Now I know what it's all about...

Mad as a fish

Top bloke and previously pregnant bloke Trevor and now proud owner of a gorgeous baby girl sidled up to me: "Don't worry mate. You think pregnancy makes 'em mad. Wait 'til she pops."

Uh-Oh

...and pregnant bloke will be no more

Of our NCT Gang of Six, we are now the last couple waiting to pop, with the arrival for T&T of their beautiful Lauren. The tontine sweepstake seems a distant joke and somehow irrelevant (assuming I get round to handing over the £60 that I have already spent!).

At 40 weeks plus five days, every twinge, twitch and twang is a harbinger of contractions...and pregnant bloke will be no more.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tontine

Hurry up and wait

Phew! What to expect when you go to a big, ugly hospital: to wait for a looooong time.

We called up the hospital yesterday evening, and the duty midwife asked P to come in for a check up. We arrived at around 18:00. It took around two hours to be seen - bear in mind that they were expecting us. The midwifery team appears to have no system at all apart from word-of mouth to let the duty midwife know what's happening. Lots of unsubtle pressure from several worried pregnant blokes finally produced action.

The midwife we saw was excellent (Marlene from The Seychelles), and recommended a check by the registrar. Cue a delay of more than four hours waiting for the doc. Once again, the individuals (registrar and senior registrar) were excellent, and once again they seem to have little or no system - people simply roll up and wander off, or faff about looking for missing or mislaid notes. I wonder how much time NHS staff spend simply looking for things, each other or waiting?

At about midnight, almost six hours since we turned up, the senior registrar admitted P to a ward for overnight observation. And guess what? Yup, this was the only time we had not brought the hospital bag with us. D'Oh!

Lessons to be learned: bring a book, bring the hospital bag, be prepared to wait.

The only other conclusion I draw is that the NHS is chronically lacking in management. My experience has been that the staff *never* do what they said they would do when they said they would do it. They *always* have an excuse or find someone or something to blame - and it really is a blame culture. Is the NHS the last bastion of "muddle-through management"?

At the end of all this, P was prescribed some medication, promised before noon today. At around 14:00 we gave up waiting, and the midwives gave up chasing the hospital pharmacy, asking me to call back later and come to the ward to collect it. The prescription is still nowhere to be found. What a surprise.

http://www.stgeorges.nhs.uk/

Show & Tell

One of the key stages in preparing for giving birth: P has had a 'show.' In pregnant bloke terms, the snotty bung that seals up the workings has, er, fallen out.

Put another way, it's the cork from the barrel, the toad in the hole, the finger in the dyke. Or possibly not that last one...

We're off to the hosp to have it all checked out.

Sweep

No baby yet at 40 weeks +3. If there is no sign of action, then the next stage is a 'sweep.' The midwife described giving a sweep as "basically, sticking my fingers up and fiddling about a bit." (I paraphrase here for brevity, you understand.)

Pic from the bizarrely good http://www.toonhound.com/sooty.htm, where Sweep is very much second fiddle to the more glamorous (and paradoxically much yellower) Sooty.

PS Checkout http://www.toonhound.com/aboutme.htm for toonhound's claim to fame.

Latest addition: Edward Arthur

Latest addition, Edward Arthur weighing in at 7lb 15oz (about 3.3kg in French silver), which leaves just two in the tontine: P and T. No sign of movement from either remaining mum-to-be as yet.

If I had thought of it earlier... D'oh!

Following news that number four out of six has gone into labour, we're down to just two pregnant blokes, Self and T, waiting, waiting, waiting. Recent text exchanges between the two of us:

Self to T: "News? I think we're having a teenager."

T to Self: "At least yr only a day or two late, a week+ is getting embarrassing!"

T has a much jollier turn of phrase than I (see what I mean?). If I had thought of it earlier, I could have given all the pregnant blokes blogin access to liven things up. D'oh!

Pic stolen from http://www.bodo.com/simpsons/3dhomer.htm

Curry, pineapple, sex and Scorsese

Report flooding in from other pregnant blokes T and M: "Nada here. Curry, pineapple, champagne, sex, a Scorsese thriller, vigorous gardening = nothing" and "Nothing happening this end!"

(Martin Scorsese also directed "The King of Comedy." No-one is perfect.)

It's quiet, too damned quiet...

They're dropping like flies: Molly and Neve today, to add to Luke. Three of the six in the NCT group are now babyfied, with PP, E and T to go....

It's quiet, too damned quiet... (Which should be from "The Cruel Sea," but isn't.)

I bet he has Buggers' Tufts, too.

Braxton Hicks, they are a-coming.... A friend started with BH contractions and before she knew it, out popped a baby girl.

From WikiPedia: "John Braxton Hicks (1823–August 28, 1897) was a 19th century English doctor who specialised in obstetrics. He was born in Rye, Sussex and attended Guy's Hospital Medical School from 1841. Hicks was the first physician to describe the bipolar and other methods of the version of a fetus. In 1872, he described the uterine contractions not resulting in childbirth now known as Braxton Hicks."

And how fine are his Mutton Chops? I bet he has Buggers' Tufts, too. Dang for a better photo!

