Joe-Joe's Christmas Gruffalo

1. Joe-Joe's first Christmas was spent in Essex at Auntie Nina and Uncle Mark's house. It's O.K., we told Santa our son wouldn't be at home in Bournemouth and arranged for his presents to be dropped down their chimney instead.

It was my first Christmas with the Baileys since 2006 as in recent years we've spent the festive period being waited on hand and foot at my wife's parents in Sturminster Newton, Dorset. However, this year I fancied a change and so invited myself and my family to spend it with my sister, her husband and their two children. Luckily, they were only too happy for Joe-Joe's massive travelling wardrobe to be dumped on them for three nights. My mother Jean also joined us for turkey and all the trimmings and just like previous years we sat back, drank wine and enjoyed watching someone else slave over a hot stove to prepare our biggest meal of the year.

Joe looks amazed at Nannie Jean's Crimbo delivery

Nannie Jean provided the entertainment on Christmas Eve when she rocked up with three large bags full to the brim with presents for her three grandchildren. Harrison, 9, Mariella, 3, and Joe screamed with delight as they unwrapped one treat after another from what seemed like a Penn and Teller magic bag that just kept giving. After Harrison had pulled what seemed like his twentieth bar of chocolate from it, I told him how lucky he was as when I was his age my Christmas pillow case contained one orange, two walnuts, a few chocolate coins and school uniform!

You can't eat the bowl, try the Milkybar buttons!

• My wife and I had hummed and hawed over what to put in Joe-Joe's first begging letter to Father Christmas. Deborah wanted to compile a wish list of items from Baby Gap, but in the end we decided on an ugly cuddly toy after spotting one on a shelf in the children's section of the Waterstone's book store. Joe-Joe's favourite bedtime story is Julia Donaldson's 'The Gruffalo', a tale about a mouse's walk in the woods. The Gruffalo toy with its terrible tusks, terrible claws and terrible teeth in terrible jaws cost £25 in Waterstone's, but I helpfully informed Santa's elves that one could be purchased on the Amazon web site for £12. It duly arrived on Christmas morning and as you can see from the photo, Joe-Joe was terribly pleased to have received it.

First present from Mummy and Daddy - a Gruffalo

Joe-Joe in jumper knitted by Nannie Jean

DADDY DAYCARE - Open for business

Deborah returned to work last Friday after six months on maternity leave and I officially took up my post as a full-time stay-at-home Dad. I'd been dreading my first day in the job, as my wife had decided that my first morning would be spent at Minky Moos - a musical sensory experience for newborns at my local children's centre.

During her time on maternity leave Deborah took Joe-Joe to practically every mother and baby group in Bournemouth. It's been good for her, and my son, as they've made lots of new friends. It's been good for me too, as I've managed to spend many quiet hours picking my fantasy football dream team on the PremierLeague.com website. I'm sure my wife would have preferred it if I'd accompanied her to a few of these daytime activities, or at least have kept my negative thoughts about them to myself. After much persuasion, I did attend 'Wriggle and Rhyme' at our local library a few Saturdays ago. I felt like a right fool mumbling along to long-forgotten nursery rhymes with one other mother and the librarian as bemused patrons looked on instead of silently flicking through books. 

I was one of the first parents to arrive at Minky Moos and nervously took up a spot with Joe-Joe at the side of the hall - a position I'm sure he'd never occupied before as Deborah always likes to be in the thick of the action. I kept my head down and played with my son as the hall filled up. After five minutes I looked up and saw that I was now on the edge of a very large circle of 25 other Mums and their babies. To my horror, I also realised that my child was not wearing a Christmas-themed outfit. At six-months-old, even Joe-Joe looked embarrassed to be the only one donning a T shirt and jeans and surrounded by well-dressed Baby Santas, elves, reindeer and snowmen. To make matters worse, I'd also given him odd socks! 

I tried my best to ignore the many stares aimed our way and grabbed Joe-Joe some sleigh bells to shake to the Christmas tunes belting out of pink tracksuited Penny's glitter ball stereo. Thankfully, the mums sitting next to me took pity and tried to make me feel at home, although my wife had failed to warn me that they'd whip out a boob to feed their baby halfway through the ordeal. I didn't know where to look and settled on counting the number of tiles on the floor. There were 106.

After about half a dozen Christmas songs and an interesting coloured light show, Penny's 'special guest' arrived. It was of course Father Christmas, except this one had a big fat comical head. A scrum of 25 mums quickly formed and they politely jostled each other in order that their darling daughter or son had their picture taken with Santa. Every baby there got a photo - every one except mine. Poor Joe-Joe. His Daddy hasn't got a mobile phone with a camera - at least, not yet, although I'm pleased to say that my wife has sanctioned the purchase of one. I wonder if she'll mind if I buy that rather expensive new iPhone?

