All Present and Correct

We've just come back from a stay with Auntie J and Uncle D's, where we became the owners of an inspired piece of present giving.

W: (opening presents for an oblivious  three-month old) What's this? (pause, as the paper is ripped off) Wow! That's brilliant.
Me: Now he can play with your phone safely. He's been reaching for it whenever you have it out.
Auntie J: Do you like it?
W: It's great. In fact, I'm sort of appalled that I like it so much.

The 99th Parallel

I've had some interesting conversations while having my hair cut (here and here for example). This one, with an assistant who was washing my hair the other day, got a little competitive.

Assistant: So, you doing anything for Christmas?
Me: We're having a family Christmas.
Assistant: You got any kids?
Me: Yes, a little boy.*
Assistant: How old? That water warm enough?
Me: Great, thank you. Three and a half months.
Assistant: Aw! So it will be his first Christmas?
Me: Yes.

Pause as I wonder if that is the end of the conversation about children? Because now you've got me started... 

Me: You know, this morning when he woke up, I could have sworn he was bigger than last night.
Assistant: A friend of mine, she's got kids. She says that her kid was, like, top percentage or something? Essentially, if there were a hundred kids in the room of that age, he would be in the top five.
Me: My boy's in the 98th percentile for height. 99th for head size.
Assistant: My brother's head was off the chart. Massive.
Me: Was he OK?
Assistant: Yeah, think so. 
Me: Good.
Assistant: Should be. He's 19 now. 

Pause as that probably is the end of the conversation about children.

Me: So, has it been busy in here over the Christmas period....?

Notes
*It always gives me enormous happiness to answer that question. It's like a little batch of fireworks bursting in my head every single time.

Fontanelle

When a small baby is not moving, it's worth having a look at his/her fontanelle. A few weeks ago...

W: If you look carefully, you can see where the bones of his head haven't come together yet.
Me: I've seen. It's why he was a little conehead when he came out.
W: The little pulsating area is amazing.
Me: Eh?
W: You've seen that, yes? 

I look closer. 

Me: Whoa! Why haven't I noticed that before? That's essentially his heart beating!
W: Yup!
Me: Whoa! 

Now, I can't help but notice it.

The Cattle are Lowing

We're having Christmas lunch, little J sitting happily nearby and squeaking his new giraffe toy. Our Christmas crackers have trivia questions in them.

W: 'In folklore, what do cows do at midnight on Christmas Eve? a) Kneel, b) Walk backwards, c) Wake up.'
Me: No idea. I'll go for 'wake up'.
W: The answer is 'kneeling'.
Me: Is that as in 'lowing' like in Away in a Manger?
W: I think that refers to 'mooing'.
Me: I'd always wondered...
W: (sings) 'The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes, the little lord Jesus no crying he makes...'

We look down at our little boy, happily enjoying the TV.

W: (to baby) See, a lesson for you.
Me: You want him to be a bit more like Jesus?
W: Er... no. Anyway, I doubt our little J is going to be confronted by lowing cattle just yet.
Me: I think he'd handle it very well.
W: He'd have more of a sense of humour about it than Jesus. He'd be like 'Dude, cows! Mummy did you see the cows?' 

Paraphrasing his current coos and gurgles, obviously. But you know what? I think he probably would. I'll report back after the first cow-meeting occasion.

The Masterplan of Little J

W walks into the nursery as I've just finished changing little J. 

W: I've noticed you nearly always leave the top button of his babygrow undone.
Me: He's getting longer by the day - when the outfits are a little tight, I like to think this helps. Gives him room to breathe.
W: May be.
Me: And I guess it makes him look a little cooler.
W: So it's a fashion thing?
Me: I don't do my own top button up. That would just look weird.
W: (smiles) Just the right kind of casual look eh?
Me: Exactly.

Pause as we look down at the baby smiling back at us.

Me: Also...
W: Yeah?
Me: ...it reminds me of a Bond villain. Blofeld for example.
W: I think I see where this is going.
Me: That a bald chap with his top button done up equals the hatching of a masterplan to take over the world?
W: More or less.
Me: It's worth considering. You've seen how he strokes his soft toys...
W: Sleep, a nappy change or milk - that's the extent of his ideas and even then there seems to be little sign of forward planning.
Me: I'm not saying he's an evil genius or anything.
W: No?
Me: But just think of the fringe benefits - an island of our own, a big world map on the wall and we could use the deadly lasers to slice the loaf from the breadmaking machine.
W: Heh! I like it - middle class Bond villain parents.

1,001 Nappies

Now that J is 3 months old, we thought we'd do a little calculation.

I walk into the living room with J in my arms.

Me: That's another change done. Our little trooper is happy again. Funny how these things seem so completely natural now.
W: We wouldn't have said that 3 months ago.
Me: Back then I didn't believe you when you said it could be 10 changes a day.
W: And now?
Me: I think we can both recount a few 10-plus days.
W: So that's near on 1,000 nappies.
Me: Really?
W: Think of it this way. We've been through more than two packs of 150 biodegradable nappy sacks...
Me: ...and often you can get more than 3 nappies in one bag.
W: True. So that's 900 at least and we're not even counting the ones we've changed when we've been out and about. Let's call it a thousand.
Me: How about 1,001?
W: Why? Because it sounds more like an acheivement?
Me: Yep! That, and it will work better as a title for a blog post.

The Elephant in the Room

At nearly three months, Little J has regular tummy time sessions with us to help his arm, neck and chest muscles to develop. We're sitting on the floor with him.

Me: He's more active than usual.
W: Usually he just lies there with his hand in his mouth.
Me: I sometimes put a toy near him.
W: Same here - it makes him reach out. Where's Elly?
Me: (handing W his multicoloured elephant) Over here.
W: Elly's a girl right?
Me: Yep - Elly the elephant.
W: Or it could be Elly Phant? She's Thai or maybe Cambodian?
Me: Could be.
W: It would make sense. There are elephants in Thailand.
Me: If it makes you happy.
W: I like his toys to have a good back story.

Mummy's Night Out

W prepares for her first night out with friends. I'm staying at home with little J.

W: (checking her coat pockets) Got my wallet and keys and phone...
Me: And Oyster card?
W: Oh yes, and... and...
Me: What else?
W: (surprised) Nothing else! (laughs) I'm so used to getting all the baby stuff together every time I go out...
Me: Now you don't need to worry about any of it. Daddy's got the boy...
W: I feel very light.
Me: You'll get used to it. Have a lovely evening.

I wish there was another story about the adventures of Daddy and little J, but the night went (is going) very smoothly!

Smiler

My little boy has a lovely smile.

Me: I can't stop telling people how nice it is to see him smile.
W: Well it is rather lovely.
Me: But when I tell them, most people always say 'Are you sure it's not wind?'
W: Sometimes it is.
Me: I suppose.
W: You can see it in his eyes when he's happy.
Me: Yeah (smiles). And sometimes he's copying me.
W: Sometimes he seems to smile as an acknowledgement.
Me: That brief half smile he does?
W: Yes, my Mum said it reminded her of Grandad.
Me: My Mum used to call me 'smiler'.
W: That's lovely.
Me: I like the fact that when he smiles, it makes you forget all the trials and tribulations of whatever's gone before.
W: Certainly preferable to screaming.
Me: I think we both agree on that one.

Give Way

Parenthood changes us in many small ways. Just a few months ago we thought little at crossing the road wherever we wanted. Now, for baby's sake and sheer ease of manoeuvrability, we always find safe and convenient places to cross.

We're just about to cross a small road, checking behind us. A car has stopped in the main road, holding up traffic behind, and beckons us across. 

Me: (mouthing) No, you go.
Driver: (gesturing) *After you*
Me: (mouthing) You go.

The driver edges forward and I stop W from crossing.

Driver: (gesturing) *After you*
Me: (mouthing) After you.

This is getting silly but I wave him past with a larger hand motion than he can muster. We then cross.

