Stranger Danger

As my wife discovered some months ago, strangers are more than willing to make comments about most things related to pregnancy and not all of them are positive (see The Perfect Package).  Pushing my daughter around in her buggy, I have discovered that strangers are also willing to make comments towards new parents about their children and the 'joys' or parenting.  Most of the comments I have received have been about how beautiful my daughter is.  I couldn't agree more.  It fills me with pride and I have to admit that I do, unreasonably, find myself getting annoyed when people don't make comments about Daisy.  However, some comments I have received haven't been so positive.  Funny, maybe, but not the gushing comments I have become accustomed to.

One such comment got me very worried recently.  On my way back from picking up the Sunday paper from the local shop, a gentleman, who had been in the shop too, caught up with Daisy and I to give me a pearl of wisdom.  After the usual small talk about Daisy's gender (as if the pink blanket didn't give it away) and age, this man, whom I'd never met before, imparted the following words of wisdom: 'The first word you need to teach her is 'elope'!'

Here was a man who had clearly spent a lot of money on his daughter's wedding.  Maybe there was more than one daughter and more than one wedding.  Looking at the slightly manic look in his eyes as he bitterly exclaimed the word 'elope', this is entirely possible.  I laughed nervously and the conversation was soon over.  When I'd returned to the house, the reality of this stranger's comments hit me.  We have already set Daisy up with a cash ISA and bank account.  We will regularly save money for her so that when she turns 18 she will have some funds to help with university fees or for travelling (I'm pretending the latter is an option, but it won't really be!)  I started to panic.  Do I need to start saving for her wedding already?  Having paid for our own wedding last year, my wife and I have a good understanding of the excessive amounts of cash that can be spent on one day.

 

Fortunately, the panic and worry didn't last long.  I suddenly remembered what I have consistently reminded my daughter since her birth.  There will be no boys.  Ever.  Therefore, no wedding.  Ever.  I am sure this is what every new dad thinks about his little girl.  Of course, it rarely works out like this.  But, I can dream, can't I?

The reality is that my daughter already has me wrapped around her little finger.  Although, as my wife pointed out recently, there are worse things to be wrapped around (I'm not sure if this was a subtle personal insult or not!)  So, it is entirely possible that Daisy will be able to persuade me some time before her thirty-fifth birthday that she should be allowed out on dates with boys.  Therefore, my only other way of ensuring that boys stay away is to be an intimidating father-figure.  I can imagine most of you who know me are sniggering, and the rest of you outright guffawing, at this suggestion.  You are right.  I am not at all intimidating. 

I guess I'll have to start saving for that wedding after all then. 

Daddy and Daisy's Book Reviews

As some of you have noted, Daisy is a very advanced writer for her young age (see A Few of My Favourite Things).  However, we are struggling on the reading front. She doesn't really enjoy reading time with daddy even though I've chosen some of my favourite picture books to read to her.  I started reading to her when she was in the womb.  Her mother seemed to think that she enjoyed me reading to her because she would always move around and give a few kicks during and just after.  It turns out that this was probably her protesting at my reading rather than enjoying it!

I have decided to share with you five of the best books I have read with Daisy.  As well as a brief description of the contents and plots and my opinion on each one, Daisy has decided to share her rather critical opinions with you as well.

1. The Gruffalo by Julia Donaldson and illustrated by Axel Sheffler

Julia Donaldson books are brilliant.  They are great, imaginative stories for everyone to enjoy.  The Gruffalo is about a cunning mouse who, whilst taking a stroll through the woods, encounters several predators along the way.  He invents a scary creature, the Gruffalo, to intimidate them.  He then meets the very creature he has made up and has to think quickly in order to survive.  The story is told in rhyme, as are all of other Donaldson's stories, which makes it a great book to read aloud.

Daisy's Opinion: 'What a silly story for my daddy to read to me.  Why would he read to me about a big horrible monster with terrible teeth, claws and tusks?  If I stay up all night crying because I'm too scared to sleep then he can only blame himself!  Wally!'

2. A Diary of a Wombat by Jackie French and illustrated by Bruce Whatley

A funny and charming account of the life of a wombat.  The story is told from the wombat's perspective and chronicles his persistent pursuit of food, scratching posts and suitable places to sleep.  In the course of his pursuit of these essentials, he manages to annoy a family and make life difficult for them by destroying their front door, rubbish bin and flower beds, as well as eating all of their carrots!

Daisy's Opinion: 'I didn't hear a word of this book.  I was too busy screaming.  Surely daddy realises that I can't hear him if I'm screaming.  Sometimes he is very silly.  He should just feed me instead of reading books to me whilst I'm crying.'

3. We Love Bunk Beds by Paula Metcalf

A very cute story about a little sister who wants to do everything her big sister does.  She follows her big sister everywhere and makes her life quite awkward at times.  Their mum buys them bunk beds to try to stop the little sister from climbing into bed with her big sister every night.  However, mum's solution doesn't quite work and the sisters end up in the same bed regardless.

Daisy's Opinion: 'Little sisters seem very annoying.  I hope mummy and daddy don't have any plans to get me a little sister anytime soon.  I think if I had to choose then I'd prefer a little brother.  Or maybe a puppy instead!'

4. The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle

A classic.  A colourful book about how the
hungry caterpillar makes his way through endless amounts of food without satisfying his hunger until he finally becomes a big, fat caterpillar builds a house and inevitably turns into a beautiful butterfly.

Daisy's Opinion: 'I like eating too.  I want to eat all of the time as well.  Or at least all of the time when I'm not sleeping.  I like sleeping too.  I wonder if I'll get big and fat and then turn into a butterfly too if I keep on eating.'

5. Monkey Puzzle by Julia Donaldson and illustrated by Axel Scheffler

Another excellent story from Donaldson and Scheffler.  The humorous tale of a lost monkey who enlists the help of a butterfly to find his mum.  The only problem being that the butterfly keeps misunderstanding information the monkey gives him about his mother.  The butterfly takes the lost monkey to lots of different animals in the jungle.  Without giving too much away, I can reassure you that the little lost monkey is okay at the end of the story.

Daisy's Opinion: 'I'll be honest.  Whilst daddy was reading this story to me, I wasn't really listening.  I was too busy staring at the wall.  I like staring at the blank cream wall.  Mummy and daddy must be pleased that I do this instead of looking at the all the pretty pictures on my wall or the colourful books and toys they have bought for me.'

