More than just a noisy bundle of flesh

For four and a half weeks I looked at Henry with unconditional love and a certain amount of curiosity, both based on the same thing.  He didn't actually do anything.
 
Like any new parent my love was unconditional as he didn't need to do anything. I didn't need him to come bounding in to the room and shout "I love you Daddy" for me to love him back. I don't need him to buy me a Christmas present, send me a fathers day card, get my slippers and pipe, run down the shop to get me a paper or become the best midfielder in the history of English football.  I dont need him to do any of that for me to love him (although everything on that list will be greatly appreciated at some point during our lives).  No, little Henry needs to do nothing, my love is totally unconditional, as is his mothers.

My curiosity was based on the question of when he would actually start doing things. Anything at all! I mean anything constructive.  He could of course already garlgle with an uncanny knack of sounding like the Tazmanian Devil, he could stare aimlessly at the wall or ceiling, he could pass huge amounts of wind and not batter an eyelid and of course he could present mummy and daddy with a poonami or two.  But none of that, as touching as it all is, really makes you want to make an announcement via the town crier (although of course I have managed to bore all my friends and family with endless facebook posts - come to think of it, this is probably attached to one).  Henry was, for all intents and purposes, just a noisy bundle of flesh, but we loved him anyway.

Everything changed dramatically when he was four and a half weeks old.  Over the previous week or so Henry had started to make what looked like smiles, but we soon realised that these were only appearing after he had had a particularly satisfactory wee, released some gassy wind or even had a number two.  We tried to claim that they had been made because he had seen us, but the fact that his eyes were usually closed as he lay soaking in the glory of his release was an indication that we in fact had nothing to do with it (although, as I said, wee sometimes had something to do with it).

But anyway, after 4 and half weeks everything changed. Gail was holding Henry on the sofa and as I walked over to greet them he looked up at me, opened his mouth and beamed from cheek to cheek.  Now I know I have a funny face but it had never got this reaction before. 

The important thing here is that Gail and I don't really care if our first born son finds my face particularly funny, its quite cute that he does, what we know now is that he recognises things and there are things going on inside that pretty little head of his.  In an instant he is now so much more than just a noisy bundle of flesh, now he is interacting, now we know he has emotion. FACT! 

The best thing of all is that this is just the tip of the iceberg.  Gail and I both know that his character is going to start snowballing and neither of us can wait.  We both also know that we are still going to have sleepless nights for a while longer yet, but that doesn't matter because that smile at four and a half weeks told us that the fun has just begun.

The day the table turned

Bosom buddies

Henry was three weeks old yesterday.

In that time he has had so many firsts to tick off that his excitement meter must be going off the scale. Nevertheless, despite all the new and wonderful things he is being introduced to, he still has three favourites: Milk, poo and wee.

He loves his milk. It doesn't matter what type, breast or formula, he's not fussy.  He laps it up, stores some of it in his ever-growing body and of course just presents us with a nappy full of his two other favourite things.


Before Henry was born I had offered mummy a payment of £50 each month to do all his nappies.  This however went out of the window when I had to change his first nappy in the hospital whilst mummy was still recovering. I soon discovered that it wasn't as bad as I had been led to believe and from that moment I decided to keep my £50 per month and get my fingers dirty (literally) each and every day. 

A descision that seemed to be the right one as, for a while, all seemed to be going really well. For the first couple of weeks I managed to have relatively hassle-free changes of Henry's nappies.  On the other hand Mummy was getting showered by his litle fountain of fun on every other change. It did make me laugh but mummy was getting soaked so often that she was beginning to think that Henry and Daddy had a secret agreement. 

Today though, Sunday 29th January, the tables turned dramatically, the smile was well and truly wiped from my face.

I set down as normal to change Henry. He was on the mat, the baby wipes were open and ready, there was cotton wool and a bowl of water, there was a small pot of Sudocrem, a new nappy was open and waiting to go and Henry was relaxed and peaceful. 

As I neared completion of the nappy change I received a warning but I stupidly chose to ignore it; the little pump of wind on my finger should have made me realise that things weren't as normal as they seemed, but I chose just to laugh at the little monster and threaten to pump on his finger to exact my revenge.  I wouldn't be laughing for much longer.  Naively I simply carried on virtually unprotected, save for a tissue-thin piece of thin tissue paper resting between his winkie wooh and my face.  With hindsight I now realise that this wasn't enough, but at the time how could I possibly know? 

I was just about to put his new nappy in place when I noticed a little circle of wee on the tissue.  He was dribbling.  As I removed it to mop up the mess and reposition a new piece of tissue, all hell broke loose. 

