Veteran

As of today I am no longer the newest parent in my family.

At 2:30 this morning my younger sister gave birth to a new nephew for me, a new cousin for Cam. Another beautiful little life thrown into the world, all potential and squidginess.

Sadly, as much as I’d like it to be, unclernity leave is not currently a thing. Hard to believe I know, but DavCam and co don’t grant me even a single day off work upon the arrival of this new bundle of joy. Damn them. Damn them and every other government who hasn’t implemented unclernity (and aunternity) leave.

Frankly, this is ridiculous. How am I supposed to impart the AWESOME PARENTING WISDOM I have accrued over the past (not quite) four months of being a dad if I have to go to work instead of hopping on the motorway and going to see the new parents? Why, of course, I can put it here.

1. Your time for sleep is when the baby sleeps. The hoovering can wait. The mess does not need to be tidied. Grab the opportunity to sleep with both hands, use superglue to ensure it does not escape your grasp.
2. When the baby cries, it wants a cuddle. Or it doesn’t want a cuddle. Or it has a poo it needs sorting out. Or it is hungry. Or it is just crying. Try not to worry about it too much.
3. Be Excellent to Each Other (#BETEO). You will be tired. You will be stressed. You will have poo under your fingernails and sick in your hair. Your ears will be hearing wails even when there are not actually any coming from the baby. Despite all of this, remember that you love each other very much, and treat each other accordingly.
4. Babies like walking, but they’re not very good at it. So you’ll need to walk for him. Walk around the house. Walk the deserted midnight streets. Walk, walk, walk, walk.
5. When it gets too much for either one of you, take a break. Five minutes of peace can feel like an eternity when there hasn’t been any for several hours.
6. Ask other people for help. That’s what we’re here for.
7. Enjoy it or endure it. When it’s easy, enjoy it. When it’s hard, endure it. He will change so quickly you won’t believe it. Savour every moment, because you only get that moment once.
8. I know I already mentioned sleep, but, seriously, do it whenever you can.
9. If it suits you, ignore ever piece of advice you’re given by anyone. Go with your instinct. Go with your gut. You will know what is right, you will feel it inside you and you will not need a book, a website or a ridiculous brother/uncle to tell you.

Anyway. I’m super pleased and excited that there’s another little person in the family, and I’m super chuffed for my sister and her wife. I know they’ll be amazing parents and that the little guy will grow up with an abundance of love and affection thrown his way.

If anyone would care to add some more top newborn tips please add them in the comments box :-)

Excuses

At three weeks old, my baby boy isn’t much good for anything. He’s nice to look at, even when he’s crying. He’s cuddly. At least he is when he’s not screaming in your face. Mostly though, he’s pretty useless.

I haven’t tried, but I reckon if I put him in control of the lawnmower he’d do a terrible job of cutting the grass.

I asked him what he thought of the Leveson enquiry. His response seemed to communicate a certain distaste for most of the key players, but then I noticed he’d filled his nappy again and just wanted a change.

So.

Cuddles and aesthetics, yes.

Chores and discussions, no.

To date, I’ve found one other pretty brilliant use for him: he’s a ready made excuse. 

During my paternity leave our doorway was darkened by the form of a man.  Men who call on houses during the day are usually men I don’t want to speak to.  They say things like “Scottish Power could save you money on your gas bills…” and “would you like to set up a direct debit to donate to the Fund for Rehabilitation of Homeless Hamsters?”  These are not questions I wish to answer, nor conversations I wish to have.

When this man rang our doorbell, the Creature was engaged in a full volume auditory attack on his immediate surroundings, Mrs L was trying in vain to calm him, so it fell to me to answer the door.

The Man smiled.  The sun reflected off his immaculately styled and gel covered hair.  He was wholly unperturbed by the steady dripping of water onto his shoulder, from the bit of slightly dodgy guttering on our porch. 

He spoke.

Man: “Hi, I’m John, we’ve carried out a survey on your area and it seems you’re entitled to a grant to help make your home more energy efficient!”

Me: “Hmm.”

Man: “If I can come in, I’ll check your cavity walls, but we don’t think they’ve been insulated!”

BRAINWAVE: I have a legitimate excuse!

Me: “Oh, you know, I’d love that but, maybe you can hear?  We’ve got a newborn in here, and he’s really not very happy at the moment. Maybe some other time?”

Man: “Oh, um, well.  Okay, I hope he gets to sleep soon.”

Me: (cheerily) “Okay then!  Bye!  Enjoy the rest of your day!”

I closed the door, locked it, and danced my way back to the living room.

Previously, I would have had to make small talk for five minutes, my anger and frustration gradually increasing.  Then, losing my cool British composure, I would snap; shouting at The Man and bombarding him with muddy shoes.

Now, thanks to the baby, I can look forward to people I don’t want to speak to ringing my doorbell.

