It’s 06:00am, the kids are up early and are sitting in bed with us while Mrs D and I snooze the alarm clock for one last time. Miss D is chatting to Little Dude. ‘Why is she talking like that?’ I think in my half-conscious state. She’s speaking loudly, with an over-enthusiastic upwards inflection on almost every word. It sounds bizarre, it’s quite annoying, and somehow strangely familiar. Then it hits me…
‘She’s talking like Dora the Explorer’.
‘Oh no…’
I like to think I’m fairly tolerant when it comes to kids tv although I don’t understand the appeal of a lot of it. If I knew the secret formula that made programs like ‘In the Night Garden’ so popular I’m sure I’d be a pretty rich man. I’ve never used the tv as a babysitter, but they both have favourite shows and while they’re engrossed in them I can usually get a few chores done. To use a tired ‘management speak’ phrase, it’s a win-win situation for all concerned.
Program writing has definitely come a long way since I was young, along with the ever expanding choice of channels, and the shows themselves are a lot more educational than I ever remember. This is a good thing, and I’m pleased my kids can actually learn something from them. However, after being at home for nearly four year and in that time, having been exposed to pretty much every kids show in existence, there are a few things that irritate the heck out of me:
1) The out of tune singing on ‘Bubble Guppies’
2) Baby Jake’s stupid ‘Goggi Gi Ya’ catchphrase – how is this teaching children to speak properly?
3) The creepy weirdness of ‘Balamory’ and ‘Dirt Girl World’
4) The ‘Three Special Steps’ song from ‘Special Agent Oso’
5) The awful American to English voice dubbing on ‘Team Umizoomi’
6) ‘Pete’ from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse – What an asshole.
But, in terms of irritations, our amigo Dora gets her very own list:
1) I know repetition is a good tool for helping young children to learn but after hearing ‘The Map’ song for the first time I never wanted to hear it again.
2) The ‘Backpack’ song (for the same reason).
3) If my satnav repeated directions as many times as Dora, it would be thrown out the car window.
4) The ‘grumpy old troll’ clearly needs help, I’d suggest counselling.
5) The ‘Swiper, no swiping’ phrase sounds like ‘Swiper, nose wiping’. Indeed, my niece thought that was the case for several months.
6) Given a little time, my kids are perfectly able to find things in a picture without needing a huge flashing arrow to help them.
7) I wish Boots would stop complaining.
8) Swiper – What an asshole.
I know it’s supposed to be another educational show, teaching children about problem solving and introducing them to another language but, when every word of every sentence is shouted with a completely unnatural over-enthusiastic tone and upwards inflection, and ESPECIALLY when I hear my daughter talking like this, then I’m afraid it’s time for us to part company.
Dora, you are henceforth banned from our house with immediate effect.
Adios.
Friday, 13 January 2012
Wednesday, 7 December 2011
DadsNursery’s first toy review - Meccano!
Following my last blog post in which I mentioned that Miss D and I enjoy building things, I was delighted to be contacted by Meccano UK and asked if I would like to review a product for them. Needless to say I was happy to accept! The product in question was the ‘Build & Play’ Formula 1 car – a kit comprising of 110 parts, a spanner, screwdriver and instructions for making 5 different models including a helicopter and a crane (it wouldn’t be Meccano if you couldn’t make a crane would it?!).
Miss D turns 4 in February so she’s a little younger than the recommended age group of 5-8 years, however, Meccano were still keen for my feedback and I knew that she would enjoy making (or at least helping to make) the toy.
On opening the box, my first impressions were good. The pieces are much larger and more colourful than the older, traditional Meccano sets that I remember from my childhood, plus the fact that all the parts are now plastic rather than metal. I liked the addition of a few ‘flexible’ pieces of plastic to give the models a more tactile feel and there were also a few ‘easy building’ nuts & bolts which simply snap together and pull apart.
So, on to the build. I asked Miss D which model she would like to make and she chose the racing car. We read the instructions together and she took charge of finding the parts for each step of the build, a task that she managed well. The pieces are clearly identifiable and easy to match up with the instructions so this meant the build could progress fairly quickly and there was little chance of getting bored! I shared the construction steps with her; I’d attach something on one side of the car and would then watch/help while she made the other side.
