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.