Telling The Parents

As we approach the end of the first trimester (in English, we’re nearly a third of the way through), we look forward with relish to all the good things that have been promised us. Apparently the middle third is the easy bit, where the morning sickness goes away and all the cute stuff happens. How can I refuse?

Christmas seems like a sensible time to do all the meeting with the family and telling them all about it. I understand from my research that it is considered rude to wait until after the birth before passing this information on. Never one to buck convention, so it shall be.

Life in general continues to race on at a terribly exciting pace around me, while I fret needlessly about trivial things, and revisit the same thoughts over and over and over again, not really so much in search of answers but just for the exercise. Small things happen that make me ache for fatherhood, and I remind myself that if I just sit tight, it will all come soon.

And I wonder about whether my girlfriend has stumbled across this site, and what its purpose will be in 6 months when the baby is born, and whether I should keep writing it then, and whether I should keep writing it now.

And then I daydream a little, fart, scratch myself, and wish for snow.


So what are we doing here?

So what are we doing here? A very good question. We don’t know yet.

But the framework is in place. When we do decide what we are doing here, at least we’ll be equipped to… uhm… do it.


Butter Rabbit

*Oh howdy, butter rabbit, you’re a most amusing fellow
I bet the bunnies laugh at you, for your fur is coloured yellow,
It’s hard for butter rabbits, no, being one ain’t easy,
As the fat content implicit makes your fur a little greasy.*

*But then when circumstances test the other rabbits’ patience,
And they can’t get through a fence without some extra lubrication,
Along comes butter rabbit in his slippy, buttery way,
And gains access to the carrots, and consequently saves the day.*


It Continues

She’s still being sick in the morning, and we are now past eight weeks, so the worst of the pressure has passed. Her latest purchase is a pair of acupressure wristabands which she says are quite uncomfortable, but they might be working. Let’s see what happens on Monday when they go up against the 7:30 start and a full day at work – that will be a battle and no mistake.

Myself, I’m settled down, I’d say. There isn’t really much for me to be doing at this stage – I guess that my biggest responsibilities come after the baby is born, and I take on half (or thereabouts) of looking after the little fella. At this early stage, there isn’t really a significant change to our normal daily life, but I expect that towards the later stages of the pregnancy I will be feeling a little left out. Ah well, c’est la vie.

She’s been very low on energy lately – she is going to bed even earlier than before, and the rest of the time she is generally lying down on either the sofa or the bed. She’s a little upset that I will find her unsexy and go hunting for a replacement. I’ve so far failed to come up with a real killer reply to that one, apart from “that won’t happen.” That’s all that I can think of.

I won’t deny that things are changing. But I’m really not in a position to forecast what will happen next – whether things will change back in time, or whether they will just change into something else entirely. It’s clearly a period of transition, so I’m just going to sit tight, hold her close, and we’ll take this ride together. Because I love her, and that’s what we do.