recent years.
When that's done, we'll be seriously knuckling down to preparations, including the NCT courses and all that jazz.
In two weeks time we also get to find out the gender of the nipper....gulp!
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
April in Paris...
...as the old master Sinatra once sang. We're off for a night in the city of love this weekend, part of a farewell tour of places we like to go that will hopefully be complete come September, when it's Center Parcs or bust from there on in.
Latest medical bulletin is good, although the doc did point out that the sprog is quite 'large' - this will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me...
Apparently its size is going to be closely monitored in the coming months and if it gets too big it will be induced early, so spare the missus from undue punishment. Guess this means it might be a boy, although there's always the possibility of a strapping lass I suppose, perhaps a candidate for the England women's cricket team?
All will be revealed anyway at the next scan.
We've signed up for the NCT course that everybody goes on about. This will mean 'networking' with other prospective parents - yuck! I'd just so rather keep myself to myself. Still, needs must...practical nappy changing, here I come!
Latest medical bulletin is good, although the doc did point out that the sprog is quite 'large' - this will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me...
Apparently its size is going to be closely monitored in the coming months and if it gets too big it will be induced early, so spare the missus from undue punishment. Guess this means it might be a boy, although there's always the possibility of a strapping lass I suppose, perhaps a candidate for the England women's cricket team?
All will be revealed anyway at the next scan.
We've signed up for the NCT course that everybody goes on about. This will mean 'networking' with other prospective parents - yuck! I'd just so rather keep myself to myself. Still, needs must...practical nappy changing, here I come!
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Reality bites...
Went to a crap concert on the South Bank last night....well not crap so much as just not my thing- we expected experimental jazz and we got something akin to incidental music from a BBC Sunday evening drama of the 1980s.
Anyway, that's not the point. The point, such as it is, was that my gig-going friend and myself were chatting in the bar having refused to go back in for the second half of the show and we started making tentative plans for the missus and I to see my friend and his wife in their new house in the country.
I finished the conversation with "Well we'd better get this sorted while we can, becasue it'll be a right pain in the arse to venture down to you come September..." This is especially apposite to my friend and his wife who are child-free and, it's fair to say, have been something of a role model couple to us in living a lifestyle full of art, culture, music and campaigning politics.
And at that point I had a moment of realisation... my life in its present form really is going to end soon. It's not hit me that much so far because the idea of being a dad is still so hypothetical. We're no longer going to be able to live our lives to our own heart's desire, going anywhere will require intricate planning and pin-sharp project management... and time to ourselves? Fuhgeddaboudit!
Regular gig-going? You can forget that too, buster. Disappearing off for evenings of fun and frolics while the missus grapples with dirty nappies to the soundtrack of ear-splitting crying is likely to make me about as popular as a pork pie at a Bar Mitzvah.
Oh well, I've had a spectacularly good innings. For Christ's sake I'm almost 40! What I haven't managed to do by now I'll probably never be able to afford anyway, sprog or no sprog....
Anyway, that's not the point. The point, such as it is, was that my gig-going friend and myself were chatting in the bar having refused to go back in for the second half of the show and we started making tentative plans for the missus and I to see my friend and his wife in their new house in the country.
I finished the conversation with "Well we'd better get this sorted while we can, becasue it'll be a right pain in the arse to venture down to you come September..." This is especially apposite to my friend and his wife who are child-free and, it's fair to say, have been something of a role model couple to us in living a lifestyle full of art, culture, music and campaigning politics.
And at that point I had a moment of realisation... my life in its present form really is going to end soon. It's not hit me that much so far because the idea of being a dad is still so hypothetical. We're no longer going to be able to live our lives to our own heart's desire, going anywhere will require intricate planning and pin-sharp project management... and time to ourselves? Fuhgeddaboudit!
Regular gig-going? You can forget that too, buster. Disappearing off for evenings of fun and frolics while the missus grapples with dirty nappies to the soundtrack of ear-splitting crying is likely to make me about as popular as a pork pie at a Bar Mitzvah.
