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.

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!

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.