A lucky break

I’ve been travelling a lot with work recently, which is good from a work point of view but tough from a family point of view. I was in New York for a fair bit of last week, and it was doubtless sod’s law that my departure coincided with Oscar getting his first serious temperature.

I’m sure that more seasoned parents would deal with a 40 degree temperature in their stride, but the first time it’s scary. In O’s case it came on completely without warning: one hour he was seemingly completely fine, and the next we was burning up and lolling about, all limp and sleepy. The following day I had to fly off and my wife was left to hold the fort. The first night was hell, I’m told (and I was told, as I arrived at JFK at 9pm, which was 2am in the UK – when C called me to say she was having a hell of a time – I think she just wanted to call someone and the only person who’d be up at 2am was me!)

Anyhoo he was all better by the time I returned on Friday, although by this time both C and I were coming down with something. Sheesh!

So what’s the lucky break?

Well, I was due off again (to Stockholm this time) on Sunday morning – so just 48 hours in the UK – and the luck break was that in that period O decided to do his first unassisted standing-up thing. Twice!

The little chap is growing and changing so fast that with the period of heavy travelling I’ve been doing, I’ve been really worried I would miss out on something really cool. I’ve heard so many stories of people being told on the phone, or when they got home from work – “oh, you’ll never guess, little X took his first step/spoke his first word/teased his first cat/etc today.” So there’s at least one small milestone I haven’t missed out on!

Climbing the walls...

...well actually, this is about climbing stairs.

My wife read one of those baby development books last night (always dangerous) and it advocated that at around Oscar's age babies should be encouraged to climb - as long as it's safe.

So on his way to bathtime we decided to just let the little chap climb his way up the stairs to the bathroom. I can't believe how quickly he made it up those stairs - it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes, tops.

Now this might sound completely unremarkable. But we'd never seen him climb more than one or two steps before! It was amazing. When you think that he's crawling, not standing, so each stair is half his height, and the complete flight is probably 15-20 stairs, you've got to tip your hat.

Rock on Oscar!

Of course as soon as he got to the top of the stairs he made a beeline for a plug-in nightlight and attempted to electrocute himself. Nice.

I just hope he doesn't end up like one of these toddlers...

General Oscar update

OK, so it's been 2 weeks since my last post here (forgive me, for I have sinned...)
My excuse is that work's been crazy (I'm writing a book with some colleagues) and I've been travelling loads.

Anyway it's about time I provided a general Oscar update, as loads has happened in the little chap's development!

• he's got seven teeth (well the seventh is just poking through)


• he points! Especially at lights. And torches are even more point-inducing


• he's very clingy indeed, particularly when his Mum is in the room (if we're out of the house, strangely enough, there's no problem)


• he would much rather stand than sit or lie in the bath


• whenever he finds himself without a nappy on, his hands immediately clamp around his willy and he chuckles (he's a proper boy, then)


• you can bet that he'll manage to pull or kick his shoes off within 5 minutes of having them put on!

Yes, it's fun at Oscar's house!

Testing, testing

Am I fated to start every post off by thinking "agh, I can't believe how slack I've been in posting to this blog"? If you're going to do something, do it well, as my old Dad used to say (well he's not all that old, really - and I'm not sure he ever said that, precisely, but I think it's something he subscribed to).

Oh well. Onwards and upwards. I'm going to make a very low-key commitment to myself to post to this blog once a week from now on. Let's see if I fail (or at least how long it takes me to fail...)

So to the purpose of the post!

My lovely sister-in-law Lucy was over staying with us a few weeks back and she happened to notice the box in which little Oscar's organic baby weetabix come in. On the side the marketing blurb proudly proclaims:

We certify this product 100% organic, and subject it to 265 rigorous tests.

(Or something very much like that). Which really made us think. What, precisely, would those tests be? Would the manufacturer:

• fire them at aeroplane windscreens?


• hold them over a bunsen burner to see what colour the flame went?


• drop them off the top of office blocks?


• put them in the passenger seat of a car, and set off the airbags?


• put them in a wind tunnel to determine their drag coefficient?

Any suggestions gratefully received!

Oscar doesn't know it's Sunday

Yesterday morning I found myself going out for a run. As I walked briskly down our street (it's always important to warm up properly, as we all know) and started my jog, I noticed how quiet everything was.

Not a car. Not a plane (we live quite near Heathrow). A couple of elderly people walking their dogs in the park - that was it.

And then I realised that most normal people are still in bed - or at least indoors - at 8.30am on a Sunday. I'd already been up for 3 hours, so it felt almost like lunchtime...Oscar, unfortunately, doesn't know when it's Sunday. Or he does, and he's getting us back for something bad we've done...

Soggy the Rabbit

Oscar is a light sleeper.

But one thing that certainly helps him hurdle over the gates to the land of nod is his little rabbit comforter. We've taken to naming it Soggy. Why? Because Oscar loves nothing better than to chew it, dribble on it, and posset on it. And the smellier it gets, the more he seems to like it...

Thank goodness saliva has antiseptic qualities, or I think we'd have a functioning civilisation growing in Soggy's folds by now.

Teething

I'm a bit late with this post as Oscar has now been teething for around three weeks, I think!

He now very definitely has one of his lower front teeth through, and at bath-time tonight we noticed the tell-tale signs of its brother just about to poke through the little chap's gums too. I think we're very lucky - Oscar has been a bit grumpier since his teeth started arriving, but he copes with it stoically. We just get the occasional wobbly lip and wriggly unsettledness (is that a word? I suspect not).

Offered a finger to suck on (which he loves to do when he has the chance) he does seem to take great delight in feeling his new tooth against parental flesh though!

An Oscar by any other name...

Sooner or later (probably sooner) we're going to have to start calling Oscar by his name more often. Otherwise he's going to get very confused.

