Parents, Grandparents

At long last, had the opportunity to tell my parents - and absolutely no nerves about it at all (I still cannot figure out why it should be nervy, since they know we want children).

I was visiting my parents at tea-time with my younger sister only, which took the edge off the news a little for me - normally Priti is there. My father was pleased at the Big News; not one given to emotional outbursts or gushing in any manner, he looked satisfied. Then he grabbed another meringue. My mother was genuinely happy - though didn't tell me directly. She chatted with my younger sister while I was elsewhere, in very glowing terms. This will be their fifth grandchild, so it's not as if it will turn their world upside-down.

In a curious way - presuming everything goes well - I somehow feel I have 'made it to manhood,' in a way that other successes in life will never quite match.

Telling my sisters

My sisters were predictably overjoyed for us when we gave them the Big News. Tears, excitement and shopping plans all figured high in a whirlwind of hugs and astonished looks.

Come to think of it, the opportunity to shop (OTS?) was probably the centre of their conversations, punctuated only by questions around date and how to the handle the boy/girl uncertainty.

The partners were great: proper bloke-type comments ("Sort out your fishing dates in advance," "Get the shed sorted now, you won't have time later") all much appreciated.

According to them, there is really very little to do right now: provide food, carry things, ignore outbursts and get in as many boys nights out as possible.

And one more thing they recommend: go with the flow and say Yes to everything.

More family frolics

More family to tell the news tomorrow, my older sister... The whole business of going public worries me, because it means that if it doesn't work out (oh yes I worry about it all, I mean ALL, the time) it will somehow also be a public failure.

How vain of me.

Cravings - mint choc chip ice-cream

Now here's a perfectly good craving for you: mint choc chip ice-cream.

This was at about mid-night last night, and the good news is that she knows that by the time I have actually got anything she happens to crave, she will probably have gone off it anyway, with the result that I haven't (so far) had to go chasing around south London looking for strange foods. To-date I think the list has been pizza, chips, oranges, big Macs and chicken (she's vegetarian). The degree of difficulty depends only on the timing!

More than anything else, though, she has been anti-vegetables, switching from a very healthy organic veggie diet to coke, crisps, chocs - you name it.

It must be a boy.

PS Still can't quite come to terms with the scan pics being of *our* baby.

Pregnant Bloke: What, me worry? Yes.

The first scan, at St George's, includes a measurement of some doohickey that is a predictor of the likelihood of Down's Syndrome.

In our case, the risk is very low.

At the pre-scan briefing, we learned that most hospitals do not include this nuchal measurement, as it is called. My sister-in-law, for example, paid for an additional scan. At the briefing, the consultant said that it is worth thinking about what you will do if the predicted risk is high: carry on and opt for more accurate tests (CVS or amniocentesis), carry on without the tests, or, as the consultant put it, 'interrupt the pregnancy.'

What, me worry? Yes.

Proof, dammit!

WOW - it's real, official - there's another wriggler in the world!

The first scan was as quick, efficient and friendly as you could want.

Like, I would guess, 99 per cent of all first-time dads, everyone else's scan photos have been items of immense lack of interest on my part. Indecipherable smudges on scruffy thermal paper, with the women billing and cooing at them.

When it's your own - and you see the little bugger wriggling around on screen - the experience is totally different and *very* exciting.

It's all REAL now!

PS The new estimated delivery date is 8 July. Summer baby.

First scan

First scan today... we find out if all is ok, including the chance of it being a Down Syndrome baby and the more accurate Estimated Date of Delivery.

It seems like we have been waiting for this for ages, and I am not at all nervous right now. On the other hand, she had a looooong lie in this morning, which I always take to be a way of avoiding what the day has in store, so I guess this is pretty tough for her.

My mother said, when I was born, the only thing she wanted was for me to be healthy, and the first scan sort of highlights the healthy stuff in sharp focus.

Congratulations. Now, where's the butter?

Telling the family was a whole lot less of a hoopla than we had thought.

(We are staying with my in-laws for Christmas, so we have her father [her mother passed some years ago], and her twin sister [and husband and baby] and older sister to announce to... except we have already told her twin sister and husband, so in practice it is only her father and big sister. Doesn't make it any less nervy. And what's more, I actually *enjoy* speaking in public. Work that one out.)

Lying in bed in the morning, we were still discussing whether or not to say anything, at breakfast, as it it pre-first-scan time, and in the end stuck to the plan as Christmas is one of the few chances when we can tell people together, in person.

So after a few deep breaths at the breakfast table, we broke the news.

"Congratulations. Now, where's the butter," just about sums it up. I'm not sure if I prefer the low-key reaction or would rather have had the bells bangs lights and whistles. Adulation and applause would have been good.

Our reluctance to tell people has been all about waiting until after the first scan and confirming that everything is OK. It has been horrible keeping the secret - it somehow squashes the enjoyment - and yet now the family knows, I expect more from them.

In the end, I am glad that they know, and my worries about the baby, their reactions and all the rest of it, are pretty insignificant.

Don't take yourself so god-damn seriously!

