Oh Mummy, Daddy...

Down to Essex to see my ma and pa.

We've been holding off on seeing them for a few weeks, waiting for the all clear from the scans. It was all a bit up in the air until virtually the last minute. There was a possibility they would be in Suffolk, in Nana's holiday cottage, but this was all down to Nana herself. Nana is slowly fading away now, and she's become increasingly difficult for my mother to cope with. When K___ was pregnant with Olivia, back in May 2006, I wrote about how Nana was "quite dependant on daily visits from my mother and she's no longer the extremely bright, irreverent and creative woman I grew up with". Back then I was quite resigned to thinking she might not make it through to seeing Olivia born. At risk of demonstrating quite how poor my powers of perception are, I am very resigned to thinking she won't make it through to see the next one born, and to be honest, it will be a blessing.

... I'm getting ahead of myself.

The drive down was pretty easy - 2.5 hours on the nose, arriving just before lunch. Olivia slept for about two hours of it, which was great. We pulled up outside my parent's house and got her from her seat and K___ stood her in the street (it's a cul de sac), with the car shielding her from my parent's house, in case they were looking and put bunches in Olivia's hair. She looked very cute indeed!

Olivia seemed a bit wary of my folks at first. I suppose that at her age, she doesn't really have very strong bonds to my folks yet, though I'm sure they will come. After a few minutes, she was fine, pointing at the cat and pronouncing, 'Gat!' The dog seemed to phase her a little, but when you're that size, I guess a whippet is quite imposing, even if he's the soppiest thing on the planet. Poor Rex - he only wants to be friendly, and can't understand why we're not keen on him getting too near. It's particularly galling to him because he and the gat - sorry; cat - are best mates and he can't figure why she's allowed to go near Olivia and he isn't.

My mother served us lunch, then nipped over to Nana's to sort her lunch out. Nana's now completely dependant on my mother. When she got back, the conversation naturally (because everything is about her, maaaan) turned to Olivia. K___ had slipped me the scan pictures and when an appropriate comment - I'm afraid I can't recall what it was - I was able to say, 'Well, there's something we wanted to tell you...' and whip out the scan pictures. In an almost exact analogue of the last time, my mother said, 'You're not, are you..?' to K___, and we told them all about the scans and how we hadn't been up because we wanted to break the news officially etc.

My next job was to get hold of my brothers. Last time, I told E___ first, so this time I would tell C__. Except his phone was going to answering machine. So I told E___. E___ was in the middle of moving into a new property with his girlfriend, so I got straight to the point and kept it brief. He was delighted for us, naturally.

My mother was due to collect Nana at about four-ish, and K___ had arranged to meet some of her old pals from NCT (I'm sure she'll fill you in on this). My dad and I took the dog out for a wander, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it. Whippets get cold easily because they're such skinny buggers, and it was drizzling and windy and consequently, we didn't go far. However, it was while we were out that C__ called me back and I gave him the good news. I also had to apologise because we'd had a chat just a couple of days before, and the subject of babies had come up and I kind of hemmed and hawed about it and gave the impression it would be nice if it happened, but we weren't trying right now. He was delighted for us. His wife called out, 'Oh, leave your poor wife alone!' and then he tried to get me to say if we knew the sex.

We're not telling, and anyway, it's too soon to tell.

Not long after we arrived back home, so too did K___, and then my mother turned up with Nana. At first she seemed pretty good. She was engaging with Olivia, drumming on the table with her and laughing and smiling. She seemed pleased when we told her about the new baby and asked when it was going to be born and those kinds of questions. I asked her whether she'd ever imagined seeing great grandchildren when she was young and she laughed.

My mother was in kitchen preparing some tea and called out that it was nearly ready. I had turned from Nana for just a second or two but I quickly realised she wasn't quite right. All of a sudden the animation had gone from her. Where she'd been laughing and joking, she was just sitting stock still, staring in to space with a vacant expression on her face. I asked her whether she was feeling okay and she said, 'no,' in a very timid voice. That was it for the rest of the afternoon. The spark had died. We knew she got like this and that we normally only got to see her at her best, but this was the first time we'd seen it and it was pretty horrible.

