Stepping Outside The Barricades

The first time we put Tom into his cot it dwarfed him. He looked like a peanut in an empty warehouse. We filled the space with soft toys and spare blankets but still he looked lost.

Somehow, over the last year or so, despite our watching him intently he’s managed to sneak the act of growing past our eagle eyes. He’s grown stronger, sturdier, more self willed and determined. And longer.

And the cot has slowly shrunk around him. First it reduced itself from warehouse to wrestling ring – allowing Tom to charge around its railed edges in an endless game of ring o’ roses. And then it shrank further still. It became a one child pay pen. At full stretch Tom was practically touching the far edges with his toes.

And then, inexplicably, it became a pleasant prison. One he never complained about being inside – thankfully Tom has always loved his bed – but one he suddenly began to try and escape from a couple of mornings ago. The early signs were there. Tom was gearing himself up to “go over the walls” (as opposed to smuggling himself out with the laundry).

Such activity sounded the death knell for the cot. The drop down to the floor was such that Tom would be likely to suffer a broken neck or at the very least broken limbs.

Such a likelihood was simply unacceptable.

So the cot was dismantled yesterday afternoon and reconfigured into a proper bed. Tom’s first.

I must admit I felt... sad, regretful. There was something comforting about bedding Tom down in his cot each night. He was safe and secure. Contained. He could come to no harm and no harm could come to him.

He was also still my little baby boy.

Now, suddenly, I have had to re-adjust my thinking. Accept that he is no longer a baby. He is a very active, singularly determined toddler. He’s a proper little boy.

After we’d rearranged the bedroom yesterday afternoon we allowed Tom a little playtime in it. This proved to be a good move. He was very excited by the changes and his frequent squeals of “ooh look” indicated he was pleased with the new arrangements.

The test was bedtime of course. Rather sagely we managed to wear him out so that he’d be less reluctant to get out of bed and it seemed to work. He was tucked in and snuggled down. All his usual furry toys were there.

I snuck up to see him after half an hour and found him sprawled on top of the bed – the blanket kicked off as usual – sound asleep. Mission accomplished.

This morning he was up at 6.10am, running around the bedroom, dipping his little fingers into all this amazing stuff that Ben leaves lying around in the room they share. He loved it. So much so he really didn’t want to go downstairs today and only did so under duress.

So. Another developmental stage has been encountered and passed. The baby has gone. And I shall miss him dearly. But the boy that has appeared in his place more than makes up for the loss. I daresay as his confidence grows his morning wanderings will take him to the stair-gate at the top of the stairs or to the bathroom and all its myriad opportunities for mischief... I suspect I shall not get much of a lie-in for the next week or two...

But despite and perhaps because of that I feel immensely proud.

Welcome to a little bit more of the world, son.

One Foot Out Of The Nest

Karen’s maternity leave officially ends next Tuesday. After a year of being a full-time mum and house-frau she’s returning to work (part-time) with more than a little ambivalence.

Re-embracing the politics and work ethics of your place of employment is never a joyous occasion when you’ve been away for any length of time but this reunion is going to be even harder as it necessitates sending Tom – now 11 months old – to nursery 5 days a week.

I must admit Karen and I are finding the concept difficult to accept. But he’s so tiny... and so cute! He’s too lovely to be out on his own in the big bad world! Even though some parents (I won’t say quite happily) farm their kids out to nurseries from as early an age as 3 months...

It’s all been rather emotional. Tom has now had four “tester” sessions at the nursery over the last 2 weeks to help get him acclimatized to the new environment and to bond with his carer. And to be honest he’s doing ok. A few tears here and there but never for very long and he’s been relaxed enough to eat their strange food and even to nod off for a nap or two...

But despite his easy compliance Karen and I feel like we’re packing him off to Gordonstoun or abandoning him at a train station with a load of other evacuees... each gripping brown suitcases containing their favourite toy and a bottle of Calpol, wondering if the people at the farm will treat them nicely and when will they ever see their dear old mum and dad again?