W: He was just being nice.
Me: I know and so was I. He was edging forward and I'm was a bit dubious about that. Plus I didn't want to hold the traffic up any more.
W: We had right of way.
Me: We did? I'm not sure.
W: Benefit should always been given to the pedestrian.
Me: I think you might be right.
W: (to the baby) Mummy is right.
Me: (to the baby) Hear that boy? There's a phrase to get used to.

And of course I later checked it in the Highway Code (Rule 8). Mummy is right.

What Do You Call a Man with a Seagull on his Head*

A little while back, W asked Twitter to comment on my singing Summer Holiday to Little J.

W: Husband is singing Cliff Richard songs to our little one - should I intervene?

Responses
If he knows the lyrics to any Barry Manilow songs we'll need to have a serious talk.

How can he fall asleep when he's being scared by strange noises and words? Cliff songs scare me.

Definitely intervene if it's Wired for Sound because that's just cruel and unusual.

That's so unfair on one so young.

W: He could try falling asleep in self defence. I'd certainly be in favour of that.

Me: Come on! It's not as if I sang him Millennium Prayer or anything.

At that, we reach a consensus.

*The title of this post displays my ever burgeoning 'Dad humour'. I'll let you work it out...**

**Update
The footnote gets a footnote. W read this and guessed 'Piers'. Very good, but the answer is actually 'Cliff'.

45 Minutes

At the weekend, Granny and Grandad (aka MiL and FiL) made a suggestion to us while we were sitting in a cafe in town.

W: It's nice being out, having a cup of tea. And J is behaving himself.
MiL: He's pretty good when he's out and about.
Me: That's because he sleeps in the push chair most of the time.

W takes him out more than me so perhaps I am not qualified to make this statement. Note, he is not sleeping during this conversation.

MiL: Have you got much else to do in town?
W: Both of us have got a bit of shopping to do.
MiL: We could take him if you like.
W: Really?
Mil: If it would help you get a few things done.
W: I suppose it would...
Fil: Aloysius* will be fine with us. 

A few minutes later, we kiss little J cheerio and arrange to meet them 45 minutes later after we've run some errands. As we walk in the opposite direction of our baby... 

Me: Are you OK?
W: I think so. You?
Me: Yeah, but it's strange walking along without him.
W: Very odd for me. You head off to work every day.
Me: I guess that makes me a bit more used to it. But then I've not been with you without him.
W: Yeah. I suppose we should go and run our errands?
Me: And make use of our baby-free moments.

We start by holding hands - we haven't done that in a while.

*FiL and MiL's pet name for little J.

Baby Grows

All-in-one babygrow or baby clothes?

Me: Thanks for sending me that picture of J while I was at work - it really made my day. He looks so smart in that little dungaree outfit... and the socks... very cute.
W: I thought you'd like it.
Me: I didn't think he'd grow into those clothes so quickly.
W: He's not even two months and already we're running out of 0-3 month babygrows.
Me: I see he's not wearing the outfit now.
W: There's a reason for that.
Me: Oh yeah?
W: He peed in that one.
Me: Same with the jeans we put him in at the weekend.
W: That's right. Put him in clothes and he just wees on everything.
Me: Heh!
W: He's growing up so quickly. I think he knows that Mummy wants to see her little man stay in babygrows for a little longer.
Me: Just for a bit longer eh?
W: May be forever?

Firemen are Tricky

Now I'm a Dad, I find other people's conversations about children are fascinating. On the train home the other day, I overheard two women talking about their jobs as children's facepainters.

Woman 1: Spiderman, kids love Spiderman. I get a lot of requests for that.
Woman 2: Yeah, me too. And Thomas the Tank Engine.
Woman 1: But I tell you what I find really difficult.
Woman 2: What?
Woman 1: Peppa Pig.
Woman 2: Really?
Woman 1: You've seen the character, Peppa's eyes are on the side of her face. It's really tricky. How do you do that?
Woman 2: Oh, I don't know. I'll have a think - put one eye on each side may be?

Pause, as she thinks more and then digresses

Woman 2: I had a funny one the other day.
Woman 1: What?
Woman 2: A kid came along and said 'I want to be a fireman.'
Woman 1: A fireman?
Woman 2: I know, what do you do? I mean, it's not a character. I said to his Mum, 'He wants to be a fireman. What shall I do?'
Woman 1: What did she say?
Woman 2: She said 'Make him a fireman. That's what the other facepainter did.'
Woman 1: How did they do that?
Woman 2: That's what I asked. She said 'She gave him a beard.'
Woman 1: (laughs) So if you're a fireman, you have a beard?
Woman 2: Seems so. Although when I'd finished, he didn't seem too happy.
Woman 1: Easier to do a Peppa Pig probably.
Woman 2: Yeah, I'll have to work on that one.

W and I have all this yet to come. Although we have thought that little J's bald head could be painted orange for Halloween. We'd have our very own little pumpkin.

Baby ID

All three of us went down to the local tip the other day. I strode off to dump a broken toilet. Meanwhile, W opened the back door of the car and tended to little J as he sat in his seat.

Old man: (opening the driver's door) Excuse me, you're in my car.
W: No, I don't think so
Old man: Yes, yes, this is my car.
W: Well this is my baby. Unless you've kidnapped him, I think this is my car.

The old man quickly sees his error and returns to the car beside ours (different make, different colour, different everything). He sees me as I approach. I'm totally oblivious to what's just happened.

Old man: (flustered, looking at me) I'm getting too old for this...

I smile and nod, unsure as to why I'm being addressed. I thought it was only Danny Glover who said that in the Lethal Weapon movies. Seems not. It all falls into place as W tells me the story on the way home.

The Long and Not the Short of It

We were out for a walk with little J the other day.


W: Aw, look at him in his little outfit.
Me: Very cute.
W: It's the dinosaurs that make it. And that's the bigger baby grow too; he's already out of his newborn stuff.
Me: I can't believe he takes up so much of the carrier.
W: He's a long boy.
Me: And getting longer. I'm sure he's grown a few centimetres since last week.
W: He has. His head's closer to the top of the carrier. We're going to have to get a new one before long.*
Me: He'll be patting me on the head one day.
W: Not just yet. For now he's my little baby.

*And we have, thanks to good ol' ebay.

I Don't Know How He Does It

I'm at the risk of writing too much about poo, but I just have to share this text from W today.

W: I'm going to start my own blog of unlikely places to find baby poo. Today: the baby's shoulder and the baby's elbow.

A Wonderful Moment in Time

And now, on little J's one-month birthday, a recap. The moment of birth was indescribable, but I'll try. After 24 hours and one visit to the hospital, we were finally admitted on our second visit at 2am, the morning after contractions began. 4 hours later, and with only gas and air to help, he was out.

The scene is the delivery room. Baby J emerges.

Me: Wow!
W: Ohhh!
Midwife: There we go.
Little J: Waaa! Waaa! Waaa!
Midwife: It's a little boy.
Little J: Waaa! Gulp. Waaa! 

The nurse whisks him in an arc through the air and places him on W's chest. He lies, facing me, quivering, clearly disgruntled to be out in the open.

W: (who didn't hear the nurse) A boy, yes?
Me: Yes!
W: Hello my little one.
Little J: Waaa!
Me: Hello!
W: It's all right my darling. It's all right.

Life is wonderful.

Back and Sides

I'm back at work now but missing the little fella like crazy. W and I text frequently; here's just one such exchange.

Me: How's our little soldier? 

W: Good, having a conversation with his toy elephant. 

Me: Aw! I'd like to see that... 

W: Ah, I bet there are some first times you don't mind being at work for. Today: pooing up his back AND out the side. 

Me: Literally LOL.

I think for a few moments.

Me: ...and poor you of course...

A few minutes pass and then: 

W: I was ok with it until ten seconds ago when he came up with THE SEQUEL. 

Me: Oh no!!! I'll do the changes tonight. :-)

Nappy Story

I'm in the supermarket, calling W on my mobile.

