Oscar's arrival

Any man who retains chauvinistic ideas about "weak women" should be present at a natural birth.

Following the birth of my son at hospital on 16th December, I am in complete admiration of my amazing wife – and of any woman who goes through labour. My hat is well and truly off.

It didn't go exactly to plan – which makes my admiration for Claire even deeper.

We had planned a home birth. Unfortunately, as Claire entered what is quaintly called "established labour" (why are there so many quaint words surrounding childbirth?) her blood pressure became elevated and she was transferred to hospital. After a day of contractions at home – whiled away with games of Scrabble and episodes of Black Books on DVD – Claire had to go to the one place she hates more than any other (including the Doctors').

It didn't start well. Because her blood pressure was elevated, the staff wanted to monitor her and the baby for a period, to satisfy them that all was well. The "carrot" encouraging Claire to put up with being wired up to various monitors was the promise of a nice warm bath; but the monitoring equipment kept giving false readings and what was originally scheduled to be 20 minutes of monitoring quickly turned into well over an hour of the kind of thing that populates Claire's nightmares.

Finally –after what seemed like an age of late-night-early-hours time with my wife getting through increasingly frequent and painful contractions, still hooked up to a set of beeping and sighing machines–we were allowed to break free of the shackles!

Things started moving much more quickly as soon as we got away from the machines and into a nice warm bathroom, and after an hour or so of water relief Claire had got near the end of the first stage of labour; five or so hours had passed since we'd left home. The real relief came when the (very nice) midwife offered Claire, now back in the monitoring room, gas and air. True bliss!

Until that point she'd been labouring with only TENS for assistance. And one thing they don't tell you about TENS is that two of the four conducting pads have to be placed at the base of the spine – exactly on some pain-relieving pressure points which are great for massage. But massaging through TENS pads is pretty tricky (they tend to peel off) and what's more it's more than a little dangerous, apparently...anyhow, the gas-and-air mixture was really taking the edge off the pain for Claire. Soon after the waters broke, and we were off to a delivery room for the second stage.

I can't believe just how much effort has to be exerted to push a baby out. Claire was pushing, in a variety of positions, for nearly two hours and it was like watching somebody running a marathon – after they'd already had to climb a mountain to get to the starting line. She did so well.

Unfortunately at the last minute, little Oscar's shoulder got stuck and we needed some emergency assistance. The baby's head had already been born, and the midwives (for now there were two, ready for the delivery) were conferring calmly about Claire's difficulty in pushing the rest of the way. Then, suddenly and without warning, the lead midwife pushed the "emergency" button. The room filled with people in a matter of seconds, and I was gently but firmly guided away from Claire and the bed, to a chair out of harm's way. I couldn't really see what was going on, but I could see a whole group of people pushing and pulling in various directions! After what could have only been 10 or 20 seconds, little Oscar was finally out. Thank goodness.

The staff were fantastic. They knew we were booked for a home birth, and they were very sympathetic in their attempts to give us a birth as close to our ideal as possible. They left the three of us alone together for a good 40 minutes too coo over each other, then provided tea and toast; and after Claire had been patched up and showered, talked through our birth plan with us, explaining why they'd done what they'd done, and asking us if we had any concerns about particular things. A really nice touch.

Finally, at around 7.30am, I left Claire to rest with Oscar in the hospital's post-labour ward and headed home to get some shut-eye. It had been an incredible – frustrating, upsetting, scary, tiring, but ultimately joyful – night.

Welcome, Oscar!

A Friday night in...

... has never been so sweet!

Why?

Because it was my first evening with my new son Oscar, who arrived 8 days early – at 4am on Friday 16th December.

Here's a picture. At birth he was average weight (7lb 5oz) and average height (50.5cm). But oh - ain't he cute?

More (hopefully more thought-out) thoughts to follow as my brain recovers!

Breech update

Whoops - I forgot.

