The green dinosaurs

Our friends, James and Claire, stayed over at our house last night.  They went to a wedding celebration in the afternoon then came to ours in the evening.  James was parking up when Claire came in.  She gave Erin a huge hug, then it was my turn, but she rubbed my belly too saying 'this is what we should do isn't it?' I was confused, and slightly self conscious - actually, very self conscious and know that pregnant women must feel ten times worse.  Then James came in with his own usual fanfare and the hugs were given with the following belly rub; once could have been a mistake, twice was an obvious ploy.  

I looked at them both and they said: 'We know the rules. We shouldn't rub Erin's belly, we know, we've been reading the blog on the way down here. So we thought we'd treat you.'  

Thanks guys.

James had printed the whole thing out and read it to Claire in the car.  Poor Claire.  And throughout the evening I heard my words quoted back to me about Angry Pregnant, conditions, and of course, belly rubbing.

The conversation stayed with babies for a while as the celebration they had come from was, apparently, teaming with little tykes.  James had been playing with a few of the toddlers and ended halfway up a chimney 'in the search for dinosaurs'.  So did he see any? 'No, I can't, silly, we adults can't see them but the kids tell me they are green.'  

Wow.

They've just recently had the arrival of their niece, Maia.  We were shown the photos from their Facebook page and on James' phone.  She was gorgeous.  I don't know what has happened to me since finding out about our pregnancy.  (I used to think they all looked like a very tired, beaten up, Winston Churchill, but now they seem to be adorable.  I'm obviously losing it.)  James gave us an insight into the first two weeks of a baby's life: 'They don't react to you, no smiles, they are just crying and shitting machines.'

As the weekend progressed I'd love to say the conversation did too. But aside from a little Olympics, Russia/Georgia issue and general catch up, with them living very near to their god daughters, we had lots of lively debates about how to bring up children.  It was great, but it's these conversations I'm only just getting used to joining in with. It was unchartered territory until only a few months ago. 

Half way point

When I was training for my marathon, halfway through my runs, a very welcome little voice appeared in my Ipod saying half way point after which the young lady counted down the miles then meters to the end.

Well this is where we're at with Erin's pregnancy. We've had the warm up, muscles are now getting used to the exercise and Erin is in full swing, ready for the tougher more energy sapping part heading to the finish line.

She's now almost 20 weeks in and according to our emails from gurgle.com she's about to get more fluttering sensations, which Erin is talking about getting a little at the moment. These feel a little weird but worse aches and pains are apparently going to begin soon (Oh no, but this really does sound like marathon training).

The baby should now have a cream film over it called vernix. It protects him from becoming waterlogged by the amniotic fluid. Premature babies have this over them when they come out but if our little one arrives at the right time the film will have gone. The arms and legs should be in the correct proportion and he's developing a layer of fat to keep him warm. If he's a girl she is now carrying half her eggs, which will help her, eventually, make Erin a grandma - not too soon though, hopefully.

From now on we are going to shoot a video each week of Erin - reluctantly might I add - walking around to show her state of pregnancy. Some weeks I'll put it up on the blog, others I won't. At the end though, I'll thread it together and we'll have a film of Erin walking through London, different parts of England and bits of Europe, but more importantly through her pregnancy. It's got a working title of Not Quite A Walk In The Park. Here's the first...

A distant chance of naming the baby after a distant relative

Erin's dad, Bud, has just sent us an email with two name ideas for boys.

His family has a distant connection to England in the baby's great-great-grandfather who was called Orville. So he's put this name up for proposal, as well as his last name, Tyler.

Erin's brother's middle name is Tyler so we would have to ask uncle Seth if he wouldn't mind, which incidently, Erin and I have considered.  

As for Orville, who Bud did follow up saying that he should be a pilot or at least design planes. I have my concerns.  British people will know exactly what I mean when I sing - altogether now:

I wish I could fly

right upto the sky

but I can't

You can

I can't

Orville was a ventriloquist's puppet duck from a dubious comic in the 1980s. Actually, here's the song.

Tyler, maybe. But no to Orville for our child, I'm afraid.

But, I ask Bud, what about if she's a girl? 

Junior kick start*

Erin an I were in bed last night chatting about Seth's wedding when she said: 'I think I just felt the baby kick.' With a slight pause, probably to reduce my imminent over-excitement, she followed up with 'but it was probably just wind'.

She said it felt like a tiny little bubbly-air-push in the lower area of her belly. Hopefully it was a kick, maybe it was a little sucker punch. As Erin's going into her 19th week she's dues to feel something. We were only talking earlier, with a hint of worry, that she hadn't felt anything and that the pregnancy magazines and books all mention it could possibly start in week 18.

