Ho ho ho

I know, I know - this isn't technically your first Christmas, but despite your lack-of-attendance, you still managed to clean up in the present stakes. I think everyone knew that it wasn't quite the right thing to do ... but it didn't seem to stop them!

And I must admit - I took great pleasure in buying you one of my favourite childhood books.

Merry Christmas, bub.

Happy anniversary ...

... to us!

And just us.

Sorry my boy, but this one isn't about you - today is strictly about your mum and dad. Its our fourth wedding anniversary, and the last one we'll ever spend just on our own.

Don't get me wrong - I love the fact that all family occasions will soon involve an extra person. Christmas in particular will take on a whole new dimension.

But I'd be lying if I said that today isn't tinged with a degree of nostalgic sentimentality. To date, our anniversaries have never been huge affairs: modest presents, a nice dinner, a decent bottle of wine perhaps. But they have been completely about us - just Julie and I. I'm going to miss that a bit.

(And of course this year, I'm also going to miss that decent bottle of wine. Well ... at least your Mum is going to miss her share of it!)

Just between you and me, I think that either Gran or Nana might be getting a little visitor in a year's time ...

Bedrooms and back-aches

So, here we are at week 24 already. Its been an interesting few weeks since I last posted: you're causing a pretty visible bump (and a rather sore back) for your Mum, your kicks and wiggles can now be felt and seen from the outside, we've had the week 19 ultrasound (here and here) and - most excitingly - we've discovered your gender.

This has had a remarkable impact on both of us - not so much because either of us had any particular preference, but more because its given us both a specific focus.

Yes, this includes all those 'pink vs. blue' traditions that I swore we would probably ignore (wrong!), as well as helping to narrow down the naming decisions a bit - but more importantly, I think its also shaping the way we are each starting to think about parenting. The question 'How on Earth are we going to raise a child?' has now been reworded 'How on Earth are we going to raise a BOY?'

Your nursery is coming along nicely, too ... cot, change table, bath, stroller, bassinette, travel cot and baby-carrier-harness-thingy have all been purchased - and if things go to plan, you'll be getting a new wardrobe this weekend. Its a huge damn thing, which I'm assuming you'll grow into somewhere over the next 16 years. Until then, I guess we have scored ourselves some extra storage space!

Buds and bubs

I missed the spring budding of my muscatel grapevine this year. I looked outside one day a few weeks ago, and it was covered in fuzzy little bundles of new growth – much more developed than the first signs of green that I usually watch for each year with great anticipation. I guess I’ve been a bit preoccupied this year with your budding. Or should that be your Mum’s budding?

Anyway, normally I pay careful attention to the new buds, so that I can try predicting the directions of the year’s growth, and start thinking about how I will have to train the canes. The vine is still pot-bound, trained around a conical frame, and so space is at a premium. Since grapes grow on two-year-old wood (and since the aim of training is to increase the potential yield) it’s really all a bit speculative.

You start off watching these tiny little buds, and take a guess at the direction in which they seem to be growing.

As the branches grow, you then support them and train them to grow in ways and directions that will potentially lead to optimum productivity in the years to come.

A bit later on, towards the start of the following season, you sacrifice some of the older, less productive branches in favour of dedicating more of the plant’s limited resources to the younger, vital growth.

Sometimes you’re right, sometimes you’re wrong – but you do the best you can based on the information at hand.

So I guess horticulture’s not a bad metaphor for L-plate parenting: focus on supporting and nurturing short-term development, but always keep a wary eye on long-term maturation.

My only problem with this metaphor is if I extend it to my two olive trees, which I supported for too long by selecting the wrong height of stakes. As a result, they are tall, spindly things, incapable of standing on their own and hardly productive whatsoever.

But then again – perhaps they’re simply teenagers.

Happy Father's Day ... or not?

Yesterday - September 3 - was Father's Day.

Now, I reckon that since we're now into the second trimester, you have earnt the right to be referred to as 'a person'. And as such, there must surely be someone somewhere who can be rightfully referred to as your 'father'.

So naturally, it follows that your Mum should've being buying me bottles of port, socks, boxer shorts, etc.

But noooooooo - apparently I have to wait until next year!

Week 16

Week 16 already. Wow ... where has the time gone?

A few weeks ago, we were lucky enough to get our first glimpse of you during the 'Nuchal fold test' ultrasound:

Honestly, seeing this was about the closest I've come to having a religious experience. It totally blew me away. Suddenly, you weren't just a collection of symptoms and physiological changes for your Mum - you were a wriggling, heart-beating, bone-containing, totally-human-looking BABY.

So, we're off to the obstetrician again tomorrow, and hopefully will be booking in for the 19 week ultrasound - where we'll get to see a whole lot more of you. Hopefully, the 3D scan will yield some more promising results than the attempts made last time, which made you look like a grapefruit-flavoured jellybean.

Week 10

Well, we met your obstetrician last Wednesday. Nice bloke, respected clinician and - most importantly - experienced deliverer!

Naturally, he couldn't tell us much about you at this stage - but one thing he did manage was to finally sort out precisely what stage we're at! We've had a few frameworks and indicators giving us conflicting ideas, but its now confirmed: this is week 10.

We've also booked in for the week 12 ultrasound on August 14, and I'm insanely excited about that! If we get any digital souvenirs of the event, I'll be a-posting them.