Oh well, I've had a spectacularly good innings. For Christ's sake I'm almost 40! What I haven't managed to do by now I'll probably never be able to afford anyway, sprog or no sprog....
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
All quiet...
Been a bit quiet on the old nipper front lately. I guess these periods of nothing much happening are all part of the process. Missus isn't even getting much fatter, at least not noticeably.
Going slightly off-topic, I'm feeling quite pleased with myself at completing a half marathon in an OK time. Given that in my school days I once failed to finish a 400m race due to fatigue, I reckon that represents good progress.
My utter lack of sporting skill is bested only by the missus, who lacks neither the basic hand/eye co-ordination to be a hacker at tennis nor the concentration to play golf. Not a good omen for our offspring if it happens to be a boy - it's all but certain to be a ginger and to be crap at sports as well just about guarnatees exclusion from any "cool clubs" within the playground jungle.
Oh well, there's always the Dungeons and Dragons society I suppose....
Going slightly off-topic, I'm feeling quite pleased with myself at completing a half marathon in an OK time. Given that in my school days I once failed to finish a 400m race due to fatigue, I reckon that represents good progress.
My utter lack of sporting skill is bested only by the missus, who lacks neither the basic hand/eye co-ordination to be a hacker at tennis nor the concentration to play golf. Not a good omen for our offspring if it happens to be a boy - it's all but certain to be a ginger and to be crap at sports as well just about guarnatees exclusion from any "cool clubs" within the playground jungle.
Oh well, there's always the Dungeons and Dragons society I suppose....
Monday, March 06, 2006
No God only religion
It's not (just) a rather contrived way to get a Spiritualized song title into the headline bar, there is a real purpose behind this post as well, because we've been discussing the issue of Christening, etc.
I must admit that I was keen from the outset to do this, although I expected a degree of resistance from the missus, who is an atheist, and I would have let her hold sway should that have been the case.
But no, she seems happy to go along with it, reasoning quite fairly that it can make its own mind up about these matters in due course, but that baptism as an adult is a bit embarrassing to all concerned, so why not at least get that part done early doors.
There are several spin-offs to this:
1) It gets the in-laws together for the first time since the wedding, always good for a giggle
2) It's an excuse to get the boys together to "wet the baby's head"
3) We get to nominate God-parentage, which, although it's a ceremonial role is nonetheless a nice thing to bestow on someone.
I've no idea how to go about sorting any of this out, but I'm sure that, just like with every other minutiae of child rearing, there will be no shortage of help and avice from the world of publishing....
I must admit that I was keen from the outset to do this, although I expected a degree of resistance from the missus, who is an atheist, and I would have let her hold sway should that have been the case.
But no, she seems happy to go along with it, reasoning quite fairly that it can make its own mind up about these matters in due course, but that baptism as an adult is a bit embarrassing to all concerned, so why not at least get that part done early doors.
There are several spin-offs to this:
1) It gets the in-laws together for the first time since the wedding, always good for a giggle
2) It's an excuse to get the boys together to "wet the baby's head"
3) We get to nominate God-parentage, which, although it's a ceremonial role is nonetheless a nice thing to bestow on someone.
I've no idea how to go about sorting any of this out, but I'm sure that, just like with every other minutiae of child rearing, there will be no shortage of help and avice from the world of publishing....
Thursday, March 02, 2006
And now, the tears subside....
...but thank God they're tears of joy and relief!
Never, ever in my whole life have I undergone anything as butt-clenchingly stressful as the last week. But finally we've got the 'all clear'...or at least as all clear as these things can be.
In fact the doc used the very words "as good as it could be" about our test result, with the risk of Down's or similar nasties dropping to a much more comfortable 2,400 to 1. At last the benefits of the missus' healthy lifestyle bear fruit!!
I've only just stopped shaking enough to be able type properly (I still wouldn't fancy my chances of holding a cup of coffee without it ending up in my lap) and there'll be more tears yet before bedtime, to be sure.