A Few of My Favourite Things

My daddy has taken a break from worrying (or at least boring you all about his worries) and now that I am over a month old, he has said I can take over his blog for the day.

So, I thought I'd share with you some of the things I am really enjoying about being on the outside, as well as some of the things I'm not enjoying so much.

1. Sleeping

I don't enjoy sleeping at night, obviously!  But, I do love sleeping on the big people during the day.  They are really warm and comfy, which means I can sleep easily on them.  I'm not enjoying sleeping in the bed mummy and daddy have bought for me.  It's too dark and quiet in the room and because of my funny breechy legs, I often kick off my blanket.  It doesn't matter though, because instead of sleeping in there, I cry a lot so that they will pick me up and then I can sleep on them.  And, if they do make me sleep in the cot, then I imitate the noises of a small woodland creature to keep them awake.  Suckers!

2. Feeding

I love milk.  I don't like it when mummy and daddy give me some milk and then keep taking it away when I'm not finished.  Ok, I might guzzle the lovely white stuff and, yes, it has made me a quite sick at times (daddy mentioned something about the Exorcist), but is that really a reason for them to keep taking it away whilst I'm clearly in the middle of drinking and then repeatedly tapping my back until I burp?  There's no dignity in being a baby sometimes!  If I can, then I try to burp in their faces for a bit of revenge.  When I'm hungry and wanting to be fed, daddy often puts me close to his face and lets me suck his nose.  He thinks it's funny and says I'm being really cute.  The truth is, and please don't tell him this because it might hurt his feelings, that I just think he looks a bit like a boob, so I have been trying to get milk out of him.

3. Bath Time

I wasn't sure about this at first.  I didn't know what was happening during my first bath time, so I let everyone know I didn't like it by screaming (I like screaming, especially when mummy and daddy look really tired).  But, I've grown to enjoy them.  I like waving my legs and arms around in the warm water.  I think I'm going to enjoy swimming.  However, the problem with baths is that I have to eventually get out.  I hate that part.  It is simply cruel to take me from somewhere so warm and comfy.  They've done that before (well, not them but some other big people in masks and funny hats).  It was just over a month ago and I wasn't very impressed then!  I get really cold between the bath and the changing mat, so I scream some more.  Then they treat me like I'm a Formula One car having a pit stop at Silverstone.  One of them takes the head end and one takes the other end.  I get dried in 10 seconds flat and have a nappy put on in a flash.  I'm not sure if they are timing themselves or whether they are trying to break some kind of record, but it isn't much fun.

4. Nappy Changes

Apart from having a bath, I'm not keen on being naked.  I really don't enjoy it when mummy and daddy decide that I need a new nappy.  But, we've already established that I am cunning and keen to extract revenge when the opportunity arises, so I wait until the new nappy is on and then I do a wee, or if I'm feeling especially annoyed about having my peace and quiet disturbed by having a nappy change, then I wait until I'm fully changed again and I do something a lot more sinister in there.  Okay, I know it means I need to have another nappy change, but, believe me, it's easier being cleaned than having to do the cleaning, so I'm the winner every time!  Another thing that I don't enjoy about nappy changes is that mummy and daddy sing to me.  Don't get me wrong, mummy's singing is pretty good (daddy, on the other hand, is tone deaf), but they sing such a silly little song.  They think they are being funny by adapting the MC Hammer classic to "Stop.  It's nappy time'.  I think they are being wallies.

5. Presents

I've been a very lucky girl and I've received lots and lots of lovely presents.  I have had so many clothes, cuddly toys, blankets and toys from lots of people I haven't even met yet.  I love wearing all of my new clothes.  I love it so much in fact that I have devised a new strategy to make sure I get through as many different clothes in a day as possible.  I store up my nappy bound substances until there is so much that I know the nappy I'm wearing can't contain them and then I release.  This way, I get an extra bath, which is fun, and some different clothes.  There is only one present that I have been sent that I didn't like.  Daddy has a Geordie friend who clearly has very poor taste in football teams, because he sent me a lovely t-shirt which has been ruined with the addition of the Newcastle United badge.  Daddy says I have to wear it when we see them in November, so I'm planning one of my nappy explosions as soon as they put it on me!

6. My Family

I have the best family.  They are all so generous, happy and cuddly.  They make such a fuss of me whenever I see any of them.  I love being around them and they love me.  My nana hadn't seen me for about a week recently and she phoned my daddy to say that she was worried I would be in school by the time she next saw me.  She is funny!  I have especially enjoyed meeting my big cousins.  I saw them properly for the first time last week.  I'd met them before but I was sleeping then so I didn't remember them.  This time, I woke up to see three big faces staring at me.  I was a little confused at first, but they were all smiling and I had lots of kisses from them.  I liked that a lot.  I can't wait until I am old enough to play with them properly.  I was not so impressed with my grampy.  I met him properly last week too and I now know who I need to blame for my double chin.

I hope daddy will let me write again soon.

Daisy. X

A Wonderful Wife and Marvellous Mother

Whilst there are a great many things I worry about as far as my daughter and fatherhood are concerned, there is one thing I don't need to worry about.  I have never worried or will never worry about what kind of mother my wife is.  She is an incredible mother.  My daughter and I are exceptionally lucky to have her in our lives.  As we have just celebrated our first wedding anniversary, this post is a chance for me to describe what a wonderful mother my wife actually is.  Warning: If you have recently eaten, then you may want to read this at a later point, as the content of this post may make you feel nauseous!

Let's start with her selfless attitude during pregnancy.  Not once did I hear her complain about having to significantly adjust her diet to cope with her gestational diabetes.  Despite her physical appearance, she does actually really enjoy chocolate and cakes, so I know that it was harder than she let on.  She didn't even mind injecting herself twice a day with insulin.  Her only focus was what she needed to do to ensure our daughter was growing healthily in the womb.

Then there was the ECV.  I would have skipped it and gone straight to the Caesarean-section, such is my aversion to pain.  But my wife wanted to try to provide a safer natural birth for our daughter.  So she gritted her teeth and allowed someone to subject her to some agonising pain.  Again, there were no complaints, there was no screaming or shouting.  Unbelievably, after it was all over, her only thought was that of guilt.  She hoped our daughter hadn't suffered and wouldn't blame her mother for her ordeal.

