Alder's Tone

Here we go with starting to try and catch up on the happenings last weekend. Although Ripley is no more, it's a good thing, and Iain now has his own very distinct identity. With reference to the bump it shall be Ripley, to the baby it shall be Iain. And that's rule number one, broken already by slip(s) of the tongue, but a rule nonetheless.

So what happened with Ripley on Friday then?

The week 39 post has a brief report on how things started so we'll begin where that left off.

9pm on Saturday night. In to Simpson’s for a second observation, we didn't ring ahead as we were asked to come in at that time. At 22:35 we were seen, and told off for coming in around 8 when shifts change. An hour an forty-five minutes the Fat Lady was on the monitor, the midwife was only in for seconds at a time. Needless to say some discomfort kicked in, I asked to get her off it, she sent another midwife in who said "10 more minutes" which lasted half an hour before the original came back. Needless to say if we'd had the same midwife that saw us in triage on Saturday for the delivery she would have instantly been deselected.

No contractions starting, back same time on Sunday, please.

Sunday went swimmingly well by comparison. After a wait of only a couple of minutes, then a short time on the monitor, we only got stung for 1 hour of parking as we were in and out in under 40 minutes. Chalk and cheese sprang to mind. Needless to say, with being out again, nothing was happening, so we were told to come back at 08:30 on Monday to be induced.

And at 08:30 the next morning is when the fun began!

The Fat Lady was hooked up to the drip to start the contractions off and on the monitor for baby's heartbeat and contractions. She was mobile for the first few hours, with no pain relief other than the TENS machine. As the contractions were artificial they didn't have the gentle increase in strength a "normal" labour would, they ramp up very quickly (something they don't tell you up front), so the pain came in quite quickly once it started. So, the birth plan is thrown out of the window. No gas & air, no morphine, straight to the option she didn't want to take - the epidural.

There are some things a husband should never see his wife go through, and the epidural is one of them. Sure, he should be there to support her, but his head should never venture round the back to see the needle. I thought the aneathetist was knitting a jumper for junior.

Exams every few hours followed, the baby wasn't too happy at the drip being too high, anything over 8 mls/hour and he was getting grumpy. The doctor was not happy with this, and at midnight the first mention of the "C" word came out. Dilation wasn't progressing enough, baby was getting upset with the drip, so he gave us two ultimatums. Increase the drip and if the baby continues to be grumpy stop and go to theatre. If he's OK go until 02:00 and check dilation progress - no progress and we go to theatre. Either way it’s looking like theatre.

The Fat Lady and junior both did remarkably well. We got to 02:00 with progress, so you can stick your cut and shut up your backside, doc! Claire, the nightshift midwife, did an outstanding job at trying to get the cervix opened up, and made it to 9.9cm by 07:30, just a tiny rim left. The Fat Lady was pushing and he was crowning slightly too, but sat slightly the wrong way, needing a small turn which he wasn't doing. That cut & shut was but a distant memory, now looking to go au natrale at any moment!

08:30 - nothing in the last hour. That rim is still there, and baby's head still turned. The doctor discussed "options", I distinctly remember him say the word in the plural rather than singular context, but the option (singular) was back to the section. Needless to say our worlds fell apart.

A cast of thousands started coming in and out, asking the same questions. The anaesthetist, Claire, turned out to be from God's Own County and was fantastic, both in pre-op and in theatre.

The wait from 08:30 to 10:15 was a long one, we couldn't go straight in as both theatres had emergency sections in, with babies who were in trouble. Ours was happy as Larry and showing no signs of wanting to come out, so we were pushed back. No problem there. The drip was stopped, and the contractions flat-lined instantly, showing us the drugs were doing the work and the Fat Lady wasn't doing any of it on her own.

When the time did come, the walk down the ward was the longest walk I've ever done. Especially when Sara, the dayshift midwife, let go of the bed, stopped, turned to me blocking my path, and ushered me into a side room where the surgeon was waiting for me to show me what to wear. I couldn't get changed quick enough, yet when I got inside the theatre door I was hesitant, frozen to the wall, clutching The Fat Lady's handbag not wanting to go any further. Sara got me over, Claire sat me down, gave me a shot of the cold spray as she explained what she needed to do, and of all the people in there it was Claire who was the primary carer given her location right behind The Fat Lady's head.