Read the books, done the course, bought the kit and packed the bags

It's boring now. We've read the books, done the course, bought the kit and packed the bags. T minus three days. Or 17 days..... Aaaaagh!

Homeopathy or hospital?

Another exciting trip to the hosp, this time because the rash on her tummy is *very* raw. My big sister, ie a person who Knows Everything and has a fast internet connection, says it might be PUPPP syndrome - yessiree, a syndrome, no less. PP herself thinks it might be a reaction to drinking raspberry leaf tea, the only obvious change to her diet.

To cure the rash, the midwives recommended Piriton tablets, or calamine lotion, both of which PP refused on the grounds that she only takes homeopathic medicines, my favourite subject.

Yes, PP has been pill-popping various chalk tablets with fancy names, some of them recent additions to the intake. Even the raspberry leaf tea label has the most amazing twaddle on it.

As we approach drop day, I suspect all of this will vanish when it's a choice between stinging like buggery or gas & air...

Pic from http://www.nutrasanus.com/ - which I completely misread.

Bit of a do

Bit of a do - in the sense of a commotion, rather than cucumber sandwiches and milky tea.

PP is itching, and itchy palms and feet mean cholestasis - which is Bad. The midwife took blood for a test, which also turned out Bad. This morning was an exciting visit to the hospital, with a second blood test, and this time it turned out to be Good.

Incidentally, cholestasis is another fine example of English usage: we name something as if the naming means we understand it. Like Alzheimer's, Crone's and a host of syndromes, conditions and diseases, the name somehow makes it acceptable, knowable. Cholestasis means "gall bladder blocked," which turns out to be a description of the condition simply in hilarious faux Latin. Or is that reproba latin?

Almost an armful

Midwife again this morning, a very competent woman called Sarah, her second visit to us. She gave the baby a right old poking about, saying it has long limbs. How on earth can she tell? I can hardly tell its bonce from its bum - mind you, the same applies to me, more or less.

Curiously, she asked if PP has had itchy feet or palms, and the answer is Yes. In fact, I even wondered if PP had athlete's foot she was scratching so much! Something to do with liver function, which, even more odderer, PP had been speaking about. This prompted a vial of blood to be drawn. Almost an armful.

Itchy & Scratchy

The underside of PP's bump is itching itching itching. Aaaaaaagh! I want to scratch it now, BOY is it ANNOYING, so BY CRIKEY it must irritate her! (Should I write the letters for Readers' Digest?)

Curiouser and curiouser

Turns out that waaaaay back at the beginning, when I questioned the calculation of the due date, that there is no general agreement of average gestation.

Most people accept 40 weeks for caucasians; some medics think 41 is full term. For asian and african women, 39 weeks is more usual.

Statistically, women are more likely to have problems the longer the pregnancy continues - placenta failing, fetal distress. Most hospitals prefer to induce at 41 weeks to avoid problems, not because it is over term.

Curiouser and curiouser. Pic from The Victorian Web. http://www.victorianweb.org/ Good grief, there really is a web site for everything.

The Health Visitor Calls

Our assigned Health Visitor, Tara, pitched up today. A qualified nurse with nine years' experience on children's wards, Tara tried to explain what health visiting is, what she does, why, and the benefits. Tara is very friendly and it's good to see my taxes keeping her in employment. She was very positive about the home birth idea, and gave us lots of leaflets. Gosh.

No doubt I will sing a different tune at the first mild rash or touch of cradle cap.

I looked on the web for the Health Visitors' Association, and instead stumbled, or possibly stuttered, across http://www.stammering.org/. They even have ggggguest sssssspeakers at ccccconferences.

JJJohnny HHHammer, had a ttttterrible ssssstammer
He ccccccould hhhhhardly say a wwwwword
And so they ggggave him, mmmedicinal ccccccompound
Now he's seen, but never heard ...

Oh Yes.

Lyrics from http://homepage.ntlworld.com/gary.hart/ once again.

We'll have a shilling on the side (reprise)

After much confusion, the sweepstake is as follows:
P,T > Ea
T,T > Eb
S,K > Cl (popped!)
E,W > Kt
C,C > Tr
E,M > PP

With Cl already popped, the tontine stands at five. We are the latest due date, which I guess makes E&M the hot favourites to take the £50....

http://homepage.ntlworld.com/gary.hart/lyricsh/hill.html

Tasers in Childbirth

Tried the TENS machine. Awesome. Two AA batteries whack out enough of a jolt to make your muscles twitch uncontrollably. Think of sticking a PP3 battery on your tongue, except over an arm or leg. The sensation is not unlike a sneeze, and exactly like touching a cattle fence.

The TENS theory is that the shock encourages the body to produce endorphins, which mask the pain for the mother. In practice, especially if you set it to turbo boost (yes, except cars, everything has a turbo version), the TENS shocks raise the total sensory input so high that the body's receptors simply shut down.

Why does the heading Tasers in Childbirth spring to mind? Pic is from the excellent site, http://www.tbotech.com/advancedtaser.htm, where I discover that the Taser, too, is powered by AA batteries...

