I've said before that when you first have a baby in your house, not a lot happens. That's still true, but I've come to realise over the past two months since my last post that it's also very untrue.
You see, the past two months have been spent with each day following the relatively same routine, and it feels like nothing changes, but there have been small instances which have made me realise that, in fact, lots has happened.
Firstly, my wife was cleaning out Ellis' chest of drawers, bagging up his old clothing that doesn't fit him any more. She came across one particular sleep suit which could never have possibly fit him, but it did. He was once that small, and in the space of mere months he's grown into the 12-16 month clothing wearing, 18 lb 2oz behemoth that he is.
Secondly, I was carrying him to go upstairs and stopped in front of the hall mirror so that he could look at his reflection, and I thought, as he studied his features in the reflection, 'When did he start becoming so alert?' He watches my wife and I, our cats, and any other family members or friends he sees. He notices toys and has begun to thrash them around wildly in his hands. He reacts to lights and sounds.
I also noticed that I was stood there, holding him in the crook of my arm, but that my other arm was free, and no longer supporting his head. When he began to hold his head up independently, I do not know, but he's doing it now.
Finally is his smile. I remember when seeing his smile was something that only happened when he slept. It gradually crept into his waking hours, and now all my wife and I need to do is say hello to him to make the biggest grin spread across his lips. He hasn't started laughing yet - that's still reserved for his dreams only - but I have a feeling it's close.
I could never pinpoint the moment he started doing all of these things. It just happened, without me really knowing it did. So in truth, while it seemed like nothing was going on, in reality, everything was.
And it still is.
Kael
Monday, 18 November 2013
Sunday, 15 September 2013
Smiler
Having a newborn can be hard going. It can be repetitive, too. You wake up at some point in the morning, feed your baby, change them, talk with them and lull them to sleep. After a few hours they wake and everything repeats. Sometimes in between they cry and sometimes you're not sure why and can't always calm them down. You may wake up in the early hours of the morning to the sound of your child's upset, and you may be lucky enough to be able to get them back to sleep. Or you may not.
And the thing is, babies are helpless. Like, they would die if their parents weren't around. They can't so a single thing for themselves, and totally rely on their mums and dads to deal with their every need. And there's little in the way of thanks. You don't get a, "Cheers, Dad!" from your three week old, or, "Mam, thanks ever so much for feeding me just then!" You don't get a card, or a present. In fact, you don't even get a cuddle as thanks, because every cuddle you have with your newborn is for their own comfort, not yours.
So, like I said, it can be hard going.
Until they smile.
Ellis has been smiling in his sleep for a few weeks now, but until the past few days, they've been reserved for slumber only. Recently he's become much more engaging with my wife and I. Now when we hold him and talk to him, he really studies our faces. He stops and watches, taking in every word we say, despite the fact that he has no idea what we're talking about. He follows us with his eyes, turning his head to keep watching. The other morning, after a feed, I held him in my hands and began talking to him. What a damn handsome baby, I thought, so I decided to tell him. And as I repeated over and over what a handsome man he was, his mouth, usually reserved for neutral or upset expressions, curled upwards at the sides. His lips parted and there, in front of my eyes, was the biggest smile I had ever seen. In that moment I felt a love like I have never felt before. Every sleepless night, every fussy moment, every nappy change and every frustrating upset was now worth it, because with that smile he told me that he loved me, and appreciated everything my wife and I have done for him.
The smile soon faded and despite every attempt to bring it back, I couldn't. But the following day he did the same, and the day after that, and so on. He's smiling multiple times a day now, for all sorts of reasons, and it's the best reward I could ask for.
Don't get me wrong, I could go my whole life without a smile from him, and despite how difficult it can be, I'd still love every minute of being his father. But now that I've had something in return, I can't wait for even more, and my days count down towards every smile.
Kael.
And the thing is, babies are helpless. Like, they would die if their parents weren't around. They can't so a single thing for themselves, and totally rely on their mums and dads to deal with their every need. And there's little in the way of thanks. You don't get a, "Cheers, Dad!" from your three week old, or, "Mam, thanks ever so much for feeding me just then!" You don't get a card, or a present. In fact, you don't even get a cuddle as thanks, because every cuddle you have with your newborn is for their own comfort, not yours.
So, like I said, it can be hard going.
Until they smile.
Ellis has been smiling in his sleep for a few weeks now, but until the past few days, they've been reserved for slumber only. Recently he's become much more engaging with my wife and I. Now when we hold him and talk to him, he really studies our faces. He stops and watches, taking in every word we say, despite the fact that he has no idea what we're talking about. He follows us with his eyes, turning his head to keep watching. The other morning, after a feed, I held him in my hands and began talking to him. What a damn handsome baby, I thought, so I decided to tell him. And as I repeated over and over what a handsome man he was, his mouth, usually reserved for neutral or upset expressions, curled upwards at the sides. His lips parted and there, in front of my eyes, was the biggest smile I had ever seen. In that moment I felt a love like I have never felt before. Every sleepless night, every fussy moment, every nappy change and every frustrating upset was now worth it, because with that smile he told me that he loved me, and appreciated everything my wife and I have done for him.
The smile soon faded and despite every attempt to bring it back, I couldn't. But the following day he did the same, and the day after that, and so on. He's smiling multiple times a day now, for all sorts of reasons, and it's the best reward I could ask for.
Don't get me wrong, I could go my whole life without a smile from him, and despite how difficult it can be, I'd still love every minute of being his father. But now that I've had something in return, I can't wait for even more, and my days count down towards every smile.
Kael.
Monday, 9 September 2013
The first four weeks
Okay, so it's been four weeks since I posted. If this blog were the only source of information for you about my child, the last thing you heard was that he was born. A lot has happened since that, and I apologise for the drought that has fallen over this blog. It's been a vicious circle, as I've known that to cram all the happenings of the past month into one post will make for a lengthy entry, and that's made me dread writing it, leading to me procrastinating and essentially adding to the length of the blog. So sorry about that. Once the gargantuan task of updating you on the events of the past month is complete, I will be able to go back to Sunday updates and as-and-when happenings.
But we're here now.
My wife and Ellis stayed in hospital for two nights after he was born. Because his head was tilted back in the birth canal he had severe swelling all over his face. It looked like he had been in a terrible bar fight. The moments after he was delivered, when my wife and I were sat back in her room, were filled with silence. On one hand, we were over the moon that our baby was finally here, but we didn't have him because he'd been taken straight to the Special Care Unit. On top of that, in the fleeting moment that we were shown him all we saw was his little misshapen and, dare I say it, ugly face. I visited him several times before I had to leave for the night. He stared at me with his squished up eyes, but made no sound.
When I returned the following morning, the swelling had already gone down. My wife met me at the door to the maternity ward and we went to see him. He had a tube dangling from one nostril as the swelling made it difficult for him to feed through his mouth. Again, he lay there doing little, but all three of us in the room together felt special. The staff in the Special Care Unit explained that the only thing they were unhappy with was his ability to keep food down and if he was able to keep his dinner time feed in his belly without any spit up, they'd be happy to discharge him to us.
Luckily, he did, and we finally got to feel how we were supposed to when he was born, like a little family. We spent the day relaxing together and were advised by the midwives that we could attempt to feed him orally. His throat must have eased, because he happily guzzled a bottle of formula down. My wife took to breast feeding, too, which surprised both of us. I may have mentioned before that she had been unsure about the whole process during the entire pregnancy, but when she tried, she was a natural, and we fed him on a mixture of breast milk and formula.
Leaving in the evening was one of the hardest things ever, but I knew that I was going back in the morning, and if we were lucky, it would be the day we could bring Ellis, and my wife, home. To my delight, the swelling had reduced again, and a text I received that morning that talked about a surprise waiting for me in the hospital turned out to be the fact that his feeding tube had been removed from his nose. In the hospital I watched other dads hold their new babies and fretted at the difficulty I was having picking my son up. The worrying side of my brain began to tell me that I'd never be able to hold him safely, but I overcame it and began to practise. Eventually the doctors visited and discussed their satisfaction with both my son and wife, and explained that once they had completed their paperwork, we could go home.
The walk to the car was a careful one. When we reached the entrance I left my family in the foyer and brought the car to the door. A kind old lady offered my wife her seat, but we were ready to go before she could accept the offer.
I have never driven so slowly in my life. Speedbumps were tackled at a ferocious two miles per hour, corners were rounded wider than the world's fattest man, and I may have generated a queue of cars behind me long enough to measure a football field, but eventually we made it home. Well, I say home, but first we went to Tesco because the one thing we had forgotten to buy was formula, and despite my wife's decision to breast feed, we wanted to have it just in case. Checkout ladies fawned over him, asking how old he was and what he was called, and when they said things like, "He's so handsome," I thought, Yes, yes he is. Then we visited my wife's father, who lives down the road from Tesco. For a man who is typically very dry and tends to show no excitement for anything or anyone, he lit up, and truly looked like a proud grandfather. He's going to be called 'Grampa', something he's not very happy about. He'd prefer the less traditional 'Wayne', but that's not going to happen.
And then we were home. Somewhere I had barely been for the past week, and somewhere my wife hadn't been for the past week. We were back, and we had someone else with us, and he wasn't going to leave. Our cats were very happy to have us back, and their reactions to the baby ranged from indifferent to, "I must protect this creature". Morgan, our smallest and newest cat, whom we joke about being my wife's 'Spirit Animal' because she's so protective of her, seemed to instantly adopt this attitude towards our son, preferring to sit as close to him as possible. The other two, while understanding that he wasn't just another piece of furniture to sit on, seemed to not pay much attention.
Sleeping is something that I miss. In hindsight, if I had realised that the gift of a full night's rest was going to be cruelly torn away from me the second my son came home, I would have never spent those long summer holidays staying up until five o' clock playing my Game Cube. I would never have squeezed in an extra episode of a television programme I was engrossed in. I would have slept every hour I could, just to make up for when I became a father.
My wife agreed, begrudgingly, that she would sleep through the nights, because she was beginning the six long weeks of recovery from labour and the cesarean. Six long weeks that still aren't over. She needed, and still does need her rest, so I insisted that I would take the night shifts. That's where the formula came in handy, and later on, expressed breast milk. The first night was a breeze. As I said, I've spent many a night awake until the early hours, so waking to the sound of his stirring was fine. He fed, had a cuddle, and went back to sleep in his swinging crib that sat next to my wife's side of the bed. He woke two more times before morning, but tending to him was a pleasure. The next few nights were similar, but then came the Night of the Five O' Clock Bed Time.
My wife drifted off at around midnight, while my son was still a little fussy. I laughed to myself. I may have called him a 'scamp' or a 'rascal', and lulled myself into believing that he would soon be asleep. Five long hours later my wife awoke to me and Ellis both wide eyed, having had not a single minute of sleep between us. She came to my rescue, insisting that I slept for a few hours.