A little bit of peanut butter started squirting out from his back side.  When I say a "little bit" this is a complete understatement. It was as though Henry was making Mister Whippee ice creams.

'Oh Sh*t!' This was me screaming in distress and also being completely factual for the benefit of my audience of mummy, Grandma and Grandad.

As I panicked to grab more tissue a new fountain of baby wee started arcing towards my knees.

'Aargh! No!' This was me again. In the back ground I could hear the sounds of mummy, grandma and grandad tittering.

'Help me, I need more tissue,' I begged.

Between titters mummy grabbed the requested supply of extra mopping-up material. 

As I cleaned up and reapplied some sudocrem to the little man's skin, a brand new squirt of peanut butter started to appear from the crime scene.

'Henry! No!

Then more wee started to arc as well.

'Gail help!'

Mummy, Grandma and Grandad were now laughing loudly.

But again just as I got to clearing up the mess there were more poo and wee eruptions. What was going on. It was as if Henry has become some sort of Playdough activity centre with things shooting out from all over the place aimed at daddy.  By now, mummy, Grandma and Grandad were rolling around on the floor with tears of laughter filling their eyes.  Yes, ha bleeding ha! The sight of me trying to hold Henry's legs out of the toxic watse, whilst also trying to mop it up and keep his clothes from being sucked towards the goo must have looked blinking hilarious through their teary eyes.  It just seemed that whatever I cleaned up was instantly replaced by a new supply and Henry's clothes seemed somehow magnetically drawn towards the quagmire. How did his little body hold so much smelly bad stuff?

Eventually, Henry ran out of poo and wee. Even if he had wanted to to carry on squirting me, his reserves had run dry, so he couldn't.  This of course then meant that he instantly began screaming for more food to top up his gunge tanks. 

A whitefaced, sweating daddy was left holding him and sitting amongst a mountain of scrumpled and stained paper towels trying to figure out what had just happened.

The tables had indeed completely turned and if any agreement was now in place it was firmly between mummy and Henry, poor daddy was now the butt of their toilet gags.

So in the wake of this horrific pooey happening am I reconsidering the offer to mummy of £50 per month to change all the nappies? No, absolutely not.  As much as I didn't ever want to be in the firing line of a babies pooey bottom, now that I am I wouldn't change it for the world. I have learned over the last three weeks that you have to take the rough with the smooth (that's not another reference to peanut butter) but one thing is for sure, none of the bad stuff is really that bad and this whole fatherhood thing is the best thing in the world.

So, with a protective apron and safety goggles in place, I am now ready for anything Henry can throw at me - actually, I really hope he doesn't start doing that!

Fallen in love again

I have barely any words. My usual verbal diarrhoea has completely been replaced by verbal constipation. Why? - Because the most AMAZING thing has happened to me.

Let me try to find some words to explain.

Last weekend I sat at the hospital window watching the day turn to night and wondered what the next few hours had in store for Gail and I.  Considering that she was halfway through her labour we were actually both very relaxed. So relaxed that she was able to get a couple of hours sleep during her contractions and I manged to find a chair in the corner of the room and quietly tune-in to radio 5-live commentary of the Liverpool v Oldham FA cup game.  This whole labour lark was seemingly a piece of cake, in fact it was quite nice to be doing something different at the weekend.

The minutes and hours passed-by and things continued to go smoothly - too smoothly.  However, it all changed very quickly and by the time midnight took us into the next day things had turned particularly bumpy for Gail and her tummy bump.  To cut to the chase all I can say is that the next few hours became particularly traumatic for everyone involved.

From my own point of view, once I had donned my surgeon's uniform and paper hat and joined the crew and cast in the theatre, I was subjected to mental torture, moments of curiosity, total bewilderment and absolute fear.  In the end though, all those feelings were surpassed.

"It's a boy," they told us.

The moment I saw him and they confirmed that he was all right I cant say that I felt elated, just sheer quivering relief.

"Do you want to hold him?" I was asked.
"No," I replied, "I'll drop him."  I was so scared of ruining everything after all the hard work everyone else had put in.

It's now a few days later and we are all back at home and my family has started to regain their fitness.  And now I realise that I am lucky enough to have experienced something that all new dads must feel once the penny starts to drop.  I can't quite believe it but I...am...a...FATHER.  What the hell is that all about?  I am so extremely proud of Gail for everything she has been through without any fuss whatsoever.  But more than anything when I look down at the little bundle of burping, pumping, rosy-cheeked joy in my lap I can truthfully say that I have fallen in love all over again.  That is what has happened to me and for me, this is my little moment of heaven.