Tom is developing quite a taste for Vera Lynn.

At the end of the day though Tom seems to be taking it all in his stride. I guess kids are very adaptable. It’s Karen and me who are taking it the hardest. Letting him go. Watching him stumble a few branches away from the nest before we snatch him back into the safety of our arms once more.

Growing up is so difficult. Certainly as a participant but definitely as a spectator...

Faces

Tom is now just over 10 months old and everybody who sees him says exactly the same thing.

My God, but he looks so like Karen.

Then as an after thought they look me up and down, frown a bit and add apologetically, oh but we can see a bit of you in him as well.

I’m actually becoming grateful for this small concession.

However, a recent visit to my granddad last week brought Karen into contact with some very old photographs of yours truly as a baby. There’s a particular one of me and my sister (also confusingly called Karen) when we were both wee toddlers, obviously taken in a photographer’s studio, where I’m holding a rubber duck with the kind of passion that only an 2 year old muster.

Tom and I could be identical twins. The likeness is uncanny. My first thought was to show this photograph to everybody obliquely mentioned above accompanied by the words: see, I did make a major contribution to the genetic make-up of this child!

My second thought was if everybody thinks Tom looks like Karen but he also looks the spit of me as a child... is the theory that people fall in love with partners who look most like them true?

I mean there are similarities between Karen and me but I don’t think they’re blazingly obvious... though Karen has commented before that we have many likenesses...

Is this true of everybody though?

Is there something secretly narcissistic going on that I don’t know about?

If there is I may have to stop dressing up in Karen’s clothes...

Sleep Training

A slight pause from the scintillating TV reviews and time to dip my toes once again into the ever present waters of domesticity...

Karen and I are both gritty eyed this morning – so much so if there’d been a frost last night we could have cleared the roads this morning just by looking at them.

Tom woke at 3 am and then 5 am and then stayed awake, screaming for a full hour until I eventually gave in and took him downstairs. We’re desperately trying to dissuade him from waking twice in the night so, although he got fed at 3, he got nada at 5. A nappy change and words of comfort didn’t help at all. Not one iota. He’s a very determined, very focused little boy.

Training a baby to sleep through the night is surprisingly tough. We want to break one habit without kick-starting another hence although he gets a hug it’s kept to a minimum... we don’t want him screaming the place down in the middle of the night for the next 3 months just because he wants some social interaction. It’s difficult letting him cry though. It’s impossible not to feel mean – though as soon as he was picked up he was full of beaming smiles and giggles. Little tyke.

There’s something about a baby’s scream in the small hours that does something to your brain. It’s like having your frontal lobes lanced with a light sabre. A big purple one like Mace Windu’s. I have to say (almost with a sense of pride) that Tom’s lungs have an awe inspiring capacity. People in the street – were there any at that time in the morning and in the gales that were buffeting the little cul-de-sacs of Little Whinging – would have thought that foulest murder was being committed in our house. I’m sure that blue whales out in the Pacific were picking up Tom’s cries and were whistling back for him to be quiet! He even out-galed the gale.

Bless him.

Anyway, it’s ironic that sleep training at the moment seems to mean that nobody gets any sleep at all. All of us are looking sandy eyed and rather “blurgh” this morning – even Tom.

It’s nice to know he so much wants to be part of the family...!

School Play

Karen and I went to see Ben in his school play yesterday afternoon armed like every other parent there with camera/video recorder/Dictaphone/iPod/mobile phone and every other piece of hi-tech gadgetry ever invented.

There were so many lenses and LEDs flying about the place that Steven Spielburg would have creamed his little furry boxers.

We took Tom along with us though he took little interest in the performance, preferring to sleep snuggled up in his car seat on the floor at our feet. Call it charisma, call it charm, call it innate acting ability but Tom’s afternoon nap commanded a fair bit of the audience’s attention... at least in the part where we were sitting.