Angels and Christmas Trees

This blog may be going off-message... My justification is that we are going to tell the family about the news on Christmas Day.


The Christmas Angel
One particular Christmas a long time ago, Santa was getting ready for the annual trip... but there were problems everywhere. Four of the elves were sick, and the trainee elves did not produce the toys fast enough to meet demands. Santa was beginning to feel stressed. Mrs Claus told him that here mother was coming for the holidays, and this stressed poor Santa even more.
When he went to harness his reindeer, he found that 2 of them were about to give birth and 3 others were nowhere to be found. More stress. Then, while he was loading the sleigh, a floorboard cracked under his weight and the toy bag fell to the ground and scattered the toys.
Frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of coffee and a shot of whisky, only to find that the sick elves' hot toddies had emptied the drinks cabinet. In his frustration, he dropped the coffee pot and it broke into hundreds of tiny pieces. He went to the broom closet and found that the mice had eaten the straw from the broom.
Just then the doorbell rang and Santa cussed on his way to the door. It was an angel with a tall beautiful evergreen. The angel said cheerfully, "Merry Christmas, Santa! Isn't it a wonderful day? I've brought you a lovely Christmas tree to celebrate with. Where would you like me to put it?"
Thus began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree.

Happy Holidays

I don't know who wrote this: not even slightly connected with babies...


I wanted to send some sort of holiday greeting, but it is so difficult in today's world to know exactly what to say without offending someone. So I met my solicitor, and on his advice I wish to say the following:

Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low stress, non addictive, gender neutral celebration of the winter holiday, practiced with the most enjoyable traditions of religious persuasion or secular practices of your choice with respect for the religious/secular persuasions and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all.

I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2007, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make our country great (not to imply that it is necessarily greater than any other country) and without regard to the race, creed, colour, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.

By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms: This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for her/himself or others and is void where prohibited by law, and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher. This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.

Disclaimer: No trees or animals were harmed in the sending of this message;however, a significant number of electrons were slightly inconvenienced.

They always look like Dad

Being peculiarly sensitive to baby news, I picked up a conversation here in the office about why babies look like their fathers...

Because the maternity is never in doubt, it is important to fathers that the paternity is clear - otherwise they may end up supporting another man's child. So the child looks like its Dad, to establish paternity.

On the other hand, would it not be better for the child to look like its mother, so that all babies might be the father's child?

Presumably both strategies have been tried (by babies, so to speak), and the paternal lookey-likey strategy works best. Richard Dawkins probably has something to say on the topic: anyone have the relevant passage from Professor D?

Life Goes On

Not exactly to do with pregnancy and babies... Thought you might appreciate a first-hand report of the Wimbledon Beekeeper's Association Honey Show and Christmas Party (I keep bees... life goes on, even when it's turning upside down!).

The WBKA Christmas Party and Honey Show was everything it promised, complete with a quiz and good-natured cries of "fix" when the Association Secretary won Best Honey award! It was great fun.

We had an unexpectedly enjoyable, truly eccentric evening. I leave you with the highlight: the Association Secretary presenting The Peter Gadge Memorial Cup. The presentation went something like this:

"Now we come to the presentation of the prestigious Peter Gadge Memorial Cup, in memory of Peter Gadge. Anyone remember Peter Gadge?" (A shuffling pause.) "Well, er, nor do I. Mr Norman Chapman, as our oldest member, do you remember Peter Gadge?"

Norman: "No, but I met his wife."

"Thank you Norman. I won't enquire. Well, moving on then, the Peter Gadge Memorial Cup is for, well, I don't exactly remember. Still, I'd like to present it, so step forward Margaret for the Gadge Cup." (A ripple of applause.) "Oh, and one more thing, I can't present it tonight, because we've lost it."

Back to the pregancy next post, I promise.

Shagged out

Sex during pregnancy? Not so far! Her boobs hurt, her belly hurts, her back hurts and she's not sleeping too well.

Correspondingly, I am having the most lurid dreams sleeping like, well, a baby. Any advances I make are firmly rebuffed.

Not that I mind. I worry about anything - anything - that might harm the pregnancy or the baby. It took us a year before she fell pregnant, and I'm buggered (probably not the best choice of word) if we'll risk anything at this stage.

And shagged out she is. By about 3pm she is utterly knackered, and all she wants to do is sleep. Not helped by going off food, retching and being unable to sleep even when she is tired.

It's not difficult for me, it must be terrible for her. And it's not like having a broken arm where she gets any sympathy from me, and in any case we have promised ourselves that we will tell no-one about that we're having a baby until the first scan.

Am at least getting the hang of the terminology: first trimester, second trimester, third trimester, bingo!

Cravings

I'll come back to this again, I am sure: cravings.

So far, she has had little by way of cravings for strange foods, and when she does, I find it hard to take seriously.

Unfortunately, being pregnant at this stage is impossible to detect from where I am (does she look pregnant? not really) and I take everything at her word - sore breasts, pains in the fanny etc.

She is a vegetarian, and suddenly wants to eat chicken. OK, a sure sign that something's up.

Scan

OK, so now I know how the scan stuff is arranged.