A bottle of warm Bulmers

"It's quiet, too damn quiet..." D-Day is 14 days away today, and the Any Moment Now pressure is gradually building.

At the weekend, she had a heap of girlfriends round for a baby shower, so the boys took the opportunity to visit the macramé exhibition at the local Fayre (yes, Fayre). There was a beer tent nearby, unfortunately,* and I broke the two-pint rule ie, from here on always be sober enough for a panic drive to hospital.

* Actually, a large dose of incompetence meant that we arrived after the beer tent had shut. We made do with a bottle of warm Bulmers. Nice. We sure know how to rip it up.

Nine-pounder

One of the NCT group has been told that her baby is 7lb 13oz and that at this stage babies grow by around half a pound a week. If she is two weeks overdue, it could be a nine-pounder...

That's got to sting, no?

Pic of a nine-pounder of a manly kind from http://www.toysoldiers.com.au/

Nesting instinct

Text from lovely wife: "Gone bonkers sorted kitchen cupboards bathroom cupboards but now have to lie down nesting huh."

No middle ground

T in the NCT group texts me: "Nice photo of donovan on blog! I am v excited/pissing myself, no middle ground." As he also said, with another of the NCT group having "symptoms," it's all getting very real.

(I Googled Michael Jackson for a suitable image to link along the lines of "You make me feel so real," and found http://www.beerhunter.com/ instead. The pic in this entry is the *other* Michael Jackson, beerhunter)

Our days are numbered

The first of our NCT group has popped: Luke Donovan, 7lb 13 oz, c-section two days earlier than planned. Wow! One day he's inside, next day the UK population rises by one!

And the dad? No longer a pregnant bloke. Our days are numbered. Holy Shmoly.

Pic from http://www.theunbrokencircle.co.uk/artist_profile_donovan.htm, an impressive weave-your-own-carrots website on folk music.

Knit-your-own-yogurts

During a recent visit, a midwife said that it is illegal to give birth in the UK without a midwife present. Excepting accidentally early deliveries in the backs of cabs, this puts the kibosh on knit-your-own-yogurts and ferals in the West Country wanting to pursue "freebirth." Or is it a closed shop on midwifery? And if a midwife delivers her own baby, is it legal?

And just to make it interesting

The boys have a £10 sweepstake on birth dates, last man standing takes all. Six couples, no babies yet, everything to play for...

"And just to make it interesting, we'll have a shilling on the side"... http://homepage.ntlworld.com/gary.hart/lyricsh/hill.html, and what a superb site it is too.

The Other Side

First NCT reunion outside class (should there be a site NCT-reunited.com?), which was excellent. Of six couples, one is already in hospital with a booked caesarian. The remaining five teeter at the edge of fate with but a few weeks to go.

This was our last meeting before babies arrive. As we parted, T said "See you all on the Other Side."

http://other_side.blogspot.com/ and check out http://myitc.blogspot.com/ for great random blogging and pics

Eight-word Exec Summary Birth Plan

Typed out the Birth Plan today. Executive Summary:

PP grunts and cusses
We have a baby

The full plan contains an ambitious role for me, where I deliver the baby, ID the sex and cut the cord before handing the mewling infant to its proud mother. Homeopathy, meditation, visualisation and yoga also feature high up the billing. Recent first-time parents say that the Birth Plan is a great idea, and bears no relation to reality.

As a Pregnant Bloke, I'll stick with the eight-word Exec Summary.

Breast Staatspolizei

The Breastfeeding Gestapo (Breastapo), the slang for the midwife enforcers that have no truck with bottle feeding.

It's all news to me, with an amazing number of hits on Google. My favourite hits to-date are http://cricketandcivilisation.blogspot.com/2006/11/lactivism-and-breastapo.html and http://triticumturgidum.blogspot.com/2006/04/breastapo.html purely because of the blog names. The blogs are worth a tour, too.

Breast Staatspolizei. You read it here last.

Extraordinary memory capabilities

Completed a visit to the homeopath with no casualties. Somehow I managed not to ask if she (the snake-oil saleswoman) was self-deluded or only deluding others. PP takes it deadly seriously, and if it makes her feel better, then that's all to the good.

If water possesses the extraordinary memory capabilities that are claimed by believers in homeopathy, what is their view on water being recycled from person to person umpteen times? Does water remember being peed by me as the homeopath drinks it?

Picture of a famous supporter of homeopathy; he also plans to be head of state. http://www.princeofwales.gov.uk/

Geographic feature of South Africa

Fun and games at NCT, with sessions on post-Natal depression, changing nappies, bathing baby and 'crossing the six-week shark-infested seas,' AKA Getting Over the Shock. The learning has come to a full stop, and we're into the waiting game. The weekly tally has become a count-down: 3½ weeks to go... or 5½ weeks or five days. Saints Alive!

PS Am I the only person that reads "post-Natal depression" as a geographic feature of South Africa? Pic from http://www.kzn.org.za/kzn/

Home or Away?