God knows what the poor buggers who were going into the clinic thought as they passed us leaving both in floods of tears - if I'd have been them I'd have turned tail and fled...if only I could have actually spoken words at that point I've have told them it was tears of joy not pain, but my mouth was refusing to issue anything more than a pathetic whimper by then.
I think I'm going to start a campaign to ban hospitals from revealing these ridiculous generalised odds of problems occurring until they've actually done the proper bloody tests! Keep it to yourselves, you fuckers, you've no idea of the heartache you've caused!
So now we call tell everyone the good news, which will be a complete relief. Some will be very surprised indeed, especially anyone who has listened to me talking on this subject before.
And we can start to think properly about the challenges ahead, which to be honest fill me with dread right now. However, all being well there's no turning back, we're at the top of the rollercoaster and just about to pass that point where you pick up speed and your stomach starts to move skywards.
Hold tight!
Never, ever in my whole life have I undergone anything as butt-clenchingly stressful as the last week. But finally we've got the 'all clear'...or at least as all clear as these things can be.
In fact the doc used the very words "as good as it could be" about our test result, with the risk of Down's or similar nasties dropping to a much more comfortable 2,400 to 1. At last the benefits of the missus' healthy lifestyle bear fruit!!
I've only just stopped shaking enough to be able type properly (I still wouldn't fancy my chances of holding a cup of coffee without it ending up in my lap) and there'll be more tears yet before bedtime, to be sure.
God knows what the poor buggers who were going into the clinic thought as they passed us leaving both in floods of tears - if I'd have been them I'd have turned tail and fled...if only I could have actually spoken words at that point I've have told them it was tears of joy not pain, but my mouth was refusing to issue anything more than a pathetic whimper by then.
I think I'm going to start a campaign to ban hospitals from revealing these ridiculous generalised odds of problems occurring until they've actually done the proper bloody tests! Keep it to yourselves, you fuckers, you've no idea of the heartache you've caused!
So now we call tell everyone the good news, which will be a complete relief. Some will be very surprised indeed, especially anyone who has listened to me talking on this subject before.
And we can start to think properly about the challenges ahead, which to be honest fill me with dread right now. However, all being well there's no turning back, we're at the top of the rollercoaster and just about to pass that point where you pick up speed and your stomach starts to move skywards.
Hold tight!
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Tomorrow never knows....
Well, just one day to go before the big test.
The shock of our last visit to the hospital has given way to a degree of resignation (after all, there's nothing I can do) coupled with some optimism after hearing a number of stories from people who've been through this and found their chances of dodging the bullet significantly improved after the tests.
By the way, if I ever I wanted to demonstrate my lack of knowledge in these matters I managed it quite easily in my last post. I've discovered that the syndrome in question is not "Downs", as in the former Norwich City defensive stalwart Greg Downs, but is in fact "Down's". Apologies to any pedants out there.
I haven't been able to get my mind away from this situation all week. I can't bear to look at the scan photograph of the foetus they gave us at the hospital, in case it tempts fate. I've even been ill, and I am never, ever ill.
For someone who has previously viewed children as a royal pain in the arse to be avoided at all costs these are strange times indeed...
Fingers crossed.
The shock of our last visit to the hospital has given way to a degree of resignation (after all, there's nothing I can do) coupled with some optimism after hearing a number of stories from people who've been through this and found their chances of dodging the bullet significantly improved after the tests.
By the way, if I ever I wanted to demonstrate my lack of knowledge in these matters I managed it quite easily in my last post. I've discovered that the syndrome in question is not "Downs", as in the former Norwich City defensive stalwart Greg Downs, but is in fact "Down's". Apologies to any pedants out there.
I haven't been able to get my mind away from this situation all week. I can't bear to look at the scan photograph of the foetus they gave us at the hospital, in case it tempts fate. I've even been ill, and I am never, ever ill.
For someone who has previously viewed children as a royal pain in the arse to be avoided at all costs these are strange times indeed...
