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.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Thursday, June 15, 2006
[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.
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.
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.
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