Since then, he's had good nights and bad nights. There was a delightful phase of sleeping at midnight, waking at three or four for a feed and then sleeping until seven. I loved it. I'd wake with him and then bring him downstairs to watch The Office or Flight of the Conchords or any other show on DVD. There have been several four o' clock wake up, where he has woken me screaming and not slept until nine or ten. Those nights caused me problems. I'm not a person who typically naps. I don't like them. I wake up feeling confused and disoriented, so I tend to avoid them. However, in recent days my body has been crying out for rest, leading to me sleeping on the sofa, the armchair and on the floor, at random points of the day. Luckily, the past four nights have been a blessing. We've gotten him to sleep at midnight and he's managed to rest until six o' clock. Six hours may not seem like a decent sleep, but for me it felt like I had awoken after a Sleeping Beauty-esque length of time, on a bed of the finest silk, with angels caressing my face with their wings. And that's where he is with his sleeping right now. And where I am with mine.
I've said this to multiple people, but I'll say it on here. For a creature that spent the first nine months of his life having all of his waste ferried off through a convenient little tube, Ellis has taken to pooping like a champion. He still doesn't show much in the way of emotion, but I'm pretty sure he loves going to the toilet. We'll be there cuddling, or feeding him, or he may even be sleeping, and suddenly he'll go crimson and being making a noise that can only be written as: "HHHHHHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGHGHHHGGGGGGGGG!!!" and then there will be the worst sound I've ever heard. Unfortunately, I don't have access to heavy duty waste cleanup crews, so we have to make do with baby wipes, which we use a lot of. Two nights ago I experiences my first projectile pooping. No, it wasn't diarrhea, it was a normal poo, but it shot out like a Nerf dart and hit me in the arm. I've been urinated on, one time in the presence of the health visitor. You may be thinking, "God, all these poop jokes, how juvenile," but guess what? We're talking about a baby here. And I am pretty childish anyway, so yeah. Besides, the fact that he has a healthy toilet life is a really good indicator that we have a healthy baby.
He's getting hungrier, too. The very first tub of formula that we bought was labelled, 'Extra Hungry', and it really set the stage. It details that by this point in his life, he should be consuming roughly 150ml of feed every four hours or so, but he drinks anything from 180ml to 230ml. He's a gutsy boy, and he shows us when he's hungry. We tell people that he doesn't cry, which is almost true, but the one instance when he really goes for it is when he's hungry. With no warning, he makes this squealing noise that sounds as if we are sticking the soles of his feet with burning needles. We all have our ways, I suppose. My wife's tummy rumbles. I smack my lips. My son shrieks like a madman. Unfortunately, my wife's breast milk stopped after about two and a half weeks. It upset her, but ultimately he did end up getting the most nutritious of breast milk, and they do say that the best time for a baby to breast feed is the first few weeks.
Up until recently, my wife has been feeling pretty down on herself about being a mum. Don't get me wrong, she's been an amazing mum so far as anyone is concerned, but because her recovery from the C-section has limited what she can physically do, she's seen it as her being a bad mum. I try to remind her that her belly was cut open completely across, and that's not something a plaster and some antiseptic cream fixes. The trouble was that every time she began to feel a bit better, we'd leave the house for a mini day out. But then the stress on her body of walking for an extended period of time would hurt her and slow her recovery. Over the past week she's seeming a lot better. She's on her feet more and complains of pain less. It still hurts her, but luckily we're visiting the doctor tomorrow for her MMR booster, and so we'll discuss the scar then. It kills me to hear her fret about being a good mum, though, because she's amazing. Ellis can be fretting and fussing and screaming his head off, but five minutes with his mum and he's calmed right down. Tudor men do love their mums. She's calm, loving, considerate, and needs to give herself far more credit.
Every day brings something new with him. Little developments and changes that may seems like nothing, but are big enough for us to notice them. He started gripping really well after two weeks or so, and could find a finger (or lip) with his hands with ease. Recently he has begun to watch far more. When I used to hold him he's stare blankly in every direction other than my face, but now, when I talk, he watches and listens. He makes all sorts of expressions for everyone except me, but I'm still happy that he watches me, with his big, gorgeous eyes. He's also begun to smile, but they're always in his sleep, or when he's half conscious. It's not enough for me to proclaim, "My son can smile!", but I don't think he's far away.
We've also survived three midwife visits and two health visitor visits. Ellis' weight, as of the last visit, is a huge 10lb 4oz. During one of the first visits, in a time period that I consider when we were finding our feet as parents, the midwife told us that we were doing amazing, and that she thought we were coping better than some parents that were on their second or third child. Talk about a confidence booster! We were signed off from home visits, too, which means that we're doing something right. We've had multiple visits from friends and family, too, and all I can do is sit by and beam as they coo over my son.
So, without going into any greater detail than what I have, that's a summary of the first four weeks of my being a dad. I'm tired, but happy. It's the greatest job in the world, and I promise that from now on (now that I'm used to this job), I'll keep regular updates.
Kael
But we're here now.
My wife and Ellis stayed in hospital for two nights after he was born. Because his head was tilted back in the birth canal he had severe swelling all over his face. It looked like he had been in a terrible bar fight. The moments after he was delivered, when my wife and I were sat back in her room, were filled with silence. On one hand, we were over the moon that our baby was finally here, but we didn't have him because he'd been taken straight to the Special Care Unit. On top of that, in the fleeting moment that we were shown him all we saw was his little misshapen and, dare I say it, ugly face. I visited him several times before I had to leave for the night. He stared at me with his squished up eyes, but made no sound.
When I returned the following morning, the swelling had already gone down. My wife met me at the door to the maternity ward and we went to see him. He had a tube dangling from one nostril as the swelling made it difficult for him to feed through his mouth. Again, he lay there doing little, but all three of us in the room together felt special. The staff in the Special Care Unit explained that the only thing they were unhappy with was his ability to keep food down and if he was able to keep his dinner time feed in his belly without any spit up, they'd be happy to discharge him to us.
Luckily, he did, and we finally got to feel how we were supposed to when he was born, like a little family. We spent the day relaxing together and were advised by the midwives that we could attempt to feed him orally. His throat must have eased, because he happily guzzled a bottle of formula down. My wife took to breast feeding, too, which surprised both of us. I may have mentioned before that she had been unsure about the whole process during the entire pregnancy, but when she tried, she was a natural, and we fed him on a mixture of breast milk and formula.
Leaving in the evening was one of the hardest things ever, but I knew that I was going back in the morning, and if we were lucky, it would be the day we could bring Ellis, and my wife, home. To my delight, the swelling had reduced again, and a text I received that morning that talked about a surprise waiting for me in the hospital turned out to be the fact that his feeding tube had been removed from his nose. In the hospital I watched other dads hold their new babies and fretted at the difficulty I was having picking my son up. The worrying side of my brain began to tell me that I'd never be able to hold him safely, but I overcame it and began to practise. Eventually the doctors visited and discussed their satisfaction with both my son and wife, and explained that once they had completed their paperwork, we could go home.
The walk to the car was a careful one. When we reached the entrance I left my family in the foyer and brought the car to the door. A kind old lady offered my wife her seat, but we were ready to go before she could accept the offer.
I have never driven so slowly in my life. Speedbumps were tackled at a ferocious two miles per hour, corners were rounded wider than the world's fattest man, and I may have generated a queue of cars behind me long enough to measure a football field, but eventually we made it home. Well, I say home, but first we went to Tesco because the one thing we had forgotten to buy was formula, and despite my wife's decision to breast feed, we wanted to have it just in case. Checkout ladies fawned over him, asking how old he was and what he was called, and when they said things like, "He's so handsome," I thought, Yes, yes he is. Then we visited my wife's father, who lives down the road from Tesco. For a man who is typically very dry and tends to show no excitement for anything or anyone, he lit up, and truly looked like a proud grandfather. He's going to be called 'Grampa', something he's not very happy about. He'd prefer the less traditional 'Wayne', but that's not going to happen.
And then we were home. Somewhere I had barely been for the past week, and somewhere my wife hadn't been for the past week. We were back, and we had someone else with us, and he wasn't going to leave. Our cats were very happy to have us back, and their reactions to the baby ranged from indifferent to, "I must protect this creature". Morgan, our smallest and newest cat, whom we joke about being my wife's 'Spirit Animal' because she's so protective of her, seemed to instantly adopt this attitude towards our son, preferring to sit as close to him as possible. The other two, while understanding that he wasn't just another piece of furniture to sit on, seemed to not pay much attention.
Sleeping is something that I miss. In hindsight, if I had realised that the gift of a full night's rest was going to be cruelly torn away from me the second my son came home, I would have never spent those long summer holidays staying up until five o' clock playing my Game Cube. I would never have squeezed in an extra episode of a television programme I was engrossed in. I would have slept every hour I could, just to make up for when I became a father.
My wife agreed, begrudgingly, that she would sleep through the nights, because she was beginning the six long weeks of recovery from labour and the cesarean. Six long weeks that still aren't over. She needed, and still does need her rest, so I insisted that I would take the night shifts. That's where the formula came in handy, and later on, expressed breast milk. The first night was a breeze. As I said, I've spent many a night awake until the early hours, so waking to the sound of his stirring was fine. He fed, had a cuddle, and went back to sleep in his swinging crib that sat next to my wife's side of the bed. He woke two more times before morning, but tending to him was a pleasure. The next few nights were similar, but then came the Night of the Five O' Clock Bed Time.
My wife drifted off at around midnight, while my son was still a little fussy. I laughed to myself. I may have called him a 'scamp' or a 'rascal', and lulled myself into believing that he would soon be asleep. Five long hours later my wife awoke to me and Ellis both wide eyed, having had not a single minute of sleep between us. She came to my rescue, insisting that I slept for a few hours.
Since then, he's had good nights and bad nights. There was a delightful phase of sleeping at midnight, waking at three or four for a feed and then sleeping until seven. I loved it. I'd wake with him and then bring him downstairs to watch The Office or Flight of the Conchords or any other show on DVD. There have been several four o' clock wake up, where he has woken me screaming and not slept until nine or ten. Those nights caused me problems. I'm not a person who typically naps. I don't like them. I wake up feeling confused and disoriented, so I tend to avoid them. However, in recent days my body has been crying out for rest, leading to me sleeping on the sofa, the armchair and on the floor, at random points of the day. Luckily, the past four nights have been a blessing. We've gotten him to sleep at midnight and he's managed to rest until six o' clock. Six hours may not seem like a decent sleep, but for me it felt like I had awoken after a Sleeping Beauty-esque length of time, on a bed of the finest silk, with angels caressing my face with their wings. And that's where he is with his sleeping right now. And where I am with mine.
I've said this to multiple people, but I'll say it on here. For a creature that spent the first nine months of his life having all of his waste ferried off through a convenient little tube, Ellis has taken to pooping like a champion. He still doesn't show much in the way of emotion, but I'm pretty sure he loves going to the toilet. We'll be there cuddling, or feeding him, or he may even be sleeping, and suddenly he'll go crimson and being making a noise that can only be written as: "HHHHHHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGHGHHHGGGGGGGGG!!!" and then there will be the worst sound I've ever heard. Unfortunately, I don't have access to heavy duty waste cleanup crews, so we have to make do with baby wipes, which we use a lot of. Two nights ago I experiences my first projectile pooping. No, it wasn't diarrhea, it was a normal poo, but it shot out like a Nerf dart and hit me in the arm. I've been urinated on, one time in the presence of the health visitor. You may be thinking, "God, all these poop jokes, how juvenile," but guess what? We're talking about a baby here. And I am pretty childish anyway, so yeah. Besides, the fact that he has a healthy toilet life is a really good indicator that we have a healthy baby.