Less than a fortnight to see some non-soppy benefits to my new role as parent, I’m happy with that. I just need to get a sticker made up for the door now:

“Don’t even bother ringing the bell, the baby’s angry and may wee on your suit”

Two Weeks

My baby is two weeks and three hours old.  Amazing.

Fourteen WHOLE DAYS and we haven't managed to break him yet, he hasn't gone significantly wrong and (touches wood, caresses rabbit's foot, eats four leaf clover, nails horseshoe to self, seeks out seagull to entice into pooing on me) having a child actually feels kind of, well, *whispers* normal.

Obviously, I still look at him several times each day and think "bloody hell.  That's a baby, and it's mine".  I don't know when or if that will ever change.  He's a tiny life and, in partnership with Mrs L, I'm responsible for him.  Sometimes I emit an involuntary squeak when I remember that.

I can't quite believe how quickly he's changing.  Every day, in amongst the nappy changes, the screaming, the little bits of sick, the lengthy naps, there are new things.  I know they all do this, but this is my one doing it.

Eyes which are a little wider every day.

Starting to look over my shoulder rather than AT my shoulder.

His hair is already longer.

I'm pretty certain the tiny hands are just a tiny bit less tiny.

His cry has developed; from the steady pitch of the newborn to the incredibly insistent, anger and desperation infused wail he is now capable of.

Demonstrating his crying skills (also uppercuts)

If you're already a parent you probably read the above with a wry smile.  Perhaps you thought "yes, but wait for the tantrums, the colic, the myriad challenges ahead of you.  Just you wait, rookie, remember these peaceful days of teeny tiny baby time".

You're right.  I know there's a bumpy road ahead of me, Mrs L and The Creature.  But we're looking forward to it.

Drop

No.  I haven't dropped the baby.

But since we've had the baby, I've pretty much dropped everything else I lay my hands on.  Seriously.  

Today, I have dropped: my phone (I was surprised to find it still works), my keys, a VERY sharp knife millimetres from my foot, a box of teabags and then lots of individual teabags while trying to pick them up to put back in the box.

I'm usually not a complete butterfingers, although I will freely admit that I couldn't reliably catch a tennis ball until I was about to attend secondary school.  Catching's different though, you don't choose when the thing enters your hands.  Under normal circumstances my dexterity does extend to hold things.

But not now.  I am the newly crowned King of Letting Go.  Lord of Lost Grip.

Has having a baby meant that ALL of my fingers' reserves of grip are being used up on The Creature?  I don't walk around with him in some vice grip, knuckles whitened at the effort of holding his increasingly squirmy little body.  Of course, I don't want to drop him (although, after reading @TomBriggs79's post about his paternity leave, I have wanted to check his Moro Reflex, which would require dropping him) but I really didn't think I was trying THAT hard not to.

I really don't know why I'm doing such a good job of losing my grip just now.  But I do know it has brought into sharp focus exactly how scared I am of doing anything to hurt this little tiny person who lives in my house now.

As I type, he's lying on my lap (refusing to acknowledge the existence of night time, looking all cute and squishy, aaaaawwwwwww!) and I'm terrified. Mrs L is in bed, tired from a day of looking exactly like she knows what she's doing, handling the baby with confidence and skill, while I spend every moment with him in my arms wondering when my newfound penchant for dropping things will extend to letting him fall.

Terrifying, parenting.

The Many Faces of Faeces

Yes, that's right folks, one week into parenthood and I'm writing a poo post.  

In my defence, at one week old I have a limited choice of topics regarding the baby; sleep (lack of), breastfeeding (difficulty of, tentative overcoming of) and poo (lots of).

If you're reading this you've probably got kids.  You know the score.  The initial period of worry when the baby DOESN'T DO POOING.  Will the baby poo?  When will the baby poo?  What happens if he doesn't? All these questions and more race through the mind of the new parent.  Lucky for me, our little bundle didn't keep us waiting too long to render them all moot. 

"Hooray!" we thought, "the boy can poo!"  This reaction is the start of an alarming process.  The conversion of your brain from an organ of rational thought and reason into one which cares an awful lot about poo.  Colour of poo.  Consistency of poo.  Frequency of poo.

All things poo are on the cognitive agenda.  Not only this, they are on the conversational agenda (please tell me that's not just me, I've been talking to my non-parent friends about poo...)

But, for those who don't know already, baby poo is not the same as adult poo.  Where adult poo can be categorised using the Bristol Stool Scale (another claim to fame for my fair city) baby poo can not.

Baby poo is categorised, at least by our midwife, by comparison with various foodstuffs.  

Initial poos, we were told, should have consistency and appearance of Marmite.  Nice.  Amid the worry of the run up to the first poo, with all the aforementioned questions, now I had the added concern that I may never be able to spread delicious yeast extract on my toast again.  The Horror!