Me: OK, I'm standing in front of the nappies. There are quite a few to choose from. Active-baby, environmentally-conscious ones, (reading) stay dry the whole night through - don't they all do that?
W: It depends what fills them.
Me: True enough.
W: We need newborn ones.
Me: Yes, I know that. But he's about 4kg and these newborn ones fall into three sizes. Do I get size 1 or size 2?
W: What's the difference?
Me: Not much Size 1 is for 2 to 5kg babies and size 2 is for 3 to 6kg. How quickly is he going to grow? Size three is 4 to 7kg.
W: That last one is too big. Go for the smaller ones - that way they'll fit better. We don't want any leakages.
Me: Good point. And number? They're in packs of 27 or 54 - some have 62. Plus some are on offer and others aren't.
W: We'll need a good few judging by the last few days.
Me: Yeah, I had a two-nappy incident earlier today.
W: Go for a bigger pack.
Me: 92?
W: Yeah. Should last us about ten days at the rate we're going.
Me: Let's hope so.

It did last ten days. And to think I ever wondered at how many you get in a pack. He's already on size 2.

Squeaky Toy

Sometimes little J needs extra encouragement to fall asleep after a feed, especially when he has hiccups.

Me: (singing and rocking him at a leisurely pace) Daisy, Daisy, give me your...
J: *hic-squeak*
Me: ...an-swer do. I'm half crazy, all for...
J: *hic-squeak*
Me: (laughs) ...the love of you. It won't be a stylish marriage, I can't...
J: *hic-squeak*
Me: ...afford a carriage. But you look sweet...
J: *hic-squeak*

I slow the tune as he closes his eyes.

Me: ...upon the seat. (quieter, short pause) Of a bicycle made for two.

I look down at a peaceful baby, asleep in my arms.

J: *hic-squeak*

The Fountain of Youth

We're gazing down on a peaceful baby as he lies in his bassinet.

W: He's such a precious little thing. It's a shame that he has to grow up.
Me: Yeah, but that won't happen just yet.
W: I suppose, he is only 10 days old.
Me: And quite the little trooper.
W: (smiles) Did you have another changing incident?
Me: Uh-Huh.
W: Much?
Me: He only got my T-shirt this time.
W: Better than his own vest.
Me: I suppose you could say that his direction is improving...
W: It's a reaction to the cold air when you open the nappy.
Me: I know that, but the thing that gets me is that it doesn't happen straight away. It's almost like he waits a full minute later, when I'm in the middle of doing something else, like placing the new nappy underneath or reaching for a cotton ball...
W: ...and then he lets it go?
Me: Yeah. 

I pick J up and he starts to wake. 

W: Mummy's little rascal.
Me: He looks so calm.
W: To be honest, it looks like he's working something through.
Me: Such peacefulness means internal forces are at play.
W: Or it could just be a Pavlovian response to Daddy.
Me: Don't say that!
W: (laughs) I'm joking! He does it to me too.
Me: Glad to hear it.

All Names Have Been Changed

The arrival of J has changed the names we give to things.* Here are a few examples.

Ourselves (during most baby-related tasks)
W: (changing J) If Daddy could just hand me one of those cotton balls...
Me: Is Mummy changing little J?
W: Daddy's going to look after you in a moment. The next change will be Daddy's turn...

The Nursery (although we saw this one coming)
Me: Have you seen the wet wipes?
W: They're in the study.
Me: Where?
W: The nursery.
Me: The nursery, yes. The space formerly known as the spare room.

Flaily
W: We can't call him Flaily now he's out in the world.
Me: I agree. He's got a proper name now.
W: No more Flaily.
Me: Or El Flailerino.
W: And definitely not the Flailmeister General.

Grandparents
My Mum:  (during a phone call) I'm glad you're all doing well. I'll just put Grandad on so he can have a word.
Me: You just called Dad 'Grandad'.
Mum: Yes, I know. That's what he is.
Me: It just sounded funny at first. We've all got different names now.

*It all makes sense to us but, rest assured, I'm not changing the 'Me' and 'W' to 'Mummy' and 'Daddy' - that would be too cutesy and make the blog just a little vomit-inducing. On a deeper level, this link to the work of Saussure is a very interesting introduction to the way we understand each other through names.

Oucharama!

The little one has arrived and life as we know it has changed forever*. The story of his arrival is multi-faceted and can wait for another post**, save to say it was quicker than expected***. Here's a snippet****. 

Maternity nurse: Let's see how much he weighs.

She puts him on the scales. He's surprisingly calm.

Maternity nurse: Four point one nine kilos.
Me: What's that in old money? Is there a conversion?
Maternity nurse: No, I'm afraid not.
Me: Really?
W: We'll have to ask the Google then.

I find an online conversion website on my phone.

Me: It works out at nine pounds, four ounces.
W: Whoa! Big baby.
Me: You got him out.
W: And I have the stitches to prove it.

Later we consult a growth chart and find out that not only is his weight in the 90th percentile, but his head is in the 98th percentile. Kudos to W. Oucharama indeed.

Notes
*totally for the good, if you must ask.
**or two, or three, may be four posts. Let's see how it goes.
***pain-wise, W may not agree.
****see what I did there? A complete 360 by the next sentence. You really can't stop a Dad talking about his newborn son.

Standing Up and Sitting Down

The last days of pregnancy are taking their toll...

W: (easing down onto the sofa) If only moving about wasn't such an effort.
Me: Poor thing.
W: And then once I'm down, getting comfortable is another matter entirely.

The bump moves a little.

W: (to the bump) Yes, you're alright aren't you? (short pause) No answer. He's very comfy.
Me: It's going to be a shock to his system when he finally emerges. No wonder they cry.
W: Oh bugger, and now I need the loo.

W manoeuvres forward slightly.

W: Give me a push?

I push on W's back a little.

W: Thanks darling. Ohhh. Getting up without making an effortful noise is something else I look forward to.

I think back to the last time I stood up after a long day. Note to self, stop the grunting noise.

Birthday*

My Mum told me recently that I was due on the same date as Flaily. In the event, I actually arrived three days early. Are there any synergies in play here?

Me: Earlier this year, when we found out the due date, I thought it would be cool if we had the same birthday.
W: May be for the first couple of years, but then there'll be 18-odd years of it.
Me: Exactly, may be more. I mean, I can't begrudge it if he did arrive today but...
W: You don't want to share a cake?
Me: Does that sound mean?
W: No, it doesn't. Probably best if they are separate days.
Me: Yeah...
W: You know, if he arrived before today, I toyed with the idea of getting you a card from him, but then thought it best not to preempt things.
Me: Aww, that would have been sweet.

*Apologies to anyone out there who thought this post might mean something else!

When a Plan Comes Together

Having a birth plan is very useful. It's just one sheet of paper with a list of decisions about how we'd like the birth to go. It doesn't mean it will go that way, but it's good to have the options clear in our minds. A few weeks ago we presented the list to our midwife. As the scene starts, we're waiting near the midwife's room alongside another couple. 

Me: (breaking the ice) So, not long eh?
Woman: No, not long.
Me: And you've got your birth plan sorted?

At this point, W has pulled our sheet of A4 paper from the maternity notes. 

Woman: No, we're just going to see how it goes.
Me: Oh. (short pause) You know, a birth plan is very handy.

The woman looks blank and I wonder if my sudden advocacy for birth plans is appropriate.

Me: Of course, seeing how it goes is OK too... but it might be good to at least go over the kind of things you don't want to happen.

She nods but I don't think they've taken any of it in. Perhaps the midwife will tell them differently when it's their turn. We head to the office and, as we walk, I feel as if I'm at school and snitching on someone who hasn't done their homework.

Me: They haven't got a birth plan!
W: Mm, well, I suppose it's up to them.
Me: I guess so...
W: But the labour's going to be stressful enough without making last minute decisions on drugs and what-not.
Me: That's what I thought.
W: Just let them be. They'll find out or the midwife will tell them. Plus, you also have to remember that we really like lists.
Me: Yes, I suppose we do.