The school play however was squeakily superb. Lots of cute lines delivered with volume and enthusiasm (but no feeling or understanding) and I’m proud to say that Ben’s delivery was the loudest of all. He was playing a transformer toy newly delivered by the tiniest Father Christmas I’ve ever seen and though he had but one line he gave it his all. Full lung capacity.

I’m not joking - I saw the first two rows of the audience visibly recoil and the stage shudder slightly as the air above it was warped by the sound waves. The headmaster was seen to exit the hall with blood pouring from his ears. Even Tom stirred a little in his sleep.

That’s my boy.

A star is born. The roof had been raised (literally – three cracked rafters and 17 missing slates, last seen flying towards Birmingham on a supersonic jet stream).

Mark my words; it’ll be RADA when he’s older.

Either that or a job as a town crier.

Generations

Last week Karen and I were finally able to take Tom up to meet his great granddad. As some of you will know my granddad has been recovering from a recent spell of C Diff which had delayed the meeting for a good few weeks until everyone was sure my granddad was fully recovered.

Last Wednesday the two generations finally met. It was very emotional and my granddad had a good cry as he held Tom in his arms. Due to Macular Degeneration my granddad’s eyesight is virtually non existent but although he was unable to see Tom clearly he could at least hold him and we in turn got plenty of photographs of the momentous occasion.

My granddad now feels more at peace and quietly told me that now he’s held his great grandson he’s quite happy to “toddle off” and join my grandmother in the afterlife. There’s not a lot one can say to that – he’s been deeply unhappy since she died – but I did say I hoped he’d stick around for a little while longer. Maybe until Tom’s eighteenth birthday party so he can buy Tom his first drink.

At 87 that’s highly unlikely but you never know. Some people respond well to a bit of gentle prodding...

Dropping The Baby

Not a nice experience over the weekend: 5am Saturday morning and so tired that one handle of Tom’s Moses basket slipped completely out of my hand before I could stop it...

The result was that Tom was ejected to the floor in a manner that he really didn’t like at all and Karen and I had our hearts in our mouths for a good hour afterwards. Thankfully we were very lucky. We tend to carry the basket low to the floor anyway so as it was Tom didn’t suffer any kind of drop – he basically was just rolled sideways out of the basket and onto his back on the carpet.

He certainly cried about it but it was mostly shock and surprise and was soon smiling, cooing and feeding again as normal.

I, however, felt awful – really shitty – and just had to hold Tom close to me for a while to make sure he was ok, followed by Karen doing the same. Instinctive reaction I guess.

We both know that such accidents are actually quite commonplace – all of my friends with babies have experienced such incidents at one time or another – but it’s unpalatable when it happens to you.

The only good thing about it is that it’s made us be extra careful when manoeuvring Tom around in his basket since then... especially in the small hours of the morning.

On a lighter note Tom is displaying a definite sense of humour – loads of laughs and bubbly giggles – and a definite interest in the world around him. He also likes having his face stroked.

Just like his old man!

Baby Grow

Tom in now a little over 6 weeks old – it’s hard to believe! In some ways the time has flown by and in others it feels like Tom has always been with us. That last is a really nice feeling. He was weighed again on Tuesday and is now a hefty 10lb 2oz. He’s putting on the beef nicely and is turning into a lovely chubby little baby.

He’s also started smiling properly too – smiling in recognition of Karen and myself and in response to happy tones of voice. All signs that he’s developing as he should.

My only regret at the moment is that we’ve still not been able to take him to visit my granddad. Shortly before Tom was born my granddad was admitted into hospital with an infection which turned out to be C. Diff. He ended up being kept in for 4 weeks and Karen and I were advised by the doctors to stay well away to prevent any chance of the infection spreading to Tom. It can be fatal in adults let alone in new born babies.

He’s been home now for 2 weeks and frustratingly the official medical advice is still to keep Tom away – my granddad is still complaining of feeling ill and has stomach problems. It’s quite heartbreaking to keep him and Tom apart but Karen and I daren’t risk doing anything else.

