Mirror Mirror

I sometimes wonder what goes on in Alex's head.  The world must seem so baffling for a newborn.  After all, he's yet to fully understand what the interesting things at the ends of his arms are.  He's giving them a good chewing though, just in case they're edible.  Faces he seems to understand, or at least enjoy.  What he makes of mirrors is a total mystery.

He does enjoy looking in them.  Hold him up to a mirror and he'll stare at himself before breaking into a massive grin.  Does he know it's him?  I doubt it.  Does he recognise something instinctively "babyish" about his reflection?  Maybe.  Maybe he, in some way, understands that the baby in the mirror is the same as he in, in a way Mummy and Daddy aren't.  Or maybe he's just vain.

Curiously, he quite likes looking at me and Nic in the mirror too.  Sometimes more than looking at us directly.  perhaps it's that bit comfier, or easier to focus on compared to craning his head up to see up.  Who the hell knows?

He also very much enjoyed watching a video of himself.  Must remember this next time he's having a howl!

Child Protection

The urge to protect your child from whatever threatens them is frighteningly strong.  Obviously it makes sense to want to defend your offspring.  If we didn't, the human race would need to either have a LOT more kids or die out.  But we invest heavily in a small number of children, so we care deeply for them.  It works well enough, but it does have some difficult (for parents) consequences.

For one thing, Alex is so small, so vulnerable, that at times it seems like it's impossible to protect him from the horrors and dangers of the world.  When each breath is so tiny, it's all to easy to imagine some callous chance taking them away for ever.  Down this road, madness lies.  Down this road lies parents awake at night, wishing their child would be quiet, then wishing they'd make a noise so they can be sure they're breathing.  (Not that I've ever done this.  Oh no.  Not me...)

Then there's the crying.  It's so damn non-specific.  Something is wrong, but what?  Too hot or too cold?  Hungry or windy?  Bemoaning the state of the Middle East?  What?  Just tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it!  A couple of nights ago, Alex was having trouble getting to sleep.  It had been a long day (for all of us), and Alex had had a small snack then gone down at about 9pm.  Five minutes later, just as I was aiming towards bed, he woke up.  Snuffles then full on crying.  The only thing that seemed to help was being held and bounced.  He would fall asleep in my arms, then wake up as soon as I laid him down.  We carried on like this for about half an hour before I admitted defeat and went to get Nicola.  (A quick feed usually calms him down, even if he's not actually hungry.)  As soon as she picked him up he let out two massive burps, then proceeded to feed for a solid half hour.  He was fine after that.  If only there was a way that his crying could have said "I have wind and the munchies" we could have fixed it instantly.  As it was we both got stressed out by our failure to communicate.

It is getting easier though.  We're both learning Alex's moods.  Sometimes he's obviously bored, sometimes he's obviously sleepy.  For all that, there are still times when you move heaven and earth to try and make things right, only to discover that all that really needed moving was some fart.

The House at Poo Corner

It's 8:40am and both Nicola and Alex are asleep.  Alex in his bouncy chair just beside me, Nic in bed.  It was a long night for her.  Alex woke her up at 5:30 by squawking in his sleep.  Once he actually decided to wake up (6:30 or so), he was difficult to feed.  Then he threw up.  With style.  Everywhere.  Over Nic, over the couch, over the rug, over the floor and over himself.  At this point poor Nic had had enough, so I've been in charge since the spew while she catches up with some sleep.  (And changes her clothes!)  Now that Alex is snoozing too, I thought I'd write up a quick blog entry about everyone's favorite topic, poo.  So brace yourselves.  And for God's sake, don't read this over lunch.  (The photo is not related, just funny.)

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The standard joke about new parents is that everything their baby does is fascinating, right down to the poo.  This is not true.  Some baby related things are deeply dull, like late night crying or demanding to be held upright for hours on end.  Poo IS fascinating though.  Let me take you on a guided tour to prove it...

Firstly, if you're breast feeding your baby, poo is one of the few ways of knowing if your child is getting enough to eat.  A dirty nappy means a full baby.  (The other way of telling is if they're putting on weight, but that's not a very immediate measure.)  For Alex in particular, feeding times often equal poo times.  It's not uncommon for him to be happily feeding then go very still and produce a massive FFFFFrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrP! noise.  Then another.  Then another.  (Poos, like bad luck, come in threes.)  Sometimes the sheer force of poo is enough to detach him from the nipple and shoot him forwards like a poo-powered rocket.

Oddly, the noise level is totally unrelated to the amount of poo produced.  A massive ripper can mean a nappy so full it overflows, nothing at all or anything in-between.  The best way of telling for sure is to give his crotch or arse a sniff.  (Ahh, the joys of being a dad.)  If you're not sure, it was a fart.  You KNOW when it's a poo.  Dirty nappies are not referred to in our house as stinkers for nothing.

Baby poo does not smell like shit, mind you.  It has a scent all of its own.  In fact, from conversations with other parents, it has a smell unique to your own baby.  Alex has a distinctly noxious sulfurous whiff, with high, rotten meat overtones.  A bit like a lingering skunk spray for those in the USA.  A bit like a meaty fart for those not acquainted with the odor of the skunk.  Other babies smell of cheese I gather.  I think I'd prefer that.