As we sit with the midwife in the office, I think back to one of my childhood heroes, Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith of the A-Team. He always loved it 'when a plan comes together'. As the midwife approves our birth plan, and even asks to take a copy of it as a good example, we feel vindicated in our efforts (especially W because she put most of it together).

The Dry Run

Earlier this week. The scene: a maternity room at the local hospital. The room is sparsley furnished. There is a bed in the corner, a rocking chair in the middle of the room and a sink and a couple of hospital waste bins along the wall. In a far corner, there's is a padded seatless chair with an arm hanging over it. From this arm hangs a knotted cloth rope. W is on the bed and I'm sitting in the rocking chair. 

Me: So this is it?
W: Well not exactly it.
Me: You alright darling?
W: Fine. Just bumped the bump. Thought I better get it checked out - they said come straight in. You alright?
Me: It's been planes, trains and automobiles to get here from work. Just a little stressed.
W: Good trial run though.
Me: I thought this could be... the time.
W: I said it was all OK on the phone.
Me: Yeah, but you know....
W: He's not going to make an appearance just because we're in the hospital.
Me: I suppose. But the bump...
W: There's a bruise but they say it'll be alright. Tough outer coating this (patting the bump). They're just going to take a blood sample.

We wait another hour for the midwife to arrive. It's all very quiet, until we hear a baby start to cry down the hall.

Me: A new one?
W: Sounds like it.
Me: Wow.
W: I know.

Pause

Me: That thing in the corner looks like an instrument of torture.
W: The birthing chair?
Me: Is that what it is?
W: I might use that when we're here for real. Although I'd like a room with a pool.
Me: Five-star accommodation no less.
W: A birthing pool. That reminds me, we still need to get the sieve.
Me: Do I need my swimming shorts?
W: If you want.
Me: Can I think about it?

The midwife arrives and W explains what happened.

Midwife: It's when you start bashing your bum by accident that you've got to start worrying. Then you know you've had too much food. The bump can take it. You've got a few more days yet.

As we're leaving.

Me: Now we know what it's like, it doesn't seem so bad.
W: Can I just remind you who's actually doing this?
Me: You know what I mean.
W: Yes, I know. Only teasing! Besides we could be back here in a week.

Yes, we really could.

Pregnant Pause

The scene: a room - in a hospital? - my surrounds are ill defined and three Dads from the NCT group sit nearby. It feels like an eternity before anyone speaks.

Me: What are we doing here?

Pause

Dad 1: We're waiting.
Me: We are? For what?

Pause 

Dad 2: You know.
Dad 3: Yes. (short pause) You know.  

There is another long pause as they all smile. Do I know? I close my eyes and think. When I look up again Dad 3 has gone. 

Me: Where did he go?

Pause

Dad 2: Mmm?
Dad 1: It was his turn.

Pause

Dad 2: Not long now. 

I think harder and then the realisation sweeps over me. I awake. 

W: Morning.
Me: Morning, darling.
W: I didn't sleep much. He's been squirming all last night.
Me: Really? Poor you.
W: Probably getting ready for his bid for freedom.
Me: (slightly panicked) Now?
W: No, not now.
Me: (calmer) Well not obviously not 'now' but soon?
W: Who knows? It's still a few days 'til the due date.
Me: I had a dream about waiting for Flaily to arrive. I was with the other Dads and they made me very nervous. It was all very Pinteresque. Shades of Beckett too.

W gives a little chuckle.

Me: I'm not very nervous as it happens. But I think it was because we all went out last night. It gives you a vibe.
W: The meeting of the 'Nervous Pregnant Dads' Association' eh?
Me: Something like that.
W: I'm not particularly nervous.
Me: No? Even when it's all happening to you?
W: I appreciate the reminder.
Me: Just pointing out the obvious really.
W: Yeah, thanks for that.

If Happy Little Bluebirds Fly...

Another interesting conversation with my hairdresser (see also A Cut Above)

Hairdresser: It's all getting so exciting and very near!
Me: Yes.
Hairdresser: Is your wife very large at the moment?
Me: The bump is pretty big but she's looking very compact.
Hairdresser: I had one woman in the other day who looked, well, basically pretty fat and it was only half way through the cut that I wondered if she was pregnant. In the end I just asked her. Bit of a relief I got it right really, because it turned out she was 27 weeks.
Me: That was a bit of luck,
Hairdresser: Well sometimes you can just tell...

Snip snip, snip snip snip...

Hairdresser: So have you got any names yet?
Me: We have some in mind.
Hairdresser: But you're not telling.
Me: Yeah.
Hairdresser: No, good on you. You wouldn't want anyone to spoil it would you?
Me: We like our list...
Hairdresser: I had a woman in here a few weeks ago - not the fat one - no, this one was called Mrs Bow. I asked her the same thing and she said she wanted to call her son Wayne.
Me: (remaining completely non-judgemental) Wayne? OK...
Hairdresser: I said you can't call it Wayne poor thing. Do you see? Wayne Bow? Waynebow? Rainbow? When he grows up it will sound like he can't pronounce his Rs. He's gonna get the piss ripped out of him something terrible.
Me: You saved the day.

At this point the assistant hairdresser interrupts 

Assistant hairdresser: Sorry, I think you better come over here. (pointing) That lady said she's burning.
Hairdresser: It can feel like that when the colour gets put in. 

They both move away slightly, but I can see them in the mirror.

Assistant hairdresser: No, I think she's actually burning.
Hairdresser: (sniffs) Oh yeah, I see what you mean... 

My haircut draws swiftly to a close at this point.

Months Become Weeks, Weeks Become Days

It's not that I don't realise how close this all is, but two very recent conversations have really brought it home. 

In the office
Pat: So how's your wife doing?
Me: Fine, bump still growing steadily and moving side to side every so often.
Pat: Yes, boys have a habit of doing that. They get all jiggly and worked up.
Me: Unless 'he' pops out and surprises us all.
Pat: I think if you saw it on the scan, it's probably what you're getting.
Me: Yes, we were all very sure.
Pat: Little chance of it changing then. So when's he due?
Me: Next month, end of the first week.
Pat: Just under 3 weeks then.
Me: If you put it like that.
Pat: 19 days.
Me: That's another interesting way of putting it.

At home, the next day
W: I think he's starting to wriggle less because he's running out of room.
Me: Can he hold on another couple of weeks?
W: Make it to September?
Me: Yes.
W: Just 11 days....
Me: When you put it like that.
W: Well, we've had full term already. (to the bump) It could any day now.
Me: But first babies are more likely to be late?
W: That's what they say. So it could be 5 weeks if he's feeling really really comfy.

And so there we are. No one really knows - it could be tomorrow, it could be a month away. Watch this space.

In My Bag I Packed...

Discussions at our NCT group revealed a plethora of things we need to have with us when we go to the hospital.We have a bag ready and waiting; deciding what to put in it is another matter...

Me: So we know what bag we're taking?
W: Yes - the handy travel bag. I've already put the essentials inside.
Me: Anything I need to bring?
W: Er....may be a change of clothes, a toothbrush.
Me: Sandwiches?
W: If you want, but they'll have vending machines.
Me: That's just coke and chocolate. I can go one better than that - the NCT lads said you can order take out from the maternity ward. I've got it sorted.
W: I see...

Pause

W: And then there's music.
Me: Eh?
W: What did you think we were going to do - sit there in silence?
Me: Perhaps we can get a baby DJ - like we had for the wedding, but for babies.
W: I'm sure there's a business plan there somewhere. Meanwhile, back on earth, I can bring the Ipod speakers. It runs on batteries; remember that we're not allowed to plug anything in?
Me: Cool, well there's certainly enough music on there for a playlist.
W: We'll need mellow music, motivational music...
Me: Two playlists then...
W: And something to bring focus.
Me: Focus?
W: To help bring him out. It'll be mainly stuff I run to at the gym.
Me: OK, three lists... Anything I need to do?
W: Buy a sieve? 
Me: A sieve? For? 
W: If it's a water birth...
Me: Yeah?
W: There are a few things that need fishing out...

