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." 



   

Meet Joe-Joe!

Joe-Joe and Me

The reason for this blog arrived at 7.25am today (U.K. time).  Meet Joe-Joe! 

A little star

Yes. Joe-Joe's mother really has just spilled the strawberry jam from her doughnut all over his sleepsuit!

Worth the stitches? Yes!

A very happy first-time Mum.

Are we having a wolf baby?

About 20 years ago I acquired the nickname 'Wolf Boy'. I can't remember which one of my friends who was downing pints of lager with me came up with the moniker that night in the Pilgrim Public House in the 'Gavin & Stacey' town of Billericay, but I do recall it came about after telling Chief, Merch and Woodsie that as an eight-year-old boy I had extremely hairy arms. I then also stupidly revealed that at that time my sister helped keep my hairy back under control by waxing it for me once a month. After laughing so much that they emptied their pints of Fosters onto the floor, one of them howled out the order my way: "Get the beers in Wolf Boy!" The name stuck and although they've afforded me the dignity of shortening it over the years to just 'Wolf', I've found myself explaining my nickname and the hairy back story to anyone who's been within earshot when I've been out drinking with the Billericay Boys.

I've told you this story because last week my wife told me that in preparation for our newborn's arrival  I should "trim up my hairy chest as Joe-Joe won't be able to feel your skin through all that wolf hair." Now, I must admit that I've been a bit lazy in recent weeks and although my back hair has been tamed after a session with my wife's Veet hair removal cream, my chest was about an inch deep in growth. I'm too much of a wimp to use wax strips for my chest, but I have a BaByliss for Men hair trimmer that does a good job on a number two setting. However, for this task I dispensed with both the number two and the number one settings and de-haired freehand by putting the blades as close to the skin as I could. On finishing I proudly showed off my now very white hairless chest to my wife, but the reaction I got wasn't the one I'd expected. She laughed (OK that was expected) and then she stroked my chest and blurted out: "You idiot! You've left loads of stubble! You can't give Joe-Joe skin-to-skin contact now as you'll give him a rash."

Deborah's been trying to persuade me to have a wax treatment to get rid of the remaining stubble, but I'm sure this will be as painful as childbirth. Anyway, I came up with a solution telling her that I will shave my chest the day before she goes into labour. This morning, as I was lookingfor a sharp enough razor for the job in hand I came across a very large bottle of Gaviscon in the medicine cabinet. I asked my wife why she'd bought it and she replied: "The doctor prescribed it for me. It's to treat the acid indigestion that I've been suffering from throughout my pregnancy. Apparently, it's a sign that Joe-Joe's going to be a hairy baby."

Maybe I won't have to shave my chest after all. Joe-Joe and Me can just have a hairy wolf hug together.     

Now that's what I call the best birthing album in the world ever!

Now that's what I call the SECOND BEST birthing album in the world ever!

With Joe-Joe due to arrive one week today, my nervous wife yesterday dragged me along to the Royal Bournemouth for a second visit aimed at familiarizing ourselves with the hospital's maternity suite. (She obviously didn't think I was paying attention when we visited six weeks ago!)

I'm proud to say that during our first visit with a group of about 10 other expectant parents I was the only man to ask the midwives a question.

"Are we allowed to bring our own CDs to play on the birthing suite's CD player?" The answer was "Yes". Shortly after the reply, my wife asked her only question:

"How many birthing partners can I have?"

"We allow two," said the midwife. To which Deborah replied: "Good. I'll also have my mum ready as I don't think I can stand my husband being there for too long."

Anyway, I'm going to make sure I'm there long enough to play the CD that I've made up for the occasion.

It took me over seven hours to study the 10,000 song titles available on my Apple's iTunes to come up with my essential collection of 18 birthing tracks. Three hours were spent just deciding on the running order as I found it difficult transporting myself into the atmosphere of a maternity ward's delivery room with me and my wife in it.  

Here goes, and apologies to Deborah who was expecting me to purchase 'The Best Pan Pipes Album in the World Ever!' for the occasion.

'NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL THE BEST BIRTHING ALBUM IN THE WORLD EVER!'

Click on the song to play the YouTube video!

1. 'CAN YOU FEEL IT' - The Jacksons
(The contractions have started!)

2. 'BABY DRIVER' - Simon & Garfunkel
(For the drive to the hospital) 

3. 'I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW' - Kelis
(Turned up loud to drown out my wife's expletives when the going gets tough)

4. 'TOO BUSY THINKING ABOUT MY BABY' - Marvin Gaye
(For when she's concentrating on the job in hand) 

5. 'WATERBABY' - Sneaker Pimps 
(When running the taps to the birthing pool)

6. 'PUSH IT!' - Salt-n-Pepa
(A personal favourite. I'll struggle not to laugh when doing the dance moves and singing to this at the top of my voice!)

7. 'GAS PANIC!' - Oasis
(Time for gas and air!)

8. 'RING OF FIRE' - Johnny Cash
(Special thanks to my sister-in-law Sarah for revealing that midwives refer to the moment when the baby crowns as 'The Ring of Fire')

9. 'IT AIN'T OVER 'TIL IT'S OVER - Lenny Kravitz
(A gentle reminder that a little more effort from the mother is required)

10. 'TO THE END' - Blur 
("You and I collapsed in love. It looks like we might have made it to the end.")