Cardboard Christmas

Times are definitely hard in the Hawkins household this Christmas. Deborah has been on maternity leave since June and I'm working just two days a week at Halfords in Poole. It's back-breaking work for peanuts and this 41-year-old has managed to put his back out a couple of times moving heavy bicycles around the racking in the store's warehouse.

I returned from work on Monday though with a spring in my step and a six foot high cardboard cut-out Christmas tree spread across the back seat. It looked good on display in the store and I figured it would look just as good in the spot reserved in our hallway for our festive pine.

I excitedly pulled it out of my Renault Megane  (I'd folded it in two to get into the car) and hurriedly rushed through the front door shouting out to my wife: "Quick! Come and have a look at the six foot tree that I got for FREE!" She rushed out of the kitchen with Joe-Joe in her arms and almost dropped him on seeing my festive effort at penny pinching. "That's crap! I want it out of our hallway and replaced with a real tree by tomorrow morning!"

My free tree stayed one extra day as I don't like to do exactly what my wife says. It now resides outside in our big cardboard recycle bin and today I replaced it with a five foot real tree which cost £20. Before I leave for work tomorrow morning, I'll remind her indoors that I'll have to work three and a half hours at Halfords to pay for it.

Joe-Joe's first Christmas present.

Joe-Joe's been dropping hints all week on what he wants for Christmas. He keeps looking through the Spurs Shop catalogue and leaving it open on the Baby page. I think he's got his eye on a  Chirpy the Spurs mascot rattle, but I don't think he's got much chance as his  mother is firmly against football goodies. For her, it's Baby Gap all the way.

We've already got Joe-Joe a really cool present for his first Christmas, but I'll keep it under wraps just in case he reads this blog.   

Mush, mush and more mush.

It's OK son, I feel that way about cabbage too!

 
We started weaning Joe-Joe about six weeks ago and it's been great fun. He likes practically every mush that we put in front of him - even parsnips and cauliflower - as my wife's helpful chart on our fridge shows.  

Personally, I like the idea behind baby led weaning where you feed them proper food and none of the mush - that's no purees, no ice cube trays, no food processor, no masher and no weird fruit and veg combos. Maybe tonight I'll hand him a pork chop and just let him get on with it!

Fun in the Malta sun!

Last month we took Joe-Joe on his first foreign holiday. It was all a bit last minute as we couldn't really afford to splash out, what with Deborah still on maternity leave and me earning minimum wage at 'That's NOT helpful, that's HALFORDS'. However, 'George and the Dragon' (Mike and Mary - my in-laws) dug deep into their pockets and my wife rewarded their generosity by inviting the two willing babysitters to join us on our week long stay in sunny Malta.

My wife and I adore the Maltese Islands. We tied the knot there in July last year. My grandmother Rose was Maltese and the youngest of 19 children. Hence, I've a huge collection of second and third cousins and regularly keep in touch with a few of them. They're all hard working successful professional people and amongst them we can boast a couple of doctors, both Olympic swimmers, a teacher and a successful restaurateur. My cousin's sister-in-law is even married to the Maltese prime minister! I told my father-in-law this fact a few years ago, although I now wish I hadn't as every other sentence he uttered in Malta was: "Tell them you know the prime minister." He applied this to every possible scenario from trying to get an upgrade on our AirMalta flights to seeking a better table when we dined out. He even tried it on to get cheaper nappies at a local supermarket!! "Can you knock one Euro off the price? My son-in-law's 'related' to your prime minister." I'm not and I've never met Lawrence Gonzi, but I'm told he's a very nice man indeed.

I must admit to being a little worried about taking Joe-Joe on a three-and-a-half hour flight. Let's face it, there's not much you can do if a four-month-old baby decides he's going to scream for the entire journey. I took precautions though and pre-booked our seats at Air Malta's website. I was set for a front row aisle seat and my wife and her parents were booked in the row behind. I figured that if he was going to scream then I'd  put in some ear plugs and wear a sleep mask and let them deal with it. You can imagine my horror then as I boarded the flight to find that my online seat booking had been overwritten by the check-in staff and I was now sitting in the middle of the plane with Joe-Joe potentially on my lap! I managed to get round this by exchanging my boarding ticket with the Dragon's and insisting she sat with my wife and baby in the row next to mine. It worked a treat and I wasn't troubled for the entire flight as Joe-Joe was a perfect first-time flyer. He made up for it on the flight home though when my disgruntled wife, unhappy that I'd "had it too easy", decided that rather then pass our sleeping son on to her father who was sitting in the seat next to her, she'd walk down two rows and plonk him on my lap, waking him up in the process. He screamed for a good 25 minutes until I managed to placate him with a hastily prepared bottle of powdered milk. We were short of ready made Aptamil baby milk after security at Heathrow made me drink one of our precious cartons of breast milk substitute (for the record it was vile and would never make it on to my morning cornflakes), plus, believe it or not, they don't sell cartoned Aptamil in Malta!!