Pause as I think this through

Me: Flaily?
W: No! Think again.
Me: Afterbirth?
W: I'm not going into it any more.

Pause

Me: We've got a sieve in the kitche....
W: (interrupting) We are not using that one.
Me: I'll nip out and get a new one. But you know what?
W: What?
Me: We're going to need a bigger bag.

The Rules of Engagement

When a baby moves a little lower and the head descends into the pelvic cavity, it's called engagement. To my mind, the term sounds like the birth is imminent - not at all - there's still a chance he could move out of position during the next few weeks.

Me: We just have to make sure he doesn't disengage.
W: Er... well I do. You can just watch.
Me: Watch...?
W: Me sitting forward, on the gym ball etc - letting gravity do its work. He has to know the rules. No moving into silly positions.
Me: I'm sure he'll be OK.
W: With a little encouragement.

Pause as W looks down and rubs her bump

W: (talking to the bump) A happy mummy who hasn't been through a traumatic labour is probably in a better position to give you your first feed properly. Just think about that eh?

Already we're bribing him with food...

A Little Bit of Guesswork

Having a chat at work...

Karen: We could have a guess the name competition.
Me: I'm not dropping any hints
Karen: But you've got an idea?
Me: Might have.
Colin: He's not giving anything away.
Karen: OK then, how about a guess the weight competition.
Colin: 10 pounds! All babies these days are 10 pounds.
Me: My wife will be thrilled to hear that...
Colin: It's true!
Me: I don't think so.

Pause as we talk about a few other things 

Karen: So... is W quite big now?
Me: As big as you might expect at eight months...
Colin: He's not giving anything away.
Me: Nope!

Streeeetch

 How do you know when to comment and when to keep schtum?

W: I was speaking to the midwife earlier today and asked her about my stretch marks.
Me: What did she say?
W: I told her I didn't know I had any until the other day my husband told me they were there.
Me: (sheepishly) Sorry, I thought you could see them.
W: Oh yeah, like I can see anything past the bump.
Me: I thought I was doing you a favour. It was a few weeks ago when I first noticed and I didn't think you'd want me to draw attention to them.*
W: She just said not to worry - wear them as a badge of honour.

*A classic example of digging the hole a little deeper for myself.

Gravity

At about 34 weeks, the foetus really needs to be getting into an anterior position. This essentially means thay he should be facing downwards with his face pretty much towards the spine. The other way round (face to front) is called a posterior presentation. Guess who's been paying attention in NCT classes? W went to the midwife earlier this week to get this checked out. 

Me: How'd it go?   
W: Good. Gravity's doing its thing.
Me: Great!
W: But there's still time for him to move to the other way.
Me: He won't will he?
W: I don't know! He seems to do what he wants!

Any reference to Flaily's decision-making abilities always draws my mind forward 17 years or so, when he storms out of the house shouting something like 'I can do what I want!'.

We sit and W loosens the waistband of the her maternity jeans and runs a hand across the bump.

Me: So he's 'anterior'...
W: Look at you with your fancy lingo.
Me: I remember a lot from the classes.
W: (pointing to the centre and [her] left of the bump) He's got his back down here...
Me: That's why the bump looks so firm.
W: And his legs and elbows out to the right a bit - that's why he gives me so much grief on this side. (addressing the bump) Little monster!

As if to cue, we both witness a rippling movement across the bump.

W: Yeah, see!

I place a hand on the same spot but feel nothing.

W: Well, what do you know? 'Hand of Dad' calms everything down.
Me: Cool!
W: If it works, you'll be doing the night time soothing.
Me: It was probably just a coincidence...

I'll keep you all posted on how this works out.

Slow-moving Person

We're walking to the station together.

W: I hope I'm not going to make you late.
Me: I've got plenty of time.
W: It's just that I'm slowing you down a bit.
Me: Nothing to worry about, honestly.
W: It took me 20 minutes to do this 10-minute walk yesterday.

We walk a bit further...

W: I can't even bend properly either. What happened there?
Me: Little flaily...
W: I know! It was a rhetorical question.

And into the next road...

W: But I am determined* not to waddle.
Me: Nope, still no waddling here.

*Regular readers will remember the origins of this determination. 

Ready and Waiting

The nursery is done. Our former study/second bedroom/room of stuff now has a chest of drawers, a cot and various boxes with baby things (clothes, nappies etc).

Me: So... we're done.

W smiles. I smile too.

Me: It's rather like being ready ultra early for a party - all dressed up and no one has arrived yet.
W: Kinda. Three weeks before I hit full term.
Me: I won't get the nibbles out then...
W: Eh?
Me: I was carrying on with the party analogy.
W: Oh, I see.

Pause

W: Of course he won't actually be in here until he's about 6 months.
Me: I know that.

(Inner monologue) Did I know that? Yes, of course I knew that...

W: (reading my mind) But we wouldn't want him to be affected by the paint fumes etc.
Me: Oh no, of course not.

We look around again.

W: I like this room.
Me: We've done a good job.

W smiles. I smile too.

Future Bedroom

I took today off to do a spot of decorating - namely Flaily's future bedroom. W texts me at midday to check on my progress. (We're not big on textspeak by the way.)

W: How's it going?
Me: Good, nearly done the first coat.
W: Already? That was quick.
Me: Lemon tropic goes on like a dream - beauty of the paint pod.
W: How's the yellow looking?
Me: From the hallway, it looks like the room is glowing. Like that briefcase in Pulp Fiction.
W: Are you saying there was a baby in that briefcase...
Me: What? No!
W: OK! Just saying. 

A little later, I begin the second coat and another text arrives.

W: Thinking about it, there's some other jobs that need doing... 

Later this afternoon, after the second coat, more texts.

Me: What would you like for dinner?
W: Did you get my last text?
Me: Pasta? Salad? Pizza?
W: I can send you a list of jobs...
Me: Pizza it is then.

The Incredible Likeness of Being

Sometimes I let my thoughts out into the open...

Me: So when he comes out, he's going to look like me, right?
W: He might look more like me.
Me: May be, but some things I've read suggest otherwise.
W: (concerned) What?
Me: (authorative, then confused) That babies tend to look more like their Dads because... because... cavemen once...
W: Cavemen?
Me: There was a study and everything...
W: Of cavemen?
Me: No, more recently. You wouldn't get much out of a cavemen study. Yes or no grunts possibly. Plus how do you even start the study without a front door to knock on?
W: Of course, all good studies start with a knock at the door....
Me: You know what I mean.
W: I think so...
Me: If you spend most of your time being a big gruff hunter-gatherer, you've got little downtime and need to know at a moment's notice that you're prepared to look after your offspring.
W: Cavemen... downtime...?
Me: I'm just saying that it's just one of those things.

Pause as we park that aspect of the conversation

W: I've seen your baby photos - you look a little startled.
Me: And in yours, you look a bit frowny.
W: Great, a frowny, startled baby.
Me: With hair.
W: No hair!
Me: I think that one's a wait and see...

A Cut Above

I was having my haircut the other day and, after the congratulations etc etc, we got around to talking about baby names.

Hairdresser: We had a pregnant girl here - our first staff baby since we opened - and she kept referring to her bump as Alfie.
Me: That's OK...

(internal monologue) What is it with these diminutive names as real first names? What's wrong with Alfred and then calling him Alfie as a kind of nickname? Alfie wouldn't pass the high court justice test would it? It's like calling a newborn baby Dave - although I'm sure people have done that too.

Hairdresser: After a bit, everyone here started asking her 'How's Alfie?' and joking if 'Alfie's been having a good kick today?' She got sick of it, know what I mean? Didn't like the sound of it anymore.
Me: It's quite a personal thing. I guess she shouldn't have told anyone.
Hairdresser: And so she's just called it Daniel.
Me: That's nice. I have friends with a Daniel.