After our gorgeous little girl was born, there were some real challenges with breastfeeding.  Once again, my wife showed what a selfless individual she is by persevering with feeding for almost a month.  This was despite difficulties latching which resulted in several problems.  Firstly Daisy screamed and screamed for the first few days every time she was meant to be feeding, which broke my wife's heart.  It also made us both very apprehensive about feeding time.  Once that subsided, then the pain became apparent.  But my wife continued through it, seeking support and advice from various breastfeeding advocates so that she could continue to do what she felt was the best thing for our daughter.  And Daisy gained lots of weight, justifying her mother's decision to continue.  My wife had two painful infections, one of which required antibiotics, in the first couple of weeks which still didn't sway her unerring persistence.  Finally, a third infection was the final straw and she very reluctantly conceded that breastfeeding simply wasn't working for them.  And yet, she still asked my permission (because we are a team and both of our opinions about parenting matter, even though I wasn't the one who had to suffer extreme pain every two or three hours and the immense discomfort in between) and she still cried with guilt when we gave Daisy her first bottle of formula milk.  This just shows what a remarkable mother she is.  Her only concern is what is best for our daughter and it was her body, not her heart or mind, which finally decided that enough was enough.

She is also a very loving mother.  It is the most incredible sight to see my wife and daughter together.  Daisy always appears a little indifferent to the hundreds of kisses I bestow upon her each day.  Maybe it's the beard!  Maybe it's my breath!  Maybe she just isn't that bothered by my affection.  However, when my wife kisses her, she turns her head, her eyes light up and she puckers up to receive the kisses with sheer delight.  They gaze into each other's eyes and Daisy is very contented when she is doing this.  She loves her mother very much, that much has been obvious from the very first day.  And who can blame her?

She's also great at everything else being a mother entails.  She gets up in the middle of the night to feed her, change her and cuddle her, often for two or more hours (because our 'naughty' daughter still hasn't figured out when she should be sleeping and when she should be awake) despite the fact that she is exhausted after having undergone major abdominal surgery less than four weeks ago.  She is affectionate and caring.  When we have visitors she very subtly makes sure that Daisy is never away from her for more than quarter of an hour by suggesting to even the most strong and healthy of them that their arms 'look tired' (from holding our huge 3kg daughter!) and then asking the rhetorical question 'shall I take her now?'

Daisy and I hope she realises how grateful we are to her for everything she does for us.

Revenge is a Dish Best Served at 2am!

Daisy isn't sleeping very well at the moment.  Actually, that's not correct, she is sleeping brilliantly during the day.  She sleeps soundly most of the day, even if we are out or if there is lots of noise and light in the house.  She has slept soundly for most of her visitors.  When we have had a room full of people, including her young cousins, none of whom are being quiet, she is passed around and doesn't even stir from her slumber.  Her Grampy thinks she doesn't have eyes because, both times he has visited her, she has slept the entire time!

It is sleeping during the night that is the problem.  Last night, she was up for over five straight hours.  I'm not naive enough to think that Daisy is the only newborn baby not to sleep properly.  We are having the same experience as many parents have in the first few weeks of their baby's life.  However, it is difficult not to question whether it is something you have done wrong, especially when she also managed to wee and poo on me over the last 24 hours.  Maybe Daisy is getting revenge for something her mother or I have done.

Perhaps she is less than impressed with the ridiculous colour of the buggy we push her around in.  It would make sense; she does sleep whenever she is in the buggy or matching car seat.  Clearly she doesn't want to be associated with her parents' shocking taste.  Could it be some of the clothes we dress her in?  Again, I don't think I'd blame her, some of the clothes we have bought for her would definitely class as crimes against fashion.  All of the clothes that friends and family have given her are beautiful, but she is currently too small to fit in to the many wonderful outfits she has been given.  So, for now she has to put up with some of the gaudy clothes we have bought for her.  Maybe it is her father's 'poor' taste in music.  My younger brother would definitely agree with her on this one.  Daisy has to listen to my music in the car and in the night when we are trying to settle her.  Is it possible that she is so unimpressed with Mumford and Sons, Ben Howard and The Lumineers that she would decide to get her own back when we all should be sleeping?

Of course, I do realise that Daisy isn't really extracting revenge on her parents.  Although, that is harder to believe when she isn't screaming at 2am in the morning having been changed, fed and burped!  The reality is that she is just adjusting to life and can't quite figure out when she should be sleeping and when she should be awake.  As well as this, she is unsettled at the moment because her mother is currently on antibiotics which are effecting her own digestion.  It must be uncomfortable for her and it certainly can't help her with sleeping.  The course of antibiotics is almost complete and soon both of my girls should be better and we can try to get some normality into our lives.  Breastfeeding is still a challenge but it is getting better and I'm constantly amazed about my wife's ability to persevere with something which has caused her great pain and has resulted in two infections.

During the small hours of the morning it is difficult to think about anything other than Daisy's inability to sleep despite our best efforts, but I am absolutely loving fatherhood.  One of my favourite things is watching my daughter with her mother.  Despite their early challenges with breastfeeding, when Daisy would get so irate at the fact her mother wanted to do something so cruel as feed her, the connection between them is very special.  I love watching Daisy gazing admiringly at her mother and vice versa.

The list of other things I am enjoying about fatherhood is limitless.  However, I have been able to think about the things I enjoy the most.  These include nappy changing.  No, I didn't type that incorrectly.  I actually mean it.  It isn't so much changing the nappies that I enjoy.  It is the toilet humour which comes from it.  Daisy has a tendency to wee mid nappy change.  We think that it has something to do with the change of temperature.  It often results in a change of clothes for Daisy, nevertheless it is humorous trying to stem a river of urine before it flows off of the changing mat and on to our new cream carpets.  Until yesterday, I was relieved that Daisy didn't have the 'range' a boy would.  And then, she showed yesterday that she does have quite an impressive range after all, as she managed to get wee all over my foot!  She has also cannoned a less pleasant substance at me twice during nappy changes.  This was probably more funny for my wife than for me but I have managed to find the funny side too whilst scrubbing my hands with industrial strength soap!  She makes us jump with the loud noises that emanate from her when she is filling her nappy.  Of course, this then leads to more hysterics.  How could someone so small and cute make such a massive noise?  Considering the content of this paragraph, if my daughter was able to read then it would give her another reason to extract revenge on her parents by keeping them up all night!