Miss D used the screwdriver and spanner to good effect (of course, with the occasional reminder of which direction to turn them) but there were a few steps in the construction that proved too tricky for her – bending some of the flexible pieces into position whilst at the same time trying to thread a bolt through as many as 4 different parts AND putting a nut on the end of the bolt was quite a complex task for small hands, even I found it a bit fiddly but that’s probably more to do with my fat fingers than anything else! I’d say the target age of 5-8 is aimed correctly, but may benefit from a bit of adult supervision (or another pair of hands) on the more complicated bits.
The finished model is great and Miss D is very proud of it. From my point of view I like the chunky wheels and the sturdy feel of the car. The eye stickers are a nice touch and add that extra bit of character. My only reservation would be the ‘easy building’ nuts & bolts, there have been several occasions (both while making the model, and since playing with it) where a couple of them have unfastened of their own accord so I’d worry a little about their longevity given that we’d like to get plenty of use out of the kit, both with my daughter, and my son when he’s old enough.
However, I shall leave the last words of the review to my daughter:
Me: What did you like best about making the car?
Miss D: I liked finding all the pieces.
Me: What’s your favourite thing about the car?
Miss D: It has funny eyes and it goes really fast!
Me: Shall we make something else?
Miss D: No, I really like my car!
It’s a thumbs-up from us, thank you Meccano!
Meccano's UK website for further info: http://www.meccanouk.co.uk/
Miss D turns 4 in February so she’s a little younger than the recommended age group of 5-8 years, however, Meccano were still keen for my feedback and I knew that she would enjoy making (or at least helping to make) the toy.
On opening the box, my first impressions were good. The pieces are much larger and more colourful than the older, traditional Meccano sets that I remember from my childhood, plus the fact that all the parts are now plastic rather than metal. I liked the addition of a few ‘flexible’ pieces of plastic to give the models a more tactile feel and there were also a few ‘easy building’ nuts & bolts which simply snap together and pull apart.
So, on to the build. I asked Miss D which model she would like to make and she chose the racing car. We read the instructions together and she took charge of finding the parts for each step of the build, a task that she managed well. The pieces are clearly identifiable and easy to match up with the instructions so this meant the build could progress fairly quickly and there was little chance of getting bored! I shared the construction steps with her; I’d attach something on one side of the car and would then watch/help while she made the other side.
Miss D used the screwdriver and spanner to good effect (of course, with the occasional reminder of which direction to turn them) but there were a few steps in the construction that proved too tricky for her – bending some of the flexible pieces into position whilst at the same time trying to thread a bolt through as many as 4 different parts AND putting a nut on the end of the bolt was quite a complex task for small hands, even I found it a bit fiddly but that’s probably more to do with my fat fingers than anything else! I’d say the target age of 5-8 is aimed correctly, but may benefit from a bit of adult supervision (or another pair of hands) on the more complicated bits.
The finished model is great and Miss D is very proud of it. From my point of view I like the chunky wheels and the sturdy feel of the car. The eye stickers are a nice touch and add that extra bit of character. My only reservation would be the ‘easy building’ nuts & bolts, there have been several occasions (both while making the model, and since playing with it) where a couple of them have unfastened of their own accord so I’d worry a little about their longevity given that we’d like to get plenty of use out of the kit, both with my daughter, and my son when he’s old enough.
However, I shall leave the last words of the review to my daughter:
Me: What did you like best about making the car?
Miss D: I liked finding all the pieces.
Me: What’s your favourite thing about the car?
Miss D: It has funny eyes and it goes really fast!
Me: Shall we make something else?
Miss D: No, I really like my car!
It’s a thumbs-up from us, thank you Meccano!
Meccano's UK website for further info: http://www.meccanouk.co.uk/
Friday, 23 September 2011
Teaching an old dog new tricks.
Okay, maybe I’m being a little harsh on myself but then again, thinking about it, in dog years a human 30-something would be pretty ancient.
