Ka and myself were back in the hospital again yesterday for Baby Reid's 20 week scan. 20 weeks already?!
Once again he/she was proving a little restless and not giving the ultrasound specialist much of a view at times, jumping from side to side inside Ka's bump. At one point his, or her, arms and hands were flicking around from side to side as if he was performing a prenatal version of the Blockbuster hand dance.
Ka's is still not feeling any of the internal movements and her bump is still fairly small but only now showing signs of increasing in size as the days go on. Marching, steadily, on towards the New Year. We didn't ask for the gender and we don't want to know. It's a surprise - like a birthday present, only a very costly and life changing one. In fact, I can't think of a more costly and life changing birthday present. Ka's engagement ring comes close but this small growing child could perhaps take the biscuit (as long as it's not the chocolate rocky - they're my favourite - they're chocablock man!)
Colin and Heather were round for dinner last Saturday night and we were discussing the life changing issues that come with children after showing them the ultrasound pics from the scan in week 13. As we spoke the ever important question of 'should you hit your child' sprang up? It dawned on me. The question of if we were going to hit our child or not during disciplinary measures had not even occured to me?! It's quite disconcerting how many of these questions that spring up out of nowhere have not actually occured to me.
As we enjoyed our dinner, including lots of fudge and lemon drizzle cake for pudding, Ka and myself ran some names by our guests for Baby Reid. Colin giving very definite, agreeable nods to some of the names and frowned with moans at others. Unfortunately going through names for babies is hard for the likes of Ka and Colin as both work with youngsters, the majority of which irritate them, to put it politely. One of Ka's favourite phrases is something along the lines of, "oh no, we'll can't call them that. They'll just remind me of 'name' at work and they're a little ***t!".
Not matter what we call Baby Reid, I'm going to try my best in raising him NOT to be a 'little s***!'. Nobody thinks they're own child is a 'little s***' anyway, it's only other people's kids that are.
Baby Reid will be perfect.
Except from the fact he can't sit at peace in his Mummy's tummy, sitting performing the hand jive in the womb. Hey, if it's a boy, we could call him Bob?!
Friday, 20 August 2010
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Staring into space in Burger King
Once again, on Friday evening, I found myself surrounded by yelling, screaming weans. Ka and myself were sitting at a table in a busy Burger King, munching on cold fries waiting on Morgan.
The EK Burger King has a soft play area in one corner, where kids can climb and slide about the padded scaffolding. This, together with the idea of a tasty burger, became the perfect place to take our niece, Morgan, for dinner on the way back to ours on Friday night for a sleepover.
While I was sliding around the fries on the floor, trying to describe the various meals we had decided upon to the staff, I remembered why I hate fast food restaurants. Kids yelled from the soft play area in the corner of the burger joint, at each other and to their parents sitting in the surrounding tables. Most of these parents seemed to be Dads sitting alone which made me wonder. Were they Dads simply wanting to take their kid out for a treat, maybe get them out of the Mum's way for a bit on a Friday night? Dads that had been left with their kid while the Mum hit the town? Or maybe they were rarely seen Dads that had their child for the night, or the weekend, and had to find a quick, easy and entertaining way of feeding them. Either way, it was quite a sad sight. Another one of those "is this what I have to look forward to?!" moments.
They patiently waited, staring into space as their child yelled for them. As I waited in the Burger King queue, I'm sure one of the Dads didn't even notice a 'Cats and Dogs' kids meal toy bounce off his head as he sat in mid trance.
After opening our meals to find two out of three were wrong, I successfully made enemies with some of the members of staff by sending them back and asking for what I had actually asked for in the first place, Morgan nearly disowning me after getting something called 'chicken popcorn' instead of her usual small chicken burger type meal.
Immediately after finishing our niece sped off, leaving Ka and myself sitting mopping up what was left of the vast amounts of tomato sauce with fries that were growing colder and colder by the minute. Morgan disappeared into the padded climbing frames that was the soft-play area almost instantly introducing herself to various little kids.