As always, our holiday in Malta was wonderful. The weather was mainly sunny, with just one day of rain and the temperature in the high 70s all week. Apart from a dire first night in our rented villa in Mellieha, Joe-Joe slept well and with George and the Dragon eager to dote on their grandson at every available opportunity, I managed to read my first book in four months! ('The Ghost of White Hart Lane - In Search of My Father The Football Hero' by Rob White and Julie Welch - a good read for all Spurs fans.)

The highlight of my holiday was a lovely morning spent at Paradise Bay. It's usually full of Italians and foreign students during the height of summer, but we had it virtually to ourselves. The water was warm and Joe-Joe enjoyed his first dip in the Med. Wish I was back there!

Having a paddle at Paradise Bay

Taking his first dip in the Med

Baby Spurs

Following a trip to North London last weekend to see the mighty Spurs beat Queen's Park Rangers, I returned to Bournemouth with a bag full of goodies for Joe-Joe from the Megastore. My aim was not only to kit my son out in the best-looking baby attire around, but also to do a photoshoot with the aim of getting him in the next home match programme.

Apparently competition is strong for a place in the Baby Spurs gallery printed in the match programme, and so with that in mind I tried out a few different shots.  I settled on a smiling Joe-Joe kitted out in the new third kit sleepsuit. Fingers crossed he makes the cut.

In third kit bib

In away kit bib

In home kit bib

With baby rice beard

Action shot

Doesn't look too happy heading the ball

The Beatles Baby

Baby it's you! 

Joe-Joe celebrated his four-month birthday with a 'Beatles Baby' photoshoot.

Donning his favourite 'Yellow Submarine' T-Shirt and clutching the complete collection of 'The Beatles in Mono' it was no surprise that he was all smiles for the cameraman.

Joe-Joe's Beatles Top 10.

1. 'Baby It's You'
2. 'Cry Baby Cry'
3. 'Baby You're A Rich Man'
4. 'Baby's In Black'
5. 'Everybody's Trying To Be My Baby'
6. 'Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da'
7. 'This Boy'
8. 'Mother Nature's Son'
9. 'Little Child'
10. 'I'll Cry Instead'

The next David Beckham?

My late grandfather believed that football legend David Beckham was a distant relative on his side of our family tree, saying Becks' mother was related to one of his cousins who lived in Chingford.  My investigation on Ancestry.co.uk has so far failed to uncover a link to the former Manchester United star, but I'll keep looking.  

Beckham's late grandfather was an ardent fan of my team - Tottenham Hotspur - and I'm hoping Becks signs for Spurs in January after finishing his stint at L.A. Galaxy. 

Like any soccer-mad father, I'd love it if Joe-Joe one day played for my team. A few weeks ago I introduced him to a football for the first time and he's already showing some brilliant ball skills. Take a look! The next David Beckham?

Can babies see dead people?

I'll just come out and say it: I believe babies have a sixth sense, one which allows them to see dead people.

It's a belief I've held since 2003, when I'd sit and watch my baby nephew communicating with someone in the same room who I couldn't see. He'd either look over my shoulder or up at the ceiling and stare intensely before pulling a wide toothless baby smile and then start to giggle. It was very strange.

My sister and I tried many times to come up with a plausible explanation for her son's apparent ability to communicate with nothing but fresh air. At first we thought he was filling his nappy and giving a celebratory smile, but that proved a bum steer. We even considered if he might be cross-eyed, but his eyesight was perfect. After going through every possible explanation we came to the conclusion that it was his 'Sixth Sense' and just like the boy in the M. Night Shyamalan movie 'The Sixth Sense' he could "see dead people".

My grandmother had passed away a few months after my nephew was born and we liked the idea that it was her who was making him giggle. When he'd start giggling at the invisible entity we'd say to him: "Are you smiling at Nana again?"

My nephew's sixth sense lasted until he was about one year old. It stopped about the time he started walking. And then one day, when he was about two, my sister and I showed him a photograph taken when he was three months old sitting with his Nana. "Do you remember this lady?" my sister asked him. "Yes," he replied. "That's the lady that talks to me in the sky." I kid you not, that's what he said!

Three year's ago my sister had a second child, this time a daughter, and she too seemed to communicate with something invisible in the room. We wondered if my Nana had returned, only this time with my father who had passed away when she was just five weeks old. And now Joe-Joe's sixth sense seems to be active as I've been watching him from a distance this morning smiling and laughing at invisible people in our living room. I wonder... It's nice to think that my dead family members are keeping him amused when I'm preparing his bottles of milk.

I'd be interested to hear if you believe your baby has a sixth sense. Leave a comment.

Latest dirty nappy score: Daddy 47, Mummy 40, The Dragon 4, The midwife 1 
  

'Wolf Baby' gets a haircut!

Joe-Joe gets his first trim!

I took a look at the stats for this blog today and was surprised to discover that my entry on June 8 titled: 'Are We Having A Wolf Baby' has registered twice as many hits as any other offering on 'Joe-Joe and Me'. (Over 550 page views!).