The little chap turned round and settled in a nice head-down position about three weeks ago. No moxibustion required! Just a bit of shuffling around on all fours (and some encouraging talk from me, given directly to my wife's bump. I'm sure that's what did it ;-)

We've also taken delivery of a birthing pool, which has been humming away quietly in the corner of our kitchen for about two weeks now (it has a built-in heater and filter which maintains the pool water without lots of manual filling and emptying). I've had a couple of dips in it myself as a kind of after-dinner treat - and it's great! (Don't worry, I won't post pictures.)

Tenterhooks

It seems that no matter how good my intention, I can't blog here more than once a month or so. That's a terrible work rate! I suppose this puts paid to any illusions I might have had that one day I'd write a novel... it would probably take me 10 years at least.

Anyway, "on tenterhooks" is the best way to describe how I'm feeling right now. Claire says I've got all her "nesting instinct" - but what's really going on, is that I'm desperately looking for things to keep myself occupied while the countdown to zero-hour (just 10 days til due date) continues. Jobs which I've happily left undone for months (filling in cracks, touching up paintwork, hanging blinds, cleaning the oven, etc etc) are now being tackled with zeal. It's very strange - previously my idea of an ideal weekend morning was lying on the sofa with a mug of coffee and the newspaper: now I've got typically my head and/or hands stuck inside or underneath something that needs attention.

[Apparently a "tenterhook" is a hook used to hold cloth on a "tenter". And a "tenter" is a frame used for stretching and drying cloth. So now you know...]

Breech babies and home births

I really must manage to start posting more than once a month...it's just not good enough!

My word for the month this month has been "moxibustion". Our little chap is resolutely squatting like a Buddha rather than doing the usual head-down thing, and although by traditional reckoning the little blighter still has 9 weeks to go (and it seems that at this stage somewhere around 10% of babies are still breech), it seems to make sense to check out what we might be able to do to encourage him to do a somersault.

The big thing of course, as I've only recently found out, is that the vast majority of hospitals dislike the risks associated with trying to give birth to a breech baby naturally - these days in most cases they encourage a caesarian section. We're really keen to avoid hospitals and to have the birth at home - so we're trying to avoid breech presentation at all costs! All that talk about cord prolapses, head squeezing etc makes me a bit queasy.

It didn't take long before we came across moxibustion (details and definition above). It's an incredibly intriguing alternative therapy which involves burning herbs next to the mother's little toes. I have no idea how it might work - but apparently it does, in around 75% of cases...fantastic! I'll be queuing up for my sticks of mugwort when the time comes (about another 4 weeks I think).

Other things worth trying include putting a bag of frozen peas at the top of your bump and/or a hot water bottle at the bottom (the baby turns so that their head is warm, allegedly). There are also various strange positions that you can get in, which have been known to turn the baby around. The strangest thing I've read about(apart from moxibustion) is the practice of doing handstands in deep water...

Lordy. Let's hope it doesn't come to that - I'm not sure our local swimming pool would be up for it!

The 20 week scan – and some other top moments

As I’ve already mentioned I stupidly let a fat month whoosh by before writing my thoughts down about what has probably been one of the Top 10 most amazing moments of my life. (Actually probably Top 5).

Hang on – at the risk of sounding like a painfully middle-class version of one of Nick Hornby's characters - let me try and think of a list of some others:
- my first (and only) parachute jump
- making a (slightly drunken) speech on my wedding day
- a helicopter ride over Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe
- looking out from the edge of the Zomba plateau in Malawi, in the late afternoon - with a 180-degree view over beautiful plains and hills that must have stretched for hundreds of miles

On reflection, I think I’ve been a pretty lucky person, to be able to have all these experiences. And the 20-week scan is right up there.

Of course we took away a handful of slightly inky scan photos, and we spent the first couple of weeks after the scan thrusting them into the faces of all and sundry – but what I see when I look at those pictures is only a pale shadow of the view I saw on the sonographer’s screen at West Middlesex hospital back at the beginning of August.

Seeing the baby at 20 weeks – when it’s pretty much “all there” (everything external is the right shape with the right number of bits) - took my breath away. I grinned like a lunatic as the baby put its hands up to its face. My eyes were like saucers as I watched it kick its legs.
On the screen, the continuing shift in perspective helps you see what’s really only, at any one moment, a cross-section view of the baby, as something much more like a 3-D picture. It was beautiful.