Fingers crossed.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
A bad day...
I'm a keen gambler so I know quite a bit about playing the odds. Unfortunately you can store what I know about the childbirth process on a back of a stamp.
These two factors have conspired to make this a bad day, when it should have been a great one. You see we've had the initial scan that shows there's actually a baby there, which is great.
Then they sit us down and tell us that because of the missus' age the risk of it having Downs is potentially 1 in 190 or worse. Jesus.
I was aware that these risks got higher the older the mother is, but I always assumed that we were talking about one in two thousand rather than, say, one in a million if mum is in her early 20s.
How wrong I clearly was. An optimist might say that it still represents about a 99.5% chance things will be OK, but look at it another way - if I was in a room of 190 people and we all had a raffle ticket, I would wait around for first prize to be drawn coz I'd think I had a puncher's chance at those odds.
And I'm sorry for any pro-lifers reading this...I am barely going to be man enough to cope with fatherhood if everything is tickety-boo, I'm certainly not going to be able to cope with a Downs child.
So now we're on tenterhooks until some more definitive tests can be done next week. If we're lucky our risk factor will move up the scale into the 'safer' categories of 1 in 340 or higher (still not great, but beginning to be comforting odds).
If we're not, it could go the other way, then we have to think about nasty invasive testing that is definitive but opens up a small but significant risk of miscarriage. What a position to find yourself in, having to make that judgement call....
This is a very bad day...with luck it will prove to be the worst day and things will be OK. I'm not ready to contemplate worse days ahead right now...
These two factors have conspired to make this a bad day, when it should have been a great one. You see we've had the initial scan that shows there's actually a baby there, which is great.
Then they sit us down and tell us that because of the missus' age the risk of it having Downs is potentially 1 in 190 or worse. Jesus.
I was aware that these risks got higher the older the mother is, but I always assumed that we were talking about one in two thousand rather than, say, one in a million if mum is in her early 20s.
How wrong I clearly was. An optimist might say that it still represents about a 99.5% chance things will be OK, but look at it another way - if I was in a room of 190 people and we all had a raffle ticket, I would wait around for first prize to be drawn coz I'd think I had a puncher's chance at those odds.
And I'm sorry for any pro-lifers reading this...I am barely going to be man enough to cope with fatherhood if everything is tickety-boo, I'm certainly not going to be able to cope with a Downs child.
So now we're on tenterhooks until some more definitive tests can be done next week. If we're lucky our risk factor will move up the scale into the 'safer' categories of 1 in 340 or higher (still not great, but beginning to be comforting odds).
If we're not, it could go the other way, then we have to think about nasty invasive testing that is definitive but opens up a small but significant risk of miscarriage. What a position to find yourself in, having to make that judgement call....
This is a very bad day...with luck it will prove to be the worst day and things will be OK. I'm not ready to contemplate worse days ahead right now...
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
The seven ages of me...
I'm not sure who first said that kids keep you young, but so far the complete reverse seems to be happening to me.
Since finding out about my impending parenthood I've felt the crushing onset of middle age - many would say not a day too soon....
Luckily it's not the accompanying decrepitude - I'm slimmer, fitter and healthier than I've been all my adult life.
No, it's more of a cultural and psychological shift. Over the past 20 years I've basically been doing the same things as I did when I was 18 years old. Pubs, gigs, movies, football etc etc. It's easy to see why women often complain about their men not growing up!
Now, though, I've felt a real change come over me. I've become utterly disinterested in the "indie" guitar music that sustained me through literally hundreds of gigs over the years. I'd so much rather listen to Frank Sinatra than the Arctic Monkeys.
I find I'm preferring to stay at home rather than go out, eat nice home-cooked meals (some even cooked by myself!) and watch a DVD rather than stand in a smoky pub with a pint of over-priced lager - Jesus, what's come over me?
Still, I guess it's great preparation for when I have to do all this through necessity rather than by choice. Maybe I have finally grown up after all.