After around five minutes of cold chip eating, Morgan ran back up and informed me of a bad boy somewhere in the depths of the foam padded construction who was saying naughty words and pushing folk about. Ka told Morgan to simply stay away from the boy in question. Not particularly satisfied with this answer Morgan looked at me questioningly, obviously disappointed in the lukewarm response she had got from us with her breaking newsflash. I simply nodded, agreeing with Ka's advice. Morgan huffed with a slight frown, realising at that moment who was in charge and that she was fighting a hopeless cause, and ran away and back into the belly of the softplay beast, through the mirrors and netting.
What had she expected me to do exactly? Square up to some four year old wee guy? Even if I had I would have probably ended up getting hooked by him or by some angry Dad sitting somewhere in the surrounding chaos of the restaurant, stirred out of his stupor by the promise of a fight with a scrawny Uncle in glasses. He would have been glad of the excitement. Me? I was just glad when we got out of there.
The EK Burger King has a soft play area in one corner, where kids can climb and slide about the padded scaffolding. This, together with the idea of a tasty burger, became the perfect place to take our niece, Morgan, for dinner on the way back to ours on Friday night for a sleepover.
While I was sliding around the fries on the floor, trying to describe the various meals we had decided upon to the staff, I remembered why I hate fast food restaurants. Kids yelled from the soft play area in the corner of the burger joint, at each other and to their parents sitting in the surrounding tables. Most of these parents seemed to be Dads sitting alone which made me wonder. Were they Dads simply wanting to take their kid out for a treat, maybe get them out of the Mum's way for a bit on a Friday night? Dads that had been left with their kid while the Mum hit the town? Or maybe they were rarely seen Dads that had their child for the night, or the weekend, and had to find a quick, easy and entertaining way of feeding them. Either way, it was quite a sad sight. Another one of those "is this what I have to look forward to?!" moments.
They patiently waited, staring into space as their child yelled for them. As I waited in the Burger King queue, I'm sure one of the Dads didn't even notice a 'Cats and Dogs' kids meal toy bounce off his head as he sat in mid trance.
After opening our meals to find two out of three were wrong, I successfully made enemies with some of the members of staff by sending them back and asking for what I had actually asked for in the first place, Morgan nearly disowning me after getting something called 'chicken popcorn' instead of her usual small chicken burger type meal.
Immediately after finishing our niece sped off, leaving Ka and myself sitting mopping up what was left of the vast amounts of tomato sauce with fries that were growing colder and colder by the minute. Morgan disappeared into the padded climbing frames that was the soft-play area almost instantly introducing herself to various little kids.
After around five minutes of cold chip eating, Morgan ran back up and informed me of a bad boy somewhere in the depths of the foam padded construction who was saying naughty words and pushing folk about. Ka told Morgan to simply stay away from the boy in question. Not particularly satisfied with this answer Morgan looked at me questioningly, obviously disappointed in the lukewarm response she had got from us with her breaking newsflash. I simply nodded, agreeing with Ka's advice. Morgan huffed with a slight frown, realising at that moment who was in charge and that she was fighting a hopeless cause, and ran away and back into the belly of the softplay beast, through the mirrors and netting.
What had she expected me to do exactly? Square up to some four year old wee guy? Even if I had I would have probably ended up getting hooked by him or by some angry Dad sitting somewhere in the surrounding chaos of the restaurant, stirred out of his stupor by the promise of a fight with a scrawny Uncle in glasses. He would have been glad of the excitement. Me? I was just glad when we got out of there.
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
Band of horses
I've just discovered Band of Horses, an American quintet from South Carolina whom Zane Lowe advised me to listen to.
"When did ye meet him then?" Kenny, my bro, asked when I told him the same line.
Needless to say, I didn't meet Zane Lowe, although he is one of the few Radio 1 DJs I still pay attention to. A few months ago I just happened to be listening to his show whilst driving home one Tuesday night and I sat up and took notice to a great track he played. Coincidentally this track was by the afore mentioned 'Horses'. I've only just got round to buying two of their albums and am really enjoying their rock. When I say 'rock' it's certainly not rock in the traditional sense - you wouldn't put it on at a pal's head banging party or anything (haven't been to one of them in ages - I think I was subtly elbowed away from that company once my hair started falling out). It's more soothing, melancholic rock, American Indie at it's best. Perhaps they are a bit like The Killer's without the 'pop' element, the bravado or the smarties. Certainly the shaving blades. A strange mix of Arcade Fire and Kings of Leon with a dash of - dare I say it - country. I don't know, I'm still listening and I quite like what I hear, so I'll keep listening!