The Great Home or Away debate continues to rage. Statistically it is slightly safer having a baby at home - though who gives a stuff for statistics when it's your child? Odds of thousands-to-one become 50:50 when it comes to a single instance. So far, it's Home. If things go Pete Tong, we can always rush to the hospital. By crikey I'm brave.

Home or Away? Number One, please David. http://www.petetong.com/ and http://www.itsallgonepetetong.com/, by the way.

Sleep: a distant memory

Sleep is a distant memory for PP. Every two-and-a-half hours she's up, sitting or walking around, to give herself a break. Not only is she finding it disruptive, it's also boring. Her sleep is interrupted by pure discomfort, like an unpleasant stay in a hotel or a grisly camping holiday.

Me? I am sleeping like a log. Some things in life just ain't fair.

Almost in shape like a camel

Many of the books say that towards the end, as the baby's head starts to engage, kicking declines - whereas if anything it is increasing.

Sometimes we can definitely feel a pointy bit - a toe? a finger? an elbow? Impossible to say what it is or what it might look like. Almost in shape like a camel. The gyrations combine gymnastics, tai chi and Ecky Thump.

See http://website.lineone.net/~m.p/sf/hamlet.html and http://www.mevproductions.co.uk/TV/goodies.html

Elvis has not entered the building

The cot mattress has arrived. The cot sheets and blankets have arrived. The nursing chair has arrived. Booties, hats, sleepsuits and scratch mitts have arrived. The Visa bill has arrived.

The baby has not arrived. One month to go. More or less.

Going anywhere nice?

A comment from Medicine Man that deserves greater airtime: "are you taking paternity leave, and if so, are you going anywhere nice?"

Pillowtalk

Though the NHS has a bare £10,000,000,000 budget, it is wise to bring your own pillows to hospital, as there are not enough (or in some cases, any).

Not all hospitals allow you to plug items such as CD players into their mains sockets. Cheapskates.

Cellphones do not, despite the insolent notices plastering the walls, need to be banned in hospitals because of interference.

Taking Things Seriously

More baby (well, babyish) kit: a big bouncy ball for PP to sit on to ease back pain. I had suggested a space hopper, on the grounds that we'd get more use out of it (a) for later years of childhood and (b) for me. Apparently this is not Taking Things Seriously.

Illustrated is the Guffhopper - Farting Guff Space Hopper £25.00 as seen on http://www.tsthost.co.uk/catalog/index.php?cPath=45.

Maybe she has a point about not Taking Things Seriously.

Little Fat Lump

With one month to go, the Little Fat Lump is around 5lbs - which gives it a whopping 50 per cent weight gain target in the next four weeks.

(Searched for "Little Fat Lump" on Google, and came up with http://www.butch-femme.com/portal/. Oh Yes I Did.)

I am not making this up

First NHS Parenting Class this evening. In my cruel, limited middle-class way, I am expecting a very different experience when compared with the NCT.

Step one: identify the father...

Mind you, among the countless numbers of pregnancy-related books, pamphlets, leaflets and admonishments littering the house, one includes advice to new dads: it reads, "Don't have an affair."

I am not making this up, honest.

Last chance saloon

We're in the last chance saloon in terms of getting out and about. Weekends are fully booked, evening entertainment is pretty much off-limits. Birthday cards and presents have been stockpiled in advance (on the basis that I will suffer some kind of major incapacity to go shopping, clearly); all the baby clobber is in place, save a couple of John Lewis deliveries... Now we wait.

Five weeks to go... Every new Mum and Dad we know says Make the Most of It.

www.johnlewis.co.uk for everything

Where's my pipe?

This blog is full of black-and-white photos of stern-looking gentlemen. What does that tell me, I wonder?

Where's my pipe?

And she thinks she is big now!

Here's a curiosity: the measurement in centimetres that the midwife takes of the uterus matches the number of weeks' gestation. PP is 36cm right now, ie 36 weeks.

Putting aside the obvious difficulties (how did it work before metrication? if a non-pregnant woman has a 10 cm uterus is she permanently 10 weeks pregnant?), there's a satisfying cubic function at work here. Assuming the measurement is a chord on a sphere, and if we know the radius (tummy-button to spine) and the angle (around 90 degrees), it is possible to work out the weight gain between now (36cm) and 40 weeks (ie, 40cm) if her density is about 0.9 (when compared with water).

With me so far? Good.

Since my density is waaaaay above 1.0, I'm not about to attempt to work this out. The summary is: she is going to grow much, and I mean *MUCH*, bigger.

It's all to do with linear vs volumetric. As a quick glance through On being the right size by J B S Haldane will tell you, a 36 to 40 linear increase is slightly less than 10%; the same figures give a volume increase of about 23% .

And she thinks she is big now!

"On being the right size," found at http://irl.cs.ucla.edu/papers/right-size.html

More than somewhat

Eeven though I am looking ahead more than somewhat, in my experience it's best to take your opportunities when you can.

Last weekend we added to the baby-clutter... Except it was more toddler-tosh. We picked up an Edwardian high chair (read: 1950s utility furniture bashed around a bit) and a French bateau-style single bed (read: knackered old woodwormy cast-off) for the nursery. Well, I think they look super. And they'll last, provided the Death Watch Beetle hasn't reduced them to a fine powder.