It seems there's nothing like a hairy child to get mouses clicking on a global scale. I even had a reader in Burkina Faso !!! (It's a country in west Africa - I had to look it up!)

Chris Waddle never looked so good!

My prediction back then that our unborn child would be a hairy baby proved correct and last week I was forced to give our seven-week-old 'wolf baby' his first haircut.

Joe-Joe took it all in his stride and actually seemed pleased to see his Daddy carrying a big pair of orange scissors. My wife Deborah wasn't too happy though and it took some convincing before she let me loose on our son's locks.  I trimmed the long strands of strawberry blond hair that covered  his ears and after some persuading agreed to hold off from trimming the locks currently below his collar. I'm pleased with Joe-Joe's hairstyle and it can only be a matter of weeks before it resembles the mullet look of my favourite Tottenham Hotspur footballer from the late Eighties - Chris Waddle. Cool!


Latest dirty nappy score: Daddy 39, Mummy 36, Grannie Mary (The Dragon) 3, Midwife 1

I'm a freebie mummy!

Last week I spent an hour of my precious time when my son was asleep signing up to a load of internet baby clubs with the aim of getting as many freebies for Joe-Joe as possible. And this week the postman began delivering the fruits of my labour. 

On Monday a package arrived from those nice people at organic baby food company HiPP. It contained an A-Z guide on pregnancy and baby health "for mums", plus a comforter for baby with an elephant face on it. Sadly, there was no "A-Z guide for Dads" so I'll just have to be a mummy. At least Joe-Joe likes his orange comforter and allows it to rest beside his head in his child seat.    

The run of gifts from companies desperate to lure me in continued today when the postman delivered a package from baby milk firm Aptamil. The accompanying letter read: "Nick, Thank you for registering with us and congratulations on becoming a MUM." !!! Funny that, but when I took a look this morning I was definitely a DAD!!! Along with that rather annoying piece of literature the firm had sent a lovely cuddly toy polar bear. I'm not sure whether it's a boy or girl bear, but I wouldn't expect those people at Aptamil to be fussed over such details. 


Joe-Joe loves his bear and now holds it in a vice-like grip after his terrible two-year-old cousin Benjamin borrowed it for an hour and then refused to give it back! My wife seemed happy to allow Benji to take it home, but I wasn't prepared to let my freebie, sorry I mean Joe-Joe's brand new freebie travel to Portsmouth in the hands of my grubby nephew. "Get that polar bear back," I urged Deborah as Benji climbed into his car seat for the journey home. Thankfully, his daddy Ryan grabbed the now dirty white bear from his son and gave it to Deborah who ran back inside the house. As their car pulled away I could hear Benji sobbing uncontrollably, "Bear, Bear, Bear." I must admit that I failed to feel any regret for our actions, after all, I'm going to suggest that Mr. Ryan Read joins the ABC club and becomes Aptamil's next freebie Mummy!     

Latest dirty nappy score: Daddy 38, Mummy 36, Grannie Mary 3, Midwife 1

A visit from 'The Witches of Enfield'

The witches of Eastwick

Three of my wife's oldest friends; Kate, Sarah and Lucy made the 250-mile round trip on their broomsticks from North London to rainy Bournemouth today to meet Joe-Joe for the first time.

The trio, dubbed the 'Witches of Enfield' because of their resemblance to the actresses in the movie 'The Witches of Eastwick', spent the day making a fuss over Joe-Joe, taking turns to give him his bottle and burp him.

Kate (Cher), Sarah (Susan Sarandon) and Lucy (Michelle Pfeiffer) are taking Deborah out for a few drinks tonight. I'm sure at some point in the evening when they're downing Witches Brew cocktails (1 shot Blue Curacao, 1 shot peach schnapps and two shots vodka) Deborah will tell the childless women all the gory details about the night she gave birth. I do laugh over the fact that before giving birth Deborah frowned upon women that divulged their birthing horror stories - yet now she can't wait to boast how she pushed out a nine pounder with no pain relief. Maybe I'll suggest they try a cocktail called the 'After-Birth' at that point in their evening! (dash of lime cordial, 25ml Bailey's Irish Cream and 25ml of vodka). 

Now I'm wondering if the witches might have a spell for when I'm left holding a screaming baby tonight and trying to watch The Open golf highlights on TV. 

Sarah, Lucy and Kate (The Witches of Enfield) look spellbound

Latest dirty nappy score: Daddy 29 Mummy 30

Ollie the Octopus takes a beating

Is it a two-headed sea monster?

 After ignoring Ollie the Octopus for weeks, Joe-Joe has suddenly taken a dislike to the green-coloured cephalopod mollusc on his nautical-themed play mat. Perhaps I shouldn't have told him that Ollie's cousin *Paul was directly responsible for Germany beating England in last year's soccer World Cup in South Africa?