Since finding out about my impending parenthood I've felt the crushing onset of middle age - many would say not a day too soon....
Luckily it's not the accompanying decrepitude - I'm slimmer, fitter and healthier than I've been all my adult life.
No, it's more of a cultural and psychological shift. Over the past 20 years I've basically been doing the same things as I did when I was 18 years old. Pubs, gigs, movies, football etc etc. It's easy to see why women often complain about their men not growing up!
Now, though, I've felt a real change come over me. I've become utterly disinterested in the "indie" guitar music that sustained me through literally hundreds of gigs over the years. I'd so much rather listen to Frank Sinatra than the Arctic Monkeys.
I find I'm preferring to stay at home rather than go out, eat nice home-cooked meals (some even cooked by myself!) and watch a DVD rather than stand in a smoky pub with a pint of over-priced lager - Jesus, what's come over me?
Still, I guess it's great preparation for when I have to do all this through necessity rather than by choice. Maybe I have finally grown up after all.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
"Bear!" he boomed....
Another first, and more good match practice, with my inaugural reading of a bedtime story. My nephew was the recipient and it seemed to go quite well...I even did some different voices for the dialogue.
Mind you, it was the evergreen Paddington Bear, a personal favourite anyway.
I'm now trying really hard to look upon children not as alien creatures that should be avoided at all costs, but as people to be understood and communicated with. Not easy after all these years, but going surprisingly well so far I reckon.
My parents were naturally delighted about the news - it was good just to tell somebody else after all the subterfuge and secrecy. Although I thought my dad's "Oh, I'd better hang on a bit longer then if I've got a grandchild coming" was a bit unnecessarily pessimistic, even for him. No prizes for guessing where I get it from...
It'll soon be time for the moment of truth, the three-month scan. It's sure to be a tense time, because there are of course no guarantees given our age.
But for now, the good ship parenthood is set fair for a good wind and a smooth sea. All aboard!!
Mind you, it was the evergreen Paddington Bear, a personal favourite anyway.
I'm now trying really hard to look upon children not as alien creatures that should be avoided at all costs, but as people to be understood and communicated with. Not easy after all these years, but going surprisingly well so far I reckon.
My parents were naturally delighted about the news - it was good just to tell somebody else after all the subterfuge and secrecy. Although I thought my dad's "Oh, I'd better hang on a bit longer then if I've got a grandchild coming" was a bit unnecessarily pessimistic, even for him. No prizes for guessing where I get it from...
It'll soon be time for the moment of truth, the three-month scan. It's sure to be a tense time, because there are of course no guarantees given our age.
But for now, the good ship parenthood is set fair for a good wind and a smooth sea. All aboard!!
Monday, January 30, 2006
Books etc...
It'll be time soon to start stocking up on the "pregnancy for dads" books, I guess.
I've already noted some websites on this subject helpfully published this week in the Sunday Times (for me? How kind...) and I bet the shelves of Books etc. are groaning under the weight of various tomes designed to help us pending dads (reluctant or otherwise) make the most of the whole experience.
Who knows? At the end of all this I might write one myself, using all this blog piffle as a basis. Or not, as the case may be.
The missus' parents now know and are understandably delighted about it, especially the father-in-law, who had probably given up hope of grandchildren, so emphatic have we been about not procreating in the past.
My folks get the news next, which will be an interesting experience given that my most recent communications on the subject included an adamant assertation along the "over my dead body" lines...
Soon the news will have to get out to the wider masses. Some must already suspect, and the missus' post-Christmas detox ruse is really only good for January, after which it's going to look pretty bloody odd!
I'll be quite glad when it's all in the public domain, to be honest. A bit of good news amid the usual doom and gloom of a London winter.
I've already noted some websites on this subject helpfully published this week in the Sunday Times (for me? How kind...) and I bet the shelves of Books etc. are groaning under the weight of various tomes designed to help us pending dads (reluctant or otherwise) make the most of the whole experience.
Who knows? At the end of all this I might write one myself, using all this blog piffle as a basis. Or not, as the case may be.