Your poor Mum is currently learning how terrible a cold can be when pregnancy precludes the use of all those delightful pharmaceuticals. However, being the resilient type, she's bravely soldiering on.

Hmm ... I wonder if I even need to tell you about this. Perhaps you already know. Perhaps you're snuffling away down there too, sneezing in sympathetic symphony with your Mum. That's quite cute ... in a stricly "I'm glad I'm not sick" sense.

Normalisation

Hey there, kiddo.

I was feeling somewhat guilty that I haven't written anything here concerning my experiences as a father-to-be for the past four weeks or so. But the funny thing is - there haven't really been any such experiences. Yes, Mum's morning sickness is ticking along nicely, thank you. And yes, we're discovering the joys of Baby Target during a 20%-off sale. But otherwise, life has slowly regained the steady pace of the mid-first-trimester waiting game.

Of course, there's still the constant, rapid-fire attack of non-specific excitations, anxieties and hysterical episodes - but that's nothing particularly out of the ordinary!

According to the collective wisdom of the various baby-type websites that both Mum and I have been frequenting, your eight-week-old self looks a bit like this now. Wow ... quite human, eh? ;)

Confirmed!

Blood test results are back. You're doing fine! 4-5 weeks on, and probably due mid-to-late February 2007. One hell of a 35th birthday present for me, I can tell you.

Julie (hereafter referred to as 'Mum', I think) has booked you and her in to meet with the obstetrician for the first time on July 21. And she's already booked a bed at Mitcham Private for your delivery. She's very organised, your mum. But you'll discover that for yourself before too long. Oh, yes - will you ever.

Few people besides us know about you at this stage - just 'Gran' and 'Nana and Grandpa' (hehehe ... what fun). Common sense is telling us that we should wait before telling too many other people, but kid - if there's one thing you're going to come to know about your parents fairly quickly its that we don't really hold with common sense. Subsequently, the phone calls begin tonight!

Aunty Megan and Uncle Marty will be first, followed by a trans-timezone attempt to get in touch with Uncle Paul who's somewhere between Frankfurt and Prague at the moment. Then we'll probably tell some friends - starting with Aunty Sares and Uncle Dame - before working our way through the extended family.

I'll tell you - there's something about blood test results. It all feels more real now. I mean, its felt real all week, but now it feels really real ... you know? I'm sure the next nine (ahem ... eight, sorry) months are going to fly by, riddled with bouts of worry and stress regarding our financial and emotional preparedness.

But you know what? Right now, tonight, its no concern whatsoever. To be blunt, I'm over the bloody moon.

[Mis]calculations

Hmm ... the doctor seems to think that perhaps you're not 7 weeks old after all, but only 5 - in which case, you probably look a bit like this.

Fascinating site, this one - chock full of embryological information. Apparently, you've had a 'yolk sac' for the past couple of weeks. My training in biology is telling me that's simply adorable ... but I'm not sure that I'll be enjoying soft-boiled eggs for quite some time.

And so it begins ...

Monday June 12, 2006. The Queen's Birthday public holiday.

A fairly plain, wintery day. I'm slobbing about in the lounge room, watching TV and playing computer games. Julie is looking up something or other on the web.

On a whim, J heads down to the bathroom. I don't pay much attention - I'm fairly engrossed in trying to figure out the mechanics of how to turn chicken eggs into gold pieces on a PlayStation farming game (such are the trials of being a mature, level-headed 34 year old).

I'm half-aware of J calling my name. It doesn't sound too urgent or important. I'll just harvest the last of my crops.

J's walking down the hallway, quietly saying "Umm ... honey".

Almost there ... just one more sweet potato to pick and put into the shipping box. Oh, damn - I dropped it.

"Honey ... I'm pregnant."

Ah, well ... its just one sweet potato, only worth about 50 gold pieces. I'll just have to harvest some more of those wild truffles.

"Andrew ... I'm PREGNANT."

...

...

For the first time in my life, I was suddenly aware that the Earth rotates on a tilted axis. I also realised that despite our understanding of physics, you most certainly *can* fall off the southern hemisphere.

Julie was pregnant. We were going to have a baby. I was going to be a father.

I'd love to say that I leapt into the air, swept J into my arms, kissed her passionately before swearing my eternal love. And I guess I kind of did - but the leap was a wobble, the sweep was a stagger and the eternal love bit came out as something incomprehensible and blubbery. But the sentiment was the same.

But that, my (very) young child, is how we became aware of your existence. The next few hours were a blinding mixture of excitement, fear, anxiety, bliss, tears, laughter and budgeting.

Now - three days later - we've calmed down a teensy bit. Julie has just been to the doctor for a 'second opinion' (which was positive - blood test results pending) and I'm at work trying very hard to concentrate on anything other than you. Its difficult - so difficult, in fact, that I've given up trying.

Better instead to start a new blog (in itself, an almost work-related activity for me), dedicated to tracking my thoughts about your earliest of days. It might be of interest to you one day - or perhaps some other first-time-father-to-be will stumble across it and find some solace. But above all, it will help me get my swirling thoughts of impending fatherhood down on ... err ... paper.

So welcome to life, little one. You're only about 7 weeks old - a mere 'belly-bean' - but you already rule my world.