I'm glad we got to see her, and I'm glad we got to tell her about the new baby, but I do have to be honest and say that if she doesn't live to see it born, it won't be a bad thing. I just wish she could slip away quietly one night.

In some ways, it seems wrong to be writing about death when this blog is about life, but we all know that death is what gives life its value, that our short lifespan makes it all the more important to enjoy our time.

Oh fuck it; I've gone all Disney, and Elton John's playing bloody Circle of Life in the background.

I really didn't mean for that to happen. I just mean that it's okay, it's natural, and I don't want Nana to think she has to hang on, for me, for my mother, or for the new baby. Not that she needs it, but she has our permission to go if she wants.

And you know, being a firm believer in evolution, there really is a part of her in her descendants. It's not a matter of belief - you could go and get tested for it. 'Mitochondrial Nana'. Even if she never sees the new baby, she's still around. I find that an incredibly, genuinely, happy thought.

My Eyes Remain, Hovering. Witnessing.

So, it's Wednesday, 16th April, 2008. Olivia is fifteen months old to the day. I have a dentist's appointment at midday, which I'm really not looking forward to. Nothing special going on otherwise.

Oh - unless you count the 12 week scan at the local hospital. Yeah, I should probably write about that.

We turned up in good time. I haven't been nervous. I've been very calm about the whole thing, but on the short drive down, the butterflies kicked in. Not big ones, but they were there.

The parking meter at the hospital is stupid. Or I am. It's completely counter-intuitive. I know how to get a parking ticket from the machine. You read the rates, insert the groats, hit the tit and wait for the ticket, right? You certainly do not read the instructions, but after a couple of goes, this is what I am forced to do. I know; my 'bloke rating' has plummeted.

You have to 'enter your car registration'. There is a numeric keypad. My registration contains alpha characters. The keypad does not, like a telephone keypad, also have numbers on it. I decide to try entering just the numerals. It seems to like them. I get a ticket. Normally, I would walk away moaning about the stupidity of the machine. Today, I throw my hands up as I walk back to K___, and mention it's stupid, but keep it to just that.

The maternity unit is the brick version of a Borg cube. Minus the scary hive-mind androids and super-advanced tech everywhere. Actually, it's just a rather featureless cuboid, but that doesn't sound as poetic. Inside, it's a pretty run-of-the-mill NHS hospital unit. Bland paint on the walls, lots of faintly terrifying health-related notifications and posters on the walls.

While signing in, a wonderfully quick process, it was pointed out to us that we would need to purchase a card from a machine on the wall to exchange for copies of the scans. Only problem? It takes five pounds in coins. I'm not having a good time with machines. We didn't have five pounds in coins, so I borrow a tenner from K___ and leg it to the other side of the building and up a fight of stairs, buy a packet of crisps purely for the change and run back.

Unlike the first time we did this, nearly two years ago now, luck decides to play nicely, and I'm back in time to buy the card and sit down for a couple of minutes getting my breath back before we get called into the scan room. K___ lies down on the couch and pulls her skirt below the bottom of the baby bump. Having done this before, she knows that an elasticated waistband is an essential. She's also had enough to drink to ensure the best picture - a three quarter's full bladder greatly increases the clarity. The scan operator, a surly human/potato hybrid with terrible highlights, squirts gel onto K___'s stomach and places the ultrasound on her belly.

Here we go...

Of course, there's a momentary pang of terror. What if the baby has no head or three legs or something? These things do happen, after all. The fear's stupid and statistically irrational and it's gone before you quite know what it is you're scared about, but it is there until the moment the scan goes sufficiently deeply inside K___'s belly for a baby to appear. It's lying louchly on it's back, facing left, arms waving theatrically. All of a sudden, I'm an expert. Everything is in it's right place. It's fine. I don't know this, but from the perspective of someone with fuck all training in reading an ultrasound scan, it is immediately apparent that everything is fine. Eventually, Mrs Potato-head will get around to confirming my obviously-correctly medical opinion by doing some measurements. She will sound entirely bored when she does indeed confirm my diagnosis. Everything is fine. We have a healthy baby, and an active one too, by the looks of things.