He's getting hungrier, too. The very first tub of formula that we bought was labelled, 'Extra Hungry', and it really set the stage. It details that by this point in his life, he should be consuming roughly 150ml of feed every four hours or so, but he drinks anything from 180ml to 230ml. He's a gutsy boy, and he shows us when he's hungry. We tell people that he doesn't cry, which is almost true, but the one instance when he really goes for it is when he's hungry. With no warning, he makes this squealing noise that sounds as if we are sticking the soles of his feet with burning needles. We all have our ways, I suppose. My wife's tummy rumbles. I smack my lips. My son shrieks like a madman. Unfortunately, my wife's breast milk stopped after about two and a half weeks. It upset her, but ultimately he did end up getting the most nutritious of breast milk, and they do say that the best time for a baby to breast feed is the first few weeks.
Up until recently, my wife has been feeling pretty down on herself about being a mum. Don't get me wrong, she's been an amazing mum so far as anyone is concerned, but because her recovery from the C-section has limited what she can physically do, she's seen it as her being a bad mum. I try to remind her that her belly was cut open completely across, and that's not something a plaster and some antiseptic cream fixes. The trouble was that every time she began to feel a bit better, we'd leave the house for a mini day out. But then the stress on her body of walking for an extended period of time would hurt her and slow her recovery. Over the past week she's seeming a lot better. She's on her feet more and complains of pain less. It still hurts her, but luckily we're visiting the doctor tomorrow for her MMR booster, and so we'll discuss the scar then. It kills me to hear her fret about being a good mum, though, because she's amazing. Ellis can be fretting and fussing and screaming his head off, but five minutes with his mum and he's calmed right down. Tudor men do love their mums. She's calm, loving, considerate, and needs to give herself far more credit.
Every day brings something new with him. Little developments and changes that may seems like nothing, but are big enough for us to notice them. He started gripping really well after two weeks or so, and could find a finger (or lip) with his hands with ease. Recently he has begun to watch far more. When I used to hold him he's stare blankly in every direction other than my face, but now, when I talk, he watches and listens. He makes all sorts of expressions for everyone except me, but I'm still happy that he watches me, with his big, gorgeous eyes. He's also begun to smile, but they're always in his sleep, or when he's half conscious. It's not enough for me to proclaim, "My son can smile!", but I don't think he's far away.
We've also survived three midwife visits and two health visitor visits. Ellis' weight, as of the last visit, is a huge 10lb 4oz. During one of the first visits, in a time period that I consider when we were finding our feet as parents, the midwife told us that we were doing amazing, and that she thought we were coping better than some parents that were on their second or third child. Talk about a confidence booster! We were signed off from home visits, too, which means that we're doing something right. We've had multiple visits from friends and family, too, and all I can do is sit by and beam as they coo over my son.
So, without going into any greater detail than what I have, that's a summary of the first four weeks of my being a dad. I'm tired, but happy. It's the greatest job in the world, and I promise that from now on (now that I'm used to this job), I'll keep regular updates.
Kael
Monday, 12 August 2013
Sunday, 11 August 2013
Birth Day
I'm a daddy.
Yesterday began like every day in the past week. I woke up and piled extra bowls of food and water for the cats, checked all my essentials were in my bag, and set off for the hospital. The difference was that on the way to the hospital I received a text from my wife explaining that today she was being moved to labour ward.
It was a slow day. We played some Scrabble and chatted for a while, but ultimately the day boiled down to waiting. The room, which had six beds, slowly emptied as each woman was admitted to the labour ward. Everyone except my wife. We were used to the slow pace at the hospital - it once took a doctor and hour and a half to get two headache tablets - but still the wait consumed us. We could have done something to take our minds off the wait, like watching a DVD or playing more Scrabble, but we didn't. To know, for certain, that we were so close to the end of the beginning of our journey was too exciting to try and distract ourselves from the fact that it could take most of the day to get to labour ward.
As it did. We were finally called for and moved over to the ward at quarter past six. For the maternity ward, visiting times were only between ten o' clock and half past eight, but for maternity ward I could stay until our baby had arrived. No problem, I thought. Hopefully he'll be here by tonight.
Nope.
Before the midwives could start my wife on her hormone drip, they first had to get a satisfactory trace of our baby, something easier said than done with Ellis. Luckily, the trace ran smoothly and the midwife was happy to begin the drip. The drip would gradually release the hormones that would induce labour, and the dose would be increased manually as time went on. Unfortunately, it meant that my wife would be tied to a monitor for the whole labour. She made it clear that she was interested in having an epidural, but that wouldn't be administered until she was getting contractions regularly. The gas an air would be available immediately, however, and when she started getting twinges, she took the midwife up on her offer.
Gas and air made my wife act like she was drunk. She giggled and laughed, but it really helped with the pain, so it was good enough for me. She began to grow concerned that she wouldn't know her limits with the gas and air and wouldn't be able to ask for a epidural, but as the contractions grew stronger and the pain grew worse, she knew. A doctor soon arrived and administered the epidural, a process I found fascinating. Like the gas and air, the epidural worked brilliantly, and my wife was able to lay back and relax.
The time came for an examination, but the midwife found that my wife's cervix had softened, but barely dilated. She also thought that, contrary to what we believed, my wife's waters hadn't actually broken. She called the doctor, who managed to both confirm the suspicion and then break the waters. 'Tubular, dude!' would have been an apt thing to say, because the gush of amniotic fluid nearly carried the hospital staff away. The doctor explained that the hormone drip would work a lot more effectively now, and also attached what they called a 'clip' to the baby's head. They had been having trouble monitoring him through my wife's belly, as usual, so the 'clip' provided a direct trace of his heartbeat.
Unfortunately, the epidural wasn't working as effectively. I think that my wife's waters breaking may have loosened the plaster holding the drip in place in my wife's back. Regardless of the cause, the doctor who administered the first epidural come again, removed it and redid the process. Luckily the problem had been resolved and the pain relief began to take more effect. The midwife had explained that she'd be examining my wife again at four o' clock (in the morning), and it was already three, so I decided to keep myself awake and then sleep after the examination. I failed, and dozed in and out of sleep in my chair. When the examination came around, my wife had progressed to four centimeters dilation and our son's head had begun to descend. She was due to be examined at eight o' clock, so I decided to sleep. Unfortunately the maternity ward's sleeping facilities for dads left a lot to be desired, so I had to settle for either the chair, with a pillow cuddled inbetween my arms for me to lay my head on, or sprawled on the bathroom floor. A sort of sleep-dementia took hold and I sampled both.
The next few hours were a slight blur due to tiredness, but morning came, along with another examination. My wife had progressed to eight centimeters and our son's head had lowered even more. The epidural was still working well, but the building pressure was becoming uncomfortable for her. She coped well, though. In fact, I'm incredibly proud of her. In our time on the maternity ward during any of our hundreds of visits I have witnessed women wailing like banshees, screaming like babies and even woofing like dogs, but the most she complained was to say the word, 'Ow.' At times it was more drawn out, like, 'Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwww', but still, it was really the only complaint, and I'm proud of her. I wouldn't have thought any less of her if she had begun barking, but she was determined not to scream, and she didn't.
The problem came when the morning doctor examined my wife at the start of the afternoon. He had visited earlier and explained the plan - the dose of hormone drip was to be upped to get my wife dilating the remaining two centimeters, she would continue to labour on the epidural for an hour before she began to push, and within two hours our son would be born - but during his second visit he explained that our son's head was angled backwards, so that his chin was facing out. Combined with the direction his back was facing, this was a problem. "I'm going to have to deliver him differently," he explained, referring to a C-section. Despite joking about having a caesarian from the beginning, this news upset my wife. The medical staff explained that this was nothing to worry about and that they'd deliver our son with the utmost safety to both him and my wife. Then they prepped her and took her to the theatre.
I had to wait until I was called. I donned the scrubs a midwife had given me and paced the room, waiting. After fifteen minutes i was told that the doctors had to reset my wife's epidural to ensure that she was numb during the procedure. I waiting another fifteen minutes and was finally escorted to the theatre where my wife was waiting. A blue cloth has been set up to block her view from what was going on, but I sat with her as the operation began. As a first time parent, no noise scares the life out of me, but we had a friendly doctor with us who was peeking over the sheet to dampen our worries. He began to smile as a midwife cheerfully chirped, 'Happy birthday!', but we heard to crying and saw no baby. They had whisked him off to clean him and examine him.
Finally, a cry permeated the air. It was enough to bring tears to both me and my wife's eyes. A small bundle was brought over and shown briefly, before being taken away for more checks. His eyes, cheeks, nose and forehead all looked swollen and red, but it had happened.
On August 10th, 2013, at 3:10PM, Ellis William Jon Tudor, our son, was born.
The doctors explained that he would need to be kept for a while to be examined, then began to close up my wife's belly. I was taken back to the room to wait, and not long after my wife was wheeled back on her bed. Then began to agonising wait for the pediatrician, who would explain what was going on with our baby. It was a strange anticlimax. You expect your child to be born and to have them in your arms within moments, but our son had been taken away, and we knew nothing. We didn't speak, but I think it was painfully obvious that both of us were worried. Finally the doctor arrived and explained that because of his awkward head position in the birth canal, our son has swelling on his face. He was breathing on his own and was stabilizing, but would have to be kept and observed for at least a few hours. I was offered to go and visit him, however, which I eagerly did. My wife, with her numb legs, couldn't come yet, but I took her phone to get photographs.
Ellis lay in a plastic crib under a warm lamp, loosely wrapped in a blanket. The swellings and cuts covered all his face and gave him the look of a boxer after a rough match. His tiny black eyes could only just see out from between his swollen eyelids, but when he looked at me I knew. What I knew, I can't explain in words, but seeing him stare at me, with a face that he wouldn't have in a few days, I just knew, and I will continue to know for the rest of my life. With the midwife's help I carefully dressed him, to keep him warm, and left him to return to my wife.
I visited him several times during the next few hours, and each time the swelling had noticeably regressed. I spoke softly with him and tickled his hands, but wanted me wife to be able to do the same thing. Luckily, a midwife arranged for him to be brought into my wife's room, only for ten minutes, so she could properly meet her son. He cried, but the second she took him in her arms he stopped. He looked at us with his black eyes as the three of us sat on the bed for the first time as a complete family. I know that he was unable to comprehend the situation in the same way that me wife and I could, but sitting there with the two of them was one of the most special moments of my life.