I spoke to my doctor about it yesterday and she at least said it would be safe for me to visit him provided we kept physical contact at a minimum so all being well I’m going to nip out to see him during my lunchbreak today. But as for Tom she thought he’d probably be safe but it was best not to risk it. What my granddad needs to do is inform his own doctor of his ongoing problems and get himself tested.

Persuading him to do that is going to be easier said that done, however, as he’s terrified that they’ll take him back into hospital. And I really sympathise with that but I guess the crunch is if he wants to see Tom then he needs to ensure that he’s totally C. Diff free.

I just hope I can get that across to him without hurting his feelings...

Colic

I’m pleased to report that baby Tom continues to thrive – his veritable life of Riley only spoilt by the advent of colic whose wearing effects we are all resigned to enduring for the next 3 months or so. After this point the health visitor assures us that the colic should disappear and we might be lucky enough to have a small period of peace and baby prosperity before the teething cycle begins...

Oh joy.

To be fair – aside from the one hugely troublesome feed when the colic appears to be at its worst (which seems to hit Tom in the early evening on a daily basis) – the lad is doing well. He’s a real guzzler and is hitting his ideal birth weight target regularly. 9lb something when he was last weighed on Tuesday. I know I should have the exact amount indelibly pressed into the soft putty of my mind but I’m a bloke and we don’t record such things in this way... if at all.

Karen and I are shattered. Whoever said looking after a baby was bloody hard work was under-exaggerating. Having had the day off on Monday to give Karen a break I’m not sure which is more tiring: staying at home looking after Tom all day or going to work and then coming home to help out with the evening feeds.

I confess I’m a wuss but am I enjoying it? Weirdly – yes. Even during the darkest hours of baby-care fatigue the thought is always in my mind to make the most of it as Tom is growing so quickly that all this will soon be mere memory. He’s gone from being almost lost in the bottom of his Moses basket to nearly three-quarters filling it already.

He’s getting quite chunky which is very satisfying to see. A “swollen angel”, in fact, to quote David Sylvian...

With a hunger cry that can drown out any other earthly noise in a 12 mile radius.

Town Cryer or opera singer may both be options for him later in life...

Me, I’m looking into somnambulism...

Grindstone Cowboy

Well, the grindstone is busy turning and my nose is back pressed up against it. It’s so good to be back at work.

Not.

Actually, I’m being very fair. It really isn’t too bad and I suppose in some ways it’s been nice to touch base with the real world once again (touch base? I had, I admit, a sudden impulse to type “touch cloth” there). And my return to work was less of a tribulation than I’d expected.

Everybody wanted to hear all about Tom and my new experiences of fatherhood and it was nice to relive the last two or three weeks conversationally amid the shadow of the mountain of detritus that covered my work desk. An internal lifeline keeping my head steady against the influx of the terminally tedious.

Now, four days into the working week, the mountain has been levelled and I’m re-acclimatized once more to the endless drone of the local authority work regime.

Leaky roofs... Blocked toilets... Customer complaints.

I’m ensconced upon my white charger and comin’ to get yer.

Yee-ha.

Paternity

It’s hard to believe that I am now three quarters of the way through my paternity leave. The thought of returning to work on Monday is something of a sour one to say the least. It’s been nice to cast of the weights of roof leaks, toilet blockages and council demands and instead concentrate on leaks, blockages and demands of another sort.

I little imagined how enjoyable it would be to have a baby around the house. Sure it’s tiring but as Karen pointed out: you know you love them when they howl their lungs out in the middle of the night and you still think they’re adorable.

Talking of Tom: he’s feeding (and pooing well) and when the mid-wife visits today we’re hoping she’ll confirm what we already suspect – that he’s exceeded his birth weight. He’s certainly looking a very healthy little chappie. Long may it continue. He’s got a really cute smile as well though it’s a bit disappointing to realize that it’s only wind at this stage. But hey – maybe that explains the similar reaction I get from most people?