"When did ye meet him then?" Kenny, my bro, asked when I told him the same line.
Needless to say, I didn't meet Zane Lowe, although he is one of the few Radio 1 DJs I still pay attention to. A few months ago I just happened to be listening to his show whilst driving home one Tuesday night and I sat up and took notice to a great track he played. Coincidentally this track was by the afore mentioned 'Horses'. I've only just got round to buying two of their albums and am really enjoying their rock. When I say 'rock' it's certainly not rock in the traditional sense - you wouldn't put it on at a pal's head banging party or anything (haven't been to one of them in ages - I think I was subtly elbowed away from that company once my hair started falling out). It's more soothing, melancholic rock, American Indie at it's best. Perhaps they are a bit like The Killer's without the 'pop' element, the bravado or the smarties. Certainly the shaving blades. A strange mix of Arcade Fire and Kings of Leon with a dash of - dare I say it - country. I don't know, I'm still listening and I quite like what I hear, so I'll keep listening!
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Clowns and carrot cake
We were surrounded. Screaming, shouting, running, bursting, waving, dancing, wrestling, kids. It was the wonderful Morgan's sixth birthday over the weekend.
Ka, myself and the rest of the Leckies and McGarvas went along to our neice's special party in the church hall on Sunday. Around 26 small children in their best party gear hesitantly moved into the hall, after being delivered by parents and greeted at the door by Morgan and her Dad, Steven, who handed each a sticky name label. After the initial disappointment of not being assigned a name tag I went through to the hall and started taking photos of the party goings on, which were largely centred on a female clown hired for the occasion.
The clown was called Giggles and used to be a Procurator Fiscal. One hell of a career change, I thought, she must have wanted a break from the silly costumes and funny wigs. Giggles didn't have a wig. She wasn't even wearing a red nose!? How can a clown NOT have a red nose?!
Giggles spent the next three hours talking through a headset microphone at the kids gathered round, singing songs, playing games and basically controlling most of the kids extremely well in the potentially excitable party environment.
For three hours the clown's amped up voice went on. Kids sitting, shouting up at her. I wondered if this was the kind of thing I'd have to get used to as a father to be. Kids birthday parties. Bunches of yelling kids, chattering mothers and an over excitable Procurator Fiscal who thinks she can get away with being a clown without a red nose.
Only two of the many Dads who delivered kids actually stuck around for the party, the rest were Mums eithering talking away at each other or sitting, quietly watching their small child being entertained. Unfortunately I got bored halfway through and entertained myself by nicking marshmallows, eating carrot cake and talking to Colin McG about The A-Team and The Karate Kid movies. We took care not to speak too loudly though as you ran the risk of Giggles pulling you on to the dancefloor and giving you a job to do, a fate which befell some of the louder gabbing mothers.
Ka and myself once discussed the possability of kids entertainment for a living. Together with Colin and Jillian, who were both members of the Hopscotch travelling theatre group, we could make a bomb - and there wouldn't be any of this namby pamby everybody wins at pass the parcel or musical bumps mentality!
Giggles kept asking us viewers, sitting around the hastily seated kids, who was the last to get their bum on the floor during musical bumps. No matter how much I kept shouting out to Giggles she kept blatantly ignoring me, insisting it to be a draw when it so obviously wasn't. I had been watching. I pinpointed her in the small crowd of kids from my chair at the side. "Her with the pigtails!" I was yelling. "She's out! O - U - T, out, I tell ye!"
I'm looking forward to hosting the kids parties. The kids will get a giant bag of smarties to gee them up, a bouncy castle, if I'm feeling extravagant, and a run about the the back garden (even if it's raining!). Maybe the odd pinata up on the washing line... and there'll be no politically correct and boringly fair clowns! There'll be a winner at pass the parcel. The rest of the losing kids can go home bubbling if they want. If it turns out my child's going to be a bubbler then it'll do him good. It's best he, or she, learns how to be a good sport in life as early as possible and understands that sometimes they'll end up a loser. Just like their old Dad!... That didn't sound right...