One of the nice things about being a parent and having a 3.5 year old with a 30 second attention span is that you’re continually bombarded with requests to do new things. ‘Daddy, build me a tower, draw Mickey Mouse, draw a dinosaur, make a paper aeroplane, juggle!’ etc etc…
This works pretty well for me. As a child I enjoyed drawing cartoons and so making a few recognisable shapes with the crayons is not a problem. Although for some reason, despite Miss D being more than happy with my efforts, I just can’t get Mickey Mouse looking perfect - I would post a picture to illustrate my point but I fear I’d be sued for breach of copyright by the ever litigious Disney Corporation so you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Building stuff is great fun too. Being a past user of Lego and Meccano, coupled with the fact that my dad taught me bricklaying at the tender age of 11, I’m pretty happy with my recent construction projects involving the Duplo bricks and Early Learning Centre’s ‘Build-It’ kits.
However, every once in a while, life throws you a curve ball. At a recent day out to meet Peppa Pig, one of the entertainers gave Miss D a balloon animal dog which she immediately fell in love with. He was red and she named him ‘Woofy’. I stress ‘was’, he lasted well considering he was played with all weekend but eventually he started to fade. Then the inevitable happened:
‘Daddy, can you fix Woofy’s legs?’
‘Um, okay, I’ll try’
* POP *
‘Waaaaaaaaaahhh!’
Despite my best efforts, this was one toy that daddy just couldn’t fix. Miss D’s genuine sadness at Woofy’s passing meant that within a few minutes of consoling her I was Googling ‘balloon animal kits’.
The kit arrived today, along with a large bag of back-up balloons. Thankfully, included is an instruction book with a ton of step-by-step pictures of things to make. I’ll have to put in some practice before Miss D gets ‘Woofy II’ but this will be another random skill I’m looking forward to acquiring!
One of the nice things about being a parent and having a 3.5 year old with a 30 second attention span is that you’re continually bombarded with requests to do new things. ‘Daddy, build me a tower, draw Mickey Mouse, draw a dinosaur, make a paper aeroplane, juggle!’ etc etc…
This works pretty well for me. As a child I enjoyed drawing cartoons and so making a few recognisable shapes with the crayons is not a problem. Although for some reason, despite Miss D being more than happy with my efforts, I just can’t get Mickey Mouse looking perfect - I would post a picture to illustrate my point but I fear I’d be sued for breach of copyright by the ever litigious Disney Corporation so you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Building stuff is great fun too. Being a past user of Lego and Meccano, coupled with the fact that my dad taught me bricklaying at the tender age of 11, I’m pretty happy with my recent construction projects involving the Duplo bricks and Early Learning Centre’s ‘Build-It’ kits.
However, every once in a while, life throws you a curve ball. At a recent day out to meet Peppa Pig, one of the entertainers gave Miss D a balloon animal dog which she immediately fell in love with. He was red and she named him ‘Woofy’. I stress ‘was’, he lasted well considering he was played with all weekend but eventually he started to fade. Then the inevitable happened:
‘Daddy, can you fix Woofy’s legs?’
‘Um, okay, I’ll try’
* POP *
‘Waaaaaaaaaahhh!’
Despite my best efforts, this was one toy that daddy just couldn’t fix. Miss D’s genuine sadness at Woofy’s passing meant that within a few minutes of consoling her I was Googling ‘balloon animal kits’.
The kit arrived today, along with a large bag of back-up balloons. Thankfully, included is an instruction book with a ton of step-by-step pictures of things to make. I’ll have to put in some practice before Miss D gets ‘Woofy II’ but this will be another random skill I’m looking forward to acquiring!
Friday, 13 May 2011
A rant about tailgaters.
A lot of things have been annoying me lately. The rise in energy prices, petrol prices, food prices, the Special Agent Oso ‘Three special steps’ song, the shiny Irish bloke that presents Channel 5’s ‘Milkshake’ in the morning, I could go on… And on… Perhaps my shortened temper and general lack of tolerance is due to the absence of sleep – Little Dude is teething, teething heavily and has been very vocal on the subject, usually at around 03:00am every morning.
Currently at the top of the list, the thing that ‘grinds my gears’ most is tailgaters. Yes, that old chestnut. The pet hate of every motorist, a pretty obvious thing to get annoyed about and probably in most people's top 3 of things that piss them off whilst driving.