The last two weeks have been a pleasant blur. It’s felt like Christmas in an odd kind of way. With Ben on half term we’re all home and it’s been really great to spend so much time together as a family. Somehow we’ve settled down to a very relaxed, easy going routine where nothing much seems to happen and yet the days seem stretched and full.

Little of import has occurred and really that’s the greatest pleasure in itself.

In fact the only really exciting thing that has occurred in the last few days was the appearance of half a mouse in the garden. I kid you not. I woke up yesterday and spotted the hindquarters of a mouse lying beneath one of the garden chairs. Yuck. Not an appetizing thought when one is preparing breakfast. Butty as I christened him was gone when I got up this morning, however, so I can only assume that some enterprising moggie snaffled the rest of him in the night.

Let’s face it; he wasn’t going to attempt much of an escape...

So this is the world that Tom has found himself born into. A world of mysterious half mice and father’s who will return to work with a heavy heart.

I wish I could think of something deep and meaningful to say at this point but to be honest I’m far too content to ponder such things…

Result!

Normal Life

It’s hard to believe that Tom is now a whole 8 days old! All that build-up to the birth – 9 long months of waiting and wondering and worrying – and suddenly it’s all ancient history. Over and done with. Water under the bridge, etc.

Only it isn’t over and done with, of course. In every respect it’s all just beginning. The worries haven’t stopped – they’re just taking different shapes and forms but they’re still there and still as piquant. Is he pooing enough? Is he pooing too much? Is he eating enough? Is he comfortable? Is he putting on enough weight? Does he like me?

From what I’ve heard from friends this constant parental paranoia is all perfectly normal. And regarding the last question above he certainly seems very content to have me feed him or change his nappy. Now that’s got to be a huge badge of acceptance in anybody’s book.

But the other worries still persist daily though they seem quite trivial in the cold light of this blog.

I can recall my mother telling me that when you have kids you never ever stop worrying about them… even when they’re grown up and are living their own lives far away from yours. You worry forever. Are they happy? Are they healthy? Are they pooing enough?

This is normal life.

And you know what? Above, beyond and behind it all… it’s undeniably good.

Home

It's been an incredibly busy week in the Herrick-Blake household and we're all pretty shattered. However, it's lovely to have everyone home.

Karen and Tom were allowed to leave the hospital on Friday afternoon and since then we've been acclimatizing Tom to his new surroundings. He was a little freaked out at first - I guess he'd got used to his life on the hospital ward and suddenly everything was different: new sounds (a lot quieter), new smells, new sights. He was quite fractious Friday night but since then has been a lot more calm and settled.

I must admit I never thought I'd be one to go "all soppy" but quite honestly I can sit and look at him for hours and love holding him. Every facial expression is a delight and that goes for every sneeze, gurgle and poo too - the latter seeming to be very hard work for him at the moment!

Anyway, I hereby promise not to let this blog turn into a one-track paean to babyhood and baby rearing - I know such things are not everybody's cup of tea - but please do forgive me if I occasionally lapse into baby-centric rhapsody every now and then...

I'm totally in love!

One From The Ward...

...well not quite!

Baby Thomas Arthur (or Arthur Thomas as we are now vacillating over the name...) was successfully brought forth into the world at 10.41 this morning: 7lb 3.5 oz and as cute as a button.

He had a good feed and then settled down to sleep for much of the afternoon.

Karen is doing well though is incredibly sore and tired and the edge has been taken off her senses by various painkillers.

We're both, however, incredibly happy.

The whole thing happened so unbelievably quickly I still can't get over it. I won't yabber too much about it here right now as I am shattered and need to get Ben sorted out foodwise... just wanted to thank you all, my lovely blog readers, for your warm wishes and support over the last few months. Both Karen and I have really appreciated it and it has made such a huge difference.

Photos will, I promise, follow shortly...

The Day Before

And so we come down to it...