Ka, myself and the rest of the Leckies and McGarvas went along to our neice's special party in the church hall on Sunday. Around 26 small children in their best party gear hesitantly moved into the hall, after being delivered by parents and greeted at the door by Morgan and her Dad, Steven, who handed each a sticky name label. After the initial disappointment of not being assigned a name tag I went through to the hall and started taking photos of the party goings on, which were largely centred on a female clown hired for the occasion.
The clown was called Giggles and used to be a Procurator Fiscal. One hell of a career change, I thought, she must have wanted a break from the silly costumes and funny wigs. Giggles didn't have a wig. She wasn't even wearing a red nose!? How can a clown NOT have a red nose?!
Giggles spent the next three hours talking through a headset microphone at the kids gathered round, singing songs, playing games and basically controlling most of the kids extremely well in the potentially excitable party environment.
For three hours the clown's amped up voice went on. Kids sitting, shouting up at her. I wondered if this was the kind of thing I'd have to get used to as a father to be. Kids birthday parties. Bunches of yelling kids, chattering mothers and an over excitable Procurator Fiscal who thinks she can get away with being a clown without a red nose.
Only two of the many Dads who delivered kids actually stuck around for the party, the rest were Mums eithering talking away at each other or sitting, quietly watching their small child being entertained. Unfortunately I got bored halfway through and entertained myself by nicking marshmallows, eating carrot cake and talking to Colin McG about The A-Team and The Karate Kid movies. We took care not to speak too loudly though as you ran the risk of Giggles pulling you on to the dancefloor and giving you a job to do, a fate which befell some of the louder gabbing mothers.
Ka and myself once discussed the possability of kids entertainment for a living. Together with Colin and Jillian, who were both members of the Hopscotch travelling theatre group, we could make a bomb - and there wouldn't be any of this namby pamby everybody wins at pass the parcel or musical bumps mentality!
Giggles kept asking us viewers, sitting around the hastily seated kids, who was the last to get their bum on the floor during musical bumps. No matter how much I kept shouting out to Giggles she kept blatantly ignoring me, insisting it to be a draw when it so obviously wasn't. I had been watching. I pinpointed her in the small crowd of kids from my chair at the side. "Her with the pigtails!" I was yelling. "She's out! O - U - T, out, I tell ye!"
I'm looking forward to hosting the kids parties. The kids will get a giant bag of smarties to gee them up, a bouncy castle, if I'm feeling extravagant, and a run about the the back garden (even if it's raining!). Maybe the odd pinata up on the washing line... and there'll be no politically correct and boringly fair clowns! There'll be a winner at pass the parcel. The rest of the losing kids can go home bubbling if they want. If it turns out my child's going to be a bubbler then it'll do him good. It's best he, or she, learns how to be a good sport in life as early as possible and understands that sometimes they'll end up a loser. Just like their old Dad!... That didn't sound right...
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
The scale of it
Age milestones are often reason for moments of reflection and sometimes moments of realisation. Sometimes these moments also strike when you least expect them.
Ka's brother hit the big 3 - 0 yesterday and we celebrated over a slap up meal in Angels, the local hotel/restaurant. Colin, with two birthday badges pinned to his shirt at each nipple region, done his best to avoid the cameras after, what must have been, the thirtieth pose under his big helium balloon. Back at the McGarva house afterwards, for cake and coffee, we all participated in the usual game of pass the parcel, presided over, as ever, by Morgan.
When I say 'usual', no game in the McGarva house is ever usual. This one in particular was no exception. Instead of passing the usual layered up present it was decided that in this game we were to pass a near deflated balloon, the size of a disected kidney, around the room, to the gawd awful sounds of the latest 'Glee' album. Whenever the music stopped, a moment that was all too brief in my meagre opinion, the person with the balloon was out and whoever was left at the end of the game was named winner with a present. The presents varied in quality from a can of deoderant to the more substantial clothing or candles bought in the recent Next sale.
Ka, for instance, won a small sleep suit. Grace quickly pointed out the prize was not specifically for her, which was just as well as the label read for a size of 3 to 6 months. Ka, with her sister, Angela, immediately started awing over the suit.