There's also the shopping.  It's not actually the shopping I enjoy.  It is the admiring glances my daughter gets.  It is the many women of a certain age fussing and cooing over Daisy as she sits in the trolley seat looking adorable.  It fills me with immense pride.  There is something else which is positive when going shopping.  No, it isn't the huge cost at the end now that we need 3 or 4 packs of nappies each and every time we visit the supermarket.  It is the parking.  Let's face it, supermarket shopping is painful at the best of times.  The first challenge always being to find a good parking spot which isn't half a mile away from the shop.  So, thanks to Daisy I am able to use the 'Parent and Child' parking spaces.  Ironically, since Daisy was born, we have overindulged in chocolate and junk food.  Therefore, we would probably benefit from walking a bit further when we get to the shops.

The thing I most enjoy though is just holding my daughter and spending time with her.  I spend a large amount of my day now just staring at Daisy.  I am fascinated by everything she does.  When she sleeps, she seems to be experimenting with various different faces.  She smiles, she grimaces, she purses her lips.  This might seem cruel, but I also find it funny to watch Daisy when she has the hiccups or sneezes.  As there is nothing I can do to help her when this happens, I have found the time to record her on my phone!

Daisy: Part 2

I had hoped my wife and daughter would be home three days after the birth.  They weren't.  They spent the first five days and nights of Daisy's life in hospital.  Even though I knew they were in incredibly capable hands, it was exceptionally difficult to drag myself away from them each night.  In fact, I hated it.  My wife was unable to move from her bed on the first night and whilst she was healing well during the subsequent days and nights, being able to lift our daughter from her cot any time of the day or night wasn't an easy task.  I wanted to be there to help.  I wasn't allowed.

Why did they have to stay longer in hospital than we had anticipated?  The short answer is that they were struggling with feeding.  It hasn't come as a galloping shock that my daughter is a strong-willed little lady.  After her battle of wills with gravity and nature during the pregnancy and a consultant during the ECV, it was obvious before she was even born that she would have a strong personality.  Her determination and stubbornness became apparent very early on.  People spend a lot of time discussing who a baby looks like when they are born.  (Fortunately, my daughter has her mother's looks and doesn't have my nose!)  However, I've spent more time thinking about my daughter's personality over the past two weeks.  She certainly has the stubborn, determined and strong-willed characteristics of the female members of my mother's side of the family.  But I'm really struggling to place her attitude towards food.

From the first few feeds it was clear that breastfeeding our daughter wasn't going to be the walk-in-the-park that it is made out to be by some healthcare professionals during pregnancy.  Daisy wasn't latching properly and seemed to spend a great deal of time becoming frustrated and angry about it.  She would scream, wriggle and squirm and a feed could take over an hour and a half, if indeed it happened at all.  This was heartbreaking for my wife and I.  My wife found it very upsetting,  She had the 'equipment' and plenty of milk but our daughter didn't want to, or couldn't, drink it.  I was upset that my wife was upset.  Daisy, who isn't the biggest baby, was losing weight as a result.  She had lost slightly over 10% of her body-weight within four days of her birth.

My rapidly expanding waistline is testament to the fact that I don't share my daughter's current attitude towards food!  Her mother also has a healthy attitude towards food, although looking at her fantastic figure you wouldn't have any clue about how much she enjoys eating.  However, I didn't like food much as a child.  It worried my mother immensely.  I was small and skinny and not that healthy looking.  I certainly made up for it in my late teens when I went to university and was able to cook myself whatever I wanted.  Thanks to my wife, I now have a more mature attitude towards food and my diet isn't all bad!  So, maybe Daisy is following my food journey.  I hope not!  I was a pain.  I wouldn't eat anything good for me for my entire childhood despite my mum's greatest attempts.  I want my daughter to have a better attitude to food than I did.

Finding out that Daisy had lost so much weight was the lowest point in the past two weeks.  Fortunately, it also seemed to be the spur that Daisy needed and following that very hard and upsetting day she started to get the hang of feeding.  I'm not saying she got it straight away and feeding no longer caused any anxiety or temper tantrums.  But, she did start to feed better and she did start to gain some of the weight she had lost.  The midwives and their assistants in both Gloucestershire Royal Hospital and Stroud Maternity Hospital (where we had asked to transfer to after a day) were wonderful.  They were patient, caring and understanding and helped my girls every step of the way.  By the time my wife and daughter were finally ready to leave hospital five days after the birth, Daisy had gained an impressive 6 ounces over the course of the final two days.
 
Now we are home, Daisy and my wife are still finding feeding difficult.  But, due to my wife's patience and determination, they are getting there.  Thankfully, Daisy is still gaining weight.  She is almost back to her birth weight and the midwives who have visited us have been pleased with the progress she is making.  She feeds well once she is latched.  However, she has certainly had her moments.  There have been temper tantrums and it took 45 minutes to start one feed recently.  But we are picking up tips from the midwives and from a breastfeeding counsellor from an organisation called MOBS (Mothers Offering Breastfeeding Support).  Every feed that goes well helps to improve my wife's confidence and reduce our collective anxiety towards the whole process.

I am very proud of my wife and daughter.  They haven't given up.  I would totally understand if my wife decided that she wanted to try formula milk instead.  But she has persisted, as she feels that breastfeeding is the best option for our daughter.  It still worries me (and her).  I want them both to enjoy feed times, I want them enjoy each other's company and I want them to be happy.  If feeding is a constant battle then these things can't happen.  Formula milk might be the best option in the near future and we shouldn't feel guilty about it if it comes to that, but for now I will support my wife and daughter in any way I can as they continue to get better at feeding every day.

Daisy: Part 1

The more observant of you will have noticed that I haven't been blogging for a couple of weeks.  There's one reason for this.  She's called Daisy.

We'll take a step back to last Wednesday, which was our date for the Caesarean-section.  Actually, let's go back to Tuesday evening.  My wife and I, at this stage without a daughter, spent the evening and night excited but incredibly nervous.  People kept telling us 'Sleep now, whilst you can!'  Ironically, we didn't sleep much the few nights before the big day and almost not at all on Tuesday night.  We'd had our pre-op assessment on Monday, so we had been made fully aware of what would happen.  Of course, being informed about everything that will take place is a great thing, but it also makes you aware of the risks and possible complications, which only makes you more worried.