Marmite: Not Made of Poo

I needn't have worried.  I didn't have to deal with the Marmite poos (or, more accurately, Meconium. Thanks Google.) because he did all those at night when still in the hospital, with only Mrs L to clean the tar-like substance from him.  So, obviously, I can still enjoy an umami filled breakfast.

Once the Marmite days pass it's onto stage two poo: Nutella.  No worries about falling out of love with that one, I'm not a big fan of Nutella anyway.  Phew.  Just as well, because I did get to do battle with one or two of these.  You know how sticky Nutella is, yes?  Well.  That.  But smeared on the delicate skin of your beautiful newborn.  Delightful.

We don't have Nutella in our house. Apart from in nappies.

Next up, and our current stage: chicken Korma.  I don't have a photo of chicken Korma, because I don't like it.  Similarly, I don't really like chicken Korma poos.  Though I've never actually tried eating the latter.  It's less sticky than Marmite poo.  Less sticky than Nutella poo.  But what it lacks in sticky it more than makes up for with coverage.

Liquid can't flow uphill.  It's against the laws of physics (and, before anyone starts, capillary action doesn't count).  But guess what?  Korma poo is anti-gravity.  It comes out of the same hole as all the other poo types, but instead of staying in the region of said hole it creeps all the way up the baby's back.

Don't worry, I've told NASA.  I anticipate space suits coated in KormPoo (my trade name, hands off) before the end of the decade.  I'll be retiring off this discovery I reckon.

So, yeah, poo.  Sorry.  Hopefully he'll do something else soon...

Silent Sunday - 15/04/2012

Zombie Apocalypse

I don't want to alarm anyone, but I've experienced a moment of clarity.  Sometime in the middle of the night, with the screams of Baby Babberblog as the backing track to my thought process.

Zombies.  I know where they're going to come from.  I have unravelled how the apocalypse will befall us.  Revitalised dead people?  No.  Carriers of some mysterious disease, passed on through germ ridden bites?  Again, no.

Really, really tired people who've got young children?  Yes.  As I shambled around the downstairs of my house last night, alternating between bouncing on the Swiss ball (Godsend! Thank you Switzerland!) and singing Soft Kitty (that moment when you realise the only lullaby you know is from a TV programme? Upsetting.) to the beautiful creature I held in my arms, I could sense a change.

I felt fuzzy around the edges.  My brain felt as if parts of it were falling away, like the end of a biscuit when you've left it in your tea too long.  Or a simile which you couldn't really make work because you were a bit tired.

As I wandered around, inconsolable ball of cute held tight to my chest, I could imagine how I might end up walking out the door and finding all the other parents, drawn together by their shared plight.  We would then rampage (slowly) down the street, attacking anyone who looked like they may have had more than a few hours sleep.  Maybe we would feast on their brains, to get at the juicy sleep that must surely lie within them.  Almost definitely we'd get covered in mud and assorted other muck, our sleep deprived brains would make staying upright a near impossible task.

Yes.  Definitely.  This was it.  Tonight was the night.  Zombies were coming and I would lead the charge.

Luckily, before my wobbly brain went any further wrong, Mrs L woke from her slumber and rescued me.  We had a loosely sensible adult conversation, without any rhyming couplets, we co-operated to get the little one fed and changed, then settled into a blissful sleep.  Then I went to bed.  At seven in the morning.

Zombie apocalypse averted for one more night.

I Spy - U...

The lovely JB over at Mum of One hosts this linked meme every week.  She provides the letter, so all us lazy lot have to manage is taking a photo of something appropriate.  This week it's U, which is awkward.  Thankfully I have a newborn (you may have noticed...) so U hasn't been as difficult as it otherwise may have been.

What do you see fellow I Spy-ers?

Click on the picture below to be whisked off to Mum of One and see all the other photos from this week!

First Night

First Night at home.  Third night in total.

3:40am

He is asleep.  Finally.  She is asleep.  Finally.  I am watching them both sleep and hoping it can last more than the five minutes it already has.  It is the one thing in the world that I want more than anything at this precise moment.

Everything everyone has ever told me about this is true.  I have already felt wracked with guilt for sleeping while she does not, for not having the physical means to feed this tiny person who I am so utterly fascinated by.

Over ten minutes now.  The most sleep my wife has had in over 24 hours.  Her soft snores are music to my ears, with my son's short, tiny breaths adding a second track to the mix.

He looks grumpy even when he's asleep.  He is almost too cute to bear.  It still hasn't all sunk in yet. 

Fifteen minutes.  Thank you little man, not just for doing it, but for proving that you can do it, and for saving your mum's sanity in the process.  Maybe she'll stop hallucinating for a little while now, and have a little respite from the raging headache she's been enduring.

Me, I am the lucky one.  Tonight my prize is watching my two sleeping beauties.  I've also grabbed more sleep already than the other two combined.

4:00am

He's stirring now.  But I feel like I'm already winning.

Disclaimer: typed on a phone, any and all spelling or typing errors are its fault, not my tired brain's.

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