He had to go back to the special care unit, so I wheeled him over in his little plastic crib and gave him a kiss goodnight, then returned to do the same for my wife. I've never been so proud of a person in my life. She carried our son for over nine months through all the difficulties we've had with him, laboured with him with little to no complaints, and delivered him in a terrifying situation with the bravest face. This isn't the post where I'll write about it (that'll come another time), but she is going to be an amazing mum. Ellis is lucky that he has her, and so am I.
So, I'm a daddy. After all this time, all these worries, it's finally happened. I thought it never would. But like I said earlier, this is only the end of the beginning of our journey. Being a first time dad starts at birth, and I've got a sneaking suspicion that I'm going to have a lot to write about.
For now, though, bed. I need to be well rested. I've got a family I need to visit in hospital tomorrow morning, and I want to get there early.
Kael
Yesterday began like every day in the past week. I woke up and piled extra bowls of food and water for the cats, checked all my essentials were in my bag, and set off for the hospital. The difference was that on the way to the hospital I received a text from my wife explaining that today she was being moved to labour ward.
It was a slow day. We played some Scrabble and chatted for a while, but ultimately the day boiled down to waiting. The room, which had six beds, slowly emptied as each woman was admitted to the labour ward. Everyone except my wife. We were used to the slow pace at the hospital - it once took a doctor and hour and a half to get two headache tablets - but still the wait consumed us. We could have done something to take our minds off the wait, like watching a DVD or playing more Scrabble, but we didn't. To know, for certain, that we were so close to the end of the beginning of our journey was too exciting to try and distract ourselves from the fact that it could take most of the day to get to labour ward.
As it did. We were finally called for and moved over to the ward at quarter past six. For the maternity ward, visiting times were only between ten o' clock and half past eight, but for maternity ward I could stay until our baby had arrived. No problem, I thought. Hopefully he'll be here by tonight.
Nope.
Before the midwives could start my wife on her hormone drip, they first had to get a satisfactory trace of our baby, something easier said than done with Ellis. Luckily, the trace ran smoothly and the midwife was happy to begin the drip. The drip would gradually release the hormones that would induce labour, and the dose would be increased manually as time went on. Unfortunately, it meant that my wife would be tied to a monitor for the whole labour. She made it clear that she was interested in having an epidural, but that wouldn't be administered until she was getting contractions regularly. The gas an air would be available immediately, however, and when she started getting twinges, she took the midwife up on her offer.
Gas and air made my wife act like she was drunk. She giggled and laughed, but it really helped with the pain, so it was good enough for me. She began to grow concerned that she wouldn't know her limits with the gas and air and wouldn't be able to ask for a epidural, but as the contractions grew stronger and the pain grew worse, she knew. A doctor soon arrived and administered the epidural, a process I found fascinating. Like the gas and air, the epidural worked brilliantly, and my wife was able to lay back and relax.
The time came for an examination, but the midwife found that my wife's cervix had softened, but barely dilated. She also thought that, contrary to what we believed, my wife's waters hadn't actually broken. She called the doctor, who managed to both confirm the suspicion and then break the waters. 'Tubular, dude!' would have been an apt thing to say, because the gush of amniotic fluid nearly carried the hospital staff away. The doctor explained that the hormone drip would work a lot more effectively now, and also attached what they called a 'clip' to the baby's head. They had been having trouble monitoring him through my wife's belly, as usual, so the 'clip' provided a direct trace of his heartbeat.
Unfortunately, the epidural wasn't working as effectively. I think that my wife's waters breaking may have loosened the plaster holding the drip in place in my wife's back. Regardless of the cause, the doctor who administered the first epidural come again, removed it and redid the process. Luckily the problem had been resolved and the pain relief began to take more effect. The midwife had explained that she'd be examining my wife again at four o' clock (in the morning), and it was already three, so I decided to keep myself awake and then sleep after the examination. I failed, and dozed in and out of sleep in my chair. When the examination came around, my wife had progressed to four centimeters dilation and our son's head had begun to descend. She was due to be examined at eight o' clock, so I decided to sleep. Unfortunately the maternity ward's sleeping facilities for dads left a lot to be desired, so I had to settle for either the chair, with a pillow cuddled inbetween my arms for me to lay my head on, or sprawled on the bathroom floor. A sort of sleep-dementia took hold and I sampled both.
The next few hours were a slight blur due to tiredness, but morning came, along with another examination. My wife had progressed to eight centimeters and our son's head had lowered even more. The epidural was still working well, but the building pressure was becoming uncomfortable for her. She coped well, though. In fact, I'm incredibly proud of her. In our time on the maternity ward during any of our hundreds of visits I have witnessed women wailing like banshees, screaming like babies and even woofing like dogs, but the most she complained was to say the word, 'Ow.' At times it was more drawn out, like, 'Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwww', but still, it was really the only complaint, and I'm proud of her. I wouldn't have thought any less of her if she had begun barking, but she was determined not to scream, and she didn't.
The problem came when the morning doctor examined my wife at the start of the afternoon. He had visited earlier and explained the plan - the dose of hormone drip was to be upped to get my wife dilating the remaining two centimeters, she would continue to labour on the epidural for an hour before she began to push, and within two hours our son would be born - but during his second visit he explained that our son's head was angled backwards, so that his chin was facing out. Combined with the direction his back was facing, this was a problem. "I'm going to have to deliver him differently," he explained, referring to a C-section. Despite joking about having a caesarian from the beginning, this news upset my wife. The medical staff explained that this was nothing to worry about and that they'd deliver our son with the utmost safety to both him and my wife. Then they prepped her and took her to the theatre.
I had to wait until I was called. I donned the scrubs a midwife had given me and paced the room, waiting. After fifteen minutes i was told that the doctors had to reset my wife's epidural to ensure that she was numb during the procedure. I waiting another fifteen minutes and was finally escorted to the theatre where my wife was waiting. A blue cloth has been set up to block her view from what was going on, but I sat with her as the operation began. As a first time parent, no noise scares the life out of me, but we had a friendly doctor with us who was peeking over the sheet to dampen our worries. He began to smile as a midwife cheerfully chirped, 'Happy birthday!', but we heard to crying and saw no baby. They had whisked him off to clean him and examine him.
Finally, a cry permeated the air. It was enough to bring tears to both me and my wife's eyes. A small bundle was brought over and shown briefly, before being taken away for more checks. His eyes, cheeks, nose and forehead all looked swollen and red, but it had happened.
On August 10th, 2013, at 3:10PM, Ellis William Jon Tudor, our son, was born.
The doctors explained that he would need to be kept for a while to be examined, then began to close up my wife's belly. I was taken back to the room to wait, and not long after my wife was wheeled back on her bed. Then began to agonising wait for the pediatrician, who would explain what was going on with our baby. It was a strange anticlimax. You expect your child to be born and to have them in your arms within moments, but our son had been taken away, and we knew nothing. We didn't speak, but I think it was painfully obvious that both of us were worried. Finally the doctor arrived and explained that because of his awkward head position in the birth canal, our son has swelling on his face. He was breathing on his own and was stabilizing, but would have to be kept and observed for at least a few hours. I was offered to go and visit him, however, which I eagerly did. My wife, with her numb legs, couldn't come yet, but I took her phone to get photographs.
Ellis lay in a plastic crib under a warm lamp, loosely wrapped in a blanket. The swellings and cuts covered all his face and gave him the look of a boxer after a rough match. His tiny black eyes could only just see out from between his swollen eyelids, but when he looked at me I knew. What I knew, I can't explain in words, but seeing him stare at me, with a face that he wouldn't have in a few days, I just knew, and I will continue to know for the rest of my life. With the midwife's help I carefully dressed him, to keep him warm, and left him to return to my wife.
I visited him several times during the next few hours, and each time the swelling had noticeably regressed. I spoke softly with him and tickled his hands, but wanted me wife to be able to do the same thing. Luckily, a midwife arranged for him to be brought into my wife's room, only for ten minutes, so she could properly meet her son. He cried, but the second she took him in her arms he stopped. He looked at us with his black eyes as the three of us sat on the bed for the first time as a complete family. I know that he was unable to comprehend the situation in the same way that me wife and I could, but sitting there with the two of them was one of the most special moments of my life.
He had to go back to the special care unit, so I wheeled him over in his little plastic crib and gave him a kiss goodnight, then returned to do the same for my wife. I've never been so proud of a person in my life. She carried our son for over nine months through all the difficulties we've had with him, laboured with him with little to no complaints, and delivered him in a terrifying situation with the bravest face. This isn't the post where I'll write about it (that'll come another time), but she is going to be an amazing mum. Ellis is lucky that he has her, and so am I.
So, I'm a daddy. After all this time, all these worries, it's finally happened. I thought it never would. But like I said earlier, this is only the end of the beginning of our journey. Being a first time dad starts at birth, and I've got a sneaking suspicion that I'm going to have a lot to write about.
For now, though, bed. I need to be well rested. I've got a family I need to visit in hospital tomorrow morning, and I want to get there early.
Kael
Thursday, 8 August 2013
Induction day 3
The title of the blog is misleading, because today was what the doctor's called a 'rest day', where they gave my wife nothing in the form of drugs to continue bringing on labour. Technically then, today was not part of induction, while at the same time it was.
However, despite the doctors not doing anything, my wife's body decided to kick it up a notch. All day she has been getting contractions. They started properly this morning, in the early hours. I received a phone call just passed six o' clock, informing me of tightenings. As the name of my blog suggests, I've never had a child before, so my first reaction was to get dressed and get to the hospital as fast as I could.
I met my wife outside the ward, realised quickly that, no, we weren't having a baby just yet, and then went and sat in the waiting room because, regardless of my ten to seven arrival, visiting hours for dads don't start until ten o' clock.
The day went more slowly than yesterday, which was nice, because my time with her felt like it lasted longer. Her contractions continued all day, fairly irregular at first, but gradually building up to five every ten minutes. I've found that as a first time expectant parent, uncertainty takes up a lot of your thinking time. My wife confirmed that the same applies to her when she said, "I think my waters have broken... maybe?" We informed the midwife, who gave my wife a pillow - sorry, a sanitary pad (the size of both are very similar) and after checking the... contents, confirmed that yes, the waters had broken.
I think that the two of us were expecting to be ferried over to labour ward, but after an examination the midwife explained that my wife's cervix was still quite high and long, when it needs to be low and short. So, no labour ward yet, then.
So after multiple walks, a visit from my wife's father, exchanging gifts on Animal Crossing, some snacks and a bath (not for me), it was time for me to leave. Again. The clanging of the bell the midwives ring made sure of that.
So I'm here, at home with the cats, waiting. Bed time is approaching, and I wonder if tonight is the night I'll be woken up to a phone call, or will I wake with my alarm and make my way to the hospital for ten o' clock.
It's a journey, regardless, and it's only really just begun.
Kael
However, despite the doctors not doing anything, my wife's body decided to kick it up a notch. All day she has been getting contractions. They started properly this morning, in the early hours. I received a phone call just passed six o' clock, informing me of tightenings. As the name of my blog suggests, I've never had a child before, so my first reaction was to get dressed and get to the hospital as fast as I could.