So, tired and growing increasingly nervous, we headed off with all of our bags on Wednesday morning to Gloucestershire Royal Hospital.  We were first up.  This meant that we had a firm time which was very unlikely to be changed at the last minute.  My wife's bump was scanned to check that our 'naughty' daughter hadn't decided to turn at the last minute.  She was still breech.  Therefore, we headed up to the delivery suite to get prepped for surgery.  I was allowed to change into some very fetching scrubs with a pair of 'Crocs' and a disposable hat.  I'm not wild about hats.  I don't like the fact that hats mess up my hair.  Why spend time in the morning sorting my hair out if I'm going to put something on top of it which flattens it?  But I swallowed my pride and put the hat on, which was the least I could do bearing in mind the morning my wife and daughter had in store.

In the operating theatre, my wife didn't fuss or complain when the anesthetist prodded at her spine with a needle.  I would have.  She was amazing.  I wouldn't have been.  I didn't really know how brave she was until the ECV she had a few weeks ago.  She showed even greater bravery that Wednesday morning and she made me exceptionally proud to be her husband.  After the anesthetic took affect, the very young looking registrar opened up my wife's bump at 9:26am.  4 minutes later, to the sound of our specially selected playlist, our daughter was born.  She screamed a little and was taken to be checked out in the corner of the room.  She soon settled down and was given the all clear.  She was healthy and she was gorgeous!  I then got to cut a small part of the umbilical cord off.  It was a very weird feeling and it took me more than a few snips!  Bundled up in to several blankets and with a knitted hat on her little head, my daughter was handed to me for the first time.  I'm not ashamed to say I welled up, in fact I'm welling up now thinking about it.  But I wanted to get her back to her mother, so I blinked away the tears and focused on making my way around the assault course of vital equipment back to my wife without dropping the most precious thing I have ever held, my 2.7kg or 6lb 1oz daughter.  She certainly wasn't the larger baby we had been expecting as a result of my wife's gestational diabetes.

The rest of the operation passed in a blur.  It was chance for my wife and I to gaze adoringly at our daughter.  It wasn't an easy time for my wife, she was uncomfortable and sick, but she only had time to focus on our little girl.  She astounded me that day and continues to do so.  Since Daisy was born, she has shown remarkable patience, calmness, perseverance, persistence and most of all overwhelming care and love for our daughter.  I owe her so much and I'm worried that I will never be able to thank her enough for the gift she has given me.  Soon enough the operation was complete and we were all moved to the recovery room to spend more time as a family.

Daisy's first day with us was perfect.  It involved more time than I can ever remember on my phone, sending texts and updating friends and family on Facebook.  The great thing about having a smaller baby is that this can be done whilst still holding on to her.  Whilst the recovery room on the delivery suite was air-conditioned, the top floor maternity ward was far from it.  It was sweltering.  It made my wife feel very sick for a while, which of course she didn't complain about.  She just concerned herself with making sure Daisy was still okay.  We had several excited visitors during the day.  Her Nain and Taid (Welsh for Grandmother and Grandfather) got the train over from south Wales to spend an hour with their first grandchild.  Her Nana and Nel came up later in the day to visit too.  Daisy was being spoiled rotten with hugs and kisses, present and cards.  In fact, even before she was born she had been given many amazing gifts from family, friends, colleagues and even children from my school.  We are incredibly grateful to everyone who has been so generous and kind with their thoughts and comments and cards and gifts.

Sweating the Big Stuff

So, with just one weekend between now and the arrival of our little one,  I have started to worry about the really important big issues.  The one that has caused me most concern recently, due to the Lions playing on Saturday, is which country our daughter will support when watching rugby.  It is an issue which could cause a huge rift in our house!
My wife is passionately Welsh.  I am proud to be English.  A recent Wales vs England game led to some serious (but short lived) tension between us.  I am prepared to admit that it was my reaction to the humiliating hammering England received that caused the tension.  My wife behaved perfectly rationally.  But then it is easier to do when your team has just smashed the boys from over the bridge!

I want my daughter to support England.  She would then be able to sit with her daddy and cheer on the boys during the Six Nations and World Cups.  My wife, however, wants to deny me this dream and would like our daughter to support Wales.  She has graciously said that our little one can support England in all the other sports.  This is a little bit of a cop-out if you ask me.  Without meaning to offend any Welsh people who might be reading this, when you take rugby out of the equation, there really aren't many other sports left!

Please don't get me wrong.  I love Welsh people.  The most special person in my life is Welsh.  Her family are wonderful people.  Many other important people in my life are from Wales too.  But I still don't want my daughter to support Wales when we watch the rugby.

I have tried to argue that my wife is only actually half Welsh.  Therefore, I have simple mathematics on my side.  How could our child support Wales when she is only a quarter Welsh?  My argument is more than a bit flimsy, but technically it is true.  My mother-in-law was born in Wales but to English parents.  Surely, this means that she is English and, therefore, my wife is only 50% Welsh.  She doesn't buy this.  Her mother considers herself Welsh and so of course does my wife.

We, therefore, find ourselves at a classic impasse.  I don't think either of us will want to back down over this.  It is going to come down to which of us can be most persuasive.  Or which of us is best at discretely bribing our daughter.  My wife has made it clear that when she is at home with our little one and I am out working, she will use the time to effectively brainwash her in to supporting the land of my wife's fathers.  I am seriously considering giving up work so that I can stop this from happening.

The Little Lady's Not for Turning

It became very obvious to us today that our unborn daughter is firmly in charge.  She is displaying all of the traits of the women on my mother's side of the family.  Strong willed, stubborn and in-control.  Before I'm inundated with complaints from angry female relatives (by which I really mean just my mum!), I should point out that these women are also incredibly caring, loving and generous.

It has been a pretty fretful baby week so far.  Let's take a step back to yesterday afternoon.  You may or may not remember that our daughter was breech at her last scan.  Yesterday was the presentation scan to see if she had decided to turn herself.  My wife was sure she hadn't.  She was right.  As she always is!  Because she was still breech, we were then offered the chance to have an ECV, where the consultant tries to turn the baby externally.  Our other option was to book in for a Caesarean-section.  We felt we owed it to ourselves and our daughter to give the ECV a try.  We knew it would be painful and uncomfortable for my wife and would have only a 50% chance of working.  But my wife wanted to give birth naturally, knowing that it would be better for both of them if she could.  So, we agreed to the procedure and were booked in for this afternoon.