The consent form, signed earlier, did have "trial by forceps" as the first option, just in case any progress was made whilst waiting. And straight away the surgeon said it was a no-go, it was a section. So, with The Proclaimers in the background (David, theatre nurse's choice, much to the dismay of Claire), the scaffolding for the screen was erected and away they went. A constant flow of people ensued for the next 20 minutes, during which time Claire, with a perfect view over the screen, asked if we wanted to know what we had. Not until it's out. Then cam the only words I picked up on from the surgeon - "ten fifty-two", then the emotions came flooding in. Sara's "congratulations, you have a...." was exactly that, I missed it completely. She presented "it" to us all wrapped up ready to go to be checked. The Fat Lady was spaced out on drugs,I didn't know where I was, I just wanted to see. It was seconds we got, no contact at all, he was taken away for the checks. Before he was I said I needed to see, Sara opened up the blanket and there it was, the meat and two veg. We have a son!

It took me a total of 5 seconds looking at his face to get to the name, which was on the shortlist anyway. The boy was away for a few minutes getting checked out, and Sara looked positively delighted when she brought him back. With all the tubes and wires the Fat Lady couldn't reach to touch him, so I got the first hold. That was so precious, walking round theatre with my son while my wife was being stitched up. All the fears we both had were banished for me in that moment when Sara gave him to me. He'd come back OK, with his APGAR scores of 8 and 9. Child genius from the first few minutes!

The Fat Lady, hereinafter known as the Mother Of The Son, or MOTS for short, agreed through the haze at Iain, while en-route to recovery. Surely there were no more surprises ahead? WRONG. We had agreed two things - 1) no middle name, it was difficult enough picking one, 2) no plant life (ie Ivy, Rosie, Daisy, all non-starters. So imagine my surprise when MOTS said Iain was OK, as long as he got a middle name of Rowan (as in tree, meaning "little red one" after the berries on the aforementioned tree when in flower). Given he's guaranteed to be ginger it seemed appropriate, and I would have agree to any request she made in there given what she went through, so this seemed like very little.

What a marathon...

At some stage in all that we were told that Ripley was wedged into the Fat Lady’s pelvis, which is why he wasn’t turning. And had that last cervical rim gone he still would not have come out any other way than he had. 24 hours of labour, 2 hours to wait, an hour in surgery when he was only ever going to come out one way, and that could have been 26 hours earlier than he had. I’m gutted for MOTS having gone through all that in vain. But I’m so proud of her for trying so hard, for never giving up, for giving me a fantastic son and heir and for holding it together from beginning to end.

Posted by Alder at 30 August 2006 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Just to make complete the series of four ante-natal classes, here's post number 4 of 4.

I need a note from my mummy as I missed school. Probably one of the most useful of the four classes and we couldn't make it. For those who have no idea why not, WHY NOT? Read the week 39 summary!

I did leave a message with a "schoolmate" to tell teacher we wouldn't be there though, so I guess we won't get called by the headmistress for a caning.

I will get round to the updates at some point, though not any time soon.

Posted by Alder at 24 August 2006 | Permalink

Just a mega quick post with the abridged version of events this weekend. If we can remember the full-blown version then I'll post it up, there are some horror stories in there and some nice moments too. But it is true, I've forgotten the horror moments as I type with a son of 6 hours old.

Yes, we have a little boy. For the standard statistics it went like this:

Duration - 30 hours, induced as waters broke with no contractions
Method: Section, after giving up on a natural birth after 24 hours of labour. Short wait for theatre, hour in, hour recovery, all over just after noon.
Weight: 7lb 7 oz in old money.
Name: Iain Rowan, named after nobody, anything or anywhere, so don't ask
Length: 53 cms
Scores: 8 then a 9. Child genius

Mother and baby doing well, though mother is very tired.

The Fat Lady is no longer. Long live MOTS (Mother of the son)!

Posted by Alder at 22 August 2006 | Permalink | Comments (8)

Another week done with, the end is in sight, or is it? It's not like a bus where you know it's going to be late, unless it's the last one then it'll be early. Not even the Virgin Trains Timewarp (ask me to explain that one at some stage) is of any relevance now we are just sitting back waiting.

So what has really happened this week?

Sod all in the early part.

The Fat Lady has finally slowed down, now lounging in bed until lunchtime like some chavtastic dole dossing swampy. Or is that politically incorrect? Sorry, I mean my darling wife has been lounging in bed until lunchtime like some chavtastic dole dossing swampy.

