Dawn of the Dad

I didn't Google it, but I bet that's one of the least original blog post titles going.

You know what though?  I don't care.

Oh my days, it's finally happened.  I have a baby.  I have a son.  I am a dad.  *does dance of ecstatic joy*

This post isn't going to be a birth story or anything as deep and meaningful as that.  I may do one some time, I may not, I'll see how I feel.

Right now, I'm sat at home on my own, for the second night, while my baby boy and my amazing wife remain at the hospital.  Hopefully they're doing well.  Maybe they're not.  I have no way of knowing.  But this post also isn't about not being able to stay at the hospital.

This post is to say that I feel a new understanding, respect and connection to all those other dads out there.  And all the mums too.  I thought I got it before our baby was born.  But I was wrong.  I didn't get it when I was a broody young man.  I didn't get it when my wife was pregnant.  I didn't get it during my wife's labour.

I got it when that tiny little fragile body made its exit from the womb.  I got it when he was placed, still covered in all manner of goo and stuff, on to my wife's body moments later.  I got it when my face contorted into a display of emotion which I had no hope of controlling, of tears and sobs and snotty sniffles of pure, joyous happiness.

Even our first day as a family has shown me that there will be challenges.  That all the talk of how difficult it is to have a child is true.  But it has also shown me that there is a whole world of support out there for new parents, a world of experience and knowledge that we will be able to draw from to help us, to pick us up when we are down, to cry on, to complain to.

Cute, but with a penchant for pissing up your arm.  I don't mind though,  because I'm a dad.

This is the dawn of a new era then, an era where my BabberBlog actually has a babber to blog about.  I can't wait.

Silent Sunday - 08/04/12

False Alarm

Two nights ago, at about 1am, I was woken by the following word from my wife:

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!!"

It took my sleep addled brain a few dozy moments to process that.  Then, assuming that the baby had decided it was time to make an entrance, I did the natural thing.  Panicked.  A thousand thoughts went through my mind.  Well, a couple at least.  They were: "ohmygodshittingshitit'sfinallyhappeningthebaby'scoming" and then: "calm down, calm down, find out what's going on".

My mouth hadn't quite finished booting up yet, so I said something like "nnngggghhhmmmddight?"

Luckily, Mrs L is good at deciphering my incoherent mumblings.

"It's cramp, really bad cramp in my legs".

I asked whether she was sure, because, y'know, I'd imagine cramp in your legs feels pretty similar to contractions.  I blame the fact I was barely awake.  Pretty soon I was back to sleep.  An hour later it happened again.

Since that night, I've been on code red, Defcon 1 (or 5, I forget which way round that works), super-alert-phone-checking mode.  Because it could happen any time now.  I might have to exercise the full accelerative ferocity of the almighty Skoda to get to the hospital at the drop of a hat.  I've started fending off new pieces of work which people try to give me (to be honest, I do that anyway) and trying to wrap up outstanding bits and pieces.  I'm ready for the call, whenever that call may come.

Every single thing we do I find myself thinking "this is probably the last time we'll [insert activity] before the baby arrives".

We're in a period of lasts.  Last restaurant meal.  Last visit to the cinema.  Last game of basketball.  Last trip to the supermarket.

It's harder for Mrs L, having to ferry the baby around within her, but the uncertainty is having an affect on me too.  I'm not sleeping well (and not just because my Mrs L has developed a very impressive talent for snoring in recent weeks) and I feel a bit fuzzy around the edges.  I got all snappy at someone in the office the other day, which is not at all like me.  It's quite stressful, having a baby, and we don't even have ours yet.

So come on baby, get a wriggle on.  We want to meet you, and I want to stop feeling a compulsion to check my phone every thirty seconds.

Labour

I was just watching an episode of Pramface on TV.  I quite like it, it's reasonably entertaining, and has the definite advantage of NOT being Hollyoaks or another repeat of Top Gear.

In this episode the boy who has got a (slightly older) girl pregnant is with her at an antenatal class and is doing a roleplay with the woman running it.  She's pretending to be in labour, he's actually shitting himself.

I laughed when the woman screamed at him: "I never want you to fucking touch me again", among other things.  Then I felt stupid for laughing.  It's probably actually going to be like that, isn't it?  

I've seen plenty of One Born Every Minute too, and most of the women featured clearly aren't in the mood to moderate their vocal output during labour.  I don't blame them.  There's no male equivalent of course, but I don't much fancy the idea of trying to pass a golf ball via my penis.  No.  The thought has made me feel a bit sick.

My wife's a gentle sort though; doesn't get angry with me often, lets me get away with my many indiscretions and is generally understanding of the fact that I'm a bit crap at a lot of stuff.  

So I wonder what my labouring wife want to tell me that has been kept inside through all the time we've been together, will the floodgates open and cover me in a tsunami of criticism, justified or otherwise?  Probably.  

But perhaps not.  I'm sure I'll let you all know once it's happened.