Aww.... Is someone Mr. Cranky? Does he need a nap?

I'll be perfectly honest with you... I'm a little cranky right now. Andy Murray lost the tennis, I didn't get nearly enough sleep, and I've been trying to fix my 'slow as ass' computer for a while now. It's not the recipe for a good mood.

We did though have a lovely time in New Hampshire at the family baby shower. I have added some photos below... Ill try to get the rest onto flickr and let you see all of them without having to twist your head from side to side :)


EDIT: Suck-sess!!! The flickr stream to your right has now been updated. Feel free to peruse the photos of the family baby shower, with bonus 'is the camera working? I'll take photos of the animals before we leave' shots. Enjoy.

Tonight, I'm Scottish

Tonight, I'm doing something that most people would consider a little crazy. I'm forcing myself to stay awake, so that I can watch the Australian Tennis Open Men's Final, between Roger Federer (boo!) and Andy Murray (yay!!).

Alise thinks I'm nutso. I think this is basically for two reasons.

1) She really isn't a big sports fan.

She enjoys sports, she shows an interest in sports, but she isn't fanatical. This really isn't a bad thing; in fact its probably a good thing. Being a sports fan can be a curse that you live with for life, and the overpaid idiots that you support often end up sucking more and more as your life progresses. My football (soccer) team, Nottingham Forest, for years developed new and interesting ways to suck even more than they had the season before, yet still I love them, for I am an addict.

2) Alise is American, and I don't think she understands.

Now, let me explain. You see, I'm British. British people, quite simply; suck at sports. There are 4 major tennis tournaments played each year, but a British man hasn't won one for 74 years. 74 years! Do you know how many Americans have won in that time? A shit-ton. The Brits, despite the fact that one of the tournaments is in their own bloody country and played on grass, which no-one else does anymore, historically suck at tennis. We're awful, we're terrible, most of the British top 10 serve underarm and are allowed to let the ball bounce twice before trying to hit it back.

We don't just suck at tennis. We invented a lot of sports, we export them to other countries, and are soundly beaten every time we play. Cricket matches against Australia usually end in our tears. We lose rugby games against the likes of New Zealand by horrific scorelines, our football (soccer) team hasn't won the World Cup since 1966, and only won it then when it was held in England and we benefited from some very dodgy refereeing in the final. We suck, we know we suck, everyone else knows we suck.

But sometimes... sometimes someone comes along to give us hope. To give us the opportunity to climb a very small stepladder and shout at the tops of our very muted voices 'Hey! America! Sure you always win the Olympics, sure you have Lance Armstrong, Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods (still the best golfer, admit it), Pete Sampras, Carl Lewis and Muhammed Ali, but we have Caroline Smithwickson, the greatest lawn bowls champion this side of Swindon! Rejoice!'

So tonight, I'm Scottish, and remembering that Scotland, despite it's wishes, is a part of the same Great Britain that I'm from. Andy Murray is a terribly talented tennis player and has a chance to end 74 years of hurt. I'll be watching Andy, I'll be cheering.

Bathroom and Shower

This weekend is devoted entirely to the Bathroom, and a shower.

Today, in a fit of motivation rarely seen in this house, I painted the bathroom. In fairness Alise has mentioned the condition of this room many times since she moved in, and this week I decided (entirely on my own) that it was time to repaint. We had some pretty ugly plastic sheet-type tiling before, so I painted over that and tidied up the place. If I do say so myself, it looks pretty good and feels a lot more like a nice bathroom than it did before. I might post photos soon! But I probably won't. I'm a fickle bastard where photos are concerned.

Tomorrow, we go to New Hampshire for the first of our three showers! This one is the 'family shower', Alise's grandparents and many of her aunts, uncles, cousins and nieces live in the Granite State. We're both feeling a little uncomfortable about being at the center of attention at a party thrown for us, but we'll have a great time, I'm sure.

On the subject of showers.... more than a couple of people have asked if I'll be attending. My stock response is usually 'well yeah, why the fuck not?'. Apparently a traditional baby shower is without men, but to me this seems a little too old fashioned. The delivery of the child used to be without males too (apart from the Doctor, he's always a man in old fashioned land), and baby would be only changed and bathed by the mother. I'm planning on being there for the birth, on being a true partner in all of this (hell, I'd breastfeed him if I could), why shouldn't I be a part of the fun things too?