I've just been thinking, and it probably says a lot about me and my love of food that all the following are commonly used pet names for the little dude:

• sausage


• sweet-pea


• pumpkin


• chicken


• bean

Hmmm...

Taking the long way round

This started with a conversation I had with Claire as we drove back from a shopping trip with Oscar. He'd fallen asleep in the back of car towards the end of a difficult day and I said "seeing as he's asleep, let's take the long way home and see if we can get him to have a good long nap." I knew the traffic would be bad on one particular route, so that's the route I took.

And it got us thinking: how strange our priorities have become since Oscar arrived. Deliberately driving towards a traffic jam! Whatever next...

Well here's a list of other probably bizarre things I've found myself doing recently:

• rubbing my feet on a towel after taking my socks off last thing at night, so as not to make that "schlippp schlippp" noise that bare feet often make on floorboards, and wake Oscar up


• turning the bathroom light off *after* closing the door and *before* I leave the bathroom last thing at night, so as (you guessed it) not to wake Oscar up - this is particularly tricky as there's a wobbly step in and out


• being excited to see poo - especially if it's a new colour (Oscar has just started eating solids)


• singing nursery rhymes to myself while I'm working


• referring to everyone in the third person, even myself...

Nursery rhymes: we should be told

We were kindly given a set of nursery rhyme and song CDs recently. Our house now reverberates to them at around 7am daily as Oscar has his first kick-about of the day. Forget a bowl of cereal and the Today programme: now it's a bowl of soggy, half-finished cereal and "Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush".

And speaking of which: in my detailed study of said rhymes I've noticed some startling similarities. After a few plays, they all start to sound the same. But most alarmingly:

Aforementioned "Mulberry Bush" = "The Wheels On the Bus"

This isn't just my brain jumping to its own conclusions, it's a straight rip-off. Is there something going on here? I think we should be told.

Tiredness - a cruel irony

The two things you need most when bringing up a baby, I think: a sense of humour and the ability to make decisions.

It just so happens that these are the things you lose first when you're tired.

Oh cruel irony!

Emotional rollercoaster

I'm not sure if this blog post will make sense, but it might make sense to other parents who remember having 3 or 4 month old first babies.

I've been spending the last 5 minutes sitting at my laptop trying to remember what I was going to post about today. At 2am, awake because Claire and I were trying to find some painkillers, I had an idea... but I can't remember it now.

So instead I'm going to type the first 20 words that come into my head when I think about how I feel about being a parent. I'm not going to edit them or think about them in advance - just type.

You'll have to trust me on this one of course. So here goes.

Help. Fascination. Tired. Bleary. Smiles. Playing. So. Cute. Routines. Trust. Confusion. End. Stamina. Coffee. Night. Sleep. Confusion. Advice. Doctors. Isolated. Work. Concentration. Hope. Love. Couple. Time. Parents. Books. Chores. Money.

OK well that's 30, not 20. But I just went until I started thinking.

And I notice I wrote "Confusion" twice. I think that's quite telling.

Coffee

...is man's best friend.

I know, it's not much after a month of silence, but today it's true.

Big needles

Last Monday Oscar went for his first immunisations (they do these at 8 weeks). One is a mind-boggling cocktail of vaccinations for whooping cough, diphtheria, tetanus, polio and haemophilus influenzae (whatever that is); the other is a seemingly less-scary single shot to protect against meningitis C.

Oscar didn't like either of them at all, however. They were administered by a very matter-of-fact, and frankly rather cold, nurse who professed to our faces that she "doesn't have much time for babies". You're in the wrong job, love! Perhaps a job as a parking attendant would be more up your street?

It fell to me to hold Oscar on my lap (naked except for a nappy, so he was already a bit grumpy) as the nurse produced a needle about 6cm long and proceeded to plunge it seemingly up to the hilt into the little chap's thigh. I couldn't believe how big the needle was compared to Oscar! He screamed a scream like I'd never heard before - a really blood-curdling yell which made my hands go cold and my heart jump into my mouth. It was made worse because I knew I'd be having to hear it again before too long (babies have to have booster jabs four weeks after the first set, at 12 weeks).

Then came the second jab, into the other leg. By this time the poor little mite was hysterical, with tears rolling down his little cheeks. It broke both our hearts!

I've just read an item at babycentre.co.uk about "what to expect on the day" and it breezily says

Many parents find it a bit upsetting, but it is done very quickly, and the nurses will understand your feelings, especially the first time

No kidding! I'm wondering if we might be able to find a nicer nurse next time...

When bottle beats breast...

I know, I know... breastfeeding is the best option. But being a man, it doesn't need explaining that I lack the necessary equipment to get directly involved.

All I can do is plump cushions, pass muslin squares and (when lucky ;-) catch some partially-digested milk on my shoulder as I attempt to burp the little 'un afterwards. If I get to thinking really hard about it, it makes me realise that I'm at the bottom of the heap - baby's at the top; Mum supports baby; and I support Mum (when I'm actually able to be around). Being at least two steps removed from a baby in the family relationship is a tough thing for a Mars-dwelling male to do, when we're so used to being able to try and fix problems directly.

So I was very excited when I got the chance to feed the little dude using a bottle of expressed milk one night recently (well, as excited as you can be when having just been woken by a screaming baby in the middle of the night).

Oscar tucked in like there was no tomorrow. Boy, can he suck! I think I enjoyed it even more than he did - it was so lovely to see his contented face as the milk drained from the bottle, and it was fantastic to feel like I was directly fulfilling a need he had.

It must be amazing to nurse a child naturally - to feel like you're able to give them all the fuel they need with no need for supporting technology or consumer goods - just two human beings connected directly together.

Wonderful.

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!