Kicking more

The kicking has reached a point where we can actually identify limbs. A fist here, a foot there, followed by the odd Glasgow Kiss. Exciting stuff.

The midwife (Cathy, excellent) was able to guide us through what goes where in the womb, head down feet up shoulders back lovely boy (or girl), which helps even a lummox like me figure out that the end result is a baby.


Pic from a BBC homage page; my first photo search landed me up at http://www.womenrepublic.co.uk/entertainment/jonny_wilkinson/

You know so much that it ain't so...

Pleasingly, as the baby sinks lower and the head engages with the rim of the cervix (or pelvis or pelmet), the medical bods have a way of measuring the descent, in fifths. So as the major circumference of the head settles, it is progressively one-, two-, three- and four-fifths engaged.

Except some midwifery teams use the inverse scale: three-fifths, for example, meaning only two-fifths in the slot with three to go.

It's not so much that you know, it's that you know so much that it ain't so...

Being stitched up

If you thought male circumcision was bad, wait until you learn about episiotomies.

And what about the timing? Just at the wrong moment, the woman might be asked if she wants someone to cut the bit that glues her vagina to her rectum, to let the baby out. Even on a good day, the answer has got to be a big No. On the other hand, ripping open like a soggy paper bag is not too great either. Good grief; it's a no-win situation. Or possibly Catch-22.

Some years ago, a friend had an episiotomy on the birth of her son. After the birth as she was being stitched up, the midwife turned to her husband and asked "If it was about right." Some questions have no answers.

I found a pic of an episiotomy, and decided against including it...

Twisting by the pool

The birthing pool sounds and looks like a good option (and see blog entry on the discredited Acquatic Theory of Evolution), except PP is very anti swimming around in her own poo. The buoyancy helps, the feel of the water on skin distracts from the pain, and it can be very cooling, too. It's pretty good for the woman as well.

Joking aside, a five-month new dad friend whose daughter was born in a birthing pool said that the strangest part was seeing the baby's head poking out, not the least bit bothered.

Apparently, one of the major duties of the partner (or doula or midwife) is to fish the floaters out of the water, should there be any. Bleeeurgh.

Pic of the boys from Dire Straits when they had hair

You might end up trying this at home

The latest pain game at NCT was to stick your fingers in your mouth, and pull it sideways as hard as you could. Amid much hilarity, the conclusion was that it makes your lips sting like buggery, a suitably proximate word.

Small hole, big head. Ouch.

Entonox: a 50:50 mix of nitrous oxide and oxygen

The advantages of a home birth are becoming clearer... familiar surroundings, dedicated midwives and no rush to hospital. And another key advantage? Early supplies of entonox (gas & air).

Despite copious quantities of raspberry leaf tea laid up in preparation, no-one can predict d-day, which means the kit for home birth is delivered to the house two weeks early. Does this include a can of entonox? I think a pregnant bloke should be told.

Bringing a new person into the world

We're bringing a new person into a strange world. On my daily commute, a grand total of 15 minutes walking and ten minutes on a train, I counted 23 cctv cameras.

There were two on a church, and the next-door old people's home had three cameras: a nursery in the same street had none... That says something about trust vs technology, perhaps.

What would robbers steal from a church? Faith?

Ever felt you were back at school?

Much hilarity at the NCT class. First, we were asked to remember key points from the previous class. All I could remember was Pain, and that the NCT was against it.* Ever felt you were back at school?

We then discussed methods of pain relief, one of which was distraction. We were tempted to write football, beer and talking about cars, but thought better of it. (What wimps we are!)

More later about Swimming Pool Attendants and The Advantages of a Home Birth from the Pregnant Bloke's point of view...

* Calvin Coolidge, 30th US president and known as Silent Cal. When asked the subject of a preacher's sermon, Coolidge replied "Sin." When pushed to elaborate, Coolidge said "The preacher was against it." Read more at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calvin_Coolidge#.22Silent_Cal.22 and that's where the picture is from, too.

Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (reprise), Pre-Eclampsia (reprise) and Eleanor Bron (prise)

PP's hands are still swelling, and I wonder if this is the dreaded pre-eclampsia? The doc reckons not, as she has no protein in her pee. (We had asparagus for supper last night, which might have confused the test more than somewhat...)

Pre-eclampsia is A Bad Thing, though presumably not as bad as eclampsia itself, an affliction now obscured by its grander cousin.

Speaking of words only used as diminutives, Eleanor Bron started a campaign some time ago to encourage people to use positives, such as trepid, corrigible, defatigable and so-on. Perhaps we might start the same for pregnancy, rescuing eclampsia from prefix obscurity.

A doomed campaign? Come to think of it, whatever happened to the effable Eleanor Bron?

Billions of blue blistering barnacles

Latest news: full term is anything between 37 and 42 weeks. Another gem of surprise learned in the NCT class.