We thought the only delivery this week would be the pram. Whoo-hoo, that's us just about there. One more thing needed, but can't figure out what it is. Hmm, baby? YES - THE BABY! And that should be here next week, subject to x,y and z. Only nobody knows what x, y and z are.

The Fat Lady's maternity leave started this week, after last week's little panic over whether she was on holiday or not. The new car's been signed off financially, and there's more plans to make around that than the other new arrival. Do we get the new car at midnight on the 12th of August? Whoops, wrong date, but the implied association with The War of the Worlds is quite apt. Or do we wait until an opportune moment? Will Ripley be early, on time, late, how will we get to the dealer to pick up, when do we get the insurance swapped? AAARGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!

We're not alone in this, one other new mum at the same ante-natal class gets a new car on 1st September, and she's due on 1st September. Great timing. Thankfully Ford give us 7 days drive-away insurance so we can convert at leisure. One less thing to worry about, on to the number of nappies in the hospital bag.

A boring week waiting? Not on your life. Until Saturday it was, then it was like that famous line from Gladiator - "On my command, unleash hell".

In the very early hours of Saturday morning the Fat Lady decided to wake me up. First thought through a haze, "was I snoring?", but then soon realise she's out of bed. "Do me a favour" she started, "is this it?" I replied. "Yes". She never thought to tell me earlier in the night she'd had a show at 7pm, no no, wait until I'm fast asleep then hit me with it. To be fair the show wasn't anything special, but the 01:10 business was - waters gone. So as the bedroom light went on one bulb blew. It was this brilliant white light that turned everything in the room like a freshly painted ceiling, working out from the middle to the outsides. And it seemed to take forever, it got me thinking "is this heaven?", only to come crashing back to earth when the filament went pop and the darkness returned. It tripped the upstairs lights with comedy timing.

All systems goRight, what's the drill, where are the notes? There's nothing worse than the Fat Lady telling me to calm down when I already am and just want a straight answer to a straight question - "Where are your fucking notes?". "Don't know" doesn't help at this point. I only needed the hospital number from them, I remembered the drill from the first ante-natal class - waters gone and clear with no contractions = phone for advice, may be called in for a monitor and sent back home. And after we got to hospital around an hour after kick-off that's what happened. The Fat Lady's blood pressure and the baby's heartbeat were monitored, all well. So now we face regular checks until something happens, and if it doesn't within a couple of days then things will be helped along. One of the healthiest foxes I've ever seen cut across in front of us as we left the hospital car park at 03:30. He was clearly lost, you can't look that healthy on hospital food!

Three hours after being woken up we were tucked up in bed again. We are expected back in for 9pm Saturday for the next one, unless things start to happen sooner. The only certainty now is that we're not going to make the fourth ante-natal class on Wednesday. So no week 40 round-up will be required, and the week 39 round-up has been well and truly hijacked! So far nothing's happening, so it's odds-on favourite for the Fat Lady to be induced on Monday.

Posted by Alder at 20 August 2006 | Permalink | Comments (6)

Even since before we started trying for Ripley it's been paperwork all the way. From the word go there was a doctor's appointment just to say we're going for it, that resulted in the first lot. Blood tests, associated consent forms and results pages, which eventually ended up in the notes. Nothing much else until the blue line appeared, and then the deluge started.

Piles of paperworkThere wasn't much at all in the first trimester, mainly information leaflets and books, some provided by the NHS, some bought, some recommended, some not.

Then the second trimester came in, and the Fat Lady got her notes. At the booking appointment there was what seemed like a truckload of leaflets to take home and read. Topics ranging from blood tests, Downs & Edwards, breastfeeding through to car parking charges at the hospital, family tax credits and the child trust fund. Still no manual, though.

And there it didn't stop. Blood test results to file in the notes, second and third trimesters producing another set of A4 sheets, midwife reports, etc etc. There will be onsent forms to sign once we get the the hospital, I'm guessing there'll be a separate consent form for each procedure, but we'll have to wait and see.

Catalogues galore, product leaflets, forms for shopping "clubs", the list is endless.

This afternoon the Fat Lady has to sign her rights away under the FSA rules governing car sales. Not strictly related, but as we only bought a new car as Ripley was coming then it's directly his fault (or hers)

Then it will be midwives, health visitors, thankfully the GP is all electronic now so that's a blessing. Not forgetting the registration and the resulting birth certificate!

So, exactly how much paper has the average baby generated by the time it is born? The mind boggles.