I met my wife outside the ward, realised quickly that, no, we weren't having a baby just yet, and then went and sat in the waiting room because, regardless of my ten to seven arrival, visiting hours for dads don't start until ten o' clock.
The day went more slowly than yesterday, which was nice, because my time with her felt like it lasted longer. Her contractions continued all day, fairly irregular at first, but gradually building up to five every ten minutes. I've found that as a first time expectant parent, uncertainty takes up a lot of your thinking time. My wife confirmed that the same applies to her when she said, "I think my waters have broken... maybe?" We informed the midwife, who gave my wife a pillow - sorry, a sanitary pad (the size of both are very similar) and after checking the... contents, confirmed that yes, the waters had broken.
I think that the two of us were expecting to be ferried over to labour ward, but after an examination the midwife explained that my wife's cervix was still quite high and long, when it needs to be low and short. So, no labour ward yet, then.
So after multiple walks, a visit from my wife's father, exchanging gifts on Animal Crossing, some snacks and a bath (not for me), it was time for me to leave. Again. The clanging of the bell the midwives ring made sure of that.
So I'm here, at home with the cats, waiting. Bed time is approaching, and I wonder if tonight is the night I'll be woken up to a phone call, or will I wake with my alarm and make my way to the hospital for ten o' clock.
It's a journey, regardless, and it's only really just begun.
Kael
Wednesday, 7 August 2013
Induction day one
So I'm home, it's late and I need to go to sleep to ready myself for tomorrow. But first, a blog.
Today felt like it went by really quickly, but very slowly at the same time. Not a lot happened, really. A midwife used a pessary tablet, which will be left to do its thing for 24 hours. During the day we went on several walks around the hospital and grounds to try and stir things into action, to no avail. There were a few tightenings, but they seemed like nothing out of the ordinary.
At half past eight, I begrudgingly left my wife, only to be texted and told that the partners of the other pregnant women had stayed for up to an extra hour. Great. I don't want to be apart from my wife, and it turns out I could have stayed a little longer.
During the past hour, however, I've been texting back and forth with my wife. She's getting contractions. They may be part of the latent stage of labour and would mean that she's not going to be giving birth in the next few hours. Even though I'm going to sleep now, I'm on high alert.
Apologies if this post is badly written, too. I'm rather tired and wanted to give a quick update. I'll write better tomorrow. promise.
Kael
Today felt like it went by really quickly, but very slowly at the same time. Not a lot happened, really. A midwife used a pessary tablet, which will be left to do its thing for 24 hours. During the day we went on several walks around the hospital and grounds to try and stir things into action, to no avail. There were a few tightenings, but they seemed like nothing out of the ordinary.
At half past eight, I begrudgingly left my wife, only to be texted and told that the partners of the other pregnant women had stayed for up to an extra hour. Great. I don't want to be apart from my wife, and it turns out I could have stayed a little longer.
During the past hour, however, I've been texting back and forth with my wife. She's getting contractions. They may be part of the latent stage of labour and would mean that she's not going to be giving birth in the next few hours. Even though I'm going to sleep now, I'm on high alert.
Apologies if this post is badly written, too. I'm rather tired and wanted to give a quick update. I'll write better tomorrow. promise.
Kael
Monday, 5 August 2013
The beginning of the end
Induction day is looming. It's tomorrow, in fact, which came as a bit of a surprise to my wife and I. For some reason we had lulled ourselves into thinking that it was on Wednesday that we had to go back to the hospital. Bags have been checked and re-checked. Lists have been made. Coming home outfits have been decided upon and everything is ready.
It's scary, really. Tonight is the last night that my wife and I will spend together in our house as just the two of us. Depending on how successful (or unsuccessful) each method of induction is, she could be in for several nights before anything even happens. We spent the night apart a few weeks ago, which was strange, and it'll be even stranger if we have to spend several more.
She's incredibly brave. Hospitals, and being in them, essentially scare my wife. She has approached this sudden realisation of an imminent hospital visit with a little upset, as anyone would, but overall she's so strong, and I'm proud of her. She said earlier, "When I leave tomorrow, I won't be coming home without our baby," and hearing those words really made it hit home that, yeah, the two of us are on the cusp of becoming parents. Not just parents to the ever growing bump, but to a real, life, kicking and screaming and breathing and growing and smiling and crying child. Someone who we will raise and nurture and do our damn best to be the best parents ever to. We've been preparing for this for nine months, through all the hospital visits and monitorings and scans, and now that it's about to happen it doesn't feel real.
So, tomorrow, we'll leave the house and arrive at the hospital for half eight. I'll have to leave, because father visiting hours are between 10am and 8pm, but I already have a tentative mission of rounding up snacks. I'll be with her all day, until I'm thrown out by hospital staff. It could work within hours, and by this time tomorrow I'll be blogging about the birth of my son, or it could not, and I'll be blogging about how he's still not quite ready to say hello to the world.
Only time will tell, but for now I ask you, whether you know me or not, to think of my beautiful wife and my unborn son and to give them your best wishes. Hopefully soon I'll be able to tell you what it feels like to hold my baby boy.
Kael
It's scary, really. Tonight is the last night that my wife and I will spend together in our house as just the two of us. Depending on how successful (or unsuccessful) each method of induction is, she could be in for several nights before anything even happens. We spent the night apart a few weeks ago, which was strange, and it'll be even stranger if we have to spend several more.
She's incredibly brave. Hospitals, and being in them, essentially scare my wife. She has approached this sudden realisation of an imminent hospital visit with a little upset, as anyone would, but overall she's so strong, and I'm proud of her. She said earlier, "When I leave tomorrow, I won't be coming home without our baby," and hearing those words really made it hit home that, yeah, the two of us are on the cusp of becoming parents. Not just parents to the ever growing bump, but to a real, life, kicking and screaming and breathing and growing and smiling and crying child. Someone who we will raise and nurture and do our damn best to be the best parents ever to. We've been preparing for this for nine months, through all the hospital visits and monitorings and scans, and now that it's about to happen it doesn't feel real.
So, tomorrow, we'll leave the house and arrive at the hospital for half eight. I'll have to leave, because father visiting hours are between 10am and 8pm, but I already have a tentative mission of rounding up snacks. I'll be with her all day, until I'm thrown out by hospital staff. It could work within hours, and by this time tomorrow I'll be blogging about the birth of my son, or it could not, and I'll be blogging about how he's still not quite ready to say hello to the world.
Only time will tell, but for now I ask you, whether you know me or not, to think of my beautiful wife and my unborn son and to give them your best wishes. Hopefully soon I'll be able to tell you what it feels like to hold my baby boy.
Kael
Wednesday, 31 July 2013
Due Date
No, not the hilarious road movie starring Robert Downey Jr. and Zach Galafinakinakisansakis (which we're about to put on to watch in bed), but the fact that today, the 30th of July, is our son's due date.
And he hasn't made an appearance.
We even tempted fate by going out for some food, but still the little bugger didn't show up. Typical.
Yesterday, my wife's consultant made a plan with her. On Friday we have to go back to the hospital for a monitoring, and if he is still not here by Tuesday, they're going to induce her. We read some information and discovered that the whole induction process takes several days, where my wife will have to stay in hospital the entire time. We've already made a plan for movies and laptops to be ready so she doesn't get bored.
So, by the time I've clicked the 'publish' button on this post, it'll be the 31st, and our son will officially be overdue. How much longer for, I cannot say.
But I'll keep you posted.
Kael
And he hasn't made an appearance.
We even tempted fate by going out for some food, but still the little bugger didn't show up. Typical.
Yesterday, my wife's consultant made a plan with her. On Friday we have to go back to the hospital for a monitoring, and if he is still not here by Tuesday, they're going to induce her. We read some information and discovered that the whole induction process takes several days, where my wife will have to stay in hospital the entire time. We've already made a plan for movies and laptops to be ready so she doesn't get bored.
So, by the time I've clicked the 'publish' button on this post, it'll be the 31st, and our son will officially be overdue. How much longer for, I cannot say.
But I'll keep you posted.
Kael
Sunday, 28 July 2013
Anniversary
Today is me and my wife's anniversary. Not of marriage, but of the date we got together. July 28th, 2008. It's been five amazing years, and we were speaking earlier about how in that time we've moved in together, gotten married, and are a few days away from having our first child. It all seems to have gone by so quickly, but on the other hand, I can't imagine my life without her in it. It feels like she's always been here with me. Last night we went out for a celebratory meal, because we had to go back to the hospital for another claw... sorry, I mean sweep.
The midwife today was not as relentless to disappear as the other. She also explained that if she struggled, she felt it would mean my wife's not ready to have a full sweep. Whatever she did stirred something, though, because our son has been kicking non-stop since. Other than that, things are as expected. His head isn't fully engaged yet, despite us being told previously that it was, but my wife has a consultant appointment tomorrow, which may decide how and when Ellis is delivered. I'm personally not the biggest fan of my wife being induced, as it elevates her to the status of a 'high-risk' patient, which I don't want. I may post again tomorrow, to update on what's going on. At the end of the day, these next few days may be the last few days he spends inside his mummy's tummy.
Tonight, as another celebration of the fact that today is actually our anniversary, we're having a takeaway from Wasabi. For those of you who don't know, Wasabi is a Japanese-style restaurant that specialises in sushi. SHOCK! HORROR! A pregnant woman eating sushi!
Yes, we know. Trust me, we know. But never fear, she's not actually eating anything raw. It's all cooked through and through. That will most definitely not be the case when Ellis is born.
My wife has been excellent at eating carefully during pregnancy. When we first found out, all those months ago, we trawled the internet and books to check what she could, and couldn't eat. Rare steak, sushi, mayonnaise, seafood sauce, paté, houmus. The list went on and on. Unfortunately for her, the majority of her favourite foods were right at the top of the 'do not eat' section, so for nine months, she's eaten things she sort of likes.
We've got a deal. The day Ellis is born I'm going to leave the hospital and return with a buffet of sushi (with raw fish), rare steak, paté, houmus, a McFlurry and a hundred other things she hasn't been able to eat. Something I think will be well deserved.
Until then, cooked fish is just going to have to do.
Kael
The midwife today was not as relentless to disappear as the other. She also explained that if she struggled, she felt it would mean my wife's not ready to have a full sweep. Whatever she did stirred something, though, because our son has been kicking non-stop since. Other than that, things are as expected. His head isn't fully engaged yet, despite us being told previously that it was, but my wife has a consultant appointment tomorrow, which may decide how and when Ellis is delivered. I'm personally not the biggest fan of my wife being induced, as it elevates her to the status of a 'high-risk' patient, which I don't want. I may post again tomorrow, to update on what's going on. At the end of the day, these next few days may be the last few days he spends inside his mummy's tummy.
Tonight, as another celebration of the fact that today is actually our anniversary, we're having a takeaway from Wasabi. For those of you who don't know, Wasabi is a Japanese-style restaurant that specialises in sushi. SHOCK! HORROR! A pregnant woman eating sushi!