The doc sent a letter off to the local maternity service (at St George's Hospital) and hey presto a letter comes back to us with the details fo the first scan.

It's fairly straightforward, and the lettter, remarkably, is written in fairly clear English rather than officialese. I'm impressed. Our scan is for between Christmas and New year, in week 12 (I think, remember to count in weeks!).

We also have another letter with details of the midwifery servce with a number to call to arrange a visit.

Pretty good.

Underneath it all, I am close to panic: will the baby be OK, will we make it to full term, will she be OK... The future is RUSHING towards me.

Pregnant Bloke: Craving

We're into week six, and she's generally feeling tired. She says her stomach hurts, is permanently tired, and is mostly a grumpy bugger. Try as I might, I'm finding it hard to deal with.

Grumpy doc, grumpy dad

The doc, besides being supercilious and knowing much more than we did, confirmed the date as 10 July, and gave us a fistful of forms to complete.

Turns out that the medics say that full term is 40 weeks from the date of the last period, two weeks either side.

Translated, this means that they don't know either. It's between 38 and 42 weeks from the last period.

All I can say is I hate this. We have agreed not to tell anyone until after the first scan (how do we find out or arrange that I wonder?), which means not until Christmas.

As I see it, that means all the pain - morning sickness for her, tiredness, sudden need for food - and none of the pleasure of being able to tell people, or, really, enjoy the idea of a child on the way. Arse.

Time for the doc

First thing, it turns out, is a visit to the doc and (a) she wants me to come along and (b) she has a blood test to confirm it officially, so we can get the free prescriptions and dentistry etc.

Well, I'd never thought of all this. I kind of assumed that it was a personal thing, having a baby, but the state is in there right away.

And sure enough, it means booking time off work, because the doc appointment is at 2pm, which is a fat lot of good. And No, there is no other appointment etc etc.

In my bones, I know that I will have to get used to this... on the other hand, already I find it an imposition. How crazy is that?

Pregnant Bloke: Week One - or not

An exciting week, seeing the world with new eyes. All I can think about is how things will be...

One of the first things to emerge is that there seems to be no agreed way of defining the number of weeks for a pregnancy. What seemed to be Week One to me (ie, the first week when we knew for sure) turns out to be either Week Five or Week Three, depending on which book you read and how you count.

Broadly, most books say 42 weeks from the day after the last period (I think this is called LOP, dunno why). Some books count from day 15 after the last period, sometimes allowing 40 weeks and sometimes 42.

In our case, it looks like 12 July for the EDD (Expected Date of Delivery - oh yes, pregnancy is full of acronyms).

Bafflingly, if you count 10 weeks backwards from the LOP date (ie, 52 weeks less ten weeks = 42 weeks), you arrive at a different EDD completely.

Summer baby. Good enough for me.

Guy Fawkes

We're used to having friends and family round - often, and lots of them. For Guy Fawkes we had around 30 people, including children, and fed them with beans and baked spuds.

Big mistake.

By about 8pm, she was totally knackered. Not just tired, or feeling that she was running around for everyone - I mean absolutely flat battery.

She gets completely zonked if she doesn't watch it. The early warning signs are grumpiness and desire for food that she is too tired to do anything about.

Hard to deal with. What's this person, normally full of energy, doing crashing out at 3pm?

Keep telling myself, she's not making it up. But for God's sake, she's only one week pregnant, by my reckoning, or five weeks by the book. Can it really be this bad?

How to argue when pregnant

We hardly ever argue, and even when we do, we patch up quickly. We have both completed The Landmark Forum up to and including the Self-Expression and Leadership Program: www.landmarkeducation.com, and in general we apologise, kiss and make up.

From a standing start, she can now produce a major-league, all-out strop within seconds. One moment having people round for Guy Fawkes is a Top Idea, the next moment it's a Very Bad Plan, and will be a Disaster, will go Horribly Wrong, and was a Silly Idea. My friends smell. Who's going to cook? Naughty Bad and Wrong.

Fortunately I don't give a toss, because (a) they are coming and (b) it will be fine, it always is. In the mean time, it's fireworks.

Omerta - or purdah

It's a curious thing finding out that your wife is pregnant after a year of 'trying.'

During the year, we have come up with thousands of ways of saying Get Stuffed to the myriad questions about having children. There's a constant undertone in the questioning of 'maybe they can't' and 'perhaps something's wrong.' And now it turns out that we are having a baby, it's an even bigger pain not to be able to tell anyone until the the first scan (in about twelve weeks).

I promise never to ask another couple again whether they plan to have children, or, worse, if they are 'trying.'

We're having a baby

We're having a baby, she's pregnant. It's like a constant tape playing in my head when I walk to work. How will my life be?

Two stripes and you're...

Returning from holiday, during which practically all we had spoken about was "are we pregnant," it's been very lary scary: the answer is Yes.

Blimey.

It's a bit strange. We've been looking forward to it for ages, and now the doohickey has two stripes on it (and the more sophisticated whatchamacallit actually has a digital readout saying "Pregnant")... Well, I don't know what to think.