Fajerhood

Well, folks – we did it. Our little son Quinlan was born last month, after a long labour, a few swearwords, and a gigantic needle in the spine.

When I say “we did it”, I really mean “my wife did it”, because compared to the mammoth 24 hours of bodily torture she endured, I really did very little except stay awake for the entire period, murmur encouraging words, and occasionally offer her a sip of apple juice.

We were well prepared for having kids – after almost 8 years of marriage we’d well and truly given ourselves enough time to enjoy each others’ company, travel the world, and do all the stuff you’re apparently forbidden from doing after having children. As for childbirth, we’d read all the books, gone to all the ante-natal classes, met the midwives, prepared the nursery, and given ourselves plenty of breathing space. So, going into labour, we felt pretty confident that we had a handle on things.

Unfortunately our little boy had other plans – although the host uterus was quite persistent, Quinlan had moved into a slightly posterior position and despite our best coaxing, screaming, huffing and puffing, we couldn’t get the little bugger out.

I’ll spare you the details, but it was a marathon, a harrowing experience, and an emotional rollercoaster ride. The low point of the evening was when wifey, flailing around in a spasm of pain, grabbed my genitals and squeezed like she had never squeezed before. I was less than impressed and leapt backwards, at which point she promptly fell out of bed with a whimper.

After bravely enduring 16 hours, Trish finally called for the epidural (Giant Spine Needle What Makes Everything Better ™). Being 2 o’clock in the morning, Mr. Anaesthetist was home, fast asleep in bed, and unfortunately we had to wait for another two hours before the needle was actually given. WTF, my friends, WTF indeed.

From there, it was pretty smooth sailing, and wifey was no longer in contraction hell. That was a huge relief for me, as it’s very difficult to watch somebody you love scream for help without being able to actually help.

Fast forward to 11am, and we had ourselves a screamingly healthy baby boy. The moment he appeared was awe inspiring – after such a long wait, and such a difficult ordeal, there was suddenly a miniature human dangling in front of me. It’s one of those rare, wonderful moments when the world stops, your mouth drops open, and your body goes numb.

Four weeks down the track, and everything is going swimmingly. The first couple of weeks felt like Christmas, with family popping in, presents exchanging hands, and of course that exciting moment when we brought our “new toy” home for the first time. The boy didn’t really do much in the first few weeks except eat, poop, and sleep.

Parenting a newborn doesn’t seem quite as difficult as everybody makes out. Sleep deprivation is not an issue unless you’re not willing to sleep during the day. Newborns sleep for 16 hours a day, and if you can’t squeeze your 8 hours in there somewhere, you’re obviously not prioritising it. Granted, the sleep interruption is not ideal – and I’m lucky enough to have a wife who lets me sleep when I have to work the next day.

‘Nuff said about all that. So it’s all been an exciting adventure and certainly a new chapter in our lives. Make sure you stay tuned because I WILL BE BLOGGING EVERY SINGLE THING MY CHILD DOES FROM NOW ON INCLUDING THE COLOUR OF THEIR POOP. And don’t forget to follow me on Twitter because THERE I WILL ALSO BE TWEETING THE COLOUR OF THE POOP.

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