In truth, my wife's been training Joe-Joe to touch the sea life dangling from above for the last few weeks. She's been extremely pleased with his progress so far as she'd read somewhere that it takes babies a few months before they develop the hand and eye co-ordination good enough to knock seven bells out of their toy octopi. That's all very good, but he now packs a punch like Rocky Balboa! One swift jab during nappy change this morning caught me flush on the bridge of my nose and brought tears to my eyes!  I hope she's not turning Joe-Joe into a bully!

Joe-Joe octopus bashing

Video of Joe-Joe bashing Ollie the Octopus

*Paul correctly predicted the winner of each of the German national football team's seven matches in the 2010 World Cup, as well as the outcome of the final won by Spain, by taking a mussel from a box marked with the flag of a national team in a forthcoming match. His choice of which mussel to eat first was interpreted as indicating his prediction of a win for the country whose flag was on that box.

Latest dirty nappy score: Daddy 28 Mummy 30

Just smile, smile, smile

One-month-old Joe-Joe hasn't worked out how to smile yet.

If you'd witnessed the scene in our home this morning you'd have thought my wife and I had gone mad!

We've convinced ourselves that one-month-old Joe-Joe is a few weeks ahead on his development and is on the verge of pulling his first smile. And now the battle is on to be the parent that captures that first smile. 

At 7.30 this morning our son definitely stretched his facial muscles to produce an 'almost smile', but my wife says it wasn't a legitimate one as he was filling his nappy at the time. Seconds later she gave me a painful dig to the ribs and shoved me out of Joe-Joe's eye-line in a bid to coax a winning smile out of him. It failed. Teeth were clenched and punches almost thrown and order was only restored when an agreement was reached whereby we gave each other an uninterrupted five minute window of opportunity. When my slot came I pulled every smiley face imaginable and had my camera ready to capture the moment. Alas, Joe-Joe just looked on bemused and pulled the usual gormless expression.   

Apparently, babies make facial expressions when they're in the womb and according to the experts at babycentre.co.uk "he will have been practicing frowns, grimaces and smiles months before birth." The experts say, "if you want to encourage your baby to smile, look for times when he is calm, yet bright-eyed and alert. Hold your baby opposite you, with your faces about 30cm apart, and talk to him... you'll probably be able to find a few minutes at certain times when your baby looks at you intently and examines your face. This is a time he may start to smile. He may stare at you for a long time first, so keep talking to him quietly and you may be rewarded with that first gummy grin!"


I'm taking the advice and will be spending the afternoon doing my best to beat my wife in the smile challenge. I hope to have captured a beaming one on film by the end of the week - so watch this space!

To get Joe-Joe in the mood I'm playing Charlie Chaplin's 'Smile', sung by Nat King Cole.  Watch and play 'Smile' here!

Latest dirty nappy score: Daddy 27 Mummy 30

Willy Wigwam Wee Love You!

It's not a wizard's hat, it's a willy wigwam!

I've been amazed by the number of cards and presents we've received from friends and family welcoming Joe-Joe into the world. In fact, I'm now on first name terms with the Parcel Force delivery driver as barely a day has gone by since the birth of our son that 'Steve' hasn't knocked on the door asking for my signature before handing over a gift-wrapped present.  Every available space in Joe-Joe's nursery is taken up by 'It's a Boy' cards, photo frames, sleepsuits, booties and enough cuddly toy animals to fill Noah's Ark in 'Toy Story 4'.

Of all the gifts Joe-Joe's received, my favourite has to be the Willy Wigwam that arrived in the 'Sprogbox' sent by friends Darren and Hannah. I'd never heard of a willy wigwam and almost wet myself laughing when reading the note inside the cloth bag that it came in. "Mother‘s of little baby boys will immediately understand what willy wigwams are for! Pop one on your little boy‘s private parts when you are changing his nappy and hopefully, he won‘t pee in your face!"

The funny thing is, in the days before our pair of willy wigwams arrived my wife and I had spent hours discussing the merits of our individual methods for preventing pee spray. I used the "get it done in record time method" believing that the quicker I changed his nappy the less chance there was of being shot in the eye. The method worked well for me as I only suffered one urine shower although my nappies leaked a few times due to poor construction. My wife on the other hand preferred the "wet wipe wipeout method" as recommended by our friend Andrea. It involves strategically placing a wet wipe over the willy as soon as the dirty nappy comes off to soak up any spray. However, Deborah soon discovered that what goes on must come off and Joe-Joe would expertly time his sprinkle to perfection, aiming straight in her face just as the wet wipe was removed and before the fresh nappy was fastened. She was sprayed three times in 24 hours using her method and I celebrated by saying she'd developed an "old lady smell".

Since the willy wigwams arrived they've prevented five peeing episodes from becoming serious soakings and I've added them to my list of "Things I Couldn't Live Without" (yes, they're right up there with a Dyson!) The only downside I can think of is it seems they are easily lost, with our washing machine claiming one of our two willy wigwams just like one half of a pair of socks. Unfortunately for my wife, it was her one and after being sprayed last night she threatened to steal mine. I'm not scared as she's got no chance. I carry mine in my back pocket at all times and always sleep with one eye open.