(internal monologue) All rise for Sir Daniel Thing-a-ma-jig.

Me: I heard about somebody at work whose mother-in-law named the bump without any consultation with the parents. She just kept referring to it as 'Alexander'. Nice enough name but it would put you off if you hadn't chosen it yourself
Hairdresser: Some people don't think do they?
Me: Then there are people who choose names as an extension of their own dreams and wishes.
Hairdresser: Look at what David Beckham and Posh did. Harper Seven. You're not telling me that's not all about her Dad?
Me: I knew a guy at school whose middle-name was Harley Davidson.

Thinking of names and hairdressing, many independent hairdressers/barbers have thought up some 'great' names for their businesses as can be see in this flickr stream. For all those 'Allo 'Allo! fans out there, the best one I ever spotted was called 'Hair Flick'.

10-a-day

You've got to get a bargain when you see one haven't you?

W: I bought some nappies on the way home.
Me: What? We've still got two months!
W: They were on offer.
Me: OK...
W: Besides, we need to take some with us when we go into hospital.
Me: I suppose it's good to have one or two with us.
W: They come in packs of 35.
Me: They don't!
W: They do – look! (she shows me the pack)
Me: 35!
W: Yeah (smiles)
Me: 35! I thought they might in packs of six or something.
W: We could go through up to 10-a-day.
Me: Wow.

Wow...

A Trimester-by-Trimester Guide to Diplomacy

The world of compliments is fraught with danger.

1st Trimester - the usual rules of compliments don't apply
W: (lifting up t-shirt) Am I showing?
Me: No, you look fine.
W: There should be something there surely?
Me: I suppose you look a little bigger.
W: Are you saying I've put on weight?
Me: Er... no? (pause) Yes?

(my internal monologue) Help!

2nd Trimester - getting it right
W: My jeans don't fit anymore
Me: Oh no!
W: See? I look sooo big.
Me: You don't look big you look pregnant darling.

Smiles all round.

3rd Trimester - back to square one
W: I don't feel as vast as I usually do.
M: Really?

Wrong answer.

Dadscape

I went out to a restaurant the other night with the other 'pregnant Dads' (MiL's phrase) from the NCT group. We're a pleasant mix of the enthusiastic, unprepared and downright bewildered. Or so it seems... we seem to be keeping the actual level of readiness hidden behind a veil of manly indifference.

Me: So, have you got all 'the equipment' yet?
Dad 1: No, not really. You?
Me: One or two things – a pushchair and a cot.
Dad 1: That's pretty organised...
Me: (feeling smug) Yeah well...
Dad 1: Cos we've only got a Moses basket, a rocker and... er, we decorated the room with a proper border and lots of pictures for the little one.
Me: That's actually quite a lot.
Dad 1: Have you not done that yet?
Me: Well, we've made a start on the decorating... and er, booked him into a nursery for a year's time (turning to someone else) How about you? All ready to meet the challenge of fatherhood?
Dad 2: I feel like I don't know very much.
Me: I've actually been reading a book about soothing crying babies.
Dad 2: Like when they get colic, get tired or overstimulated? You can try shushing them – make them feel like they're back in the womb. White noise works too.
Me: Er, yes, that's it. Spot on.

And so on...

The Good, The Blood and The Fluffy [towels]

Our NCT class has encouraged us to think about ways the baby might be born, especially after we watched a DVD of a water birth.

Me: I'm coming to realise that the whole process of giving birth is not as clean as they show it in the movies.
W: In films, the woman's nearly always on her back for a start...
Me: There's doesn't seem to be much blood...
W: It's all over in minutes...
Me: And there's really no need for so many towels surely? Why do they always need to get more towels?
W: You've been watching too many westerns. Hot water to sterilise things and towels to... well... to mop up blood?
Me: The blood that they don't show.
W: Yeah! It could also be to wrap up the baby.
Me: Sounds sensible to me.
W: Or just to give the Dad something to do.
Me: You think I don't know where the towels are stored?
W: At home, yes. But where are they in the hospital?
Me: I haven't a clue. I'd have to go and find them..... aha!
W: You know where they're kept?
Me: Nope, but it's just a ploy isn't it? In the westerns, I mean.
W: You've got it.
Me: Well I'm staying with you. Seeing you through it. Doing all the breathing and everything.
W: Lovely.

Bump

I like posing questions to W...

Me: So what does it feel like to have a football up your sweater?
W: It's not a football! It just feels heavy.
Me: Must be strange.
W: Sometimes I don't realise it's there and then I look down...
Me: Heh!
W: ...and think 'oh yes, I remember now!'
Me: And the bump seems to be getting harder too.
W: He's doing his best to break through. This morning he had one limb wedged under my rib and was bouncing against my pelvis with abandon.
Me: Oh sweetheart... and walking about gets harder?
W: Well I haven't started waddling yet if that's what you mean
Me: Waddle? I didn't say waddle. Who said waddle? You. Do not. Waddle.
W: I like to be aware of my posture.
Me: You look lovely.

And that is the truth.

A Walk in the Park

Our 'push-chair' arrived the other day. That's what I've been calling it anyway. W prefers 'stroller', which I quite like too because it somehow makes the prospect of parenthood 'a walk in the park'. 'Pram' doesn't quite describe it and I bet no one has said 'perambulator' since the 19th century. Of course, the manufacturer has its own way of describing their product:

 

A future conversation might go something like this... 

Me: I'm just taking junior out in the infant travel solution. We're going to the park.
W: Don't you mean the 'local recreation amenity'?
Me: Yes, that's the one, and I'm going to be very careful crossing the 'vehicle access routes' as I go. In fact, I'll keep to the 'pedestrian delivery mechanisms'.
W: Enjoy your perambulations!

Inside

 As a man, I feel I should try to find out as much as I can... 

Me: So what's it feel like? All that kicking?
W: It's kinda weird.
Me: My mum said that I moved about a lot when she was having me.
W: Oh, so that's where he gets it from.
Me: Is it anything like this?

W: Yes, that's it.

Scan by Scan: part 2

I guess I should relate the story of the last scan, now more than 6 weeks ago. W was asked to have a sugary drink beforehand but Flaily decided not to co-operate. We also had a frosty reception from the new sonographer (our fault). 

Sonographer: So, have you got your notes? 
W: Oh... no... sorry... we left then on the living room table. The lady at reception said it would be OK. 
Sonographer: Well, it isn't. 
W: Sorry. 

This leaves W and me feeling like we've done our homework but not brought it into class for marking. As we're conscientous people, we are mortified and have been duly told off. Slowly, the dark space of the monitor screen is enlivened by the little one. Again, we are in awe. The sonographer checks we are OK with knowing gender if it should become apparent. 

Sonographer: Doesn't appear to be moving much - curled up and facing away from us. Did you have a sugary drink?
W: Oh yes. About 10 minutes ago.

It's true and we want her to believe us. We are not really naughty children.  

Sonographer: Might have to be star jumps in the loo for you.
W: OK...
Sonographer: Don't worry... this happens sometimes.

Flaily deigns to stretch a leg.

Sonographer: I can see the femur... but still need to measure it. And did you see that? 

We have both already caught a glimpse of something else. The world goes into slow motion and I, for one, can't quite compute the obvious, at least not into words. Even now, when I look back, I can't work out if it's because I convinced myself it would be a girl or because reality was showing me a subconscious wish. We share a glance. 

Sonographer: I don't think there's much doubt there. He's not playing ball. I'll see someone else and you can come back in about 15 minutes. Have a coffee or a coke. 

W has not been near any source of caffeine for quite some time. We head to the nearby hospital cafe where she has a chocolate pastry and her first latte for 6 months.

W: Well he wasn't afraid to show us that was he?
Me: Nope.
W: (impersonating Flaily) And if I just uncross my legs... look what I've got!
Me: It's such a cliche, but you really couldn't miss it. 