To get the baby kicking it's apparently a good idea to down a glass of cold water. We were going to do that before Erin felt it independently. I'm glad I forgot to put the water in the fridge.

*Note.  Junior kick Start was a TV favourite of young boys in the early 80s in the UK featuring a motorbike competition with lots of mud during summer holidays.

Girly time...with me too

On Saturday night after we'd had a feast of food, too many laughs - you may think you can never have too many but after Indian food, believe me, you can - and played a game, things were settling down when Alison said to Erin that she should go with her and Kirsty.

Alison was born to be a mother.  She also loves to pass on advice and anything else, if she can. In this instance it was maternity clothes.  She'd mentioned that Erin could have a few clothes, which Erin was very grateful for, so off they went upstairs.

I went up a few minutes later to see what was going on and they were just finishing with the first large sackful of clothes. Alison had stored  her clothes as well as some from a few other friends. There were maternity PJs, skirts, trousers - the elasticated ones which would be great for any fat person - jeans, fleeces, tight tops, loose tops, classy-dressy-dresses and loungey-softy-comfy-joggers.  The lot.

I was also told to try on the baby carrier.  It took three women, manhandling me like I've never been before, for a good few minutes, to get it on but once it was on and a teddy bear was stuffed in it I walked around almost as proud as I will be when I'm walking around London with my little one.

After this, most people left and we were on our way too but not before we got a lesson in nappies (or diapers).  Alison and Railton use the reusable ones which are good for the environment. We'd like to too and so got Alison to give us the lowdown.  We left feeling a little more knowledgeable. And for those days when you just need to use disposable ones, apparently the discount supermarket Lidl does a large pack for a fiver. 

Boy talk

I work with a lot of women and most of my London male friends, and female friends for that matter, don't have children. So on Saturday night when we went to see a group of our friends, some with young children, I spied that it was my chance to see what men think about pregnancy and impending fatherhood.

I'm not sure I was ready for the conversation we were about to have though.

We were in the garden passing a football around (for those in the US we were kicking a round ball).  After we stopped the sport  - both doing and talking about it, and we'd made sure everyone's jobs were as mundane as everyone else's, I asked what it was like to have a little one around 24/7. 

Railton said it's something you just know you have to get used to, do get used to and end up not being able to live without. Simon agreed.  They both talked about it being the best thing they've ever done. 

They asked if we were going find out the sex of the baby, which we're not. They didn't want to either but Railton and Alison were told at their second scan.  It was because of potential difficulties but they weren't told in a very nice way. Something like you do know it's a boy don't you.

Simon then spoke about, in his words, the worst thing about the whole thing - childbirth. 

But you weren't the one who had to go through it, I thought.  I said, 'Why was this then, mate?'

He then took a deep breath and started. 'When Kirsty's waters broke I called the hospital and told them, they said we should wait for regular contractions. And here's my first bit of advice,' he said and paused, 'Wait as long as you physically think is possible to go to the hospital.  You can be relaxed at home.  When you're at the hospital you just want it over and done with.

'We waited quite a while and eventually went to hospital. Everything was going really well until right at the very end and the little one got stuck. The doctor and midwife were taking their time, being very patient, no one was panicking but I was getting very worried.  They eventually said that they were going to have to operate and that I should get some scrubs on.

'When I was ready I went to the operating theatre but they wouldn't let me in.  This was the worst period of time in my life. Ever. I don't know how long it took but it felt longer than forever. When I got in, all I saw was a huge mess and blood around Kirsty.  The little one was dragged out with a  vacuum extractor - it's pretty much a medical plunger. It was terrifying. When she had been born the next thing I saw was a big middle eastern looking doctor around Kirsty giving her stitches. I shudder at the memory.  

'The midwife and nurses were great and calmed me down by offering me a beef sandwich. Kirsty hardly remembers a thing.

'So I would advise Erin to get any and all the painkillers they are offering.  For all that pain, apart from the baby, there's no other reward.  I wouldn't be a hero.'

He then breathed again.  I don't know if he always tells that story or has been storing it up for a while but it was uttered with high octane energy.

I went in the house a bit later to order some food.  I told Erin she might not want to talk to Kirsty about her childbirth.  She said: 'I know, I've already heard.'

North-south divide

We've been up north this weekend vitising friends and family. On Saturday afternoon we went for a walk around two reservoirs. It was great to see lots of young families out and about. Erin and my dad had me playing the name-the-buggy game. As opposed to London's many Bugaboo Cameleons there were an awful lot of Silver Cross and Maclaren pushchairs. I don't think we even saw one Quinny until we went to church on Sunday.