Latest dirty nappy score: Daddy 21 Mummy 22



Burping brilliant!

Joe-Joe's been settling in well since arriving home from hospital a couple of weeks ago. He's been sleeping well in between feeds and as a result my wife and I have been averaging over seven hours of sleep most nights. Not bad!

"Mummy's not strangling me. I'm being burped!"

He certainly enjoys milk time and seems to guzzle down his SMA formula milk quicker every feed. The only problem that our Milk Monster has had so far is expelling trapped wind. It's a bit of a mystery as generally he's been burping well during and after his bottle.

We've had him on Infacol from day one which apparently helps prevent the gripping pain of trapped wind, but he still suffers now and then. And boy can he scream!

A friend has suggested we change his formula milk from SMA to Aptamil as she reckons it's better for windy babies. We'll give it a try and possibly change his bottles from Tommi Tippee to Dr. Brown's as I've only read good things on the Net about this type of bottle with a two-piece patented internal vent.

I thought you might like to see Joe-Joe's first memorable appearance in front of a home movie camera. He's got excellent comic timing. A future as a stand-up comedian? Perhaps...

   

Latest dirty nappy score - Daddy 18 Mummy 15 (Yes, I really am going to keep score until Joe-Joe's potty trained!)

Cry like a man!

A few months ago my sister's husband Mark told me that he'd cried when his children were born.

"You wait," he said. "You'll do the same when Joe-Joe arrives."

"I bet I don't," I wishfully declared.

"Mark my words. You'll cry when he's born and if you don't then you're not human!"

After the conversation, I asked a few fathers if they'd cried when their children came into the world. "Yeah, like a baby," was the consensus, with my father-in-law admitting that when my wife was born he'd hid in the hospital broom cupboard so nobody would see the tears rolling down his face.

Ten days ago when Joe-Joe was born I surprised myself and everyone who knows me by failing to shed even one tear. And since then my wife has been calling me 'Tin Man', as like the character in 'The Wizard of Oz' she says "I don't have a heart". It seems my failure to bawl like a baby has annoyed her so much that at every opportunity since she reminds me of all the times I've cried in the past.

"I caught you sniffling at that stupid TV programme 'Football Idol' when that soccer player told his dad that he'd earned a professional contract, but you didn't cry when Joe-Joe was born!"

"You weeped like a wuss when we watched the film 'The Sea Inside', but not a tear touched your cheek in that delivery room!"

"You told me that you cried when Spurs won the 1991 FA Cup Final, but the birth of your boy didn't merit one teardrop. You loser!"

Thankfully, that all changed last night when Deborah revealed as we watched a TV documentary about the Beach Boys that she'd cried on her first night alone in the hospital with Joe-Joe. She said: "I was listening to the radio when they played 'God Only Knows' by the Beach Boys. It really got to me," she said. "Especially the part where they sing, 'If you should ever leave me. Well life would still go on believe me. The World could show nothing to me. So what good would living do me. God only knows what I'd be without you."

Right on cue, the TV programme cut to Beach Boy Carl Wilson singing the opening lines from that very song and my wife began to cry once again. Within seconds my bottom lip went and I joined her in a group hug and crying session with our boy. "At last," she sobbed. "You are human after all!"

Within 24 hours I was at it again - this time when I was woken up on Father's Day with breakfast in bed and a card which read: "Dear Daddy, I might be little but I'm not stupid...and I know that I have the best Daddy in the world. Love Joe-Joe (aged 10 days) xxx"

The tears flowed as I proved once again that normal service had been resumed.

(Latest dirty nappy score - Daddy 8 Mummy 11)

Bleary-eyed or is it teary-eyed?

Confessions of a secret soap eater

 


My wife found solace in the toiletries aisle at Tescos



When chatting to my wife last night in between Joe-Joe's feeds, she confessed that she'd had a rather odd craving during her pregnancy. "Oh yeah, what?" I asked, expecting her to say something like peanut butter and strawberry jam. "Dove soap!"

She'd told me a few years ago that as a young child her mother caught her eating a bar of Imperial Leather. And it took a plentiful supply of Milky Ways ("the sweet you can eat in between meals without ruining your appetite") to help the nine-year-old kick the habit.

She revealed: "I was just walking down the toiletries aisle in Tescos when I felt an uncontrollable urge to pick up a twin pack of Dove soap and eat one bar there and then. It was heaven." The craving apparently began in her fourth month and continued throughout her pregnancy.

"I'd find myself rushing home after the weekly supermarket shopping trip and going straight to the carrier bag containing the toiletries. I'd rip the box open with my teeth like a demented dog and scrape the soap off with my finger nails and lick it off. I tried Imperial Leather, but it didn't have the same gloriously creamy texture as Dove!"

