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