Full of worry and trepidation, we put the hospital bag in the car (as there is a very small chance that the ECV can distress baby so much that an emergency C-section could become necessary) and headed for the hospital.  Once in the delivery suite, my wife was attached to a machine, which listens to the baby's heartbeat, for half an hour.  Then came the tough part.  A softly spoken and gentle looking female consultant came in briefly to introduce herself and then she left again.  It was at this point that my wife commented that at least she looked gentle and wouldn't be able to be too brutal.  I retorted that it is always the quiet looking ones who are the toughest (I'm not sure why.  Thinking about it now, it wasn't the most supportive thing to say!)  I was right.  As I never am!  She came back in and wasn't gentle.  She was pretty brutal.  Of course, she had to be.  She wasn't just some kind of sadist.  The procedure requires a lot of pressure and force.


It was hard to watch my wife and daughter being so forcefully manhandled.  The consultant was impressed with my wife's pain threshold, as she said that most other women would have been screaming out in pain under the force and pressure she was having to exert to try and turn our stubborn little lady.  It became clear after a while that she wasn't budging.  She's very happy that way up thank you very much!  So, much to the relief of my wife and probably my daughter, the consultant decided to call it a day.  My wife was reattached to the monitor to see if the procedure had caused our little one any distress and almost immediately my daughter started to wriggle.  A victory dance perhaps?  She had her own way, that's for sure.  And, thankfully, her heartbeat was fine.  In fact, the midwife said it was better after the ECV than it was before.

We're now booked in for a C-section on 17th July.  We were so convinced she was coming sooner through induction that today feels a little anti-climatic.  But they are both well and that's the only thing that matters after the stresses of today.  I am unspeakably proud of the strength and courage my wife displayed today.  Everything she did was for our daughter's well being and health.  As for our daughter?  Well, I know that her great nanny Beryl will be looking down on her, proud of the stubbornness she is already displaying and also more than just a little pleased with her little victory over the healthcare profession today!

Nappy Days

One of my first duties as a new father, as I understand it, will not be an altogether pleasant experience.  Of course, I'm not talking about any of those things I can't wait for, like holding and cuddling my daughter for the first time or seeing her in her mother's arms.  No, I'm referring to changing the first dirty nappy.  I'm led to believe that it is a scenario which strips both parties of their dignity.

For those of you who have already experienced these meconium nappies, I take my hat off to you.  (Well I would if I was wearing one.  I'm not.  I don't like them messing up my hair!)  You survived to tell the tale, which gives me inspiration.  I am, however, still fairly worried about what lies ahead.  Everyone I have talked to about these first nappies describes them as disgusting and impossible to clean up.  Now, I would love to believe that my daughter will be like the Queen and not do anything in her nappy other than the occasional wee.  But, the reality is that she will be like all other babies and I will be called upon to do the honours whilst my wife recovers after the birth.

During our final NCT class this week, we were given the opportunity to change a nappy.  We were allowed to select our own 'baby' from a basket full of them.  Don't panic.  They weren't real babies.  They were dolls.  We'll skip over the fact that my wife chose the weirdest looking one in the basket for us and move straight on to the nappy changing.  Assuming that the nappy I was changing was just a clean nappy (because after all, dolls don't poo or wee), I happily started to undress the doll and take off the nappy.  It was at this point that I realised everything was not quite right.  The reaction of those around me tipped me off to the fact that there was something unexpected to be found in our dolls' nappies.

Our NCT course leader hadn't been sourcing actual baby poo to put in these nappies, but she had done the next best thing.  She had used various condiments to simulate baby poo.  My nappy contained a runny yellow substance which turned out to be Dijon mustard.  The couple next to me had one with treacle in it to simulate meconium.  We were given just water and cotton wool to get our dolls clean.  Why no baby wipes?  Good question.  It is frowned upon to use baby wipes on newborns.  So, when we got home, we removed our pack of wipes from our hospital bag as neither of us wants to be tutted at by a disappointed midwife.  Cleaning my doll was easy enough.  Yes, I did get some on my hands.  But, I managed to clean it up and put on a new nappy quite successfully.  Those with treacle in the nappy struggled.  Warm water and cotton wool aren't enough to get treacle, or meconium, off of a baby's bum.  You need a chisel, blow torch and some sand paper.  Although, I think that you might get more than a disapproving look or a less than subtle tut if you unloaded any or all of these from your bag at the hospital.

I'm hoping that I will be so euphoric after the birth of our baby that changing even the most disgusting of nappies will not affect my mood.  If not, I guess that's what therapists are for!

Our 'Naughty' Daughter

Already I feel like one of those parents whose child can do no wrong!  My unborn daughter was called naughty by two different healthcare professionals on Monday.  I didn't like it.  The reason was that, during our scan to check on her size, it was discovered that she is still breech.  She has been breech for at least 4 weeks now.  The chances of her turning before we need to have an induction are getting smaller. 

Some of our rapidly expanding reading materials 

We had been so busy worrying that she would get too big because of my wife's gestational diabetes, that we had just assumed her position would take care of itself.  We had got used to the idea of an early induction and now we have some other possibilities to get our heads around.

The good news is that her size is perfect.  This means that, with everything else being normal, my wife would be induced at about 38 weeks.  However, the sonographer, of course, found that our baby is the wrong way up.  She was the first to comment on our little one's behaviour.  I know she was only joking, but I felt very defensive of my daughter.  It doesn't bode well for the future.  How am I going to react when my daughter's teachers say she has done something wrong?  Will I believe them?  I am delusional enough at this point in the pregnancy to believe that my daughter will be perfectly behaved all of the time once she is born.

One bit of other news from the scan is that we are definitely having a daughter.  This will stop me worrying about what happens if, when our baby arrives, we hear the words 'It's a boy!' when we have spent the last 6 months getting prepared for welcoming a daughter to our family.  She also has hair on the back of her head.  We don't know about the top!

We then had an appointment with the obstetrician.  During these appointments we are seen by a midwife first.  She was the second person to admonish our baby bump.  Silently irritated, I listened as we were told everything else was going well by the registrar.  Then we were told what would happen next.  This is the moment where things get a little complicated.  Bear with me.