I don’t have a placard in the rear window of my car exclaiming ‘Baby on board’, ‘Little person on board’, ‘Teething nightmare on board’, ‘Disney obsessed 3 year old on board’ or any other variations of the theme. I’ve never liked the idea, they would obscure my view and in my opinion, they shouldn’t be bloody necessary as the two large car seats are clearly visible to anyone who gets anywhere near the back of my car.
Last Monday’s incident was a far too common occurrence. We’re in a line of fairly slow moving traffic with a learner driver up front (which doesn’t bother me, we all had to learn sometime), I’m a few cars back and what do I see looming up in my rear view mirror quicker than a cheetah with a bum full of dynamite? A white van. Cue heavy sigh and a quiet muttering to myself of ‘Great, here we go again’…
The aforementioned pillock sat on my rear bumper for a while until I managed to pull over and let him pass (and taking the below photo – registration number changed for comedy effect), he then carried on bullying other motorists in front of me before disappearing into a side street in a cloud of tyresmoke and diesel fumes…
My early driving days included a spell doing a lot of courier work around London and Essex so yes, in the past I have been at the business end of some pretty gnarly, poor, inconsiderate driving. However, time has mellowed the man and now my primary concern is simply getting my children from point A to point B safely and comfortably. It’s a shame that these days, my slightly more chilled out driving style somehow seems to attract every moron who happens to be in a hurry. Maybe it’s payback for the ‘courier’ days, I don’t know, I just wish they wouldn’t do it when the kids are in the car.
Thinking about it, perhaps I will get a placard for the rear window:
‘Sleep deprived short-tempered dad on board – Don’t even try it’
Currently at the top of the list, the thing that ‘grinds my gears’ most is tailgaters. Yes, that old chestnut. The pet hate of every motorist, a pretty obvious thing to get annoyed about and probably in most people's top 3 of things that piss them off whilst driving.
I don’t have a placard in the rear window of my car exclaiming ‘Baby on board’, ‘Little person on board’, ‘Teething nightmare on board’, ‘Disney obsessed 3 year old on board’ or any other variations of the theme. I’ve never liked the idea, they would obscure my view and in my opinion, they shouldn’t be bloody necessary as the two large car seats are clearly visible to anyone who gets anywhere near the back of my car.
Last Monday’s incident was a far too common occurrence. We’re in a line of fairly slow moving traffic with a learner driver up front (which doesn’t bother me, we all had to learn sometime), I’m a few cars back and what do I see looming up in my rear view mirror quicker than a cheetah with a bum full of dynamite? A white van. Cue heavy sigh and a quiet muttering to myself of ‘Great, here we go again’…
The aforementioned pillock sat on my rear bumper for a while until I managed to pull over and let him pass (and taking the below photo – registration number changed for comedy effect), he then carried on bullying other motorists in front of me before disappearing into a side street in a cloud of tyresmoke and diesel fumes…
My early driving days included a spell doing a lot of courier work around London and Essex so yes, in the past I have been at the business end of some pretty gnarly, poor, inconsiderate driving. However, time has mellowed the man and now my primary concern is simply getting my children from point A to point B safely and comfortably. It’s a shame that these days, my slightly more chilled out driving style somehow seems to attract every moron who happens to be in a hurry. Maybe it’s payback for the ‘courier’ days, I don’t know, I just wish they wouldn’t do it when the kids are in the car.
Thinking about it, perhaps I will get a placard for the rear window:
‘Sleep deprived short-tempered dad on board – Don’t even try it’
Thursday, 17 March 2011
A kids clothing rant.
I’ve never been a fashion-lead sort of a person. Designer labels don’t mean much to me. Personally, I couldn’t give a toss if your new shirt cost £100, good for you, well done, good luck with it, I hope it wins you favour with a lady friend.
This isn’t a rant against people that dress their babies up in designer gear either, perhaps it should be, I don’t know. All I know is my 1 year old son (who isn’t quite walking yet) couldn’t care less if he’s wearing £2.99 plimsolls or £29.99 designer trainers. Dressing your baby in designer gear doesn’t impress me, it makes me think you’re doing it for your own benefit and are just showing off. And no, it’s not sour grapes because I can’t afford to do it, I just really don’t see the point. Forget that ‘adorable’ Ralph Lauren Polo dress, buy something from Peacocks and put the money you’ve just saved in their piggy bank.
Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate the value of decent clothing, especially when it comes to something as important for toddlers as shoes. As soon as Miss D started walking we took her to Clarks, got her feet measured and spent a not-inconsiderable amount on her first pair of proper, sturdy, well made shoes which she promptly grew out of (cue another trip to Clarks…) and when Little Dude is ready we’ll approach things in exactly the same way.
So we’ve established I don’t ‘do’ designer labels, and yes, I like a bargain, however, there are times when it’s nice to treat them to something a bit different and dare I say extravagant. A case in point being Miss D’s birthday. Mrs D took her to see Disney’s ‘Tangled’ which she adored, and on her next trip to the Disney Store she was treated to her very own glittery Rapunzel dress. Lovely! Or so we thought…
Giving in to the frequent (almost daily) request of ‘Daddy, can I dress up like Rapunzel?’ has meant that the dress has had lot of use and to be fair, a lot of enjoyment from Miss D. BUT… (and to steal a line from Top Gear’s Jeremy Clarkson) ‘And it’s a big, round, full-bodied but..’ The ‘glittery organza flourishes’ on the dress shed EVERYWHERE! It’s like Miss D leaves a little trail of purple glitter wherever she goes (and especially where she sits). Yes darling, of course you can dress up like Rapunzel, but daddy is going to have to follow you around with the vacuum cleaner.
It’s not just this item of clothing where the ‘build quality’ has been a bit shoddy. The print on Miss D’s official Disney Store ‘Little Mermaid’ t-shirt has cracked and faded after only a few washes (I’ve got band t-shirts that are 15 years old and in much better condition) her smart new sequined t-shirt from Next loses sequins all over the place and as a result I’m scared to put it in the washing machine, and there are a few other items of ‘premium brand’ clothing that have ended up in the bin for one reason or another.
The old saying goes ‘You get what you pay for’. Yes, I agree, you should. So if I’m spending two or three times my usual amount on a dress or a t-shirt or whatever, I expect that to be reflected in the quality and longevity of the item. I have to admit I’m not really seeing it. Ah well, back to Primark…
This isn’t a rant against people that dress their babies up in designer gear either, perhaps it should be, I don’t know. All I know is my 1 year old son (who isn’t quite walking yet) couldn’t care less if he’s wearing £2.99 plimsolls or £29.99 designer trainers. Dressing your baby in designer gear doesn’t impress me, it makes me think you’re doing it for your own benefit and are just showing off. And no, it’s not sour grapes because I can’t afford to do it, I just really don’t see the point. Forget that ‘adorable’ Ralph Lauren Polo dress, buy something from Peacocks and put the money you’ve just saved in their piggy bank.
Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate the value of decent clothing, especially when it comes to something as important for toddlers as shoes. As soon as Miss D started walking we took her to Clarks, got her feet measured and spent a not-inconsiderable amount on her first pair of proper, sturdy, well made shoes which she promptly grew out of (cue another trip to Clarks…) and when Little Dude is ready we’ll approach things in exactly the same way.
So we’ve established I don’t ‘do’ designer labels, and yes, I like a bargain, however, there are times when it’s nice to treat them to something a bit different and dare I say extravagant. A case in point being Miss D’s birthday. Mrs D took her to see Disney’s ‘Tangled’ which she adored, and on her next trip to the Disney Store she was treated to her very own glittery Rapunzel dress. Lovely! Or so we thought…
Giving in to the frequent (almost daily) request of ‘Daddy, can I dress up like Rapunzel?’ has meant that the dress has had lot of use and to be fair, a lot of enjoyment from Miss D. BUT… (and to steal a line from Top Gear’s Jeremy Clarkson) ‘And it’s a big, round, full-bodied but..’ The ‘glittery organza flourishes’ on the dress shed EVERYWHERE! It’s like Miss D leaves a little trail of purple glitter wherever she goes (and especially where she sits). Yes darling, of course you can dress up like Rapunzel, but daddy is going to have to follow you around with the vacuum cleaner.
It’s not just this item of clothing where the ‘build quality’ has been a bit shoddy. The print on Miss D’s official Disney Store ‘Little Mermaid’ t-shirt has cracked and faded after only a few washes (I’ve got band t-shirts that are 15 years old and in much better condition) her smart new sequined t-shirt from Next loses sequins all over the place and as a result I’m scared to put it in the washing machine, and there are a few other items of ‘premium brand’ clothing that have ended up in the bin for one reason or another.