A False Alarm

Alise and I spent this morning in the labor and delivery department this morning.

 

It all started last night when Alise developed what she described as 'something that feels like menstrual cramping'. Apparently, this can be a sign that the baby is coming. We are both painfully aware that first time parents can often jump the gun, so we decided to wait a while before calling anyone.

 

It continued until we went to bed. I slept like a baby (I woke every couple of hours crying until Alise latched me onto her breast); but Alise didn't sleep at all. She had to go to the bathroom every 15 seconds or so, the pain continued.

 

At some point, she called her mom (who currently lives on the west coast and is 3 hours behind us). Her mom confirmed that she may be having contractions.

 

Sometime around 5am, Alise called her doctor and spoke to the person on call. He advised that we should go to the hospital.

 

It's probably a good job that we did. For one, we now actually know where the labor and delivery department of the hospital is (after going to the wrong building once, and the wrong floor in the correct building three times); for two's, we know that the baby is fine and is, on the coldest day of the year, happy to stay inside. They hooked Alise up to monitors, checked that the baby was alright and determined after quite a long time and a couple of tests that he wasn't ready to come out of the oven, just yet.

 

This time it was a false alarm, but still... it made us realize that anything can happen in the next few weeks. Despite the fact that we've scheduled a C-Section for him, he can't yet read emails or calenders and will come when he bloody well wants to.

Drug Rhymes With Hug

Alise and I are both still sick, and are both taking plenty of drugs. Over the counter, of course.

 

The difficulty is that while I can take anything (and have done, I woke in a Nyquil coma this morning and needed Alise to drive me to the train station to avoid being late for work), Alise has to be super careful. If you look at basically any medication, they all state that 'if pregnant or breastfeeding, consult your doctor before taking'.

 

There's a reason that they do this, of course. Drugs are tested on people before release to the general public, but the chances of getting pregnant people to test new drugs are slim. The drug companies (bless them, they're so nice... have you hugged a drug company today?) therefore have to put these warnings on their labels to distance themselves from lawsuits when things go wrong. The downside is that pregnant people really can't take anything without first calling their doctor.

 

To be honest, I'm even reluctant to tell you what Alise has been told that she can take. The baby daddy doesn't want to be sued. To keep things legal I'll just tell you that it sounds something like paltzer spoltzer flus. Oh, and Bobotussin Shmee Flem.

Sleepy Sleepy Sick Sick

Alise and I are both sick at the moment.

 

Yesterday we both started our days feeling a little under the weather, but able to function. Alise has a terrible cough, I have the aches and chills. I think it's basically the same illness, it's just hit us differently.

 

Last night we went to bed early (at around 9pm, we're so old), and tried to sleep. We both had varying success, but woke often. At around 3am we were both dozing back to sleep, when Coco decided to join in, and she let out the strangest 'howl' that I've ever heard come from a dog.

 

Of course I checked on Coco, and she was fine. She looked at me with a 'hey! what are you doing up?' expression, wagged her tail and wondered if it might be breakfast time yet.

 

It was at around 4am that, while trying to get back to sleep again, I realized something. This is how life is going to be, for quite some time. Sure Alise and I both being sick at the same time is rare, but we both desire a good nights sleep and are both often a little cranky if we go without. Pretty soon we'll be interrupted constantly throughout the night by our son, who's crying might well make Coco whine and howl.

 

'There are many things to look forward to', I thought as I tried to console myself last night. But sleep, uninterrupted sleep, isn't one of them.

It's the Final Countdown! (na na na nah, na na na na naahh)

Alise and I had an ultrasound this morning.

Mother and baby are both doing very well. The boy is now just over 5 pounds (which is about 7 dollars, for Americans), and he's in the 67th percentile, growth wise. That means that while he's big, he's not huge and he's developing nicely. The doctor even thinks that she saw hair on his head (curly, like his daddy) and he's currently taking the upside down position, his head is to the lower left of Alise's belly, his little arse wedging itself close to her ribs.

To be totally honest, this is all still a little surreal to me. If that baby were to decide to come out now, he'd likely be fine (albeit in the hospital for a while, no doubt). There is a living human being inside of Alise right now, her net total of legs is currently four. She has twenty fingers, two hearts, and one penis. Alise is currently making hair for someone else. It's all a bit strange.