Posted by Alder at 17 August 2006 | Permalink

Week 3 of 4 on the ante-natal classes and what’s been in store this week?

The first two weeks covered the delicate subject of labour, this week is the World Health Organisation endorsed lecture on breastfeeding.

What did we expect?

• A Nazi style directive of you will breastfeed otherwise you will be damned.
• It’s natures way…….

What did we learn?

• That breastfeeding is literally that. The baby takes a huge mouthful of breast, between 3-4 cms. If the nipple doesn’t touch the soft palette then that’s where the problems start!
• A newborn’s stomach is only the size of a walnut. Which is why the little blighters need to feed every 3-4 hours. Basically, if the mother manages to get dressed or showered in the first few days they’re bloody lucky. Oh yes, and it the baby goes beyond six hours without a feed it is important to wake them (yes, you read correctly) up!!
• Breastfeeding is a learned rather that natural activity for Mum’s today. It will take at least two weeks for the process to become automatic and easy. Oh yes, it can bloody hurt! The hormones that are released during breastfeeding can also induce uterine contractions which for some Mums can be more painful that labour itself. Remind me to stock up on paracetamol and ibruprofen.

What was informative?

• Learning how to hold a baby, okay a doll, in the rugby ball position i.e. tucked under one arm? This was easier than I expected but somehow I think it will be more tricky with a real baby rather than an inanimate object.
• Hearing the 2nd and 3rd time mum’s talking about their experiences. Most useful advice – to stock up on savoy cabbage to soothe engorged breasts, always have a drink to hand, and to wake your partner to bring the baby to you so they know how is feels to be sleep deprived!

What was a waste of time?

• The two videos. The first with a patronising American narrator showing that a baby will automatically seek out the breast around an hour after being born if there is no interference. The second, this time with a droning Aussie narrator, telling everyone that breastfeeding should ‘feel 100% pleasant and comfortable’ otherwise you’re doing it wrong.

What was missing?

• The fathers-to-be. The couple of fathers have turned up in the previous weeks were noticeably absent. At least Lee had a good excuse of work commitments, the other father just wasn’t interested!!

Posted by Deborah at 16 August 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Route-planning. Not a favourite subject of the Fat Lady, so when it comes to getting from A to B it's pretty much left up to me. I have a TomTom satellite navigation system, with maps a little out of date. I have an up to date hardback AA atlas, conveniently located on the breakfast bar in the kitchen. But I know my way from home to the hospital, or so I thought.

Remember roads change. Frequently. It's all a con devised by the AA to make sure you buy a new road atlas every year. It is, it's true. £6 of your £6.99 goes towards paying the local councils to dig roads up and lay new ones. The other 99p is the AA's profit margin.

Which way now?
To the hospital, d'uh
It's been a while since we lived in Edinburgh, and when we did we knew, well when I say "we" I mean "I", a good route out of town without using the major roads. Some will call this the "rat run". Appropriate, as one of these may be used to get the "rug rat" to the hospital. We hadn't used this particular road for a number of years as it no longer was between A and B for us. But it was a possible alternative for the hospital dash, so we checked it out.

The last time I tried using the road it was closed off, that was some years ago. Well, good news, it's re-opened. Although no it's somewhat different, all the scabby old tenements are gone and new low-rise housing built in their place, along with some lovely speed tables. But at least it's checked out and OK. Even if it is route number 3 on the list.

Even if you know the route in, have your alternatives planned and checked out. The sat nav won't be much use if you have to re-program it, the atlas is in the kitchen but doesn't have small local roads anyway, and the Fat Lady won't be much use.

Trial run? I hope not...

Posted by Alder at 14 August 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)

In the week 37 round-up I pointed out that we had no more "creative accounting" to do.

I apologise, I had missed one. I hang my head in shame for it.

The Fat Lady had her last day in the office on Friday, which makes Monday of the 38th week her first day of maternity leave. WRONG. This is officially a week's holiday, her last official day at work is Friday 18th August. Which means we're a week ahead, maternity doesn't start for another week, thus delaying that milestone. So, on to the usual points now we have an extra week before the inevitable...

Another week?So now I've got over the panic that I'd missed a trick that even the financiers at Enron would have been proud, I look back at the last week. It doesn't seem, looking back, that it's been a week. Although going through it at the time it seemed liked an eternity. And as far as advice given to us goes, that's been pretty accurate.

The big high:
Stresses and strains over picking a suitable new car have been put to rest.

