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It's all a load of bollocks, quite frankly

I’m going slightly… Dad!

It finally happened, ooh ooh, it finally happened, oh yes. And I don’t mean the ruthless pilfering of the Queen song either. As of Tuesday 24th May I became a father. I am delighted to post that, as predicted by the people in the hospital type place, he is a boy and most important of all doesn’t look anything like the milkman. Oh, and he’s human too, which will help matters when it comes to going to the registry office later on today and the creation of his birth certificate.

To say it was a traumatic birth for me would be unfair. Firstly, even though I looked (look?) pregnant I can rest assure I neither am nor was. Secondly, Jayne gave birth being a woman and this and that and she’d kick my ass. She was scary before pregnancy, during pregnancy and is mildly scary afterward, and I treasure my gluteus maximus as it’s a handy device on which to sit.

It was an unplanned home birth as we had planned to go to the local birthing pool. Jayne (the Amazonian Earth Mother, according to my cousin, for reasons you’re about to read about) had her midwife arrive to check her over so we could travel to the birthing pool. This never transpired as son number one was far too keen and didn’t want to bother with the hassle of being transported 20 minutes away, and instead our bathroom became the birth suite.

Long story (which it is) cut very short is when the midwife examined Jayne, she could touch the hair on baby’s head and see that Jayne was fully dilated. This was at 2pm. Within an hour and a half he was born. The rest of the details I won’t be going into because it’s private and all that, isn’t it, but my son was born in a khazi in Camborne. Inspired choice, my boy. Hmmm. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s something in the water around this neck of the woods. Our friend’s second son was born in much a similar way, but even more accelerated and one of her friends also gave birth in the bathroom. And we’re all within 2 miles of each other.

I was talking with a friend over the weekend about the supposed moment you get when you first hold your baby. You know, that moment that is in all the TV shows and all the movies viewed through rose-tinted spectacles. But neither him nor me had that. Tiredness was probably the main contributing factor. As it happened, Jayne was in labour since the previous Thursday so I didn’t sleep at night-time in case I had to rush her to the birthing suite. After it took literally some time to sink in, the main things I remember were as soon as he “arrived”, for want of a better word, his eyes were open immediately and he was silent. Very silent. Freakishly silent, quite frankly. Then the noise happened, oh yes. Eardrums bleeding kind of noise after nothingness. Everything happened so quickly there literally was no time to think about anything. Put simply, baby came out, I cut the cord, midwife wrapped baby in towels and dumped him in my arms and told me to get on with it. Which is just as well because Jayne was carted off into the bedroom to be checked over and fixed where necessary. I had no time to think about what was happening, more like “Right, I have this little thing bundled up in some bath towels, now what do I do?” It would be a further hour or so before Jayne had any contact with baby, so in the mean time I had to keep it together for this little bundle of joy.

It is a truly heartwarming experience afterwards though. You’re holding something so small, so fragile and so precious and it is a wonderful feeling. Especially with our lad, he’s a bright one. He is so alert it is uncanny. He has also rolled over onto his side five months before he is supposed to, much to the concern of our GP who was giving him his 24 hour check over. He managed to roll over onto his side and nearly off the end of the examination bed. The sleepless nights were inevitable and in the first few nights he wouldn’t settle in his Moses basket due to suffering with colic. So I stayed up with him with numerous recorded episodes of Top Gear or whatever I’d sky plussed from Sky Arts previously at the ready to keep me awake and partially sane. Countless cups of tea and even though I hate coffee usually, I’d developed a taste for that. If not for any other reason then just for the caffeine boost to keep me alert. Red bull would be next.

He’s had a great, if unorthodox, start in life and has got some great people around him. I hope we stand the test of time as parents, but we’re definitely enjoying it and our love for him is immense. But we’ve got such good family around us, and we have some wonderful friends to keep us and him going too. I’m so proud of my wonderful wife, and extremely thankful for giving me such a beautiful little boy.

I’ll end it on a slightly lighter hearted note. I liked my Fiat Stilo a lot, for some strange reason. I’ve talked about it rather a lot. I’ve also talked about how much I hate my wife’s turd chunk of a car. So why am I using the past tense toward my Stilo? Well, I have been forced to concede that ‘Er Indoor’s Vauxhall Bastard Corsa (yes, the car fitted with a gearbox so dimwitted it makes Paris Hilton look like a member of Mensa) is far more baby child friendly than my car. The pram fits in the boot in the Fiat but you can only get it in in such an angle that nothing else fits. And being a three door it’s a pain in the arse getting the car seat in and out. Her shitebox of a car fits the seat in no worries (it’s a five door) and the pram fits in perfectly in the boot. Which is annoying, quite frankly.

And there you have it….


June 8, 2011 - Posted by | Other Stuff!

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