All the hoohah and excitement about counting down the 40 weeks (see early blog entries) turns out to be piffle. A baby is deemed to be full term from 37 weeks up to 42 weeks and, in practice, anywhere in the five-week window is situation normal. Or possibly snafu. (My guess is that the 37-42 spread is something like 95 per cent range, and an arithmetical bell emblazoned 'standard deviation' is ringing in the muffled distance...)

Anyway, stuff that: this numerical guesswork and ignorance means that we are between four and nine weeks away... Four??? FOUR!!! Billions of blue blistering barnacles: FOUR WEEKS!!!

Pic swiped from the very jolly http://www.angelfire.com/super2/animorphs/home.html and you can find a superb directory of curses at http://www3.sympatico.ca/brooksdr/haddock/main.htm

What about the next eighteen years?

The pace of learning about pregnancy and birth has picked up, the most significant of which is: we are nearing the *start,* not the finish.

All through this blog I realise I have become sucked into the pregnancy world. In fact, all the conception, pregnancy and hoojamaflip is not even all about the birth. It's about the consequences.

A recent-ish new dad made the point a slightly different way. If gestation took two weeks, there would be little, if any, focus on the pregnancy. It would be all about the first weeks and months of the new baby, and realisation that we were starting something.

Pregnancy is so long, that it becomes a focus in itself. Towards the end, the birth becomes a focus in itself, such as birthing plans, the right music, home or hospital and the myriad other items that fill our heads.

What about the next eighteen years?

I wonder why cots are no longer called cribs

Time to put the cot up, secondhand from my sister. Apparently her boys all gnawed the bars and rails, like caged animals. There will be an orgy of disinfection, new sheetery and general faffing before the cot is ready for Number One.

I wonder why cots are no longer called cribs. Is there a difference between the two? Perhaps The Baby Jesus now owns the monopoly on the use of the word: "No crib for a bed" © Jesus, 0-2007 All Rights Reserved.

You read it here first.

Gritty, grumpy and realistic

"This is one man's month by month story of pregnancy from a bloke's point of view. It is full of helpful tips about what to expect from conception to delivery, and covers topics such as: His feelings about impending fatherhood; Coping with his partner’s mood swings and health crises; His changing relationship with his partner; Dealing with her morning sickness and her food cravings; Ultrasounds and baby school; Understanding the baby's development; A must-have book for all prospective parents, especially fathers-to-be, written with humour, sensitivity and hard-won wisdom."

Complete with jokey cover design, it sounds awful. How about "Pregnancy from a bloke's perspective, written by a normal man more interested in wetting the baby's head than vaginal secretions."

Gritty, grumpy and realistic. A bit like 'Life on Mars.' (I was at the same school as Philip Glenister, a brilliant actor even then, as was Simon Russell Beale - same school, brighter brilliance.)

Find 'Diary of a Pregnant Dad' at http://www.gazellebookservices.co.uk/ISBN/0975168002.htm

Larger than the top of a jar of gobstoppers

Second NCT class last night, with more about pain, pain management, pain relief and pain. And did I mention pain?

Life-size drawings give you and idea: without being too indelicate, it certainly looks as if it will sting a bit. The course leader held up a plastic thingy showing the size of the normal cervix, with a central hole you could just about fit a pencil into... followed by a 10cm diameter disc, representing a fully dilated cervix. In real money, that's larger than the top of a jar of gobstoppers. And gobstopping pretty much sums it up.

The NCT classes are turning out to be quite a riot. The men trying to make suggestions other than beer, being somewhere else and general hilarity, the women listening intently and ignoring all the pain stuff.

Pregnancy is turning into reality, little by little. When I know how I feel about it, I'll start writing about it.

Pic from the excellent http://www.sweetsncandy.co.uk/

Style, class. We had it all

Oh yes, back to prams pushchairs and car seats. Like saps, we've bought into the 'travel system' concept. When I was a kid, there were no car seats. Hell, there were no seat belts. There were barely any cars on the road, and AA patrols saluted you, by crikey. I remember travelling up to Scotland sitting right at the back of a VW Combi on the engine parcel shelf, playing cards and poking our tongues out at other cars. Style, class. We had it all.

The first and last time I'll own a Daimler anything

The pram has arrived, and it's huge. Plus the car seat and base doohickey that fits into the car.

On the car seat, I particularly like the labels warning you to replace it if you have even a minor crash, on the grounds that it may longer provide the protection you need. Same warning, only in stricter tone, as you find on crash helmets. I mean, I understand that if you have polished the tarmac with your head after flying off a motorbike you might want a new bonce bin. But a baby's car seat *inside* a car *always* needs replacing? Oh Yes.

Besides, I fell off my moped, daredevil that I am, when I was 17. And then again when I was 18. Even now I can summon up the drumming sound as my head bounced along the road and the smart plastic visor was scuffed to opacity. Kept the helmet. And the visor (which probably accounted for the second accident). While my pride was dented, the moped, a Steyr Daimler Puch Maxi, was not. German engineering for you. The company now makes tanks that actually look like tanks. http://www.steyr-ssf.com/

Anyway, back to baby prams and seats. Where will we store them? Under the stairs? Behind the kitchen door? In the hall, ready for everyone to fall over and curse? (Much comic potential, come to think of it.)