The old saying goes ‘You get what you pay for’. Yes, I agree, you should. So if I’m spending two or three times my usual amount on a dress or a t-shirt or whatever, I expect that to be reflected in the quality and longevity of the item. I have to admit I’m not really seeing it. Ah well, back to Primark…
Tuesday, 28 December 2010
Season's Greetings!
Has it really been so long since my last post? Blimey... Top of my New Year's resolutions list is to devote more time to the blog, along with finishing our house renovation, setting up the DadsNursery website, disposing of all my old junk on Ebay, playing a few gigs with my band and inventing some kind of device to freeze time in order that I have enough hours in the day to get all of this accomplished.
Still, in my defence I have just written a piece for Avant Garde Parenting's 'Parent of the week' feature after Jamie DeLuna contacted me via Twitter. It was a pleasure to do and now I've dusted off my blogging hat I'll be doing my best to keep up some momentum next year. Here's a link to the article:
http://www.avantgardeparenting.com/2010/12/parent-of-week-leo.html
Many thanks to Jamie for letting me participate.
Happy holidays everybody, have a great one :)
Still, in my defence I have just written a piece for Avant Garde Parenting's 'Parent of the week' feature after Jamie DeLuna contacted me via Twitter. It was a pleasure to do and now I've dusted off my blogging hat I'll be doing my best to keep up some momentum next year. Here's a link to the article:
http://www.avantgardeparenting.com/2010/12/parent-of-week-leo.html
Many thanks to Jamie for letting me participate.
Happy holidays everybody, have a great one :)
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
Well, that was unexpected.
It’s been a while since I’ve blogged. Indeed, over the last few weeks my tweeting has been practically non-existent too. So, what was my reason for falling off the social networking map I hear you ask? Allow me to explain:
It’s a few weeks back, the early hours of the morning, a heavily pregnant Mrs D has got up for another bathroom break, got back into bed and mumbled something to the effect of “I think my waters might have just broken”. I’m not a morning person, I’m even less of a 3:00am in the morning person, so in my semi-conscious state I mumble a reply to the effect of “Meh, I’m sure it’s not that, you’ve got a couple of months to go yet…”.
We go back to sleep. Well, I go back to sleep and Mrs D tries to relax, however, at 5:00am on her next bathroom break the same thing happens again. Okay, this is serious. We get up, Mrs D calls the hospital and they tell us to come in straight away. We wake up Little Miss D, put a coat over her pyjamas and get ready to leave the house while she drinks a very early morning cup of milk, looking annoyed and confused - she’s not a morning person either, well unless it’s HER that has made the decision to get up at a ridiculously early hour, then it’s fine.
Mrs D, being the organised person that she is, had already packed her hospital bag so we pick up a few other essentials and bundle into the car for the dash to the hospital. We arrive quickly, an upside of travelling at this unearthly time of day is that there is no traffic on the roads and more importantly, I can get a parking space at the hospital – the staff at the Medway Maritime Hospital are fabulous but the parking facilities are woefully inadequate.
We get to the labour ward and they check Mrs D over. Yes indeed, her waters have broken. They decide that she’ll be admitted to the ward for the forseeable future. It seems a bit unreal, I keep telling myself that she’s not due for 2 months and that Little Miss D was nearly a week late! It’s a lot for both of us to take in, especially when they announce that they will need to inject our unborn baby with steroids in order to help his lungs develop whilst giving Mrs D drugs to try and hold off full-blown labour. Scary stuff… Nanny C arrives at the hospital to offer some much needed support and reassurance and she brings Little Miss D home.
The next few days are somewhat of a blur, I’ve got a bathroom in “mid-renovation” stage that I really need to finish, the way it stands at the moment it should really be called a bathless room. The plasterer and electrician start work and are gradually filling the house with dust, the plumber is on standby for when they’re done, Little Miss D is staying with Nanny and Grandpa and I’m running backwards and forward to the hospital (usually on the bus due to the damn parking issues). Mrs D is doing well on the ward, she’s resting, her blood pressure is the lowest it’s been in ages, Bump D is being monitored and is active and stable. She’s still losing her waters but it’s a gradual thing and the consultants don’t seem concerned.