11. 'TAKE A BOW' - Madonna
(Well done Mummy. Joe-Joe's here!)

12. 'BABY DON'T CRY' - INXS
(My son might cry after being thrust out of his old home)

13. 'BABY, IT'S YOU' - The Beatles
(Joe-Joe will probably have Deborah's wobbly bottom lip and my big nose. Poor thing.) 

14. 'BLUE EYES' - Elton John
(Apparently most babies are born with blue eyes)

15. 'BABY, CAN I HOLD YOU' - Tracy Chapman
(Time for skin-to-skin)

16. 'MILK' - Garbage
(Something mellow for Joe-Joe to listen to when it's boob time)

17. 'YOU'RE TENDER AND YOU'RE TIRED' - The Manic Street Preachers
(Probably applicable to both mother and baby)

18. 'ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE' - The Beatles
(I've heard there's a good version by some Peruvian pan pipers)

Bonus track (only available in the U.S.)

'BORN IN THE USA' by Bruce Springsteen


You can buy the 'second best' birthing album in the world ever!

Lovin' the Alien protest

If you've seen the film 'Alien' starring Sigourney Weaver, then you'll be familiar with the scene when the baby Alien emerges from John Hurt's chest. Here's a clip here to remind you!

It's a great cinematic moment and one that Joe-Joe's been trying to recreate over the last few days with his Muhammad Ali style jabs and Bruce Lee kicks from inside Deborah's belly. He hasn't burst through yet, but I believe it's only a matter of time!

Even weirder than watching this alien spectacle of protruding limbs is the fact that Deborah managed to sleep through Joe-Joe's entire 10 minute bout last night!

It's got me wondering whether my alien baby is trying to communicate with me. Is he telling me that's he's getting too big for his surroundings? Or is he protesting at the lack of sleep? Me thinks it's more likely to be the latter.  I doubt he sleeps much at night due to his mother's fog horn snoring and during the day it must feel like he's on a non-stop bouncy castle ride as my wife's still wearing high heels 10 days from her due date!

Talking of Aliens, check this out: '10 ways to "Alienate" your daughter-in-law' sent to me by a rather nice lady in the U.S. (I think) called Lauren Diaz. She says of 'Joe-Joe and Me': "I hope you continue putting out great content through your blog. It has been a sincere pleasure to read."

STOP PRESS: It's here! Joe-Joe's treasure trove of "Chav" Tottenham Hotspur goodies has arrived. Lucky boy! See my entry 'Spurs lose at Joe-Joe's nursery, but Chirpy wins the day'

Happy 80th birthday Morris Keston! You can read about Superfan's amazing life in the book I wrote about him.    

Mother-in-law nightmare!

I returned home from a soul destroying day breaking down cardboard boxes at Halfords to discover that 'The Dragon' (my mother-in-law) is moving into a flat in the next street!

Granny Mary and Grandpa Mike have been trying to sell their three-bedroom house in rural Dorset for over a year with no luck - and now their woe has become mine following their decision to rent for the summer a stones throw from Joe-Joe and Me in sunny Bournemouth.

The walk from our flat to theirs took just TWO MINUTES AND 35 SECONDS when I timed it on the way to the locksmiths on the high road where I bought a new lock and set of keys for our front door. I'll change the lock before the wife gets home tomorrow evening and reclaim the back door key from her keyring just in case that finds its way into Cruella de Vil's handbag.

Granny Mary currently spends two days a week at her other daughter's house where she has her own key and spends most of her time looking after grandson number one, drinking gin and washing her son-in-law's underpants - but not necessarily in that order.


 

Spurs lose at Joe-Joe's nursery, but Chirpy wins the day.

(Dedicated to my late father Roland who would have been 65 today). 

I'm sad to report that a last-ditch attempt to persuade my wife to dump the pirate theme in Joe-Joe's nursery for a Tottenham Hotspur one - has failed. Locked in discussions until the early hours, it seemed at 2 a.m. that my wish for navy blue curtains with the cockerel motif of my football team (soccer, if you are reading this in the U.S.) might be acceptable to the one that makes the decisions. Alas, my hard sell tactics only resulted in getting me red carded and sent to the spare room. The last words she screamed my way as I carried my pillow out of the bedroom were: "Joe-Joe's not going to be a 'Chav' like you and his nursery isn't going to be 'chavvy'. 

(For my American and Australian readers - 'chavvy' is an adjective used to brand something, such as an item, object, activity, TV show, even a moral choice etc, that would stereotypically appeal to a Chav. 
e.g: Burberry, Bling, casual sex and associated low morals. The word is pretty much always used in a negative sense by non-Chavs, as to them the thing in question is undesirable.)

 

Of course, Joe-Joe won't care too much in the early stages of his development, but I'm nevertheless determined that his indoctrination into the Tottenham Hotspur way of life begins as early as possible. Therefore, it's with great pleasure that I can exclusively reveal on 'Joe-Joe and Me' (and to my wife) that thanks to the end-of-season sale in the Spurs Shop, Joe-Joe is now the proud owner of the following Chav accessories promoted by Chirpy, the club's kids' mascot.  