My eyes prick with tears.

After this, we have to sit for forty minutes waiting for a nurse to take a urine sample and some blood (not at the same time, don't be ridiculous!) from K___. We gaze at the grainy snaps before us and smile.

We Get What We Deserve..?

Discovering you're about to be a father causes a certain amount of blokeishness.

However much of a beta-male you may be normally (and I certainly am), discovering you've successfully made a life causes a definite, if passing, amount of 'Yeeeessss!' with attendant punching of the air and the feeling that you're a 'real man' and gently patting the ol' heat-seeking moisture missile for a job well done.

Fortunately, this doesn't last long, and Mr Winky is soon put back in his rightful place as a disgusting flap of flesh to be ashamed of, full of Satan's badness, like the Preacher told me*. Another thing that takes the shine off feeling too pleased with yourself (and I do mean it takes the shine of feeling unduly pleased with yourself, not that it takes the shine of feeling pleased about the fact that you're going to be a father again) is knowing certain things about someone else.

There's someone I know at work - a thoroughly splendid chap. We have a good working relationship and see eye-to-eye on a lot of things both inside and outside the office environment. I also know his wife a little, and she's lovely too. If having children were a matter of 'deserve', they would completely deserve to, so knowing that they can't shows precisely how little 'deserve' has to do with it.

We all know that too many babies are born to parents who don't give a shit or who can't afford to feed their babies or are abusive arseholes or drug addicts etc etc. We all know they exist, and of course we all know they're proof that having babies is a result of fucking and lucky biology, not worthiness. The fact is that for most of us those people are pretty abstract. We can close our eyes and pretend that these fuckers don't exist and that babies don't die or get abused in a thousand and one innovative and not-so-innovative but equally disgusting ways every single day. The truth is it took my colleague telling me that he had fertility problems to really bring home the fact that my being able to father another baby is essentially dumb luck; fucking and biology.

This is nothing to do with how I feel about being a father again, how much I love Olivia or my wife. I wouldn't denigrate any of those things for a second. This is just the facts.

My colleague would never wish to make me feel embarrassed to tell him we're having another baby, but I'm certainly not looking forward to it. He doesn't go into details, and I don't ask, but he's said certain things. I know how pleased he is when one of his friends has a kid - he talks about going to see them - and I know how pleased he was for me when Olivia was born. It may well be a reflection of my less-than-noble character, but I'm dreading telling him. It must surely be a bit of a slap in the face. However magnanimous, however logical, however nice and decent a person you are, it must surely make you more aware of your own 'failings'/problems.

Do I just come out with it? What do I say? When do I say it? How? I think it's going to require some thinking about.



* not really.

Now She Won't Believe Me

Yesterday, I sat opposite my friend L___ and stuck labels onto envelopes for the band fan club I help out with. We nattered about various things over the course of the day and one of them was babies. Specifically baby number 2.

This is an apology to L___ for the fact that I lied my head off yesterday.

It's an apology for the fact that when I was asked whether we'd want to have a second baby anytime soon, I forgot to mention that K___ was pregnant again.

This is also an apology for the fact that I said I didn't know if we'd do a blog for baby 2. I do know, and if you've read it, L___, you'll even know I practically quoted some of it at you.

So, basically, I'm a bad man whose word isn't to be trusted. Luckily, I don't believe in hell, so no chances of eternal punishment. Just have to watch out for the lady I lied to.

She's Cold

Have had a stinking cold all week. Oh, how I would love some lovely cold and flu remedy, the yummy blackcurrant sherbet that kind of reminds me of the space dust sweets we had as kids. I hate colds.

Welcome back to the Circus

It's very weird. Weird and slightly unfair.