I’m not quite at the panic attack stage yet but I’m definitely experiencing that all pervading ambience known as The Fear. Butterflies, lack of concentration, inexplicable bouts of innumeracy, language failure, lots of trips to the toilet and a general desire to be at home embellishing the nest ready for the baby’s imminent arrival

Karen is the same. Huge excitement mixed with huge anxiety. It’s like looking forward to Christmas but knowing you have to sit a difficult exam at midday. In a word: the collywobbles.

And everything feels somehow different already. The sun brighter. The sky bluer. My stock of clichés larger.

Anyway, I’m currently at work tying up the loose ends and making sure the old place doesn’t fall apart in my absence. Once I’m home this evening work life will officially cease for the duration. Our boy, Ben, is going for a “sleep over” at a friend’s house and, all being well, will join us at the hospital tomorrow afternoon. Karen and I, meanwhile, will prepare ourselves for tomorrow morning. We have to be at the hospital for 8am. I have no other details than that. It could be a very short wait or a very long one.

To re-fashion a well known saying: I could catch a 12 pound trout with my breath...

Pipped At The Post

No, not news of Tom's early arrival but something even more miraculous...

Mr CM has actually paid up! He left a voice message on my mobile phone while I was at Uni (excellent session by the way - think I'm really going to enjoy this course) to say he'd just put the cheque through my letterbox.

And sure enough when I arrived home there it was. The full amount, signed by his own (un)fair hand.

My gob is well and truly smacked. I didn't think this day would ever arrive.

I shall be rushing urgently to the bank tomorrow morning to get it paid in before it turns into a puff of pink smoke blasted from a goofy pixie's bottom pipe. Ker-ching!

Countdown

No, not a paean to twice-nightly Richard Whitely (alas – I’ll save that for another day) but a notification to all interested parties that baby Tom’s arrival is now a mere 7 days away.

The cot bed is ready. The pram is ready. Sleepover arrangements for Son No. 1 are set up and code green. Karen’s hospital bag (complete with food goodies to supplement the hospital slop) is all but zipped up and ready to go. The boy’s school has been notified. Work colleagues are primed. The family are on tenterhooks. The hospital is on permanent and ever-ready standby...

But I don’t feel prepared at all.

It’s weird. It’s not like I’m unaware of what is about to happen (hey, for a guy that’s a big thing) it’s just that I can’t seem to make it feel real. Life at the moment is carrying on much as it always has and all seems perfectly normal. I can’t imagine how things are going to look and feel next week with our family increased to 4 at all.

As this is Karen’s second I guess she has a better idea of what to expect but me – I’m blissfully ignorant. I guess it’s going to be something of an adventure... one that’s going to last a lifetime. But hey – what other kind is there?

I must admit though I’ll be glad when the hospital bit is over – to have Karen and Tom and the boy all safely home again with our feet resting on a big pile of dirty nappies, necking down a cup of tea and wondering if we’ll ever sleep through the night again. That seems a long way off at the moment.

In the interim I’m back at Uni this week – tomorrow in fact: Poetry In English Since 1945. A little bit more up my street after the interminable ravages of the 18th Century novel last term. And a countdown of a different sort is also occurring. The promised money from the untrustworthy Mr CM has until Friday to arrive. Still no sign of it.

My money’s on Tom arriving first...

Rough

Apologies for the delay in posting - for some reason Blogger has been experiencing one or two technical problems and as a result I've been unable to publish sweet FA since the weekend.

Below is the post that I've been trying to publish since Monday morning...

It’s been something of a rough few days.

Karen and I had to head over to the hospital Sunday evening as baby Tom was unusually quiet – enough to get us both quite worried. As soon as we arrived Karen was wired up to a scanning machine for 20 minutes and I’m relieved to say that all proved to be well. Not only that but there are early indications that Tom might try and pre-empt the date set for his Caesarean (9th October)...

We no sooner arrived back home than I found a telephone message from my mother reporting that my granddad had suffered a fall – a result of a high fever and an ulcerated leg – and had been admitted into the very hospital that Karen and I had just come back from! He had a comfortable night but unfortunately took a turn slightly for the worst yesterday. He's reacted against the anti-biotics they've pumped him full of and is now suffering from diarrhoea and an infection.