(I wonder where I'll be sleeping tonight?)

Another Cup for Spurs - this one's a training Cup.

The cockerel stands proud on Joe-Joe's first bottle

Two sets purchased. One for home and the other for use at grandparents.

Thinking ahead, but couldn't resist these at the sale price of just £3!!

A beanie to cherish in the kit worn the season  that Joe-Joe will be born!

I'm in love with these 'Tottenham 82' trainers!

Joe-Joe's rather boring Tottenham Hotspur free zone.

"I have a cunning plan"

The countdown to Joe-Joe's birth is well and truly underway in the Hawkins household. Deborah went to see the midwife today and she confirmed that our little boy is "engaged" and ready for Mama's "big push".

Apparently, Deborah discussed her "birthing plan" today with the midwife. When I asked her exactly what her plan is, she just shrugged her shoulders and admitted she didn't really have one. "I don't really know. I think I'll just get in the birthing pool when the water is hot enough and sweat it out."


Personally, if I had to produce something the size of a large melon out of me I'd want to have something more in my locker than just a hot bath and a wing and a prayer! With this in mind, I promised to come up with a cunning plan to aid my wife during labour and in the meantime advised her to read 'The Paul Daniels book of magic tricks'.

I've read that steady breathing can be used to help relax women through painful contractions with The National Childbirth Trust advising that breathing steadily in through the nose and out through the mouth while focusing on the out breath works wonders. I though have come up with surely a better relaxation technique... a puppet show. Fear not friends and family, it's not my version of 'Puppetry of the Penis'. After all, that's what put my wife in this tricky predicament in the first place!

I'm thinking more along the lines of a few clown puppets and an hour long performance complete with Ken Dodd jokes and funny script to perform when the going gets tough. I could set up my Punch and Judy tent opposite the birthing pool in the delivery room and charge the other waiting Dads and families a tenner to watch with all money raised going to the hospital. I've read that laughter is the best medicine. I'll put my birthing plan to Deborah and let you know what she thinks. 

"I will do my homework" - now repeat 1,000 times!

On returning home from a day teaching at her all girls' school, my wife took me to one side and asked: "Did you do the homework I set you?"

I sheepishly looked to the floor and admitted that I hadn't.

"Well you'd better do it tonight as I'll be testing you in the morning." She then thrust the copy of 'Practical Parenting' that was gathering dust on the coffee table into my hands and demanded that I read pages 8 to 42.

I'll admit to you now that I only read pages 8 to 16 of the chapter titled 'Your New Baby' finishing after the section 'Your Baby's Appearance' when I got sidetracked Googling 'ugly baby photos'.

'Practical Parenting' warns that "the bones of your newborn's head are soft and will overlap slightly as he is squeezed down the birthing canal...your baby's head will return to its normal shape within a few days."

The text continued: "Your newborn baby's skin will probably be mottled and may turn white and blue in patches due to his immature circulation." It gets worse.

"Your baby's eyes may look a bit puffy and swollen after the birth, and it's also common to have a burst blood vessel in the white of the eye from the pressure of birth." Add to that possible "stork marks" "strawberry marks" and "feet that turn in because of their position while curled up in the womb" and the image of Joe-Joe that I now have is something like this:

Butterfingers! Joe-Joe's dropped!

"Look! Look!," urged my wife when she arrived home from work this evening.

Fearing she'd spotted another mouse in our kitchen, I jumped on to the nearest chair as if I were Mammy Two Shoes, the heavy-set middle-aged black woman in the 'Tom and Jerry' cartoons. It wasn't my finest moment and probably on a par with yesterday's mousetrap episode, when I pleaded with her to dispose of Mickey as the poor dead rodent scared the living daylights out of me.

"No, you idiot! Look at my belly! Joe-Joe's dropped!"

"How do you know?"

"I could see my belly button this morning and now I can't," she replied. At the time that was a good enough technical explanation for me, but when she went to bed (at 9pm) I searched the Net for a better one. I wish I hadn't. According to babycenter.com, after your baby drops "some pregnancy complaints may get worse [is that possible?], while others may improve [Thank God for small mercies]. On the one hand, your baby will be taking up more room in your pelvis [cue more moaning], so you'll probably find that you have to urinate even more often than before.[More than six times a night! Surely not!] You may get an uncomfortable feeling of pressure deep in your pelvis, feel increasing discomfort when you walk [no more high heels] and even begin to waddle a bit.[I'll try my best not to laugh!] 
"On the other hand, with less pressure on your stomach, you'll be able to eat a little more without feeling uncomfortably full [more late night demands for chocolate from the corner store], and if you've been suffering from heartburn, you may get some relief.[knowing my wife it will get worse!] You'll probably find that breathing feels easier, too." [hurrah, she might not snore quite so badly!]

All the same, I think I'll sleep on the sofa tonight but will keep one eye open so I can laugh at her waddling to the loo at 2am. Pee! Hee!