The big low:
Realising my after-work sherberts on Friday are the last I'll ever have.

One line from one song sums up this week, clearly during the week rather than in retrospect, because that would indicate a contradiction on my part given the statements above about the dual speed that time seems to be travelling at. Assuming, of course, that time does have speed, which implies (according to the formula speed=distance/time) that the speed of time relates directly to distance, so if we don't move around for a week or two we can delay things a bit???? Look, more creative accounting! Another Enron trick missed! And after that rambling, Madonna's "Hung Up" with the line "Time goes by, so slowly" just doesn't seem as big a deal any more.

However many tricks I find I've missed, I'm resigned to the fact that Friday was my last chance of a beer or few. The Fat Lady isn't quite at the "most babies are born 2 weeks either side" danger zone just yet, but given she's offically "full term" I'm starting to realise I should be on-call.

I don't want to start a panic whenever the Fat Lady calls my mobile, as poor Ed did, so we have devised a system which will be implemented shortly. I thought of using a "code-word" system whereby the Fat Lady says a code-word as soon as I answer the phone to stop the panic. I thought of using a code-word when I should panic but in the heat of the moment it may get forgotten, and besides I should be able to tell anyway. So for now there's a code-word in place to stop the panic, a word that won't come up in normal conversation. Piece of cake.

Posted by Alder at 14 August 2006 | Permalink | Comments (2)

My beloved Bug is no more. It’s going, after almost 5 years it’s time to say goodbye. We have a total of 17 days left to say our fond farewells before we get our new Focus Sport.

So, Focus on the Future. Pathetic pun, given we have two new arrivals due just days apart. Scary stuff! The pun, not the impending arrival, that’s petrifying.

Sorry Rich, there's
no ISOFIX!So as we lurch from one “main worry” to the next we realise that a midnight collection on the 1st of September will rely wholly on the Fat Lady either crossing her legs, pushing Ripley out a bit early, or giving me an hour to nip along and get it. Thankfully the salesman is dead against the Fat Lady dropping in the showroom, so we might have to wangle a plan to get it delivered a couple of days before (hmm, that’s due day) or do some dodgy lay-by swap-over.

It’ll work out OK, all I’m bothered about is it’s a car with ISOFIX that’s 100% compatible with the seat we have.

I must apologise to Richard for the blatant theft of the image of his beloved baby, couldn't resist it. It's almost the colour of the new Spanish built American motor soon to be known as "Mum's taxi" - NO, we will NOT have one of those type of signs in the back, understood????

Posted by Alder at 13 August 2006 | Permalink | Comments (4)

Orange Wednesdays? Pah, we have Hormonal Wednesdays now. Last night saw a new HCC record of 4 (four) in one night!

So what brought on the tears? A mixture of dead animals and birth - talk about opposite ends of the spectrum of life!

Two things really. Remember from the HCC post that the Fat Lady cries when I'm nice, when I'm trying to get a chalk-up, when I'm not trying to get a chalk-up, at anything really.

Last week saw a predicted chalk-up, the reference to her having done something amazing in the week 37 round-up brought about a small flow. This week's chalk-ups weren't predicted at all.

Gordon Ramsay. Fucker. For anyone not watching "The F Word" on Channel 4 recently, Gordon has had two pigs in his back garden for a while now, with the intention of rearing them, then cooking them. Last night saw their slaughter. As a meat eater I'm going to go into detail on this one, as it was more than a bit harrowing to watch it.

Presenters of "What Not to Wear"He called them "Trinny and Susannah" after the presenters of "What Not to Wear". Over the course of the series Trinny and Susannah have featured on an almost weekly basis to show their progress.

So, last night the kids said their goodbyes. Gordon was there at the slaughter, and was clearly upset by it - whether this was seeing how it happens, or just that it was Trinny and Susannah I don't know.

A pair of tongs are held across the head of the pig and an electric current passed through the brain until the animal is dead, then it is hoisted by its back legs and throat slit open. As the blood drains it sounds like it is grunting, which is air bubbles passing back through the draining blood. All the while the pig is twitching, as if struggling, and this was a concern to Gordon. These are involuntary actions, the pig was already dead.

On to the bath, scalding hot water removes the hair and a few layers of skin, then the plug is removed (guts, bowels, the full digestive route from tongue down), only then does it resemble a carcass of meat rather than a dying animal.