The missus' parents now know and are understandably delighted about it, especially the father-in-law, who had probably given up hope of grandchildren, so emphatic have we been about not procreating in the past.
My folks get the news next, which will be an interesting experience given that my most recent communications on the subject included an adamant assertation along the "over my dead body" lines...
Soon the news will have to get out to the wider masses. Some must already suspect, and the missus' post-Christmas detox ruse is really only good for January, after which it's going to look pretty bloody odd!
I'll be quite glad when it's all in the public domain, to be honest. A bit of good news amid the usual doom and gloom of a London winter.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
The philosophical challenge...
Most of the hand-wringing displayed on here so far will be familiar to anyone who has entered the wacky world of prospective parenthood.
I have an additional philosophical challenge to overcome.
You see, I strongly believe that the human race is rotten to the core, and that this planet would be vastly improved by our complete removal from it. If you passed me a button that could wipe us all out I'd push it without a second's hesitation.
That's quite a tough world view to square with the fact that I've now become party to the human race's continuing survival!
I look on in despair at our obsession with TV freak shows, at the total lack of civility that exists in the city where I live, at the sheer evil of those four pointless, verminous scumbags sentenced yesterday for that so-called 'happy slapping' murder (for murder it was, forget that manslaughter nonsense).
I always managed to stay on top of it all by thinking that I would do my best to enjoy my life as the world around me deteriorated, then I'd shuffle off this mortal coil before things really went to hell in a handcart.
Now I'm potentially handing on the poisoned chalice to an offspring facing God knows what as a future in our polluted, intolerant, violent and hateful world.
Oh boy....
Something a bit more lighthearted next time round, I promise!
I have an additional philosophical challenge to overcome.
You see, I strongly believe that the human race is rotten to the core, and that this planet would be vastly improved by our complete removal from it. If you passed me a button that could wipe us all out I'd push it without a second's hesitation.
That's quite a tough world view to square with the fact that I've now become party to the human race's continuing survival!
I look on in despair at our obsession with TV freak shows, at the total lack of civility that exists in the city where I live, at the sheer evil of those four pointless, verminous scumbags sentenced yesterday for that so-called 'happy slapping' murder (for murder it was, forget that manslaughter nonsense).
I always managed to stay on top of it all by thinking that I would do my best to enjoy my life as the world around me deteriorated, then I'd shuffle off this mortal coil before things really went to hell in a handcart.
Now I'm potentially handing on the poisoned chalice to an offspring facing God knows what as a future in our polluted, intolerant, violent and hateful world.
Oh boy....
Something a bit more lighthearted next time round, I promise!
Monday, January 23, 2006
FOREVERFOREVERFOREVERFOREVER...
Just had the first sleepless "Oh My God" night.
Sudden realisation that this really is forever, better or worse. We visit our friends and relatives and briefly touch their children's lives, noting how they've grown, etc. But in a few months' time we're going to have another human being dropped slap bang into our lives. Like every hour, every day. For whom we're 100% responsible.... most likely until the day we die.
Bloody hell.
Can I go back to being worried about whether someone is going to bash into/steal my car, or whether my football team are going to go up this year, instead please?
P.S.
By the way, I should point out that this blog is in no way connected to the mayfly-brief, two-post effort "Reluctant Dad" which also appears on this site. He didn't sound a happy chappy - maybe he drowned in his own bile before being able to post further....
Always make sure you put a "the" in the title to get my nonsense.
Sudden realisation that this really is forever, better or worse. We visit our friends and relatives and briefly touch their children's lives, noting how they've grown, etc. But in a few months' time we're going to have another human being dropped slap bang into our lives. Like every hour, every day. For whom we're 100% responsible.... most likely until the day we die.
Bloody hell.
Can I go back to being worried about whether someone is going to bash into/steal my car, or whether my football team are going to go up this year, instead please?
P.S.