Yes, we know. Trust me, we know. But never fear, she's not actually eating anything raw. It's all cooked through and through. That will most definitely not be the case when Ellis is born.
My wife has been excellent at eating carefully during pregnancy. When we first found out, all those months ago, we trawled the internet and books to check what she could, and couldn't eat. Rare steak, sushi, mayonnaise, seafood sauce, paté, houmus. The list went on and on. Unfortunately for her, the majority of her favourite foods were right at the top of the 'do not eat' section, so for nine months, she's eaten things she sort of likes.
We've got a deal. The day Ellis is born I'm going to leave the hospital and return with a buffet of sushi (with raw fish), rare steak, paté, houmus, a McFlurry and a hundred other things she hasn't been able to eat. Something I think will be well deserved.
Until then, cooked fish is just going to have to do.
Kael
Friday, 26 July 2013
Back in business
Hooray, my internet's back. Since the last, hurried blog post, more things have happened. It's never boring in our house, I can tell you.
So, on Wednesday night my wife wasn't feeling much movement again. We know that she has an anterior placenta - which is where the placenta sits in between the baby and your skin, creating a cushion - which is what we suspect is the main cause of our son's reduced movement, but we were sensible and went to the hospital anyway.
After a trace, the midwife explained that she'd been authorised to give my wife a 'sweep'. Frankly, the procedure should be described as a 'claw', because it consists of the midwife using her fingers to sweep around the inside of the cervix, to try and stimulate the release of hormones that bring on labour. It's not something that I'd want to go through, and my wife dealt with it incredibly well.
However, not long after that we were told that the decision had been made to keep my wife in hospital overnight, just in case. Recently, for every trip to the hospital, I have insisted on bundling our bags into the boot, just to be sure. Finally my caution paid off, so I went down to the car to get my wife's things, and I left her until the morning.
When I arrived back at 10am she told me that a lady in one of the opposite beds had spent the majority of the night screaming as loudly as she could, so she hadn't had the most sleep. One of the doctor's was very rude to her during rounds, and then we were left together.
After an hour (or maybe more) of monitoring where our son gave an absolutely terrible trace, she was visited by another, kinder doctor. He explained that he wanted her to have another scan, then another trace. If either of the two procedures came back unsatisfactory, then they would look to induce her. The scan came and went and the doctor was very happy with it, as was he with the trace, so fortunately, my wife was allowed to come home.
But not before another sweep. And this time, the midwife who performed it was on a mission. Obviously, I was sat at the head of the bed, next to my wife, because I didn't particularly want to see anything, but the midwife nearly disappeared. It appeared as though the sweep had some effect, though, as multiple times during the night I was worried my wife was going into labour. Not yet though, and if she doesn't before Sunday we have to pay another visit to the hospital.
Until then, the waiting game is on, again.
Kael
So, on Wednesday night my wife wasn't feeling much movement again. We know that she has an anterior placenta - which is where the placenta sits in between the baby and your skin, creating a cushion - which is what we suspect is the main cause of our son's reduced movement, but we were sensible and went to the hospital anyway.
After a trace, the midwife explained that she'd been authorised to give my wife a 'sweep'. Frankly, the procedure should be described as a 'claw', because it consists of the midwife using her fingers to sweep around the inside of the cervix, to try and stimulate the release of hormones that bring on labour. It's not something that I'd want to go through, and my wife dealt with it incredibly well.
However, not long after that we were told that the decision had been made to keep my wife in hospital overnight, just in case. Recently, for every trip to the hospital, I have insisted on bundling our bags into the boot, just to be sure. Finally my caution paid off, so I went down to the car to get my wife's things, and I left her until the morning.
When I arrived back at 10am she told me that a lady in one of the opposite beds had spent the majority of the night screaming as loudly as she could, so she hadn't had the most sleep. One of the doctor's was very rude to her during rounds, and then we were left together.
After an hour (or maybe more) of monitoring where our son gave an absolutely terrible trace, she was visited by another, kinder doctor. He explained that he wanted her to have another scan, then another trace. If either of the two procedures came back unsatisfactory, then they would look to induce her. The scan came and went and the doctor was very happy with it, as was he with the trace, so fortunately, my wife was allowed to come home.
But not before another sweep. And this time, the midwife who performed it was on a mission. Obviously, I was sat at the head of the bed, next to my wife, because I didn't particularly want to see anything, but the midwife nearly disappeared. It appeared as though the sweep had some effect, though, as multiple times during the night I was worried my wife was going into labour. Not yet though, and if she doesn't before Sunday we have to pay another visit to the hospital.
Until then, the waiting game is on, again.
Kael
Monday, 22 July 2013
Internet problems
Apologies for my lack of blog yesterday. Our Internet has gone down, so my only method of posting is off my iPod using Tesco's free wifi. I hate typing on iDevices, so this'll be a short one.
He's not here yet, anyway. We've had a few false alarms this week, but no baby, but were going on daily walks to try and stimulate something, anything. Apparently Kate Middleton has gone into labour this morning, so if my mother wants to have any chance of claiming the silver penny you get if your baby is born on the same day as the royal infant, my son had better hurry up.
When the Internet is restore I'll post a proper blog. See you then.
Kael
He's not here yet, anyway. We've had a few false alarms this week, but no baby, but were going on daily walks to try and stimulate something, anything. Apparently Kate Middleton has gone into labour this morning, so if my mother wants to have any chance of claiming the silver penny you get if your baby is born on the same day as the royal infant, my son had better hurry up.
When the Internet is restore I'll post a proper blog. See you then.
Kael
Sunday, 14 July 2013
T-minus...
It's not going to be long. At least, judging by the events of this week - and more so today - it doesn't seem like it's going to be long.
My wife is now thirty seven and five, which I have discovered recently is the nippy little way that midwives refer to how far along in pregnancy someone is. Obviously, it translates to thirty seven weeks and five days, but I like saying it because it makes my wife sound like one of the Borg from Star Trek.
This week has been full of the usual aches and pains, but on Wednesday night, or rather early Thursday morning, we had to pay yet another visit to the hospital. He wasn't moving again, but more importantly, my wife was feeling new, more intense pains. So, as usual, my brain began to scream at me, "IT'S TIME!!!" but I managed to keep calm, lead the bags and make the drive to Bridgend.
The maternity ward was busier than I've ever seen it. Out of the six beds, four were taken up by women who all had their own unique way of pronouncing the word, "Ow." One couple, despite the lady's obvious pain, were really outgoing and made the situation as light as possible. She offered my wife the gym ball and then was made fun of by her partner, who also had his own way of pronouncing "Ow." They were soon sent home, but the other women stayed. We heard that one was 3cm dilated, which is ridiculously uncomfortable-sounding (regardless of the fact that there would be another 7cm to go), and the other girl's waters had broken at 25 weeks, but she was rather blazé about the whole situation. She was eventually shipped off to a different hospital due to her 'baby deciding to come along 15 weeks early' situation.
While all this was going on, my wife was finally attached to a monitor and her trace began. That night was one where my son decided to be awkward, so the midwives were unsatisfied with it, leading to my wife staying on the monitor for longer.
The friendly couple returned after a few hours and were soon sent to the labour ward. They both managed to shout a, "Good luck!" to us on their way. The 3cm lady finally made the agonising journey to 4cm and was also taken to labour ward, leaving my wife and I alone.
After more hours than I could even imagine, a tall, scruffy, tired looking doctor popped her head around the curtain.
"Hello..." she checked her notes, "...Nia. I'm doctor Fabazashabaz." Obviously, that wasn't her name, but he Dutch-cum-South African accent combined with her mumbling voice made it hard to understand her. "Have we met before?" she asked, and when my wife responded in the negative, she gave what I suspect would have been the same response had she have said yes. "Okay. May I touch you?"
I've never seen a manhandling like it, and I used to watch the WWE wrestling. But despite her complete lack of bedside manner and general air of unusualness, she clearly knew what she was doing. She apologised for any pain caused and then stood back. "Two things..." she said, leaving a prolonged pause, which I assume was for dramatic effect. "Number one. You can't feel him kick because the placenta is in the way." Another dramatic pause. "Number two. You had SPD."
My heart leapt into my mouth.
"SPD stands for Spinal Purgatory Dysfunction." Now that is not what she said, but it may as well have been. The doctor's dramatic pauses made SPD sound like my son was covered in spines that pricked the inside of my wife's womb. It actually stands for Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction, which the doctor then explained meant that my wife's pelvic bone and the surrounding muscles moved more than they should, which explained the pain, which will last for the remainder of the pregnancy. She gave a codeine for the pain, we were resigned to a few more hours of the monitor, then we went home to sleep.
And that was that. Except today (and yesterday evening), my wife has been experiencing cramping pains. They come regularly and are spaced roughly forty minutes apart. We've been wondering all day what they mean, and the consensus that we've agreed on is that, despite being thirty seven and five (watch out Jean-Luc Picard) and Ellis' due date not being until the 30th July, we are going to be welcoming our son into the world sooner than we anticipated.
And that's a good thing, too, because nine months is a long time to wait to meet anyone, and I'm just about ready for out little family to grow by one.
Kael
My wife is now thirty seven and five, which I have discovered recently is the nippy little way that midwives refer to how far along in pregnancy someone is. Obviously, it translates to thirty seven weeks and five days, but I like saying it because it makes my wife sound like one of the Borg from Star Trek.
This week has been full of the usual aches and pains, but on Wednesday night, or rather early Thursday morning, we had to pay yet another visit to the hospital. He wasn't moving again, but more importantly, my wife was feeling new, more intense pains. So, as usual, my brain began to scream at me, "IT'S TIME!!!" but I managed to keep calm, lead the bags and make the drive to Bridgend.
The maternity ward was busier than I've ever seen it. Out of the six beds, four were taken up by women who all had their own unique way of pronouncing the word, "Ow." One couple, despite the lady's obvious pain, were really outgoing and made the situation as light as possible. She offered my wife the gym ball and then was made fun of by her partner, who also had his own way of pronouncing "Ow." They were soon sent home, but the other women stayed. We heard that one was 3cm dilated, which is ridiculously uncomfortable-sounding (regardless of the fact that there would be another 7cm to go), and the other girl's waters had broken at 25 weeks, but she was rather blazé about the whole situation. She was eventually shipped off to a different hospital due to her 'baby deciding to come along 15 weeks early' situation.
While all this was going on, my wife was finally attached to a monitor and her trace began. That night was one where my son decided to be awkward, so the midwives were unsatisfied with it, leading to my wife staying on the monitor for longer.
The friendly couple returned after a few hours and were soon sent to the labour ward. They both managed to shout a, "Good luck!" to us on their way. The 3cm lady finally made the agonising journey to 4cm and was also taken to labour ward, leaving my wife and I alone.
After more hours than I could even imagine, a tall, scruffy, tired looking doctor popped her head around the curtain.
"Hello..." she checked her notes, "...Nia. I'm doctor Fabazashabaz." Obviously, that wasn't her name, but he Dutch-cum-South African accent combined with her mumbling voice made it hard to understand her. "Have we met before?" she asked, and when my wife responded in the negative, she gave what I suspect would have been the same response had she have said yes. "Okay. May I touch you?"