Needless to say, the Fat Lady was blubbing behind a cushion while this was on the go. My reaction at seeing that healthy pig's life end was echoed by Gordon's just a few seconds later - "fucking hell". There's no way as a meat-eater I can think about that being the way it happens, just the end product. In all fairness the mass-produced meat will be a far worse process than this, Trinny and Sussannah were slaughtered at a small specialist abattoir.

So that was chalk-up number 1. But then we started talking about it later, and that resulted in number 2. And the rest of the night is so clouded it may have been number 3 or 4 as well. The other one is pregnancy related...

During delivery the chances are a first time mum will tear. That's what we got from Liz, the midwife, from yesterday's ante-natal class. To ease this, make is less likely, or a smaller tear, the perineum should be massaged and stretched in the last few weeks. This, in theory, makes it more elastic and easier to stretch for the baby's head to pass down the birth canal. Last night the Fat Lady is doing her 2 minutes of constant pressure followed by 3-4 minutes of massaged stretching. And as she took a short break of no more than a couple of seconds, I hinted at a "30 second penalty". Only breathing exercises brought the sobbing and hyperventilating to a close.

Posted by Alder at 10 August 2006 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Week 2 of 4 on the ante-natal classes, and what's been in store this week?

Last week we had early labour, so this week we're prepared for the second and third stages. I'm getting visions of one of Dave's gory horror flicks, so how did it compare? Well, I'll start off with the same questions as last time.

What did we expect?

• The gentle break-in of last week to take a nasty turn


• The video to have an 18 BBFC certificate

What did we learn?

• Diginity is left at the front door of the hospital, and not necessarily collected on the way back out. To be fair this was known already, just confirmed today.


• Try as I might last week to bring humour to the approach, it's not delaying the inevitable


• Drugs are not objects of humour. Oh how I laughed writing that.


• The Edinburgh (that's the capital city of Scotland Royal Infirmary's pay stations for TV, internet & phone access takes coins and English notes only. No credit cards, no Scottish notes.


• Every baby is born with a hole in the heart. I never knew this, but the cord goes directly into the heart, and it takes a couple of days for that to close up, hence poor circulation and blue hands & feet.

What was informative?

• Moving on from stage 1 to stages 2 and 3


• Learning about the 4 different types of stage 3 - 2 drugs, physiological or manual delivery


• Seeing how some mums-to-be think "meconium" is associated with stage 1 of labour. And not first-timers either. Meconium being baby's first bowel movement - the composition of which isn't for this post


• Seeing new words - having certain terms pocketed into the three stages, having some new ones in there for new discussion as well as familiar ones for re-cap

What was a waste of time?

• Not so much a waste of time, but something in need of re-working. The video produced by the NHS trust doesn't tie in with the classes. If the classes follow the same format week by week across the trust's area the video should match it in terms of topic flow.

What was missing?

• The promise of a hospital tour. Still as unsure as I was last week about the "tour" being a video. I have apprehensions about a few things, and not knowing the inside of the hospital is one of them. I just hope the staff are OK with dads who
  • have no idea what they are doing
  • have no idea where they are going
  • are stressed to the max and, more importantly, showing it

I'll be missing next week's so I hope the Fat Lady keeps us up to speed on what's happened. Saying that, the challenge is to attend the next two ante-natal classes now she's offically "full term"!

Posted by Alder at 09 August 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Just looking at my stats from my host and see the following hits against search phrases. Two stand out:

dixons stock_query

kids having sex

Posted by Alder at 09 August 2006 | Permalink

I've started week 37's post with a gestation of 35+6. Always like to be a little early, catching the worm and all that. Week 36 wasn't anything spectacular but generated a big post. So it'll be interesting to see how this post pans out before I publish it. Sitting here writing it a week before publish date hoping I don't balls up my past & future tense is the least of my worries.

Relentless countdownFour weeks to go. That's less than a month. And now we don't even have a new calendar month to get into unless we go into overdraft territory, but I'm not sure what the penalty charges are for that. All those little figures we've played around with to get extra time - months, weeks, "ah but we have part of July and part of August so it's really two months" - have all gone. No more rules, no more creative accounting, no more working on lunar months, we lost the lot as we started this week.

At the end of this week the Fat Lady is officially full-term, I didn't realise 37 weeks was classified as full term until the ante-natal class, then I start seeing it everywhere. Information can be like buses, you wait for ages and, well, you know the rest.

The big high:
Ante-natal classes start this week.

The big low:
Ante-natal classes started this week.