But, this isn't going to last for much longer. We have less than seven weeks now until he comes out to join us. That's not long, is it?

Welcome to the Hellmouth

When I got to the office this morning, it was 107 degrees. I'm not exaggerating. Apparently the heating system broke down over the weekend, and instead of taking cold air from outside and heating that up, it was heating the already hot air inside the building... over, and over, and over. It's making me feel quite uncomfortable, and I have to go to the bathroom a lot to expel the gallons of water that I've been drinking.

 

Of course, this is temporary. I can take a walk outside, where it's a lovely 45 degrees. The worst case scenario is that the heat remains oppressive for the remainder of the day, but it'll be back to normal tomorrow. I'm leaving work at 4:30pm, and will soon be comfortable. Life really isn't that bad.

 

I've emailed with Alise to tell her of these conditions, naturally. She's being very sympathetic and asks for updates. I'm sure that if I were her though, I'd be thinking 'yeah? you have to pee all the time? that's got to suck... what's that like?', and 'Oh really? you feel uncomfortable? How terrible for you! come back to me in five months if it's still the same, jackass'.

 

Pregnancy really isn't a piece of cake, you know. Alise has had a remarkable trouble free time, but there are still side effects. The weight of the baby belly and her boobs has put a great strain on her back, and her movements are now slower and more deliberate. The constant need to pee has been ever-present throughout this pregnancy, and she's having a hard time sleeping. My son (as he is often called when he's acting up) apparently takes great pleasure in kicking his mommy from the inside, and Alise has likened his antics at times to his trying to rip out her ribs as though they are bars on a window.

 

Alise. For all of the times recently that I've told you that my back hurts, my knees hurt, or that I'm just generally uncomfortable; I apologize. I really do.

 

Video Diary!

For those of you that have followed this blog from the beginning, and who may like to go back and view all of the video diaries, you may find that some of them have 'expired'. Worry not, I have copies of them all saved onto my computer and I will find somewhere more permanent to put them on the interwebs.

For now, settle for this. Last week we went on a river walk with Coco, on one of those days when it was nice enough to be outside, but cold enough for there to still be snow on the ground. It actually hasn't snowed properly here for a couple of weeks but everywhere still has an icy tundra feel, it's slippery outside and we've both nearly fallen on the ice. Bastard winter, I shall celebrate your demise!

Who ate all the pies?

 

Alise and I both had a weigh in last night.

 

Alise has been gaining weight gradually, and steadily. I shall not reveal her poundage on this blog because I'm a gentleman, and also because I prefer my testicles to be attached to my body; but suffice it to say, she's gained some. She didn't have any morning sickness as we started this journey (thankfully), and had a healthy appetite so at a time when a lot of mothers to be actually lose weight, she was starting to bulk up. She's still wonderfully healthy and generally happy, and looks radiant. I did (cruelly) compare her pose while putting on her boots to that of an unbalanced turkey, but I hope that she knows that I truly think that she's beautiful, balanced, and providing a fine first home to our son.

 

I also weighed myself. I've also put on weight. I do not have an excuse.

 

In the last month or so, I've put on something like 7 pounds. 7 pounds!! I'm now 153 pounds and am the heaviest that I've ever been. I tried to explain to Alise that my hair does need cutting, I did need to blow my nose and that my socks were terribly heavy; but I didn't kid her or myself. I'm getting fat, and it needs to stop.

 

It is, apparently, common. Father's to be often gain weight during the pregnancy, and along with the mother lose it once the poop-monster is unveiled. For me though, this represents a sizable gain and comes without any real excuse. Perhaps I've been eating a little more? I certainly shouldn't be this heavy.

 

I think it probably comes down to karma. If there is someone upstairs (or downstairs, whatever) who can control these things, he (or she, whatever) probably overheard my turkey comment and decided to act. Message received I say, message received.

Don't you want the best for your baby?

We completed the registry a couple of weeks ago.

For anyone interested, you can go to www.babiesrus.com and search for the registry using 'Alise Brann' as registrant, or 'Jeremy Crossland' as co-registrant. While there, please take a moment to examine some of the more ingenious, and some of the utterly crazy things that you can now buy for baby.