Back with the sonographer for a third time that morning, W is feeling perky to say the least. 

Sonographer: Right, we're seeing some movement now... good, I can measure the femur. 

pause 

Sonographer: Lovely, but he's still not co-operating. I need to see the heart and the face. I suggest you have something else or you'll have to come back another day. 

W: Really? 

Back outside the room, I have rushed out to get a can of coke and a Yorkie bar (with the terrible slogan 'not for girls' on the wrapper). W eats the bar, really not enjoying it. She downs the coke too. Back in the room, Flaily is finally living up to his name. 

Sonographer: That's better.

He (it's amazing how quickly you adapt to the gender-specific pronoun) has started moving. The sonographer can measure the compartments of the heart and the blood flow between them. She also checks the face for signs of cleft palate. 

We leave the hospital dazed and amazed. W is on a caffeine buzz that keeps her working past 8pm.

All in a Name

We're not going to declare our favourite names here, but there are a number of inspirational sources available. The process is summed up brilliantly by this xkcd cartoon.

Me:  I tried the random baby name shuffle at babycentre.
W: What did you get?
Me: You'll never guess...
W: Try me.
Me: (pause for effect) Titan.
W: (laughs) It's not going to pass the high court justice test is it?
Me: I can't see him calling any court to order with that name.
W: Try another...
Me: OK.... Bimb.
W: What?
Me: Bimb. It's of Hindu origin.
W: Try again.
Me: OK... one more... Bob.
W: You're kidding? Not Robert?
Me: Just plain Bob.
W: Very Blackadder.
Me: Bob!
W: Bob!
Me: Bob!
W: Bob!

The scene continues ad infinitum as we say Bob in a variety of voices.

Good Cop, Bad Cop

As Flaily's audio equipment is evolving, it sometimes gives us licence to say odd things to the bump. 

W: (after a kicking fest) Bad baby!
Me: Hey, we don't want to give him a poor idea of himself.
W: A little chastisement is fine.
Me: I'm not so sure...

Pause, I get closer to the bump.

Me: Good baby!
W: Oh great, it's going to work like that eh? Mummy's all stern and horrible and Daddy's the nice one...?
Me: May be you could say, 'Good baby'?
W: He's kicking my bladder!
Me: Well he doesn't know that...
W: Ow! He did it again. Little rotter!
Me: I quite like that.
W: You want me to say 'Little rotter' instead?
Me: You say it so nicely...
W: So telling him off with a good voice is better? This could get very confusing for the little blighter.
Me: That's a good one, use that too.

The Kick List

At 24-odd weeks, a foetus begins to become more aware of its surroundings. We're not talking full conversation or anything - he's in a womb, remember? But we've started a short list of things that shouldn't be rested on the bump or situations that Flaily is not happy with. There have been kicking protests at the following...


A cold glass of water  
W: Look, look! I rested it for a sec and he's kicking it away. 
Me: Can he feel it? 
W: May be... 
Me: I'm going to have look this up... I'll ask the Google. 

Management meetings
W: Flaily was kicking up a storm today during one my meetings... 
Me: Was he objecting to anything in particular? 
W: Perhaps just the concept of meetings? 

Pillows on W's lefthand side
W: It's got to be the righthand side for him to be happy and for me to get any sleep. 

Harry Potter and the Deathy Hallows (hardback)
W: This must not be a sign of his future feelings towards the boy wizard.
Me: He'll be OK. We'll read them all to him as bedtime stories.
W: And I really want to buy the Lego!
Me: That castle looks awesome!

The list will get longer no doubt. Watch this space.

Scan by Scan: part 1

Funny how a few months, a few moments even, can change a life. I thought it might be interesting to look back at our scan history.

8-week scan
This was an unexpected event due to spotting. I couldn't be there and the first I heard about it was through a thoroughly well-crafted e-mail from W that allayed all fears, even if W was probably worrying herself silly. One very good result was that W got hear a heartbeat and we gained a picture of... a blob.

12-week scan
Bladder full, W is on the bed and the sonographer starts rubbing gel over W's tummy. I feel like a spare part.

Sonographer: (wielding the echo transducer - that's the wandy thingy that looks like an elongated roll-on deodorant) Let's see what we can see. Have you been to the toilet in the past hour?
W: No, I'm holding it in.
Sonographer: Lovely.

She pushes the skin, hardly even a bump, from side to side with the scan wand, all the time looking up and across at the monitor. I know that my own mouth is hanging open in wonder at the glimpses of first a clear spine - a distinct, curved white shaft that emerges from the darkness - then a hand, a foot, a head, a heart... 

Sonographer: A clear picture, you certainly have been holding it in.
W: (proudly) I like to do things correctly.
Sonographer: Best one we've had all day. Sometimes people can't do it and go to the loo before they get in here.
W: What's the point of that?
Sonographer: Exactly. I have to make them come back.
Me: Yay! We're the best! (to my credit, I do not go any further and say somehting like 'Three gold stars to us')

We spend more time looking at the foetus, from the side and also in cross sections through the body from head to toe (I didn't know they could do that). Side on, he/she/it is now less clear.

Sonographer: ...keeps turning away...
W: Recalcitrant little person...
Me: I guess he doesn't want to be seen.
W: He?

I wonder where this slip comes from. In my own mind, I believe it's going to be a girl but I still try to defend my statement.

Me: You know, he's (I do it again), well, er.... got a big head. I had a big head when I was born.
W: All babies look like they have a big head in proportion to their bodies. That doesn't mean anything.

The sonographer nods in agreement and smiles.

Me: Something just made me want to say 'he'...

We are mesmerised for a few more minutes as the sonographer does the nuchal fold test. It's hard to pin down the foetus, due to movement, but eventually the nurse gets the readings she needs. 

Sonographer: Thank you. You can go to the loo now.
W: Relief. (giving me a look) He?!


Afterwards, we decide that Blob should now be called Flaily, in honour of its performance today. Welcome Flaily.

Sick Bag

We're on a pleasant trip to a country house in Hampshire. When we get there, W is feeling ill. A combination of winding roads, a large breakfast and a residual morning sickness do not bode well. Mother-in-Law (MiL) has already gone ahead at this point.

Me: How are you doing?
W: Not good.

Pause

W: Have you got something I can use?
Me: Use? Oh, I see. (searching around, I find a M&S bag in my pocket).
W: Why've you got that?
Me: Shopping, I always carry one. They make you pay 5p for that.

A veritable torrent later and we discover the bag has a few holes.

W: Great! New jeans as well.
Me: Oh dear. It seems to have caught most of it.
W: Lucky you had it.
Me: This isn't just any bag, it's an M&S bag.

I spend the next few minutes wandering around a National Trust car park with a bag of sick. There is no bin. Fortunately, closer to the stately home visitor centre, I find a small receptacle. Lifting the bag is not easy and a small dribble runs down the side of the bin. At least no one has seen me. I'm pretty chuffed that I'm relatively unperturbed. I feel this is good preparation for the baby mess ahead.

Carrying Time

The Mother-in-Law (MiL) is on holiday with us and we've been having a few (nice) conversations about future responsibilities. For example, we were on a walk and W was getting very tired...

W: I'm carrying extra weight now. Phew.
Me: You OK?
W: Yeah, I'll be fine.

Pause, we stop walking.

W: Nine months I'll be carrying this around.
Me: I know. I'll do my bit. I'll do all the carrying when it's born.
MiL: Sounds good.
Me: I reckon til about 18 months should do it.
MiL: Yes, but you've got to remember that she's doing it continuously, day and night.
Me: Oh, alright then. About... 3 years?
W: Yeah but when you carry, you're probably not going to be doing it for more than an hour at a time.
MiL: If it's going to be even, then about 8 years total should do it.
Me: Crikey!
W: (smiles)
Me: I can see why you're tired.
W: I've racked up about 4 years so far
Me: Mind you, 4 years and it'll be walking....
W: There'll be plenty of other things for you to do...
Me: I'm sure.