Shocked by her story, I googled pregnancy cravings and discovered that in a recent survey by gurgle.com 31 per cent of women reported unsual cravings during their pregnancy. Twenty two percent of those women cited 'ice' as their unusual crave with 17 per cent regularly digging into a piece of coal for dinner! Others on the list included; toothpaste (9%), sponges (8%), mud (7%), chalk (6%) and laundry soap (5%).

It got me thinking, maybe Heston Blumenthal is missing a trick. The three-Michelen starred chef famous for his bacon and egg ice-cream should consider replacing it on the dessert menu at his Fat Duck restaurant with Dove Soap sorbet. 

Before my wife went to bed leaving me to the 2am feed, I asked her if she had any other confessions to make. "Yes, since Joe-Joe's birth I've been dreaming about giving birth in front of an entire rugby team. The funny thing is I'm not embarassed about being naked in front of them or that they're watching me push my baby out, but when one of them drops a bar of soap into the birthing pool I do blush when they see me take a bite out of it."

Latest dirty nappy score: Daddy 6 Mummy 5

Ernie (The Fastest Milkman In The West)

 Deana, an old school friend, said that I'd struggle to find the time to write this blog when Joe-Joe arrived - and she's been right! It has certainly been a busy few days since our son came home late on Sunday afternoon, but I'm determined to stick with it and I've even taken my obsession a step further!

Inspired by the latest Google advert on British TV which shows a father documenting his daughter's upbringing by sending her emails, I've opened my son an email account.  'To Our Son Joe Joe at Google Mail' - is already bulging with my ramblings and baby photos. It should at least bring me some amusement when he's a spotty teenager and will act as very good bribery material. "Make me a cup of tea or I'll show your new girlfriend that picture of me giving you your first wash."

Joe-Joe went home having lost nine per cent of his birth weight following difficulties breast feeding. (Something else to tell his future girlfriends? - "Don't worry Britney he's fine with A and B cups - he's never been into breasts since day one.") He's been a bit tongue-tied since his birth last week and despite a mammoth effort by his mummy and the midwives at the Royal Bournemouth to get him working for his feed, the clever boy decided the easier option and the one we're sticking to is the freeflowing bottle. My wife naturally felt disappointed, but it's great for me as it means I get the chance to become one of my childhood heroes, Benny Hill's comic creation- 'Ernie - the fastest milkman in the West'. (See song lyrics below). If you happen to walk past our living room window in Bournemouth during feeding time at 4 a.m. you'll hear me singing it! Not too sure what the neighbours think about it though.

Latest dirty nappy score - Daddy 5 Mummy 3



Spurs Baby on board and ready to leave hospital





Deborah clearly delighted that her husband decided to buy her flowers for the first time in three years! (apparently).



9 a.m. the morning after the night before. Joe-Joe suffered from some trapped wind during the night and as a result Daddy got just two hours sleep. (Mummy somehow got four!)

    
ERNIE - THE FASTEST MILKMAN IN THE WEST

You could hear the hoof beats pound as they raced across the ground,
And the clatter of the wheels as they spun 'round and 'round.
And he galloped into market street, his badge upon his chest,
His name was Ernie, and he drove the fastest milk cart in the west.
Now Ernie loved a widow, a lady known as Sue,
She lived all alone in Liddley Lane at number 22.
They said she was too good for him, she was haughty, proud and chic,
But Ernie got his cocoa there three times every week.
They called him Ernie, (Ernieeeeeeeeeee)
And he drove the fastest milk cart in the west.
She said she'd like to bathe in milk, he said, "All right, sweetheart,"
And when he'd finished work one night he loaded up his cart.
He said, "D'you want it pasturise? 'Cause pasturise is best,"
She says, "Ernie, I'll be happy if it comes up to my chest."
That tickled old Ernie, (Ernieeeeeeeeeee)
And he drove the fastest milk cart in the west.
Now Ernie had a rival, an evil-looking man,
Called Two-Ton Ted from Teddington and he drove the baker's van.
He tempted her with his treacle tarts and his tasty wholemeal bread,
And when she seen the size of his hot meat pies it very near turned her head.
She nearly swooned at his macaroon and he said, "If you treat me right,
You'll have hot rolls every morning and crumpets every night."
He knew once she sampled his layer cake he'd have his wicked way,
And all Ernie had to offer was a pint of milk a day.
Poor Ernie, (Ernieeeeeeeeeee)
And he drove the fastest milk cart in the west.
One lunch time Ted saw Ernie's horse and cart outside her door,
It drove him mad to find it was still there at half past four.
And as he lept down from his van hot blood through his veins did course,
And he went across to Ernie's cart and didn't half kick his 'orse.
Whose name was Trigger, (Triggerrrrrrrr)
And he pulled the fastest milk cart in the west.
Now Ernie rushed out into the street, his gold top in his hand,
He said, "If you wanna marry Susie you'll fight for her like a man."
"Oh why don't we play cards for her?" he sneeringly replied,
"And just to make it interesting we'll have a shilling on the side."
Now Ernie dragged him from his van and beneath the blazing sun,
They stood there face to face, and Ted went for his bun.
But Ernie was too quick, things didn't go the way Ted planned,
And a strawberry-flavoured yogurt sent it spinning from his hand.
Now Susie ran between them and tried to keep them apart,
And Ernie, he pushed her aside and a rock cake caught him underneath his heart.
And he looked up in pained surprise and the concrete hardened crust,
Of a stale pork pie caught him in the eye and Ernie bit the dust.