I've never seen a manhandling like it, and I used to watch the WWE wrestling. But despite her complete lack of bedside manner and general air of unusualness, she clearly knew what she was doing. She apologised for any pain caused and then stood back. "Two things..." she said, leaving a prolonged pause, which I assume was for dramatic effect. "Number one. You can't feel him kick because the placenta is in the way." Another dramatic pause. "Number two. You had SPD."
My heart leapt into my mouth.
"SPD stands for Spinal Purgatory Dysfunction." Now that is not what she said, but it may as well have been. The doctor's dramatic pauses made SPD sound like my son was covered in spines that pricked the inside of my wife's womb. It actually stands for Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction, which the doctor then explained meant that my wife's pelvic bone and the surrounding muscles moved more than they should, which explained the pain, which will last for the remainder of the pregnancy. She gave a codeine for the pain, we were resigned to a few more hours of the monitor, then we went home to sleep.
And that was that. Except today (and yesterday evening), my wife has been experiencing cramping pains. They come regularly and are spaced roughly forty minutes apart. We've been wondering all day what they mean, and the consensus that we've agreed on is that, despite being thirty seven and five (watch out Jean-Luc Picard) and Ellis' due date not being until the 30th July, we are going to be welcoming our son into the world sooner than we anticipated.
And that's a good thing, too, because nine months is a long time to wait to meet anyone, and I'm just about ready for out little family to grow by one.
Kael
Monday, 8 July 2013
Worries
I can't wait for my son to be born. He's been around for nearly nine months but I've never met him, just spoken to him through an inch thick wall. That's a long time to know someone but never meet them. I know him, though. He's funny, the way he seems to respond to certain things I say or certain songs he hears. He's lazy, judging by his slightly-slower-than-average heartbeat and his lax attitude to generally moving around in his mother's womb. He's trouble, giving his mother and I multiple scares during the course of this pregnancy.
And I love him. I've never met him and I love him with all my heart, because I know he's my son. He's going to be respectful and polite and hard working, and he'll look after his younger siblings when they come along, and his family will always be important to him, no matter where he goes or what he does. I know this because he's my son.
But I worry. I worry that I am not going to be important.
Let me explain. My mum and dad split up when I was quite young. We would go over every weekend to see him, but when I think about the type of father I want to be, it's not what he was like. He would take us to McDonald's every Sunday morning for a Happy Meal and we'd sit there, happy enough, but I think back and realise that we were sat there amongst all the other dads who were treating their children to a McDonald's on the last day they had them, until the next weekend, when the mums would drop their children off. I don't want to be a McDonald's dad. I want to cook for my son, my children.
We never did much over at my dad's house. Sat and watched TV, mostly. Of course, there's nothing wrong with sitting with your children watching TV, but now it feels as though he never tried. He only saw my sister and me for two nights a week, and we spent most of that time doing nothing. When I got older and started becoming a teenager, he didn't seem to know how to react to me. When my mum would drive by to pick us up I'd go to him for a hug, but he couldn't give me that. It was always some awkward 'man hug' with a weird pat on the back, as if to say, "You're nearly a man now, Kael. No hugs from now on." All I wanted was a hug from my dad. It's as if he didn't really know me.
We don't see him anymore. My sister and I, for reasons I don't need to go into (needless to say, it wasn't because he fed us McDonald's), decided that we no longer wanted contact with him. He tried, for a bit. Christmas and birthday cards with his mobile number scratched inside in his scrawl, but there never felt like there was any effort. I've always thought that if my children cut me off, I'd fight tooth and nail to find out why, and when i know why I'd do everything I could to fix it.
My mum's partner has been around for a long time. Since I was small, again. But he's never been a father. He's never tried, nor have I wanted him to be. He's been everything he needed to be, and I thank him for not trying to replace my dad. I only have, and will only ever have one father. I'll give him that, regardless of what he did.
So, essentially, I grew up without a real father figure. The biggest male role model in my life was my grandfather. I aspire to be like him, the way he was with him family, his wife, his children and grandchildren. But aside from him, my ideas of what I want to be like as a father are conjured from my mind alone. And I'm really worried that it won't be enough.
I'm a person who makes mistakes. I'm forgetful, I'm clumsy and I often do the wrong thing by accident. I'm petrified that these elements of my person will carry over into my fatherhood. My wife is carrying our son. He and her have been two persons joined as one since he first came into existence, and even after he is born, her milk will feed him for months. She is the most important person to him in the entire world, and will be for the rest of his life. I've stressed in my first post how important mothers are, and rightfully so. Mother's milk is a phrase for a reason. It's not, 'Daddy's hug'. I just worry that no matter what I do, I will never be an important person to him. And I need to be. The little heart that is beating inside my wife's belly is the most important sound in my life, and I want to be there every step of the way.
I don't know why I worry, but I do. It may be a combination of the things listed above, it may not, but there is a deep seeded fear inside me that he will never look at me in the way that I want him to. He'll never think overly fondly of me as he grows up. He'll never make his own blog about impending fatherhood and explain to his readers about how he wants to be a father just like his dad was and is.
I'm writing this, a rather personal look into how I worry, because I hope that any people who feel the same may know that they're not alone. It's not a cry for sympathy, and I am damn well not going to ever let this fear consume me, especially when he comes along, but it feels like it's something I need to get out, because then it'll feel like I'm not alone in feeling it.
So. Maybe this is how many new dads feel. Maybe even new mums. It may be because my dad was not how I'd want to be. It may be because I didn't have a proper father figure growing up. It may be because I make mistakes and I'm scared they'll carry over into being a father.
But whatever it is, I'm going to make sure that I do everything I can to be the best father my son will ever have, and I'll never stop trying. Not ever.
Kael.
And I love him. I've never met him and I love him with all my heart, because I know he's my son. He's going to be respectful and polite and hard working, and he'll look after his younger siblings when they come along, and his family will always be important to him, no matter where he goes or what he does. I know this because he's my son.
But I worry. I worry that I am not going to be important.
Let me explain. My mum and dad split up when I was quite young. We would go over every weekend to see him, but when I think about the type of father I want to be, it's not what he was like. He would take us to McDonald's every Sunday morning for a Happy Meal and we'd sit there, happy enough, but I think back and realise that we were sat there amongst all the other dads who were treating their children to a McDonald's on the last day they had them, until the next weekend, when the mums would drop their children off. I don't want to be a McDonald's dad. I want to cook for my son, my children.
We never did much over at my dad's house. Sat and watched TV, mostly. Of course, there's nothing wrong with sitting with your children watching TV, but now it feels as though he never tried. He only saw my sister and me for two nights a week, and we spent most of that time doing nothing. When I got older and started becoming a teenager, he didn't seem to know how to react to me. When my mum would drive by to pick us up I'd go to him for a hug, but he couldn't give me that. It was always some awkward 'man hug' with a weird pat on the back, as if to say, "You're nearly a man now, Kael. No hugs from now on." All I wanted was a hug from my dad. It's as if he didn't really know me.
We don't see him anymore. My sister and I, for reasons I don't need to go into (needless to say, it wasn't because he fed us McDonald's), decided that we no longer wanted contact with him. He tried, for a bit. Christmas and birthday cards with his mobile number scratched inside in his scrawl, but there never felt like there was any effort. I've always thought that if my children cut me off, I'd fight tooth and nail to find out why, and when i know why I'd do everything I could to fix it.
My mum's partner has been around for a long time. Since I was small, again. But he's never been a father. He's never tried, nor have I wanted him to be. He's been everything he needed to be, and I thank him for not trying to replace my dad. I only have, and will only ever have one father. I'll give him that, regardless of what he did.
So, essentially, I grew up without a real father figure. The biggest male role model in my life was my grandfather. I aspire to be like him, the way he was with him family, his wife, his children and grandchildren. But aside from him, my ideas of what I want to be like as a father are conjured from my mind alone. And I'm really worried that it won't be enough.
I'm a person who makes mistakes. I'm forgetful, I'm clumsy and I often do the wrong thing by accident. I'm petrified that these elements of my person will carry over into my fatherhood. My wife is carrying our son. He and her have been two persons joined as one since he first came into existence, and even after he is born, her milk will feed him for months. She is the most important person to him in the entire world, and will be for the rest of his life. I've stressed in my first post how important mothers are, and rightfully so. Mother's milk is a phrase for a reason. It's not, 'Daddy's hug'. I just worry that no matter what I do, I will never be an important person to him. And I need to be. The little heart that is beating inside my wife's belly is the most important sound in my life, and I want to be there every step of the way.
I don't know why I worry, but I do. It may be a combination of the things listed above, it may not, but there is a deep seeded fear inside me that he will never look at me in the way that I want him to. He'll never think overly fondly of me as he grows up. He'll never make his own blog about impending fatherhood and explain to his readers about how he wants to be a father just like his dad was and is.
I'm writing this, a rather personal look into how I worry, because I hope that any people who feel the same may know that they're not alone. It's not a cry for sympathy, and I am damn well not going to ever let this fear consume me, especially when he comes along, but it feels like it's something I need to get out, because then it'll feel like I'm not alone in feeling it.
So. Maybe this is how many new dads feel. Maybe even new mums. It may be because my dad was not how I'd want to be. It may be because I didn't have a proper father figure growing up. It may be because I make mistakes and I'm scared they'll carry over into being a father.
But whatever it is, I'm going to make sure that I do everything I can to be the best father my son will ever have, and I'll never stop trying. Not ever.
Kael.
I can explain
Last week I stated that every Sunday would be my 'update day' for this log, yet here I am, at four minutes past midnight, writing a blog explaining why there is no blog.
We've just got back from the hospital. Nothing to worry about, my wife was feeling some pressure and pains and we went to go get it checked out. Considering how late we got home, though, I've decided to leave my post until tomorrow. Bed is calling me.
Goodnight, and see you tomorrow.
Kael
We've just got back from the hospital. Nothing to worry about, my wife was feeling some pressure and pains and we went to go get it checked out. Considering how late we got home, though, I've decided to leave my post until tomorrow. Bed is calling me.
Goodnight, and see you tomorrow.
Kael
Wednesday, 3 July 2013
I need a schedule
Yeah... sorry. My wife and I were talking about this blog when I first started it. She's more active in blogs than me and explained that a lot of blogs that she reads stick to a schedule. They update every Wednesday, or twice a week, on Monday and Friday. "I'll be fine," I said. "I don't need a rota to make sure I blog."
So here I am, nearly three weeks after my last post. Hi. I need to stick to a schedule. So from this moment on, every Sunday will be my blog day. Yes, I know today is Wednesday, but I will also post when I see fit, and right now is as good a time as ever.
A lot of things have happened the past few weeks. Multiple trips to the hospital, monitoring twice a week with a weekly scan. Last Saturday I was woken up at three in the morning to my wife stroking my hand and saying, "I'm getting pains every few minutes." The possible birth of my son that morning, coupled with the fact that my brain was attempting to wake up, led me to sit in bed muttering:
"Right... Hmmmmm... Okay... Right..."