How Can I Help You?

We're in a large department store, looking at an expensive pushchair.

W: It's quite simple. You just press the buttons, here and here, and it releases.

I fumble for a few seconds but am surprised how quickly I get the hang of it.

Me: Cool, like a Dyson.... hey, perhaps they interlock.
W: Only if you're planning a streetcleaning service when you're pushing junior around.

Another couple approach and point at us and the pushchair we're inspecting.

Woman: How much is this?
W: Around... (mumbles)
Woman: Sorry...?
W: Five hundred pounds.
Woman: Oh... that's quite a lot.

The woman thinks for a moment. Her husband doesn't want to be in this situation.

Woman: And does this cot come with it? (she points to a cot on the floor, which is not even the same style or colour )
W: No.
Woman: What about this one?
W: No, not that one either.
Woman: And are there many in stock?
W: (pointedly) We don't work here you know.

The woman, surprised, walks away with her husband. I check my shirt for a name badge.

Swords

W and myself visit a local nursery with a view to a place for next year. We're getting in very early as most of the staff seem to think the child has already made an appearance. It's a very nice place and mid way through the visit Jan, the nursery supervisor, starts telling us about the play room we've just entered.

Jan: In this room they can learn different types of skill and fulfil several different criteria: communication, language and literacy; knowledge and understanding of the world; and personal and emotional development.
Me: It's where they play?
Jan: Yes, they learn play here.
W: 'Learn play'?
Me: Can't they just, you know, play?
Jan: Within certain boundaries and, of course, their own development.

She decides not to explain further.

Jan: And the table over there with the numbers, develops problem solving, reasoning and numeracy skills.
W: They learn to count?
Jan: We provide the resources that support one-to-one correspondences, for example, giving each teddy two cups.
Me: Very handy skill. Child! Make mine without sugar.

Everyone stares at me in my early attempt to develop 'Dad humour'.

Jan: There's also a messy play area.

We stare at a young girl gleefully spreading shaving foam across the surface of a table with the help of a nursery assistant. I start to think that growing a beard, at least until the kid is 18, might be a good idea.

Jan: Lots of the kids, bless them, make the areas their own. One little boy wanted a Roman amphitheatre - think he must have been watching Gladiator or something - so we helped make one out of an old box from the supermarket.
Me: Sounds nice.
Jan: It was. He even advised on the decoration. Then, of course, he wanted a sword.

Jan notes our shared glance of 'and you didn't see that one coming?'

Jan: Cardboard only of course. Mind you, we still had to do a risk assessment. It's important they know what they can do with it.
W: We wouldn't want a massacre.
Jan: No! (laughs) So whenever he gets it out we say 'have you done your risk assessment ? You know how to hold it?' And he says 'Yes, I've done the risk assessment'.
Me: Articulate kid.
Jan: It's important that everyone shares the rationale of consistent boundaries and maintains reasonable limits.

That's me told me then.  

We're on the waiting list.

The Eyes Have It

 We're having an idle evening on the couch. 

W: You know I'm going to get much bigger right?
Me: I'm not stupid. Of course. You're pregnant.
W: My boobs have already got a lot bigger.... all my insides are gonna get smushed up
Me: Yeah...
W: Are you listening?
Me: Yeah...
W: Concentrate
Me: I was concentrating... something gets smushed. Boobs? 

W shakes her head, opens up the laptop and starts surfing. 

W: I don't think you really appreciate what's going to happen.

W shows me this animation:

Me: Whoa!
W: Exactly.
Me: Where does it all go?
W: It just gets pushed out of the way. More trips to the toilet. More heartburn.
Me: (the words are not coming...)
W: And that's nothing compared to your eyes...
Me: Eyes?
W: Yeah, they change shape.
Me: Now you're justing having me on.
W: Look it up.
Me: I will.

An hour's surfing later in which I discover that a pregnant woman's sight can change considerably, possibly forever. Contact lense prescriptions have to change... it's a big deal...

Me: I am in awe...

Maternity Tights

We're walking to work.

W: Don't walk so fast.
Me: I'm not. This is my normal pace.
W: Well I can't catch up with you any more. The tights I bought are too big. They keep falling down.

We walk slower.

Me: You could have bought smaller ones.
W: They're special maternity tights.
Me: Really? I thought the usual ones just expanded? That's why they use them in bank robberies.
W: (A look of incredulity) What are you talking about?

We walk a bit slower.

W: I suppose I could just put my pants on over my tights like I used to do at school sometimes.
Me: Did you?
W: Like superman.
Me: Heh! Now that's funny.
W: With a skirt over the top.
Me: I know! Superman. Heh!

I giggle to myself.

Picture This

A colleague of mine is moving desks following a promotion. He is clearing things into a large cardboard box.

Me: Off to play with the big boys eh?
Colin: Yeah, right.

He starts yanking his kids' drawings off the cubicle wall.  

Colin: Look at all this stuff!
I laugh as he stares in wonderment at a round egg-like being on a crumpled sheet of paper. 'Dad' is scrawled underneath. 

Colin: You can laugh mate. This will be you in a couple of years.
Me: I suppose it will. 

I smile inwardly. I like the thought that this will happen. I will be Mr Egg. Mental note: must go to the gym a little more often.

More than a Badge

The 'Baby on Board' badge issued by London Transport is not having the desired effect.

W: Today there was a man with a spare seat in front of him on the train and he had his feet on it. I had to stand.
Me: Bastard. Didn't he see the badge?
Me: Didn't want to see the badge more like.
W: They should do Baby on Board tasers. Then you could give a shock if someone didn't get up.
Me: I think you might onto something there - write and tell Transport for London.
W: They could brand them and everything.
Me: I can see the sponsorship tie-ins now - Southern Electric... EDF... Boris, if you're listening, we have an idea.

See Transport for London for information on how to get a badge.

Maximum Capacity

A largish woman gets into a crowded lift at work.

Woman: Excuse me! Sorry! (giggle)

The lift judders slightly as she steps in. We all get under way.

Woman: (to no one in particular) I'm getting bigger. I'm really am. I think I could feel it the other day. Just floating around all over the place. Floating in space. It's like they don't know where they are. Wha-hey! Look at me! I wonder when I'm really going to feel it? I'm pregnant you know.

Everyone shares a glance after she steps out.

Clouts and Lambs

We're getting ready for work and I can't decide whether to wear a lighter jacket.

Me: What do you think? I don't need to wear my big ol' coat anymore do I?
W: It's seven degrees outside.
Me: OK, I'll keep wearing the heavy one.
W: Am I your walking barometer or something? You've got the temperature on your phone.
Me: I do? I guess I never thought to look there.

Pause, I'm thinking

Me: I guess it's like they say 'Never cast a clout, till March is out'.
W: What's a 'clout'?
Me: I don't know.

Pause

W: How about 'in like a lion, out like a lamb'?
Me: For the end of March?
W: For the whole month.
Me: A lion roars... and that suggests power, warmth, hotness...
W: I don't think 'hotness' is a word.
Me: It's early. I can't think.
W: You're telling me.
Me: I'm not sure it makes any more sense than mine. You think of a lamb, you think soft and cute. So the end of March is... cuddly?
W: No. (sigh) Calmer, with more sunshine.
Me: So I could wear a jacket and get away with it?
W: It's seven degrees outside...
Me: Yeah, I know... I checked my phone...

Sharing with the World

Last night, I told my wife that I was thinking about writing a blog.

W: Really? So what are you going to write?

Me: Er, I thought, may be, I could share with the world the trials and tribulations of a man whose wife is pregnant.

pause, no answer

Me: OK?

pause, still no answer

Me: Hey, are you OK?

longer pause, still no answer

Me: (with concern) Why are you clutching your tummy? Is everything all right?

no answer, she looks up, tears streaming down her face

Me: Oh I see. 

pause 

Me: (slightly miffed) I didn't think it was that funny.