Sorry? What is? Well, this whole having a baby thing. We're so relaxed about it this time round. Last time, we were filling our brains with every book and website we could read. This time, we're chilled out. We know the score. M2B2 has booked a nuchal scan. It wasn't a worry, because we knew what needed doing, and what it was about and where to go. If M2B2's right to say that it's harder because we already have B1 to cope with, well that's true, but it's equally true to say it's so much easier this time. Every sensation M2B2 has, she knows what it is.

Last time, a few people interpreted our lust for information as fear about what was happening. It wasn't, it was a genuine hunger to understand. But you can only understand it once. Once you know, you know, and that's what's slightly unfair.

We did a daily blog for B1, full of our observations and what we'd learned etc. B2 won't get that. Not because B2 is less interesting or less wanted or less deserving, but because B1 has already demolished those barriers. I suppose this happens throughout life; certainly throughout childhood. Eldest child has to fight for every inch of ground, later children never have to fight as hard if at all. It's not fair, but it's inevitable, I suppose.

And Rest Your Heavy Head My Love

Well, there's no sleep for the wicked...or those with sicky one year olds. Baby O was leaking at both ends this weekend and constantly crying and grizzling and so Mummy didn't get much rest. Period is now 9 days overdue and symptoms are starting. I start to remember just how much I hated being pregnant the first time :)

So Here I Am Once More....

I was slightly late home from work this evening, but it didn't really matter.

It was an ordinary Monday with nothing planned. I would have liked to have been back in time to put baby O_____ to bed, but I'm often not home in time for that, and I accept it, even if I don't like it. No, it was a pretty normal Monday evening and I wasn't expecting any surprises.

'I've got you a present,' said M2B2 (who is not an R2 droid, but my wife and fellow blog contributor). She handed me a small item wrapped in tissue paper. It was about the size of a toothbrush.
'A present? Why have you got me a present?'
'I just have,' she said, mysteriously. It wasn't my birthday. Valentines was just a few days ago... I had no idea why I might be getting a present. I think I cocked an eyebrow, but regardless, I unwrapped the paper to reveal a white plastic pen-shaped item with a blue pastic cap and some words at one end, and a little window at the other.
'Oh,' I said, not sure why I was supposed to be particularly happy about this item.
'Oh,' said my wife, somewhat flattly. I looked again, saw the words 'ClearBlue', and then looked at the little window.

You, of course, are ahead of me on this one, right?
This is not only because you're reading a blog that clearly says what it's about at the top but also because it would be quite difficult to be as slow as I was being at that moment. There was a little word in the window. I looked at it properly for the first time.
'Oh,' I said, then, 'OH!' as it finally sunk in that the word in the window was 'pregnant'. 'Oh my god!'
We hugged and both said we couldn't believe it.

I have to tell the truth, I really can't say what I thought I was looking at when I first unwrapped the predictor. I think I thought it was an ovulation test, because M2B2 has had irregular periods of late. I absolutely didn't think that it was a pregnancy test because my mindset wasn't in baby mode.

We were both agreed that we wanted to try for a second baby, but we weren't putting in any particular effort about it. My memories of last time were of ovulation charts and sex-to-order, something that is a lot less enjoyable than one might imagine, and the stress of each month as we waited to find out whether anything had happened this time... This time round, we'd not really got round to working out M2B2's menstrual cycle, things had just happened of their own accord. Obviously, contraception had gone out of the window, but we hadn't been paying attention to whether the time was right, just whether the moment was right, if you know what I mean, eh, eh, eh, nudge nudge, wink wink...

I'm not a particularly laddish person. It's just not me. I'd say something that someone else would say and have accepted as a cheeky, good-natured and slightly risque laugh and it would sound salacious and slightly creepy, so I don't tend to do it, but I have to say that after I got over the initial shock, I did feel obliged to pat my bollocks and congratulate them on a job well done. It is stupid, but I suppose understandable, how much machismo one feels upon learning that one's pork sword is fully functioning and firing on all cylinders.

Still, that's it now. They can probably retire now, job done. Haven't they done well?

I'm going to be a daddy again. It's brilliant news. It really hasn't sunk in yet. So, here we are again.

Bring it on.