The Fat Lady started getting the Braxton Hicks at the end of the 36th / start of the 37th week. Just like the first movements way back when, the Fat Lady wasn't too sure about them at first but soon realised what was what. And there's another crash warning, "brace brace brace". And I've slowly realised that I won't be able to call the Fat Lady the "Fat Lady" for much longer. How many more warnings can I take?

And the midwife check-up: No crash warning with this one, told straight that there is a major problem. Well, it wasn't exactly put like that, but there's a problem. Any denial we had is now completely gone, and that's the problem. This is now a one-way ticket, no refund, no return. Baby? Oh, baby's fine, it's us that are me that is at odds with it all.

So what caused the "issue"? The baby's head is engaging. Sounds like something from Star Trek, but what it means is the baby's head is pointing down the way, past the brim of the pelvis and he's looking for an exit. The mark of 4/5ths means it's four fifths of the way there. First-timers are usually between week 36 & 38, so again the Fat Lady is spot on. The baby will not turn round now, it's in the right position and will happily wait there until the big day, but it doesn't mean it's going to be tomorrow or any time soon. The Fat Lady looked proud at this, as if she'd done something totally amazing. Which she has. What a perfect start to week 37!

Three social engagements over the weekend took its toll on both of us. Hardly a minute to ourselves over a long weekend, better get used to this.

Posted by Alder at 07 August 2006 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Conflicting views are out there on having kids and cats in the same house at the same time. I'd sell my first born child* before getting rid of my cats, so we have to make some adjustments.

* Open to offers, currently sorting out some legal nonesense with eBay about the listing.

Our vet had a leaflet on the subject, and to be honest the advice was pretty common sense. If you are emmeowing on this route (embarking is for dogs, no?) then I suggest you get the leaflet. And as if by magic, here's a link to it!

Our cats are little shits at times, but they have certain rules, they know them and abide by them. Rules like they are not allowed on the worktops in the kitchen, they have to get "dressed" before going out (collars on), and they aren't allowed in the nursery.

It's all about the training. I've got the Fat Lady trained pretty well, but it's not her I'm talking about. A water pistol from being kittens was very useful, and when used with that certain tone of voice they quickly learned when to stop without the use of the water pistol.

As luck would have it they've never really spent much time in the nursery apart from when it was a "displacement room" for all the junk dumped in there as rooms got decorated. So to keep them out is an easy task, just a short sharp "no" will do.

Still, when we're asleep I trust them to behave as much as I trust the Fat Lady won't bury her nails into me during labour. So what we've tried is:

1. A gate across the nursery door


2. A cat net over the cot

So far differing degrees of success. The net acts as a hammock. And when in place it means the cot is out of bounds for us and the baby, so it's not a day-to-day tool but a training tool. Chocolate fireguard going on the shopping list then. The gate, however, has worked a treat. We have no evidence of the cats having jumped it. We got a travel gate, so it's fabric mesh rather than the traditional poles, so not even the skinny one can get through. The net, well it hasn't actually been used as a hammock as they haven't jumped the gate. So the gate has proved successful, and the net remains untested.

We do have a net for the pram, which will be used. During the late summer the Fat Lady will be leaving pram outside with baby getting some fresh air and sleep, so even if ours are in the house there's no guarantee from the other local cats. No chances will be taken, but it's all common sense.

Should I stay or should I
go now?
The one thing we haven't done is keep them out of our bedroom. Since we first got them as kittens we've left our door open and they have free and easy access. And we haven't restricted that so far, so that could be a problem if we have a crib in our room for a while. That's clearly one mistake, of many more to come I imagine, that we've made.

We are intending on going back to a water pistol if needs be, but after 4 years of the harsh "no" working I don't see a need just now.

That's it for now, no major change. We'll have to make sure food is out of reach once crawling starts, and I'm not talking about me getting home after wetting the baby's head. But that's some time off yet, so bridges and crossing thereof.

Posted by Alder at 03 August 2006 | Permalink | Comments (5)

We haven't been asked this for a while now, thankfully, but it was clearly one of those life events that everyone needs to know.

Now that Richard and Zoe are getting hitched, they'll be getting those questions. Well, not that particular question, as it's not a shotgun job. Theirs will be "when, where, can Auntie Mable's pet dog's breeder sit with her at the reception". They have my sympathy.

I thought I'd covered this topic in the 20 week scan post, but hadn't.