We're going to need a bigger house. And that's the first and last time I'll own a Daimler anything.

Things that make you go hmmmm

The first contact list for the NCT class so we could keep in touch by email was sent to the women's email addresses only. Things that make you go hmmmm...

C&C Music Factory, http://www.ifilm.com/video/2794880 in the 1990s

Due Date - or not

My younger sister said that at one of her NCTs classes they lined the women in Due Date order, and the class leader said,

"There's only one thing you can be certain about: you won't be standing in the same order when you have all had your babies."

I think we are due last of the bunch, on 8 July, out of six in total.

Shall I Drive?

With only eight weeks to go, we are now faced with the Double Whammy: she won't drink and she can't drive.

Up to now, pregnancy had sorted out the Shall I Drive? question. Early on, PP chose not to drink alcohol. Hey Presto! We drive out for supper, she drives back because she is sober.

Now, with Tobbles occupying a good half of the driving seat, she cannot drive anyway. Bugger. We're both sober.

Pregnancy is dang hard.

What, me worry?

We have a cot, a very smart secondhandmedown from my sister. All part of the grand accumulation of STUFF ready for Number One. And of course, it needs to Be Prepared: cue a frenzy of cleaning, wiping and hosing down with Dettol.

At the back of my mind is Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, blamed on everything from foam mattresses to sleeping on the front, so disinfecting seems sensible. On the other hand, when I was born, none of these worries even existed.

Mind you, when I was born BOAC was a mighty and proud examplar of the British Empire. For years we had matching BEA and BOAC flight bags. Eat your heart out Louis Vuitton.

Making a beer belly look amateur

Satisfyingly, the somewhat obvious theory about women being maladapted to bipedalism was confirmed at the NCT class. Aided by impressively dated-looking posters, the class leader showed what happens to a woman's body during pregnancy, making a beer belly look amateur. One drawing showed the ligaments that attach the uterus to the skeleton, and, sure enough, it is attached to the spine - an ideal design when the uterus is dangling down under a quadruped's spine like a dog, and no good at all for us bipeds.

(Johnson: "Sir, a woman's preaching is like a dog's walking on his hind legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all." Which reminds me: religion.... )

Hmm, the NCT classes have really made me think. Quite an achievement. It's all become oh-so-real. Visit http://www.nct.org.uk/

There ain't no sanity clause

First NCT class tonight, from 8-10pm. General view: excellent and enjoyable. Good to meet other blokes up the duff, so to speak, and hear what they really think. Not to mention that they are a cool bunch of people. The class main messages seemed to be:

• A plan never survives first contact with the enemy, though perhaps put in a slightly more caring, sharing manner


• There is going to be pain, a great deal of pain. We used to say (when I was younger and fitter) that pain is weakness coming out of the body. I managed not to blurt that out. Phew.


• It will all be OK, despite all our fears.

We agreed to a Confidentiality Clause, though not necessarily a Sanity Clause.

Groucho: "That's in every contract, that's what you call a sanity clause."
Chico: "You can't a fool a me there ain't no sanity clause"

Pic from http://www.marx-brothers.org/ and countless other sites

Chronic back pain and the rest

Ouch! She has back pain so bad, she can hardly walk. And, guess what: I have a theory. Oh Yes.

Apart from subscribing to the totally discredited aquatic-phase theory of human evolution, I also adhere to the "we're really savages dressed in fine clothes" argument. In a nutshell, this means our heads are full of 21st-century nonsense (homeopathy, religion, algebra) while our eating, reproductive and posture habits are firmly stuck in the Bronze Age. And I don't mean cutting a dash in the Tanning Parlour.

Though we have become bipedal, women's bodies are not adapted to carrying a child when standing upright. On all fours is actually more comfortable for the mother and baby, but we have lost quadripedal motion; our legs are too long. In the case of Ms Julia Roberts, waaaaay too long.

Not exactly news, I am sure. The result? Chronic back pain and the rest. Do Darwin and Dawkins have views?

Pic from http://academy.asd20.org/kadets/lundberg/darwin/CharlesDarwinD.html by Doug Lundberg, I think. Interesting site.

After about 20 seconds you can't imagine them being called anything else!

Names advice...

The problem with names is manifold:

1 there is always someone that you know with a child of the same that you like - you just need to put that problem to bed and move on
2 at our age you will always have known someone that bugged you who has the same name as the name that your wife likes - as 1 above unless they committed some mortal sin against you
3 coming from different ethnic/cultural/language backgrounds causes a problem for boys names - I liked George, Harry, Tom etc ...my wife liked Deniz, Tagmac, Eirol and others - all of which I explained would be ammunition for that feral zone that we know as the "playground"
4 girls names for some reason pose less of a problem as I felt much more inclined towards the exotic - ayla, emine, eyasmine etc

In the end we were writing a birthday card to a friend to whom we always signed off as "love M+M" and thought why don't we have another M? Maximilian - meaning exalted leader was the only one that we really liked and didn't have too many issues in either language.

In the end you give them a name and after about 20 seconds you can't imagine them being called anything else!