Once you've confirmed the stinker, it's time to get changing.  A tub of warm water (the bottom water in our house) and some cotton wool are your first priorities.  Then the change mat, some kitchen towel and a stinking baby.  Strip baby.  Assess the situation BEFORE removing the nappy.  Namely: has the poo escaped?  You'd be amazed at the sheer maneuverability of turds.  How you can get a poo out of the nappy and all the way up to your shoulder baffles me.  None the less, it is a regular occurrence.  A full squirter will require a full change.  Do your best not to smear the poo into your child's hair.

Open the nappy.

This is the interesting bit.  What sort of poo will it be?  Yellow liquid with white seeds?  (What the hell THOSE are I don't know.  He's not been eating grapes on my watch.)  Perhaps just a light green crusty coating?  (A sure sign that he actually did this poo an hour or more ago and you didn't notice.  Lose 5 dad points and go back to Old Kent Road.)  Sludgy yellow?  (A big one, then.)  Or maybe everyone's favorite, the clumpy burnt umber monstrosity?  (You'll need more cotton wool.)  Whatever it is, wet the first bit of cotton wool and get to work.

Whether it's that baby poo isn't too bad, or it's just that your own baby's poo isn't too bad, the actual dealing with the poo is the least of your worries.  Grossing out or vomiting are far from your mind.  More pressing is the need to make sure that one of those flailing feet doesn't end up in the sludgy puddle of poo, water and used cotton wool.  Or redirecting the sudden stream of urine away from your face and into the nappy.  Either way, you're not going to be worrying about the poo.  And it's really not that bad.  I've encountered far worse things attached to Ringo's arse than Alex's.

Once your child is clean and happy, slap a new nappy on them and you're done.  And as I said above, if you're breastfeeding, you know that they're eating well.  And that's what makes it so interesting.

That and the sludge, of course.

Let Me Count The Ways

I'm feeling a little melancholic today, so I thought I'd cheer myself up by remembering the good things about being a dad.  Plus, this blog has been a touch downbeat at times.  It's not all bad you know!

1. Smiles.  Yeah, this is an easy one.  To paraphrase Eeyore, it is impossible to be uncheered with a smiling baby.  That a simple tickle on the knees is enough to produce paroxysms of delight is an added bonus.  Knee tickling can be done in conjunction with other activities vital to life, such as eating.
2. Outfits with ears, eyes or any other sort of accoutrement designed to make your baby look like an animal.  I shouldn't like these.  They are, in pretty much every sense, hideous.  But yet, they are inexplicably cute and lovable.  (I suspect at least part of it is the fact that Alex always looks so disapproving when dressed up in them.)
3. Cuddles.  The only downside is that you can't cuddle him especially hard.
4. Cake.  Nicola is getting fully in touch with her housewifely side, and while the feminist in me isn't convinced, the glutton certainly approves.  Slight negative: the weight I lost when Alex was born is coming back.
5. Alex's eyes.  They really are astonishingly clear.  Deep blues, perfectly white whites and just a hint of a cheeky sparkle.  It's only looking at Alex's eyes that I realise how much of the time as adults we go around with dull, bloodshot eyes.
6. Tiny fingers holding my hand.  I know it's just a reflex, but it's still lovely.
7. How he smells.  Babies smell good.  Alex smells good.  Except when he's just laid a stinker.
8. Being greeted with a gurgle and smile when I come home.  And Alex is usually pleased to see me too.  (*Ba-doom-tchish*)
9. The "whoa!  I've never seen THAT before!" face.  Things are still very new to Alex.  Sometimes, so new he can't keep the amazement off his face.  Often the thing that has prompted this will be totally mundane.  Paper bags, fingers and a glass of juice have all prompted the W!INSTB! face.
10. Yawns.  Just plain cute.
11. Going to sleep listening to Alex snuffle and wuffle in his sleep.  It's very soothing being able to hear him so settled and comfy.  Thank goodness he's a good sleeper!
12. Bath time.  Fun and useful!
    

So there you go.   A dozen good things.  Life isn't so bad after all.

P.S. If anyone's wondering what the worst thing is, it's this: Finding out that a stinker is actually a squirter the hard way.  Or should that be the soft way?  Yeuuuuuuuuugh...

Free Time

It is impossible to relax while in the same room as Alex.  He can be as happy as a lamb, fast asleep or being entertained by someone else, it doesn't matter.  If he's there, then you're on duty.  The sense of responsibility is so strong that even being in the same house as him make it nearly impossible to relax.  It's pretty wearing for me.  For Nicola, it's a thousand times worse.

I can (with permission, of course) get out of the house.  Work is sort of relaxing.  (At least it isn't quite so oppressively constant.  My PhD doesn't cry if I leave it in a different room for a couple of minutes.)  Nicola is tied to Alex all day, every day.  She could leave him with me and a bottle of milk, but even then her body will conspire to remind her of her motherly duties.  Stopping to express breast milk is not the sort of thing that makes for a great evening in the pub.  Not expressing leads to leakage, which is just as bad.