The best bit, though, was when they asked us if we wanted to know the sex of the baby. I’d been watching the screen intently (hardly blinking, I think) for quite a few minutes and I was sure I hadn’t seen anything that looked like a giveaway – but the sonographer, somewhere along the line, had obviously already twigged, as she told us straightaway: “it’s a little boy – I’m 100% certain”.

It probably sounded stupid at the time, but I asked “how can you tell?” (Well, obviously I know how you can tell – but I hadn’t seen anything which looked anything like a winkie. What’s more, I’d heard that sonographers never say they’re 100% sure about the baby’s sex).
A little more manoeuvring with the scanner, and there it was – larger than life.

“There you go,” she said.Crikey.

Meditating over Greenland

I’m kicking myself because after a brief flurry of blogging activity, work, holiday and general everyday distractions got in the way, and I slipped out of the habit. I was determined to write about the experience of our 20-week scan – but it’s taken me until week 26 to get around to it.
Note to self: must try harder.

In fact it’s taken a prolonged enforced period of idleness (a 11+ hour flight from Amsterdam to Los Angeles) to remind me to get back on the horse. Specifically, staring out of the window as we flew over Greenland. The pilot announced that he’s rarely seen the view as clear as it was a little while ago, and it was utterly breathtaking. It was like a scene from that book: With no familiar features to lend scale to the view, it was easy to fool myself into thinking that I was looking out onto a snowy mountain stream containing small snowy rocks – whereas I suspect I was looking out onto a mile-wide lake, populated with mini-icebergs, with huge glacial plains either side. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Of course, I forgot to pack a camera.

Anyhow – as I watched this incredible view scroll majestically past my little frost-encrusted plane window, my brain slipped into one of its lovely (but sadly only occasional) states where all sorts of important/cool/weird thoughts bubble up to the surface. I remembered that I’d let quite a few weeks slip by. So here I am again.

Nothing especially good, or bad, lasts for long

I spent a few hours with my old friend Richard the other weekend, and his partner and little boy. He told me that the only piece of parenting advice he'd been given (by another old friend of mine as it happens) which turned out to be any good, was:

"Nothing especially good, or bad, lasts for long."

Just as it seems things can't go on like they are for much longer (incessant screaming for no apparent reason, for example), things invariably get better.

And the flipside: just when you're feeling smug because something has worked out particularly well (a particularly smooth feeding session, for example) - it'll all come crashing down ;-)

I think I'll engrave this on something prominent...

Learn what you can from others...and then ignore it?

As prospective parents, my wife and I have been on the receiving end of a lot of advice and ideas from all and sundry. It seems that everyone (man or woman) that we've spoken to has their own particular view, that has almost nothing in common with the others.

For example - it's possible that we'll go for a home birth - and it seems that in some people's eyes, that makes us devils-incarnate. The implication (never stated, as that would be un-British) has sometimes quite clearly been that only by taking advantage of every possible medical assistance/intervention, are you doing justice to your unborn.

The truth seems to be (and it's not surprising) that each mother or father's own experience of childbirth shapes their opinion of what is good, and what is bad. The trouble with this is that it's only a small minority that appears to recognise, deep down, that every birth experience is different.

I know this is hardly earth-shattering insight. But for any prospective new Dad out there - my advice: listen to what everyone has to say (and everyone will say something opinionated, even if not asked ;-) and take it in - but when it comes to supporting your partner and thinking about what you both want to do, be prepared to forget what everyone else says and go with your own instincts.

It's not their baby, it's yours.

Hello

Here we go then!

I've blogged for a little while as part of my job, but not "personally" (if you know what I mean).

So - why am I doing this? There are a few reasons (in no particular order):
1. There's a whole heap of things I'm learning at the moment, and I wanted to write them down but I thought this would be more interesting than just writing a normal diary
2. There's a chance that the things I learn or think about might be interesting to someone else in a similar situation - and if another prospective Dad reads something here that they find useful, then that's great
3. I've always wanted to do more writing outside work but don't have the stamina (yet) to write anything complicated like a novel
4. I think that's it...