I spend a couple of nights at my folks’ place, it’s nice to have their company and my mum’s Italian cooking is legendary. We have the mandatory “It’ll be fine, Mrs D in the right place” kind of conversations and my dad helps me try and figure out a game plan for getting our bathroom finished and functional.
On the one night when (for reasons unknown) I decide to turn my phone off, I’m greeted with a voicemail the following morning: “Mr D, this is the hospital, your wife has just been taken for an emergency caeserean”.
(After being on the ward for a week, Mrs D had stopped losing any more waters and the consultant decided that there wasn’t enough left to sustain Baby D and he needed to be out.)
It turns out I missed the call by a matter of minutes, surely I can still make it? I’m out of the house and into the car, it may be a couple of tonnes worth of Volvo but it’s a T5 (the traffic cops used to use them) so I make rapid progress to the hospital (observing the speed limit at all times, of course), only to be greeted with no parking spaces when I get there. Bugger… I pull in a few streets away and burn some shoe leather…
I’m too late and I’ve missed all the fun (if you can call it that), our little man was born a few minutes before I got there and is already in the special care unit. The surgeons are happy with him and the operation, he came out crying, weighs just over 5lbs and all things considered Mrs D is feeling surprisingly well.
I get to see him a couple of hours later in the special care unit, he’s all red and wrinkly and looks a bit like a tiny Winston Churchill! They let me hold him and change his nappy, I wish I could have shared the moments with Mrs D but she’s still recovering from the operation, she manages to visit via wheelchair later that evening.
We spend the next few days backwards and forwards to visit our little dude, he’s breathing on his own, has developed the necessary suck/swallow reflex and is enjoying the milk that Mrs D has managed to express at such short notice. In fact, both him and mummy are making such good progress that they are allowed home, great news apart from the fact that I’ve still got the workmen in and the house is a shambles. With that in mind they spend a week with my folks while I restore a bit of order and finally, after what seems like a lifetime, we’re back together.
Little dude has developed a huge appetite and has now put on nearly 2lbs. Little Miss D has been really good around him too, getting her the dolls to “practice” with was an inspired idea, she’s very gentle with him and is always keen for a cuddle. We try and involve her as much as possible to stop her feeling left out or jealous – “Help daddy get him dressed, help mummy change his nappy, etc…” and so far the toddler tantrums have been kept to a minimum.
So, things are pretty normal now? Well, not exactly, there’s still the bathroom to decorate, the sleep deprived nights to get used to again, oh, and I need to find a job for 6 months very very soon to cover the shortfall in income from Mrs D’s statutory maternity pay. No pressure then… Ah well, at least life is never boring in our house and I wouldn’t have it any other way :)
At this point I’d just like to thank everyone who helped us at the Medway Maritime Hospital; Kent Ward, Pearl Ward but most of all, our families and the staff in the Oliver Fisher Special Care Unit – you guys are legends, if we ever come up trumps on the lottery then you’re getting a very generous donation from us. Thank you.
It’s a few weeks back, the early hours of the morning, a heavily pregnant Mrs D has got up for another bathroom break, got back into bed and mumbled something to the effect of “I think my waters might have just broken”. I’m not a morning person, I’m even less of a 3:00am in the morning person, so in my semi-conscious state I mumble a reply to the effect of “Meh, I’m sure it’s not that, you’ve got a couple of months to go yet…”.
We go back to sleep. Well, I go back to sleep and Mrs D tries to relax, however, at 5:00am on her next bathroom break the same thing happens again. Okay, this is serious. We get up, Mrs D calls the hospital and they tell us to come in straight away. We wake up Little Miss D, put a coat over her pyjamas and get ready to leave the house while she drinks a very early morning cup of milk, looking annoyed and confused - she’s not a morning person either, well unless it’s HER that has made the decision to get up at a ridiculously early hour, then it’s fine.
Mrs D, being the organised person that she is, had already packed her hospital bag so we pick up a few other essentials and bundle into the car for the dash to the hospital. We arrive quickly, an upside of travelling at this unearthly time of day is that there is no traffic on the roads and more importantly, I can get a parking space at the hospital – the staff at the Medway Maritime Hospital are fabulous but the parking facilities are woefully inadequate.
