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.