The practical upshot of this is that Nic hasn't had an evening out on her own since Alex was born.  She's had the grand total of one evening off duty when I took Alex to Leith.  Otherwise, she gets an hour or two free time in the house of an evening while I look after Alex.  It's not really enough.  It means that by the end of the day she's totally spent.  But she can't just have an early night.  Oh no.  Alex needs his final snack before bed.  And if I bottle fed him that, Nic would end up with rocks for tits.  Rocks that oozed milk.  (I have woken up in a puddle of breast milk recently.  It's not pleasant.)

As Alex gets older and goes to sleep earlier, I suppose this will get better.  Not quite sure when that will be though.  Until then, free time is, for Nic at least, just a distant memory.

EDIT:  A comment from Nic.

"It’s not as bad as all that – Alex is such a super cutie and it wasn’t as if I was a wild party kid before getting pregnant anyway!

"Is it particularly mad to admit that I really like the middle of the night feeds – Alex is such a funny snoozy chops when he’s all full of milk! N x"

Social Animal

Lindsay was right, it really does all happen at once!  Hot on the heals of looking at people and smiling, Alex has started to "talk".  Baby talk, obviously.  He's not that much of a child prodigy!  Still, he has suddenly become a social animal.  From having only had one method of communication (the wail), he's now able to express a range of emotions.  It's all quite overwhelming.

Perhaps the loveliest, at least from a parents point of view, is that he can now tell us when he's happy.  Not just a smile, but a coo-gurgle-mehch (that's the nearest approximation I can manage) and a smile. If he wants more attention, he looks at you and eh-ohs.  Often, just looking back at him and repeating "hello" after each "eh-oh" is enough to send him into fits of delight.  His eyes twinkle, he grins like a madman and he wriggles about in a coquettish fashion.  It's almost as if he's having too much fun, and has to break off eye contact to calm down.  Seconds later though you'll hear another "eh-oh" and the whole process starts over again.

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Alex is very definite about when he wants to look at you.  If he wants to play, he'll let you know.  If he doesn't, nothing will make him make eye contact.  Often he'll want to be held up by the armpits and helped to "stand".  You can either hold him facing you, or away from you.  If he's in a non-communicative mood and you hold him facing you, he'll twist his head through 90 degrees to avoid looking at your face.  At times, it gets a little Excorsist-like.  We've taken to holding him facing outwards when he's in that sort of mood.  It's less fun for us, but looks a lot less sore for him.

It's curious how expressive a baby can be, given the limited range that gurgle/flail/scream has.  The difference between a happy flail and a bored flail is as clear as night and day, yet there's nothing specific I could point to that distinguishes the two.  Similarly, the "I'm having a great time" squeak and the "I'm about to turn bright red and puncture your eardrums" squeak sound utterly similar but are totally different.  It must be a mixture of body language and familiarity, but it seems like magic right now.

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One thing that has surprised me is just how uninterested in toys Alex has been so far.  If he's in the right mood, at the right time and there's nothing more interesting around (like an adult that will fawn over his every wish) then he might deign to stare at a plastic monkey for a couple of minutes.  That's about it though.  Rattles aren't as fun as raspberries.  Bouncy chairs aren't as good as bouncy knees.  A stuffed cat isn't as much fun as a live one.  (Although it's pretty close.  Alex couldn't really care less about either one.)  Maybe it's because he's more focused on interaction rather than solitary play.  Maybe we've just not shoved sufficient toys in front of him yet.  Whichever it is, I'm sure it's just a matter of time until he's refusing to be parted from Mr Elephant.

Splish Splash I Was Having a Bath

Bath time is fun time.

No, seriously.  I love bath time.  Bath time is a wonderful combination of things.  Firstly, Alex loves it.  Ever since he had his first bath at the hospital, Alex has been a water baby.  Initially this just meant that he would be quiet and calm when bathing.  In the last few weeks it's developed into a joyful splashing about.  He'll often look up and grin while doing it.

Secondly, bathing is an equal opportunity activity.  Baths are a pleasant bit of baby care that both dad and mum can do.  As such, for the first few weeks in particular they were my job.  Partly because I have big hands and so was more able to grip Alex securely, but mostly so that I spent time with Alex.

It's not all fun and games though.  The first few baths were pretty scary for me, if not for Alex.  Even in a baby bath, a newborn baby looks pretty damn small.  Plus, you're very aware that the only thing that stands between your child and drowning is your tenuous grip.  It makes it kind of hard to wash them when you're holding onto them for dear life.

Alex doesn't like coming out of baths either.  On a good day, he'll be relatively quiet while you towel him off and get him dressed again.  On a bad day, he'll scream his head off then wee on your lap.  Towelling off a writhing baby is somewhat tricky.  There seem to be more arms and legs involved than can possibly be natural.  Alex also has a remarkable tendency to try and fire himself off your lap and onto the floor.  This would not be the relaxing end to the bathing ritual.

Lastly, no matter how hard you try, you will end up soaking.  You might as well accept it and go with the flow.  You won't be any drier at the end of it, but at least you won't be wondering how you managed to get water behind the backs of your knees.