By the way, I should point out that this blog is in no way connected to the mayfly-brief, two-post effort "Reluctant Dad" which also appears on this site. He didn't sound a happy chappy - maybe he drowned in his own bile before being able to post further....
Always make sure you put a "the" in the title to get my nonsense.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
First time for everything....
I did something today that I've never done before. I played with a small child and actually enjoyed it.
Just a brief game not dissimilar to pat-a-cakes with our friend's one-year-old (she was clearly fascinated by my hands being about a hundred times bigger than hers) but a real breakthrough in many ways.
I'd previously found the idea of interacting with small children about as tempting as frying my own feet. Even my niece and nephew, bless 'em, had to grow up into fully-fledged, talking, ball-playing youngsters before I got remotely interested.
So this is a change - proper eye-contact, touchy-feely interaction. And not ghastly, as it happens...
In other news, the missus says I've never been so nice to her as in the days since the fateful morning the lines turned pink. Although given that she expected me to run away I guess this is nothing to feel too smug about.
Truth is, I do feel kind of closer to her right now. This is no small event we're coming to terms with and it's only right and proper that of the two ways it could have driven us, we've ended up on the positive path.
There'll be tears and trouble ahead, for sure, so we'd better enjoy this while it lasts!
Just a brief game not dissimilar to pat-a-cakes with our friend's one-year-old (she was clearly fascinated by my hands being about a hundred times bigger than hers) but a real breakthrough in many ways.
I'd previously found the idea of interacting with small children about as tempting as frying my own feet. Even my niece and nephew, bless 'em, had to grow up into fully-fledged, talking, ball-playing youngsters before I got remotely interested.
So this is a change - proper eye-contact, touchy-feely interaction. And not ghastly, as it happens...
In other news, the missus says I've never been so nice to her as in the days since the fateful morning the lines turned pink. Although given that she expected me to run away I guess this is nothing to feel too smug about.
Truth is, I do feel kind of closer to her right now. This is no small event we're coming to terms with and it's only right and proper that of the two ways it could have driven us, we've ended up on the positive path.
There'll be tears and trouble ahead, for sure, so we'd better enjoy this while it lasts!
Saturday, January 21, 2006
The pros and cons...
OK, the good points about parenthood:
1. Taking the sprog in its pushchair for a stroll on Hampstead Heath
2. Finally getting the relatives off my back... no more sideways looks and plaintive demands because we've got no kids
3. Er....can't think of any more at the moment...
And the bad points:
1. Puke and shit
2. Sleepless nights
3. Ear-splitting crying for no reason whatsoever
4. Post-natal depression
5. Poverty
6. Severely curtailed social life
7. The risk of creating an ASBO-magnet troublemaker
8. It might choose to support Arsenal
Actually I better stop there, until I started this post I was beginning to come round to the idea of parenthood....
1. Taking the sprog in its pushchair for a stroll on Hampstead Heath
2. Finally getting the relatives off my back... no more sideways looks and plaintive demands because we've got no kids
3. Er....can't think of any more at the moment...
And the bad points:
1. Puke and shit
2. Sleepless nights
3. Ear-splitting crying for no reason whatsoever
4. Post-natal depression
5. Poverty
6. Severely curtailed social life
7. The risk of creating an ASBO-magnet troublemaker
8. It might choose to support Arsenal
Actually I better stop there, until I started this post I was beginning to come round to the idea of parenthood....
Friday, January 20, 2006
Shock and disbelief...
I've had one or two excitements in my otherwise average life.
Man Utd's last-gasp victory in the European Cup in 1999 was pretty special. I can also remember winning a £100 fruit machine jackpot as a young lad, especially that little heart skip as the last treble-bar came in.
But nothing prepares you for discovering that you're going to be a dad, especially when you're not, to use that terminally annoying phrase, "trying for a baby" in the first place.
Bloody hell. My life is never going to be the same.
I'm still at the point where I'm struggling to believe it's true, even though I know it is.
And you know what? I really don't mind. I thought I might hurl myself off the nearest high building if such news was ever presented before me. The missus clearly felt the same becaue it took her several days to pluck up the courage to take the test, fearing my reaction might not be entirely positive...