There was utterly no communication from Mr CM over the entire weekend. To tell you the truth it was no more than I expected and I’d had an email to him drafted up since Saturday morning informing him of my intention to take him to the Small Claims Court if I didn’t receive full payment in 7 days. I was then going to add the court costs onto the amount owing...

As it was, I received a telephone call from him yesterday at the 11th hour - a much more polite and "hey buddy" type of call than Friday's frosty dialogue - and he appeared to completely capitulate. He's asked me to divide the invoice into two separate ones and send a copy of one to himself and the other to his business partner (they're splitting the cost 50/50) and they'll see that I'm paid within the next 7 days.

Hmm. I'm not getting my hopes up too much but my instincts are that my strong stance on Friday may have moved the mountain... I'll wait and see. I've kept a copy of the draft email just in case. It may yet get an airing!

Talking of ignorant and annoying people – I never did hear anything more from the hack from the London Standard so can only assume that the piece I wrote about Nigella was either never used or was used but they couldn’t be arsed to tell me or send me a copy. Either way I’m pretty cheesed off though more disappointed with the lack of manners than the lack of publishing credit.

But as I’ve been feeling as rough as a badger’s arse for the last two days anyway I’ve consoled myself with a couple of sick days off work and have been recuperating by reading, watching TV and generally bumbling around the house in a warm and comfortable fugue… It’s actually been quite blissful.

Doctor Yes Mister No

I’ve had the day off work today to accompany Karen to the hospital for a final scan of baby Thomas. I’m pleased to report that both mother and baby are progressing well and all is on target for Tom’s emergence on October 9th via caesarean section. If it’s good enough for an emperor of Rome it’s good enough for us…

The two-week limit I set my non-paying web client is now up and Mr Chauffeur Man still hasn’t coughed up the dough he owes me. Cue a short but civil email to him this morning that can best be described as “tart”.

Unless his business account is lodged with Northern Rock I’ve requested that the invoice be settled by Friday…

After that the gloves are off.

Grumbles

I’m feeling very out of sorts today. Too much stress and pressure being the major contributors.

I seem to have landed myself and my web design business with a couple of real a-hole clients. I won’t go into detail other than to say they are some of the most ignorant, feckless, arrogant, down-right rude people I have ever had to deal with.

I’m now at the stage where I’ve decided that the extra money their work generates just isn’t worth the hassle and trauma that inevitably comes with it. The whole idea of working for myself was to get away from working for idiots.

Anyway, though I could potentially be committing financial suicide (well, not quite – I still have my day job) I’ve decided to give these troublesome clients 2 month’s notice before I withdraw my services. I need and want to spend more time with my family – especially Karen who’s undergoing a very exhausting pregnancy.

The loss of earnings will be painful. But already I feel so much happier in myself, it’s unbelievable.

I’m counting down the days already.

Odds Bodkins

Forgive the lack of cohesion on this post today but it amply reflects how my mind is not working. Mid-week fatigue. Ah. Dontcha just love it.

So to catch up and round down:

The pregnancy continues well in itself though it’s triggering Karen’s latent IBS. This means she’s in pain when she eats, in pain if she doesn’t and can’t ever guarantee a good night’s sleep... hence she’s permanently exhausted. Thankfully her bosses have agreed to let her reduce her hours: she no longer has to work Friday’s. This has made the working week a lot more manageable for her.

The novel continues apace: I shall post another excerpt soon. I’m sure you can all contain yourselves in the meantime.

And lastly, I was sent a link to the Simpson’s movie site (http://www.simpsonsmovie.com/main.html). It’s great – you can make your own Simpson’s cartoon character/avatar. Mine is above. Apart from a few minor discrepancies it looks a lot like me. On a bad day. Or even a good one. He’ll be the one miserably reading a poetry book and sipping a double whisky at the back of Moe’s Bar.