So, to recap:
NHS Lothian don't provide a 20 week scan to check on well-being.
We had a private scan done at 23 weeks in place of the NHS one.

When we arrived we were a little early, so waited with a cup of coffee. The appointment ahead of us came in after us, and with a cast of thousands went in for their scan. From what I could work out it was mum-to-be, granny-to-be, dad-to-be and unknown random bloke. Current boyfriend? Brother? Both? Hey, I don't judge...

The difference was they were paying for a couple of minutes of time just to find out what the sex of the baby was. We, on the other hand, were paying considerably more just for a much longer viewing time. No sexing for us.

Sexing was an option with our "package", only we chose not to find out. We had discussed this at short length, and it was one of those moments we realised we were both on the same page. Our decision was based solely on the fact there are few surprises in life, and in the heat of the moment for someone to say "congratulations, it's a ...." is one of the happy ones left. So, selfishly, that's what we went for. We wanted that moment, rather than some machine-assisted situation - "well, it's, ermm I can't quite see, oh there's something, yes it's a...". Nope, immediate certainty, please.

So, back in the scan, the sonographer asked if we wanted to know, and as a result of the negative reply kept away from "the business end". She did need to go down there, so got us to close our eyes and stopped the recording until she was away again. It was kind of strange knowing, and it still is, that there is one person out there who we don't know, but who can tell us what we're having. It doesn't bother me at all, I'm just looking forward 4 weeks from now to that "congratulations, it's a...." moment.

Family may want to know "to buy the right colours". Thankfully, ours were right behind us. And if they hadn't been, then tough. It's not about the right colours, or letting great Auntie Mable's pet dog's breeder knowing, it's about the parents and the baby, nobody else. So that question that everyone asks, "do you know what you're having?" - yes, I do, it's a baby. Now piss off and don't ask stupid questions again.

It's not all nicey-nicey though, and our decision may not be right for everyone. That girl who was in before us, for all we know, might not be checking for what colours to buy. There may be conditions that run in the family and you need to know, to prepare yourselves for the possibility. Or maybe you just can't wait and need to fill your boots. In that case do what's right, right for the parents and the baby - everyone else can wait.

It seems so long ago, almost 3 months now. Yet it is as right now as it was then, and that anticipation is building as we struggle all the more with [2 sets of] names.

Posted by Alder at 02 August 2006 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Today's the day the ante-natal classes started. We already knew in advance what the topics would be - weeks 1 & 2 for labour, week 3 for feeding and week 4 for bringing baby home. So this was part 1 of 2 on labour. And our survey said...

What did we expect?
We expected the class to be dumbed-down to the lowest common denominator of chav. With a mixed class I was expecting exactly what was forewarned in Fatherhood: The Truth. More questions than expectations, really, like "who will be the rampant dad not getting any", and "who will be the E-class", and "who will be the petrified teenager"? I fit all three, apart from my teenage years were long since resigned to last century. Breathing exercises, bring them on. Drugs? I'll have half a kee of smack, please.

I don't expect many answers from the individual classes, but I do expect that they will generate more questions than we currently have, some of which will be answered over the next few weeks as we go, some of which won't. For those that aren't we can follow up during the classes and later once we forgotten.

What did we learn?

• Smack is not provided for pain relief, not even for the dads. Bastards.


• This isn't a dream, it's for real. Shit.


• The TV dramas go from waters breaking to being in hospital on the bed pushing. They miss out the 19+ hours of early stage labour in the middle.


• What our midwife's opinions on the various pain relief options are


• That the tour of the hospital consists of watching a video on a 14" portable from 20 feet away.


• That the car parking charges are an incentive for you to not go in too early


• 37 weeks is considered full term. That's 7 days away {gulp}

What was informative?

• The procedure for ejecting me from hospital if I bring in my own smack.


• Knowing when to go in, when to cross over into the "panic zone"


• How to breath. Still sounds strange, but that's all we MUST come away with.

What was a waste of time?

• Trying to second-guess what the class was going to be like.


• Nothing else really, all was pretty useful.

What was missing?

• A chauffeur driven limo from the class to the office.


• Other dads. I was the only one there until 5 minutes in.

I have no idea why I put this last question in now, I won't know what's missing until after the main event, only then will we know what we wanted to know now but didn't know we wanted to know it because we hadn't been through it, and by that time we'll know what we didn't know we wanted to know in the first place.

Posted by Alder at 02 August 2006 | Permalink