But what can you do? I believe strongly in fate, and that you must play the hand that life deals you. There's absolutely no question of getting rid of it - I'm no bible-bashing, pro-life hickster but I have a moral code that says: "you made the bed, you gotta lie in it".
That said, my head's a whirl. In a day or two I'll rationalise it, I guess....
Man Utd's last-gasp victory in the European Cup in 1999 was pretty special. I can also remember winning a £100 fruit machine jackpot as a young lad, especially that little heart skip as the last treble-bar came in.
But nothing prepares you for discovering that you're going to be a dad, especially when you're not, to use that terminally annoying phrase, "trying for a baby" in the first place.
Bloody hell. My life is never going to be the same.
I'm still at the point where I'm struggling to believe it's true, even though I know it is.
And you know what? I really don't mind. I thought I might hurl myself off the nearest high building if such news was ever presented before me. The missus clearly felt the same becaue it took her several days to pluck up the courage to take the test, fearing my reaction might not be entirely positive...
But what can you do? I believe strongly in fate, and that you must play the hand that life deals you. There's absolutely no question of getting rid of it - I'm no bible-bashing, pro-life hickster but I have a moral code that says: "you made the bed, you gotta lie in it".
That said, my head's a whirl. In a day or two I'll rationalise it, I guess....
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Like finding out you've won the pools....
...when you hadn't realised you'd filled the coupon in.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry when the missus brought back the pregnancy tester with the telltale pink lines there for all to see. Must be a mistake, I thought, how accurate are those things?
A quick look at the instructions revealed "can sometimes say you aren't when you are, but NEVER that you are when you aren't". Oh well, I guess that clears that one up then...
I should explain. I've never wanted to have kids, not ever, not for a second in all my years. The missus knew that when we married and she felt the same. As the years rolled by she came round to the idea, but I didn't. It was indeed a source of much strife before an accommodation (well, actually me getting my way entirely) was reached.
We didn't exactly take care between the sheets, but we weren't that careless either. We basically weren't "trying for a baby" - a phrase that still makes me want to look skywards and furrow my brow.
Friends our age who really wanted kids had either been forced to basically give up after repeated failures or resorted to crazy measures to conceive. And I'm talking about temeprature testing to find the optimal moment of ovulation and all that shit. Jesus, imagine as a bloke having to perform under those "one hit" conditions - like Edward Fox in bloody Day of the Jackal.
But not us, oh no! No messing about, bop bop bop! Even when we didn't want to....
So there you go. The next entry will be about dealing with the shock and consternation. I intend this blog to be an honest, warts and all record of what promises to be an extraordinary year. Happy reading!
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry when the missus brought back the pregnancy tester with the telltale pink lines there for all to see. Must be a mistake, I thought, how accurate are those things?
A quick look at the instructions revealed "can sometimes say you aren't when you are, but NEVER that you are when you aren't". Oh well, I guess that clears that one up then...
I should explain. I've never wanted to have kids, not ever, not for a second in all my years. The missus knew that when we married and she felt the same. As the years rolled by she came round to the idea, but I didn't. It was indeed a source of much strife before an accommodation (well, actually me getting my way entirely) was reached.
We didn't exactly take care between the sheets, but we weren't that careless either. We basically weren't "trying for a baby" - a phrase that still makes me want to look skywards and furrow my brow.
Friends our age who really wanted kids had either been forced to basically give up after repeated failures or resorted to crazy measures to conceive. And I'm talking about temeprature testing to find the optimal moment of ovulation and all that shit. Jesus, imagine as a bloke having to perform under those "one hit" conditions - like Edward Fox in bloody Day of the Jackal.
But not us, oh no! No messing about, bop bop bop! Even when we didn't want to....
So there you go. The next entry will be about dealing with the shock and consternation. I intend this blog to be an honest, warts and all record of what promises to be an extraordinary year. Happy reading!
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