At 37 weeks, a little over a week from now, we go to the hospital for a presentation scan.  This will tell use which way up our 'naughty' little girl is.  If she has turned, then we will be on for an induction during the following week.  We have been told that the induction process can take a few days for some people, which we are obviously very excited about!  This is the ideal scenario.  But, if she is still breech then we will be given the option of having an ECV.  This is an External Cephalic Version.  It is a process where the obstetrician externally attempts to turn your baby.  I've seen this done on TV and it looks pretty brutal.  If we choose this option, then we will need to take our hospital bag, as there is a very small risk that baby won't like it and become distressed, which may need an emergency cesarean section.

If the ECV is successful, and our little one doesn't decide to immediately turn herself around on the way home (she is naughty after all), then we'll be back on for an induction at 38 weeks.  If it isn't (and there is close to a 50% chance) then we will be booked in for a cesarean section a couple of weeks later.  We were helpfully informed that people do come in for their cesareans only to discover that their child has turned!  We are not sure what would happen to us at this stage.  We were feeling a little overwhelmed and didn't think to ask this question.  My guess is we'll be induced that day.

So we're a little confused and quite uncertain about what will happen and when it will happen, but we'd be even less certain if everything was going normally!  We'd have no idea when our little lady would be making an appearance.  The important thing is my wife and baby are well and are being very well looked after.  Aside from the behaviour issues we clearly have to address with our daughter the moment she is born (maybe some time of the naughty step will do it!), that is all that matters to me.

Too Busy to Worry?

It's been a busy week.  Things always get busy in any school towards the end of the school year, with reports to write and end of year productions and displays to prepare for.  This year is different though.  To add to the heavy workload, we are of course preparing, or 'nesting', for the birth of our daughter.  The benefit of all of this is the fact that I haven't had too much time to worry about my impending fatherhood.

Our little lady's wardrobe

Bags packed already!

My wife has been busy too.  She has washed all of our little lady's clothes and bedding.  She has also packed the bags for the hospital.  Even though we are 35 weeks through the pregnancy, with 5 weeks left to our due date, we know, because of the diabetes, that we will be having the baby before then.  So, whilst it might seem we have plenty of time to finish these things off, we are of the opinion that you can't be too prepared.  In fact, on Monday, I sent my wife a text checking she had plans to pack the bags, because I'd been told that morning that a friend of a colleague had given birth 5 weeks early.  Hearing things like this, as an expectant parent, only serves to make you more nervous and panic even more.  What if that happens to us?  Are we ready yet?

We started our NCT classes this week as well.  I had no idea what to expect from these classes.  After two sessions, I can honestly say that I have learned a huge amount.  Whilst much of what has been discussed has scared me, all of it has been informative.  There's been a lot talk, as you might expect, about labour.  The signs.  The stages.  The pain.  The drugs.  I've winced on several occasions and none of it will be happening to me physically. 
  

As part of the discussion on pain and pain relief, our class leader brought a TENS machine with her.  This part of the day definitely caused the most hilarity.  We were all given a chance to see how it works (at our own risk, of course) by attaching the pads to our lower arm.  There was an unofficial 'competition' among the expectant dads to see who could make their hand spasm the most by putting the machine on its highest setting and then pressing the 'Boost' button.  The guys found this funny, but there was more than one woman rolling  their eyes or tutting at their partner's juvenile behaviour.

Then there was the balls!  Great big, bouncy balls littering the room.  If you giggled at the last two sentences, then shame on you.  I'm talking about those gym balls that you see pregnant women rigorously bouncing up and down on in 'One Born Every Minute'.  One of the other fathers-to-be commented that getting across the room was like competing in a round of 'It's a Knockout'.  There are over half a dozen of them and every time I walk past them I have to resist the urge to start a game of football.  If we end up getting one at home I am worried that I will break things with my inability to treat it as anything but a really big basketball or football.

The now ready to use utility roorm

As well as this, I've finally cleared the utility room of all the decorating paraphernalia.  Let's ignore the fact it has been there since we moved in 3 months ago and celebrate the fact that it has been done before our daughter arrives.  Now the room can be used for sterilising bottles without the fear that half opened tins of paint and dirty paintbrushes will make any strelising we do completely pointless! It seems like there is nothing like the realisation that your child could arrive any day to make sure you get all of those last minute DIY jobs completed.

Living With Gestational Diabetes

My wife has taken to regularly injecting drugs.  Don't panic, she isn't mainlining heroin.  She is injecting insulin.  Unfortunately, she has been diagnosed with gestational diabetes.  As I have confessed previously, I am not any kind of medical authority.  I don't know how well I am able to explain this condition.  But I will give it a go.

Several weeks ago, because of a family history of later onset diabetes, my wife undertook a glucose tolerance test during a visit to the midwife.  I received a text later that morning from my wife saying that I should phone her when I had a minute.  Everything was fine with our baby, but the results of the test showed that my wife had gestational diabetes.  We were prepared for this because of her family history.  However, it still worried me enormously.  I was worried for my wife and for our unborn baby.  I didn't know much about it, so I promptly Googled it.  This is a dangerous thing to do.  It often leads you to finding the most severe facts about the condition which only served to worry me further.

I know the NHS is often criticised, but we have received some incredible support, care and attention from everyone we have met during the pregnancy.  We found out about the diabetes on the Wednesday before the May Day bank holiday.  The diabetic nurse insisted upon seeing us before the weekend and opened her clinic half an hour earlier on the Friday morning in order to see us and get my wife started on testing her blood sugars.  This is indicative of lengths people in the NHS have been prepared to go to help us during the pregnancy.

We were initially told that my wife's blood sugars might be controlled with diet alone.  However, they weren't.  So within a few days she started tablets which help to lower blood sugar levels.  This had a positive effect for a few more days before it became obvious that even this wasn't helping.  This was an incredibly frustrating and upsetting time for her.  She was doing everything she could do in order to control her sugar levels for the sake of our daughter.  It was yet another point during the pregnancy where I have felt utterly useless.  I was worried and I couldn't do anything to help because she was doing everything possible and it still wasn't helping.  As it turned out, the insulin, which was a last resort at the beginning of the process, was quite a relief to my wife.  Through injecting insulin, she has seen her blood sugars reduce and feels happier that our daughter isn't getting too much sugar.  She feels happier, which means that I feel happier too.

