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

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.

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?)

Pregnancy wreaks havoc on the female body

How on earth has the human population managed to reach 8 billion? "Pregnancy wreaks havoc on the female body" is from http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/in_depth/health/2000/pregnancy/default.stm How cheerful.

You can read the whole sorry farrago at http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/4121411.stm

Smell like a llama's armpit

After yesterday's jaunt around town, sure enough... she's sick and feeling knackered. At least now, though, she understands why, and the bump is really beginning to show.

Did I mention that part of the nausea makes her gag at the smell of my deodorant? I won't take it personally, since the alternative is not to use any at all and smell like a llama's armpit after my tube ride home.

http://www.fcukbuymail.com/ProductDetails.aspx?language=en-GB&ProductID=cooloffspray

Bouncing baby? Not quite

Not good at all yesterday: sick sick sick sick sick. She managed to eat half a banana (bounced), a slice of toast, half a smoothie (bounced), a tiny portion of broccoli quiche (bounced) and another half a banana (bounced).

Hmmm, a bad day today. She felt very, very tired in the morning, overslept and therefore didn't eat until late, feeling sick and upchucky. Bleeurgh. It makes me feel sick in sympathy.

Pregnant blokes, I salute you!

So many books! And this is just the stack on my end of the window-ledge! How many of them have I read so far?

On a brighter note, her morning sickness is beginning to clear up, which is a relief. I have no idea why it is called 'morning sickness.' Apparently it's more like being sea-sick; at any moment, ker-blooiee, off it goes. Women have a hard time of it; as the sickness is going, sleeping is becoming harder for her - something to do with the pelvis shifting to make room for kiddo.

We made our Top Ten for the year, and top of the list was "healthy baby." Does the will-it-be-OK fear ever go away? At birth, I guess. Several male friends with new babies have been outstanding in their offers of you-can-talk-to-me stuff. It's a rare thing to find people who can listen to your drivel and still go out for a beer with you.

Pregnant blokes, I salute you!

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Blokes-Guide-Pregnancy-Jon-Smith/dp/140190288X/sr=1-1/qid=1169557915/ref=sr_1_1/202-7962260-3967869?ie=UTF8&s=books

Welcome to the NCT

Good news yesterday - we have a place on the local NCT classes. Friends say that by far the best part is getting to meet other local parents-to-be, rather than what you (allegedly) learn. Yesterday was the first parenting class, too, at the local hospital. Suddenly being 14 weeks pregnant seems insignificant alongside women who are tight as drums at 42 weeks.

This is the fun part: we can tell people, we're learning fast, and the sickness and cravings are subsiding. And she's feeling better too.

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.