We get to the labour ward and they check Mrs D over. Yes indeed, her waters have broken. They decide that she’ll be admitted to the ward for the forseeable future. It seems a bit unreal, I keep telling myself that she’s not due for 2 months and that Little Miss D was nearly a week late! It’s a lot for both of us to take in, especially when they announce that they will need to inject our unborn baby with steroids in order to help his lungs develop whilst giving Mrs D drugs to try and hold off full-blown labour. Scary stuff… Nanny C arrives at the hospital to offer some much needed support and reassurance and she brings Little Miss D home.
The next few days are somewhat of a blur, I’ve got a bathroom in “mid-renovation” stage that I really need to finish, the way it stands at the moment it should really be called a bathless room. The plasterer and electrician start work and are gradually filling the house with dust, the plumber is on standby for when they’re done, Little Miss D is staying with Nanny and Grandpa and I’m running backwards and forward to the hospital (usually on the bus due to the damn parking issues). Mrs D is doing well on the ward, she’s resting, her blood pressure is the lowest it’s been in ages, Bump D is being monitored and is active and stable. She’s still losing her waters but it’s a gradual thing and the consultants don’t seem concerned.
I spend a couple of nights at my folks’ place, it’s nice to have their company and my mum’s Italian cooking is legendary. We have the mandatory “It’ll be fine, Mrs D in the right place” kind of conversations and my dad helps me try and figure out a game plan for getting our bathroom finished and functional.
On the one night when (for reasons unknown) I decide to turn my phone off, I’m greeted with a voicemail the following morning: “Mr D, this is the hospital, your wife has just been taken for an emergency caeserean”.
(After being on the ward for a week, Mrs D had stopped losing any more waters and the consultant decided that there wasn’t enough left to sustain Baby D and he needed to be out.)
It turns out I missed the call by a matter of minutes, surely I can still make it? I’m out of the house and into the car, it may be a couple of tonnes worth of Volvo but it’s a T5 (the traffic cops used to use them) so I make rapid progress to the hospital (observing the speed limit at all times, of course), only to be greeted with no parking spaces when I get there. Bugger… I pull in a few streets away and burn some shoe leather…
I’m too late and I’ve missed all the fun (if you can call it that), our little man was born a few minutes before I got there and is already in the special care unit. The surgeons are happy with him and the operation, he came out crying, weighs just over 5lbs and all things considered Mrs D is feeling surprisingly well.
I get to see him a couple of hours later in the special care unit, he’s all red and wrinkly and looks a bit like a tiny Winston Churchill! They let me hold him and change his nappy, I wish I could have shared the moments with Mrs D but she’s still recovering from the operation, she manages to visit via wheelchair later that evening.
We spend the next few days backwards and forwards to visit our little dude, he’s breathing on his own, has developed the necessary suck/swallow reflex and is enjoying the milk that Mrs D has managed to express at such short notice. In fact, both him and mummy are making such good progress that they are allowed home, great news apart from the fact that I’ve still got the workmen in and the house is a shambles. With that in mind they spend a week with my folks while I restore a bit of order and finally, after what seems like a lifetime, we’re back together.
Little dude has developed a huge appetite and has now put on nearly 2lbs. Little Miss D has been really good around him too, getting her the dolls to “practice” with was an inspired idea, she’s very gentle with him and is always keen for a cuddle. We try and involve her as much as possible to stop her feeling left out or jealous – “Help daddy get him dressed, help mummy change his nappy, etc…” and so far the toddler tantrums have been kept to a minimum.
So, things are pretty normal now? Well, not exactly, there’s still the bathroom to decorate, the sleep deprived nights to get used to again, oh, and I need to find a job for 6 months very very soon to cover the shortfall in income from Mrs D’s statutory maternity pay. No pressure then… Ah well, at least life is never boring in our house and I wouldn’t have it any other way :)
At this point I’d just like to thank everyone who helped us at the Medway Maritime Hospital; Kent Ward, Pearl Ward but most of all, our families and the staff in the Oliver Fisher Special Care Unit – you guys are legends, if we ever come up trumps on the lottery then you’re getting a very generous donation from us. Thank you.
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