Hey dudes, eat my short.

It’s A Boy. Probably.

Karen and I went for the 20 week scan at the hospital yesterday… or rather the 21 week scan in our case.

It was quite a nerve-racking ordeal as this was the point last year that we discovered the baby was dead. Hence we didn’t particularly have good associations with the process.

I’m glad to say, however, that all is very well in womb-land and baby is developing nicely. Good strong heartbeat and everything appears to be in order. Obviously there is still a way to go but so far things are looking good.

They also had a look to see if they could determine the gender (at our request). After a bit of nosying around they were pretty sure that 'baby' is a boy.

We’re dead chuffed. To tell the truth, boy or girl we don’t really care as long as they’re fit and healthy and have a penchant for winning the Lottery. Actually that last part is an optional extra. Fit and healthy will be rich enough for us.

Names… names…! Now that we know the sex we’ve been mulling over a few names.

We’ve unfortunately discounted Napoleon and Ludwig. And Anakin too, much to the chagrin of our boy, Ben.

Instead we’ve pretty much settled on Thomas Arthur. But hey, that could all change between now and October (the due date).

Enjoy the scan above. Tom wishes to say “hi”…

In The Meantime…

Karen and I are absolutely cream-crackered after spending a glorious weekend just over the Welsh border in Monmouthshire. We have conquered The Great Skirrid and come away with sunburn and our souls replenished as a consequence.

Until I can summon up the energy to toss more wordage into the electronic ether please accept the scan picture below of the little ‘un taken last Monday as a token of my verbal esteem…

Nuchal News

You’ll all be pleased to hear that Karen’s nuchal scan went well on Monday – no sign of any abnormalities and the baby seems to be developing just fine. Nice strong heartbeat and a real wriggler to boot. The blood test results received yesterday evening also backed up all the positive indicators. In fact Karen’s blood test results were like those of a teenager which is pretty damn good going for a something-older-year old.

We also came away with a nice DVD of the scan which makes for amazing viewing – but then I am biased. It’s incredible how much can be seen even at the 12 week stage. Weirdly, spying on this “life-before-life” world felt a little invasive even as it was absolutely compelling. At one moment the baby seemed to cover its face with one of its hands as if to say “leave me alone, this is private”. It was quite humbling.

We have another scan next week and the midwife is going to make a point of regularly listening to the baby’s heartbeat. All this attention is very comforting to be sure and we’ll certainly be lapping up all that they throw at us. One lesson we’ve learned: you can’t be too careful...

(Almost) Black Thursday

The last 36 hours have been mad to say the least but the end result is that I can now announce to the world that Karen is 12 weeks pregnant. Well, 12 weeks and 1 day according to the doctors.

Regular readers of my old Pocketropolis Blog will know that we sadly went through a miscarriage last July at the 20 week stage of development. So as you can imagine, to say we’re a mite sensitive to the vagaries of foetal development this time round is something of an understatement...

Hence a heavy bout of bleeding Wednesday night sent us into paroxysms of panic and fear and “oh no not again.” To cut a long story short the hospital could do very little until the next day as they would need to perform a scan to determine if all was well with the baby and the scan unit didn't operate at night. Cue a sleepless night for us both.

By Thursday morning the bleeding had eased off quite a bit which was a relief but we still wanted to know for sure that all was ok. Because of a lucky cancellation we managed to get a scan appointment for 2pm – otherwise we would have had to wait until Saturday! That would have been unbearable.

Thankfully the scan revealed that was all ok with the baby – nice strong heartbeat and no obvious signs of anything wrong: the bleeding appeared to just be a clot of some kind that Karen’s body had decided to get rid off at this particular time.

Cue huge sighs of relief.

We’re now set for a nuchal scan on Monday morning and another scan the week after. After what happened last year the doctors are going to monitor this pregnancy closely and we’re glad of their attention I can tell you.

Today Karen and I are both back at work feeling physically and mentally exhausted. But the normality is a comfort. Thank God it’s Friday!