Poor Ernie, (Ernieeeeeeeeeee)
And he drove the fastest milk cart in the west.

Ernie was only 52, he didn't wanna die,
And now he's gone to make deliveries in that milk round in the sky.
Where the customers are angels and ferocious dogs are banned,
And the milkman's life is full of fun in that fairy, dairy land.

But a woman's needs are many fold and soon she married Ted,
But strange things happened on their wedding night as they lay in their bed.
Was that the trees a-rustling? Or the hinges of the gate?
Or Ernie's ghostly gold tops a-rattling in their crate?

They won't forget Ernie, (Ernieeeeeeeeee)
And he drove the fastest milk cart in the west.





I've got fingers like the Wicked Witch!

I wish I hadn't put my finger to my nose when I had pooh on it! 

Joe-Joe's second day in the maternity ward will be remembered for being the day that I changed my first nappy!  (diaper if you are reading this in North America)



I'm not actually a complete novice when it comes to being around babies as my twin sister has two children and my sister-in-law one. Saying that, if I took a practical baby exam before today I'd probably only have passed the bottle feeding and burping test - as I'm very skilled at both in my adult life!



I'd feared Joe-Joe's day two nappy would get the better of me when told by the midwife that it would be "greeny-black in colour and very sticky with a tar-like texture." She then warned: "It will be difficult to wipe the pooh off your baby's tiny bottom AND YOU'LL PROBABLY GET IT ON YOUR FINGERS IF HE WRIGGLES!!!" However, I fancied my chances as Joe-Joe was very still and half sleeping when I made a bold move for his nappy fastening. Now, I've always been brilliant at those steady hand games where you have to move a handle around a wire shape without touching it and setting off the buzzer. In fact, in the game 'Operation',  I was the only kid in our street who could extract the Funny Bone and the Bread Basket (stomach) without the patient's nose glowing red. Sadly, age must have caught up with me as Joe-Joe buzzed me within two seconds and started doing Chubby Checker's 'The Twist'. He went round and round and up and down and took his pooh with him, conveniently missing the two wet wipes I'd doubled over in the hope of getting the job done and making a clean getaway. A whole five minutes elapsed before his botty was clean and a new nappy was on and by then my finger tips looked like the Wicked Witch of the West!



For my endeavour, I'm sure you'll agree that like the cowardly lion in 'The Wizard of Oz', I deserve a medal for trying.

   

 


 

Blood, sweat, tears and all the gory details

Our 8lb 11oz Wolf Baby has hairy arms, a full head of hair and cool sideburns!

Joe-Joe arrived two days earlier than scheduled in time to catch the morning milkman.

Deborah started feeling contractions at about midnight and by 1am she was in the birthing pool at the Royal Bournemouth Hospital cursing the fact that she'd ever met me.

Tracey the midwife said it was "a text book birth" with Joseph Michael Roland Hawkins swimming out of his mother's vagina and into daddy's arms at 7.25am.  

After being pulled out of his watery environment (which I must say wouldn't have been awarded a Blue Flag following an uncontrollable bowel movement (by my wife, not me!)) Joe-Joe filled his lungs and let out a nice loud scream. He looked a lot bigger than I'd expected him to be and had a full head of light brown hair. When it came to cutting his umbilical cord, I actually thought about giving him a short back and sides haircut first!

Unfortunately, in Joe-Joe's rush to make it before breakfast he'd ripped his mummy and I watched in horror as the water turned the colour you'd expect to see after a dolphin massacre by Japanese fishermen. The midwife was concerned enough to ask me to give Joe-Joe his first skin-to-skin contact while they took a look at the severity of my wife's wound.

Whatever amount of pain my wife was in, it didn't stop her laughing hysterically when I ripped off my T shirt to reveal my very stubbly, very white chest. (Joe-Joe's early arrival had prevented me from shaving the stubble for my big moment). Tracey the midwife also commented how ridiculous I looked with my builder's tan and chest stubble. "Try not to give him a rash, he's been through enough already today," she said, as I held him close for the first time. It was the happiest moment of my life.

Skin-to-skin with my beautiful Wolf Baby

Thankfully, my wife wasn't ripped as badly as the midwife first thought which saved Deborah a trip in an ambulance to Poole Hospital where they have a reconstruction expert. It was a relief all round and by 8 a.m. Joe-Joe was in her arms and covered in toast crumbs when we called our family and friends to tell them the news. As one friend remarked: "Now the fun begins."