This feels like the longest pregnancy in the world - how can she only be 6m?????

Ah, pubs; I remember pubs

A snatch of recent conversation:

Me: "Wotcher, Chris. In a couple of weeks' time we're meeting up in The Alexandra for a few beers and then a Ruby , pre the arrival of Number One."

Chris, a father of two: "Ah, pubs; I remember pubs."

Bedside mannerisms

Maternity ward visit this morning, led by a relaxed and friendly midwife (Eileath, I think). She started her pitch by saying something like "Welcome to the scariest place in the world." Bedside manner not her strong point.

For me, the tour was about orientation: which floor of the hospital wing, where the rooms are and the high-dependency units are, what the machines do and the permissible visiting times.

For her, it's all about the anxiety, the unknown, dealing with the emotions. Is it friendly, are the staff good, How Will It Be?

The midwife finished the tour by speaking about pain management: "You won't know what's hit you." She might work on that bedside manner a little...

Pregnancy Pee Map

Only when you need it do you realise how few places there are to pee when out and about. At nine weeks to go, peeing takes preference for her as the pressure grows.

Is there a Peeing Map of London for pregnant women? There is, bizarrely, a map called "The Way Out Tube Map" which shows you where the platform exits are in relation to the train, so you can be on your way all the faster. (The author, Douglas Rose, has also published a diagrammatic history of the London Tube map, too.)

I wonder if the Pregnancy Pee Map has mileage in it? (Cue sorry pun here, but I can't think of one!)

Sick of it

Sick today; for no reason, she's headachey and feeling off-colour. My sister said, "Well, sometimes it's just like that. You're bloated, can't move, and start to want the whole thing to be over." Just like a Chicken Dhansak, Sag Aloo, Sag Gobi, Onion Bhajia, Peshwari Nan and sweet Lassi washed down with three pints of Cobra and a two-year-old After Eight mint.

Poor bugger. As I have said before, "Thank the Lord that made me not a woman." (Apparently this is in the Bible or Talmud; ain't religion a glorious thing?)

The London Review of Breakfasts

Now that's what I call a blog: The London Review of Breakfasts, http://londonreviewofbreakfasts.blogspot.com/... and check out the names of the contributors:

AA GRILL, ARMAND CROISSANT, BERNIE TOAST, BLAKE PUDDING, BRAD WURST, BREE OSHE, CATHY LATTE, CHRIS P BACON, CORIN FLAKES, DES AYUNO, DR SIGMUND FRIED, ED BENEDICT, EGGATHA CHRISPIE, EGGMUND HILLARY, EGON TOAST, GOLDIE QUORN, GRACIE SPOON, H.P. SEUSS, HAMISH PASTRY, HASHLEY BROWN, HENRIETTA CRUMPET, HERBY BANGER, JUAN SUGAR, MABEL SYRUP, MALCOLM EGGS, MAMA LADE, MEGAN BACON, MOLLY CODDLE-DEGG, MOOSE LEE, MORCILLA BLACK, MUSTAPHA SAUSAGE, ORVA EASY, PAM AU CHOCOLAT, PAM DE MIE, PHIL ENGLISH, POPPY TARTT, REGGIE BREK, SAUL T. RASHER, SCOTT CHEIGG, TINA BEANS, TOMMY KAY, PAM CAKES AND SIAN FLAKES, VEGGIE KRAY, VITA BICKS, YOLKO ONO

I am not making this up, honest; they are. http://londonreviewofbreakfasts.blogspot.com/2005/08/reviews-by-contributor.html What a great site!

Dave and Gavs Greasy Spoon Café

Gradually I am succumbing to a woman-centric point of view. How many of my blog entries have been about proper manly things and how many about clothes, dates and life-changing emotional journeys? Well, not many, perhaps, but still too many.

Fishing. Beer. Noisy power tools. Unexpected and unexplained absences. All of these and more are rapidly fading into a future composed of nappies, aunts and goo.

And in an alarming way, I feel comfortable about this.

Time to take strong action. Beer, curry and a Greasy Spoon beckon this Bank Holiday. See Dave and Gavs Greasy Spoon Café, with the charming headline on the website (http://www.cantrell.org.uk/david/old-cruft/greaser/), "This page is hopelessly out of date." Excellent.

Fat fingers

Continuing the theme of puffed hands and swollen things, the wedding rings have had to go!

The GP mentioned at the off that he frequently has to cut rings off pregnant womens' fingers. So her engagement and wedding rings are off - and it took a fair bit of wiggling, even now, with ten weeks to go.

The pic is from http://www.hsamuel.co.uk/ as if she should be so lucky

"Honey, I ain’t got no sideways."

Just compared a sideways pic of 16 weeks with today, just over 30 weeks. Blimey. "Honey, I ain’t got no sideways."

For those of you watching in black and white

She has swollen visibly in the past couple of days. According to the medically precise literature, Tobbles is now around two pounds. Or four. Or two-thirds birthweight, which for those of you watching in black and white, is 5.3333333333333333333333333333333 lbs.

Murray Walker owes so much to Ted Lowe, both of them modern heroes. (Pic stolen from the BBC site.)