Of course, babies are a multi-billion dollar industry these days. In days of old children needed just smaller clothes and possibly diapers (cloth, of course), and slept wherever they were put. We both know people who spent a night or two in a drawer, and they seemed to make it through infancy without too many problems. Now of course whenever you go into a store you are bombarded with 'You need this!', 'You're not seriously thinking about going without this are you??' and of course 'Don't you want the best for your child? Then get this!'. It's a little silly, really; and we've tried to stick to things that we actually think we might like.

Some of the things available now actually do seem kind of clever, but in hindsight might not give great value. There is a little bath thing (on our list), that has a little hand operated shower so that you can bathe the baby in a full sized bath and give them a little shower. It's something that I saw and thought 'OMG! THAT'S SO KEWL!', but in all honesty my parents home made version (called 'a mug') was probably just as effective. However. I liked it, so it's on the list.

Some of the things really do seem to have a good purpose. They now sell a pacifier that also doubles as a thermometer. This is a great idea, and it went onto our list.

Some of the things are so funny that they had to be included. They now sell a breast milk testing kit, to test your milk for alcohol levels. perfect for those 'Oh my god, how much did we drink at the casino last night? Fuck knows! Better test the milk, to be on the safe side' moments. I had no idea that these existed, and despite the fact that Alise hardly drinks at all; I stuck it on the list as a gag gift.

Some of the things available now, I thank the lord for. There are now many different types of thermometers available, 'rectal' isn't the only option. Thank you lord, thank you.

If you're having a baby, go easy in there. Some of the things that you buy will be totally useless, some will save your sanity. We have no idea what kind of boy he will be and what he will like, but at least we know that we'll be able to take his temperature in a slightly less intrusive way than when I was a child.

Welcome, Olive

Trust me, I know what you're thinking.

Getting a new kitten was a terrible idea. We have enough on our plates as it is, and we still had three cats. Losing Iris was a terrible experience, but we should probably have been thankful for all that we have and probably shouldn't have taken in a new cat.

But! We got her, and we love her. We've named her Olive (though she usually goes by 'Kitten'), and she's wormed her way firmly into our hearts. She's obsessed with Alise and will sleep on her pillow (just as Iris would), and has formed an unlikely love affair with Coco. They are both crazy about each other, and have quickly become best friends despite Coco being a 70 pound dog and Olive being a 2 pound kitten.

Make no mistake, Iris was irreplacable. But Olive is a wonderful cat who has already given us a lot of joy.

In 'bump' news, Alise now has quite the belly! I promise that photos will follow shortly. For now, you'll have to make do with a couple of photos of the kitten, guaranteed to make you say 'aaww'.

More about how much I suck

I apologize, I'm sorry, j'ai le regret.

 

I think the reason for my absence on this blog really boils down to my fears for the future.

 

For the longest time, Alise really showed no signs of pregnancy. We both knew that baby was coming; but we weren't hit by daily reminders. We went on a traumatic yet lovely trip to DC. We lost Iris and cried buckets, and we worried over Coco's condition for weeks. We still worry over Coco's condition. Thoughts of 'baby' kind of went to the backs of our minds.

 

And then, recently; it smacked us again. WE'RE HAVING A BABY! A BABY BOY! A PENIS HOLDING POOP MACHINE! It's scary.

 

So maybe I decided to just not update the blog, because to do so would mean that I wouldn't have to think about the baby. Maybe that day felt a little easier to cope with. Maybe the next day I felt the same. Maybe I hid my head in the sand while we busied ourselves with things like 'snow', and 'Christmas', and 'our new kitten'.

 

But now its the new year, and a baby is coming. We are having at least 3 baby showers (more showers than I have myself in a typical month), the nursery is nearly ready to accept guests, and we're back on the baby agenda.

 

My head is out of the sand and I'm back on the blog. Let's roll!

Whisper... Whisper it softly...

guess who's back... back again. baby daddy's back... tell your friends.

It has been a while! But in the spirit of Christmas, New Year and MLK jr day, let's all celebrate our return from the wilderness and not ask any silly questions. K? K!

Truth be told, there was no real reason for my absence Life did get shit for a while what with the nightmare trip to DC, the passing of our beloved Iris, and then a Coco 'bloat' incident (she seems fine now, thanks). But now I'm back and we all have A LOT to catch up on!