As part of the extra care you receive when you have gestational diabetes, you attend an antenatal clinic where you meet with the diabetic team, including a dietitian, a diabetic nurse and a diabetic consultant who check how well you are getting on with the drug regime and diet restrictions.  You also see an obstetric consultant (or a 'baby doctor' as the diabetic consultant referred to him as).  They check on the baby and how well mother is doing. You also have a scan to check that baby isn't getting too big.  This is the one of the real concerns with gestational diabetes.  Because my wife's body isn't able to control her blood sugars properly, there can be too much sugar in her blood.  This could lead to our baby taking on too much sugar and becoming too big.

We have been to two clinics now.  Our first visit was arranged last minute so we didn't have a scan.  Everything seemed well and my wife's bump was described as 'perfect' in size by the consultant.  In case you are wondering he didn't just have a look, he actually measured it!  The scan at our second visit showed that our baby is progressing well.  She isn't too big.  This is a relief.  In fact she sits very nicely in the middle of the upper and lower percentiles on her growth charts.  We need to return to this clinic a week on Monday where we will have another scan and meet with all of the wonderful healthcare professionals once again to check how both my wife and daughter are keeping and progressing.

Our baby is actually due on 21st July but because of the diabetes and complications which can occur if the pregnancy is allowed to go on past the due date we will be offered an induction at 38 or 39 weeks even if our daughter isn't too big.  On finding out about the induction, largely due to my medical ignorance, it wasn't actually me who was fretting this time, it was my wife.  I don't know much about the process.  I have read about it since finding out and it seems like it could be quite difficult for my my wife.  I now understand (in a very simplified way) what it entails and, therefore, why my wife was panicked.  But what I also know is that she will be given the very best care by the 'baby doctors' and the midwives at Gloucester Royal Hospital.  And I will be there every single step of the way to act as her personal punchbag!  So she needn't fret either!

Dad Dancing

I already feel sorry for my daughter.  And she hasn't been born yet.  I am not at all 'cool'.  I am worried for my daughter, as I will undoubtedly embarrass her.  There will be any number of reasons for this embarrassment.  Top of the list has to be my dancing!

Recently, I attended a friend's wedding and a school disco.  I didn't go to the disco to dance.  I was there in a professional capacity.  But at times I couldn't help myself and I started to dance before quickly realising where I was.  I immediately stopped, but it wasn't always quickly enough and I looked around to see more that one child sniggering at me or rolling their eyes.  At the wedding I did dance.  I didn't dance well, but it's the thought that counts!

I don't think my daughter is going to be impressed that I know all of the moves to 5ive's 'Everybody Get Up'!  There is nothing impressive about it.  Unless you've had far too much to drink.  And at that stage it isn't so much impressive as hilarious.  I can guarantee that she will be embarrassed by it.

As I said, the dancing is just the top of what is quite a long list.  At school we are currently rehearsing a performance to share with the rest of the school and parents at the end of the year.  The children will be performing various routines to a range of modern music.  My problem is that I have not heard most of the songs that they are asking for.  When I ask, "Who sings that?" they look at me with pity in their eyes.  How could this out of touch, old man not know that Jessie J, Ollie Murs or One Direction sings that song?  And, who on Earth is this band called Counting Crows he keeps suggesting?

I don't listen to the radio any more.  Radio One, as far as I can tell, seldom plays music.  When they do, it isn't, in my opinion, any good.  Instead I listen to my iPod.  I do love music.  I am always downloading  it.  None of it, however, is what my daughter will want to listen to.  There isn't any Justin Bieber, The Wanted, Rhianna or Bruno Mars.

So, there's dancing and music for me to embarrass my daughter with.  There's also my choice of car.  I have a Kia C'eed.  It is great to drive and a good size to accommodate our expanding family.  But, it isn't the coolest of cars.  Whilst I might not have the same car when my daughter is old enough to attend school, I don't have a good record when it comes to selecting my motors.  My previous car was an even more embarrassing Rover 45!  I imagine that, once she is old enough to attend school and have conversations with her friends about what car their dads drive, my daughter will probably say something like, "Oh, we don't have a car.  We use the bus."

And of course there's the buggy!  We, it seems, are already prepared to embarrass our child before she is even born.  Pushing her around in that very bright and vivid colour will do nothing for her street-cred.

The Perfect Package

My wife is a beautiful woman.  She is a beautiful pregnant woman.  My mum told me a few weeks ago that she "...suits pregnancy".  It is true.  She looks fantastic.  I am, of course, biased.  But I know I am not the only person who thinks this.

The problem is that people often make comments about the size of her bump.  I wish they wouldn't!  It really bothers her.  I'm not talking about friends, family or colleagues.  I'm referring to strangers.  Strangers who are more than just a little bit rude (although I'm not sure how many of them are deliberately being rude).

My wife is a very positive person.  It takes a lot to annoy her.  Maybe not as much as it did before she was pregnant, but she is still very placid.  Yet, on more than a few occasions recently, people have said things to make her annoyed and self conscious.  My wife isn't very tall.  In fact she is just under 5 feet 2 inches tall.  (I know this should be written in meters and centimeters and the teacher in me is annoyed that it isn't, but not enough people work in metric, especially when measuring height.)  This mean that our daughter doesn't have anywhere to grow other than out!  However, the obstetrician we saw recently described the size of our bump as perfect.  It was exactly the size it should be.  But people still seem keen to comment on the size.

That's the funny thing about pregnancy.  People feel they can make personal comments to someone they have never met before.  Would these same people comment on a complete stranger's hairline, their weight, their height or their fashion sense?  Almost certainly not.  So why do they think it is okay when speaking to a pregnant woman?

After some people have asked my wife how long she has left, the common response has been, "Oh, are you having twins then?"  A close second is, "Oh, it looks like you're ready to drop now."  She isn't.  Baby isn't due until next month.  But, I'm now worried about going anywhere with my wife for the next few weeks in case someone says something they shouldn't and the fiery red-headed Welsh temperament she must have buried deep down somewhere finally takes over and she assaults someone.  I'm not saying they wouldn't deserve it but I'm not sure you are able to take babies on community service!

It might interest you though that,  when looking at a photo of herself at a recent wedding, my wife gasped, "Oh my god, I'm massive."  So maybe it isn't only strangers who make rude comments about the size of her bump!