As you can tell, I was on the ball.
He didn't come along, anyway. She took some pain killers, settled back down and the pains subsided, but the following day we paid a trip to the hospital due to his lack of movement. That's something that has happened a lot during this pregnancy. It's resulted in us having to change delivery venue from the birth centre in Port Talbot to Princess of Wales Hospital in Bridgend. At the time, we were both quite upset by the prospect. The birth centre allows for constant visitation by the new father. Some rooms have double beds and, within reason, there are no strict visiting hours. In comparison, Bridgend allows fathers to be there from 10am to 8pm, there are the usual visiting hours for friends and family and no double beds. No saunas or full length swimming pools, either.
Since then, however, we've both become more positive about Bridgend. Yes, I won't be allowed to stay continuously, but we do have three very demanding cats that I would have to return home to anyway. It'll give my wife some alone time with our son and it'll make going into the hospital that extra bit special (not that it'll need any extra special sprinkled on top, though). My wife is also liking the idea of the wide variety of painkillers that are available to her, something not present in Port Talbot.
Because of the multiple visits for diminished movement, the consultant has been speaking of inducing. That's up in the air at the moment, but despite the fact that my wife was 36 weeks yesterday, we may be meeting our son sooner than in four weeks.
So our bags are packed and ready in the boot of the car. As of today, the nursery is ready for him (except for blackout blinds, which are on their way). We're only missing one thing. Our baby. And despite our worries, I feel like we're just about ready.
Kael
So here I am, nearly three weeks after my last post. Hi. I need to stick to a schedule. So from this moment on, every Sunday will be my blog day. Yes, I know today is Wednesday, but I will also post when I see fit, and right now is as good a time as ever.
A lot of things have happened the past few weeks. Multiple trips to the hospital, monitoring twice a week with a weekly scan. Last Saturday I was woken up at three in the morning to my wife stroking my hand and saying, "I'm getting pains every few minutes." The possible birth of my son that morning, coupled with the fact that my brain was attempting to wake up, led me to sit in bed muttering:
"Right... Hmmmmm... Okay... Right..."
As you can tell, I was on the ball.
He didn't come along, anyway. She took some pain killers, settled back down and the pains subsided, but the following day we paid a trip to the hospital due to his lack of movement. That's something that has happened a lot during this pregnancy. It's resulted in us having to change delivery venue from the birth centre in Port Talbot to Princess of Wales Hospital in Bridgend. At the time, we were both quite upset by the prospect. The birth centre allows for constant visitation by the new father. Some rooms have double beds and, within reason, there are no strict visiting hours. In comparison, Bridgend allows fathers to be there from 10am to 8pm, there are the usual visiting hours for friends and family and no double beds. No saunas or full length swimming pools, either.
Since then, however, we've both become more positive about Bridgend. Yes, I won't be allowed to stay continuously, but we do have three very demanding cats that I would have to return home to anyway. It'll give my wife some alone time with our son and it'll make going into the hospital that extra bit special (not that it'll need any extra special sprinkled on top, though). My wife is also liking the idea of the wide variety of painkillers that are available to her, something not present in Port Talbot.
Because of the multiple visits for diminished movement, the consultant has been speaking of inducing. That's up in the air at the moment, but despite the fact that my wife was 36 weeks yesterday, we may be meeting our son sooner than in four weeks.
So our bags are packed and ready in the boot of the car. As of today, the nursery is ready for him (except for blackout blinds, which are on their way). We're only missing one thing. Our baby. And despite our worries, I feel like we're just about ready.
Kael
Monday, 17 June 2013
Antenatal Class
Tonight we went to the last of three antenatal classes provided by the hospital.
As we approached the front of the building I noticed one of the other pregnant women from the class was sat outside on a bench, seemingly relaxing in the sun. But as we got closer I noticed something. No, it can't be, I thought. But yes, the heavily pregnant woman sat outside the hospital waiting for a class on, essentially, how to be a parent, was smoking a cigarette. It was appalling, and I usually reserve that word for sentences that also include the phrases tally ho and by jove, but it is the most apt way to describe the situation. How could this woman be so careless?
The class was about breastfeeding, a hot topic in our house at the moment. My wife is still unsure of whether she wants to do it, or for hold long. Frankly, the idea of it freaks her out, and I do sympathise. What I have found, during this pregnancy, is that I have my very definite opinions on what I'd like for my son, before and after his birth. I'll talk more about after he is born in another post, but the conclusion I came to a long time ago is that while he is inside my wife's belly, she has the final say. This decision hasn't come around because of an argument or disagreement, but because of the immense respect I have for my wife for carrying a growing child around for nine months. We've had many discussions about pain relief during birth, and regardless of my views, I completely side with my wife on what she wants. She hasn't totally decided yet, but ultimately, I will completely agree and essentially change my views to match hers on the matter, and I feel that is the best way to be.
Obviously, breast feeding occurs after birth (unless there are some really weird birthing styles out there), but again, it's directly relating to my wife's body. Whatever she decides to do will be the right decision, so far as I'm concerned, and I'll stand by her the whole way.
All three of the classes were informative, but in a ramshackle kind of way. The midwifes and nurses delivering each session essentially rambled their way through really useful information. I for one, never knew that when a baby first makes its appearance that it isn't a lovely pink colour. No, it's blue. Check that off the list of things that will freak me out. Also, once the baby is born, the midwifes (or is it midwives?) have to, and I quote, "Play around with the placenta a bit. Make sure it's all there and piece it together like a jigsaw." Give me Cluedo over that, any day. Finally, babies enjoy dumping when they're being fed. They also enjoy dumping while they are being burped. They enjoy dumping while they sleep and they enjoy dumping while they're awake. Give a baby a choice of a wide variety of activities and the chances are that they will enjoy dumping while doing it.
In all honesty, though, the classes taught me things I may not have known otherwise and have really helped build my confidence about the whole 'being a dad' thing. I left the class feeling a little bit more knowledgeable and a little bit more confident in the general world of parenting.
Until we passed the smoker, puffing away at another cigarette as she sat on the bus stop.
Kael
As we approached the front of the building I noticed one of the other pregnant women from the class was sat outside on a bench, seemingly relaxing in the sun. But as we got closer I noticed something. No, it can't be, I thought. But yes, the heavily pregnant woman sat outside the hospital waiting for a class on, essentially, how to be a parent, was smoking a cigarette. It was appalling, and I usually reserve that word for sentences that also include the phrases tally ho and by jove, but it is the most apt way to describe the situation. How could this woman be so careless?
The class was about breastfeeding, a hot topic in our house at the moment. My wife is still unsure of whether she wants to do it, or for hold long. Frankly, the idea of it freaks her out, and I do sympathise. What I have found, during this pregnancy, is that I have my very definite opinions on what I'd like for my son, before and after his birth. I'll talk more about after he is born in another post, but the conclusion I came to a long time ago is that while he is inside my wife's belly, she has the final say. This decision hasn't come around because of an argument or disagreement, but because of the immense respect I have for my wife for carrying a growing child around for nine months. We've had many discussions about pain relief during birth, and regardless of my views, I completely side with my wife on what she wants. She hasn't totally decided yet, but ultimately, I will completely agree and essentially change my views to match hers on the matter, and I feel that is the best way to be.
Obviously, breast feeding occurs after birth (unless there are some really weird birthing styles out there), but again, it's directly relating to my wife's body. Whatever she decides to do will be the right decision, so far as I'm concerned, and I'll stand by her the whole way.
All three of the classes were informative, but in a ramshackle kind of way. The midwifes and nurses delivering each session essentially rambled their way through really useful information. I for one, never knew that when a baby first makes its appearance that it isn't a lovely pink colour. No, it's blue. Check that off the list of things that will freak me out. Also, once the baby is born, the midwifes (or is it midwives?) have to, and I quote, "Play around with the placenta a bit. Make sure it's all there and piece it together like a jigsaw." Give me Cluedo over that, any day. Finally, babies enjoy dumping when they're being fed. They also enjoy dumping while they are being burped. They enjoy dumping while they sleep and they enjoy dumping while they're awake. Give a baby a choice of a wide variety of activities and the chances are that they will enjoy dumping while doing it.
In all honesty, though, the classes taught me things I may not have known otherwise and have really helped build my confidence about the whole 'being a dad' thing. I left the class feeling a little bit more knowledgeable and a little bit more confident in the general world of parenting.
Until we passed the smoker, puffing away at another cigarette as she sat on the bus stop.
Kael
Sunday, 16 June 2013
Father's Day
I've been meaning to do this for a while, so what better day than Father's Day to start?
The internet, bookshops and the hospital all provide a wealth of knowledge for new parents, but the vast majority of it, in my experience, is aimed towards the mums. And rightfully so. Mums are, after all, the ones who carry the baby. They go through all of the sickness, the backache, the mood swings. They are the ones who, at the end of nine gruelling months, go to the hospital and in a flurry of nurses, stirrups, needles and screaming have to... well, you get the idea.
So big respect to mums. They deserve all the help they get. But put that aside and you're left with the dads. Nobody tells us what we're supposed to be doing. Nobody hands us leaflets with handy information in comic sans printed inside. Nobody comes out to visit us. Which is why I've begun this blog. Not out of pity for us poor, uninformed dads, but in the hope that I can help someone see that, 'Pal, there are others out there as clueless as you, don't worry about it.'
My wife is two days away from being 34 weeks pregnant with our first child and our first son, Ellis. During these first 34 weeks we've been through a lot. Things which have made me look back and wish that I had started this blog a lot sooner. We've had emergency hospital trips, scans, monitoring and scares, but everything is fine and we're looking forward.
So Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there. In a years time I'll be celebrating this day with my 10 month old son. That is the most insane English sentence I have ever written, to date.
Kael
The internet, bookshops and the hospital all provide a wealth of knowledge for new parents, but the vast majority of it, in my experience, is aimed towards the mums. And rightfully so. Mums are, after all, the ones who carry the baby. They go through all of the sickness, the backache, the mood swings. They are the ones who, at the end of nine gruelling months, go to the hospital and in a flurry of nurses, stirrups, needles and screaming have to... well, you get the idea.
So big respect to mums. They deserve all the help they get. But put that aside and you're left with the dads. Nobody tells us what we're supposed to be doing. Nobody hands us leaflets with handy information in comic sans printed inside. Nobody comes out to visit us. Which is why I've begun this blog. Not out of pity for us poor, uninformed dads, but in the hope that I can help someone see that, 'Pal, there are others out there as clueless as you, don't worry about it.'
My wife is two days away from being 34 weeks pregnant with our first child and our first son, Ellis. During these first 34 weeks we've been through a lot. Things which have made me look back and wish that I had started this blog a lot sooner. We've had emergency hospital trips, scans, monitoring and scares, but everything is fine and we're looking forward.
So Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there. In a years time I'll be celebrating this day with my 10 month old son. That is the most insane English sentence I have ever written, to date.
Kael
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