To be Expected?

I've been keeping the blog upbeat recently, but today I confess to the intermittent spells of complete exhaustion. Hugh has started to feed more vigorously at night (for several hours a night) and today we both conked out for most of the day.

Everyone tells you how exhausting the first few weeks are. With my history of illness, it's hard to tell what is what....and I find myself confused...but I do think it may be normal to feel this 'zombie-fied' at this stage of the game.

We've received so many cards and gifts. It's so touching. I hope we can get 'thank you' notes and emails sent out this side of Christmas. In the meantime, I send gratitude across the t'interweb.

Ten past midnight. A bowl of Rice Krispies is what I want, and I shall have it.

-C

Put those handcuffs away

Question: What have playing chess and having a new baby got in common? Answer: It helps to think a couple of moves ahead.

I took Hugh in his pram to the supermarket, to get a few groceries. I suddenly realised the challenge of pushing a supermarket trolley and Hugh's buggy at the same time. I was like a Cyborg with opposing mechanical arms. Come to think of it, I had never seen any other new mums do this. I felt a bit silly. Some people smiled. One old woman refused to smile.

I couldn't dispense with the trolley and put my items in Hugh's buggy's low-slung nylon hammock, in case it looked like I was stealing them. Heaven forbid. I'm sure a court of law would have given us benefit of the doubt (me, Hugh and Richard Madley?) but this is Britain after all - we all get hung up on how things might appear. Best to avoid criminal convictions before 3 weeks old.

-C

Scottish Gas makes us Refugees and we nearly end up in Hospital!

Yes, it's true. What a crazy weekend. Just in case everyone thinks new-babydom is nothing but a giant tub of fluffy happiness, here's a footnote entitled - When It Gets Challenging.

It all began when Scottish Gas came to try to fix niggles in our central heating system. Navy-trousered Gas man spent most of Friday taking the boiler apart and then sellotaping it back together, telling me he'd be back on Monday and the boiler might be 'a bit temperamental', but it should 'last the weekend'. It lasted about 30 seconds. It hissed gently and refused all heat and hot water. Meanwhile I was starting to feel like I was going down with the flu and Hugh decided now was the time to change from being a 'good' baby into a 'watch-me-cry' baby.

Nice Man returned to find us both blubbing and I asked him to phone Gas Man and be Not So Nice Man. No good. Gas Man said we'd need to wait till Monday for 'a part'. Somewhat defeated, we all trekked like refugees (with plastic bags full of nappies) to my parents' house. Thank the Lordy for them.

Overnight my temperature rose to almost 40 C (103.5) and I barely slept. When I phoned the midwife next day, they wanted me straight up to the hospital. Turns out I had a soft tissue infection common in breast feeding laydees (and, mooo, milking cows). My heart clunked lower when Hospital Doctor started using phrases like 'intravenous antibiotics' and '24 hour monitoring'. In the end, they allowed me home (or back to my parents) with oral antibiotics and told me to rest as much as possible.

Today I feel marginally better and we should get our heating fixed tomorrow. I like to think I might be brave enough to embarrass the Scottish Gas Man with stories of blocked milk ducts and Hugh's wailing protests at having his wee world disrupted. At times he was so distressed he looked like John Sergeant. Awww. In a nice way. Come on. Everyone likes John Sergeant these days. That dancing programme....

-C

Slow and steady wins the race

People keep asking if Hugh looks like me or like his Daddy. Occasionally I am reminded of the tortoise from the Creature Comforts Cartoon. Aww, I mean that in the nicest possible way. Really. Please don't send anyone round to arrest me. In my defence, I am reading the Supernanny 'Confident Baby Care' book and breastfeeding every 4 hours.

I have closed down my facebook and myspace sites - yee ha. I couldn't keep up with them. This blog will be enough. Better go and offer the Scottish Gas Repair man (boy, really) a cup of tea and a bit of cake.

-C

He Shoots, He Scores!

Camera Obscura (one of the bands that Nice Man works with) sent Hugh a card with an accompanying outfit. The message read - " If he's born in Glasgow, he'll either be a musician or a footballer, so better get him into this outfit pronto". We felt a bit cruel, giggling as we dressed him, but hey, he wears it well and the shorts cover his nappy with adequate sufficiency.

-C

One week young

Well, it's true. They say the memories of the pain of birth start to fade fast. I was all ready to rant about how excruciating it was, how barbaric and almost medieval, but a week later there are new 'headlines' that seem simultaneously mundane and miraculous. Things like:

Sling-sational: Hugh goes to Tesco Express. (The Sun)

Too much Too Young? Partick 'Jakey' invites Hugh to pub for first Pint. (West End Courier).

And - Hugh(ge) Credit Crunch! - Old Woman tries to bless Hugh with Silver and runs out of Change. (Financial Times)

I'll spare you the reports on nappies, crying and cheesy bokes. I think that's all de-rigour. It's all so surreal. I keep seeing Hugh and thinking - who's that baby and how did he get into our flat?

-C

Baby Hugh Macdonald

Baby Hugh Macdonald is born at 2.49am, Nov 5th 2008, 7lb 110z. Here's to him.


-C