Letting me view her win, I held it up before me, holding it by the shoulders. A small, pale brown felt giraffe looked back at me from the front of the suit's chest and the scale of it hit me. Not the scale of the giraffe, although it was very small, this wasn't the scale factor hitting me. This small suit was for a small person, the same small person growing inside KA as we passed a stupid little balloon around the room. That small instant turned into another of those worryingly giant, earth spinning moments in which you give an internal shout in the great David Byrne tradition, "My god, what have I done?!"
As Byrne's crazed, panic stricken hollers faded in my head it once more gave way to quiet, curiousity and excitement. Just as I started to relax again and the world settled back into normality around me I was sure the small giraffe winked at me knowingly from the sleep suit. Blinking hard, I hurriedly returned the small piece of clothing to Ka and ran off to the kitchen, for a strong cup of tea. I would have loved to had something a tad stronger, like the Glenmorangie Colin was dishing out, but I was driving home. Behind the wheel of a large automobile, to my beautiful house, with my beautiful wife.
Ka's brother hit the big 3 - 0 yesterday and we celebrated over a slap up meal in Angels, the local hotel/restaurant. Colin, with two birthday badges pinned to his shirt at each nipple region, done his best to avoid the cameras after, what must have been, the thirtieth pose under his big helium balloon. Back at the McGarva house afterwards, for cake and coffee, we all participated in the usual game of pass the parcel, presided over, as ever, by Morgan.
When I say 'usual', no game in the McGarva house is ever usual. This one in particular was no exception. Instead of passing the usual layered up present it was decided that in this game we were to pass a near deflated balloon, the size of a disected kidney, around the room, to the gawd awful sounds of the latest 'Glee' album. Whenever the music stopped, a moment that was all too brief in my meagre opinion, the person with the balloon was out and whoever was left at the end of the game was named winner with a present. The presents varied in quality from a can of deoderant to the more substantial clothing or candles bought in the recent Next sale.
Ka, for instance, won a small sleep suit. Grace quickly pointed out the prize was not specifically for her, which was just as well as the label read for a size of 3 to 6 months. Ka, with her sister, Angela, immediately started awing over the suit.
Letting me view her win, I held it up before me, holding it by the shoulders. A small, pale brown felt giraffe looked back at me from the front of the suit's chest and the scale of it hit me. Not the scale of the giraffe, although it was very small, this wasn't the scale factor hitting me. This small suit was for a small person, the same small person growing inside KA as we passed a stupid little balloon around the room. That small instant turned into another of those worryingly giant, earth spinning moments in which you give an internal shout in the great David Byrne tradition, "My god, what have I done?!"
As Byrne's crazed, panic stricken hollers faded in my head it once more gave way to quiet, curiousity and excitement. Just as I started to relax again and the world settled back into normality around me I was sure the small giraffe winked at me knowingly from the sleep suit. Blinking hard, I hurriedly returned the small piece of clothing to Ka and ran off to the kitchen, for a strong cup of tea. I would have loved to had something a tad stronger, like the Glenmorangie Colin was dishing out, but I was driving home. Behind the wheel of a large automobile, to my beautiful house, with my beautiful wife.
Thursday, 15 July 2010
The Sarah scream and teddy bear violence
Mum and Dad hosted another BBQ on Saturday and this time invited the entirety of the family, including the McGarvas, Symingtons, Taylors and all. Not to be put off by the worse weather thus far this summer, Dad erected two large tents and a gazebo in the garden, fitting each of the tents out with carpets, comfy chairs and tables.
The BBQ was also the perfect opportunity to tell everyone of Baby Reid. Mum and Ka were especially looking forward to hearing the 'Sarah Scream' when my cousin heard the news. Cousin Sarah is renowned for her scream when either something really exciting, shocking or hilairious happens. In this case it could probably be described as a case of all of the above as, true to form, when Ka told Sarah in the conservatory, she let out a belter. The birds of Chapelton abandoned their branches in fright, the sheep and cows in the surrounding fields faltered in their grass munching, looking up with curiousity and Myra the hairdresser accidentally chopped someone's fringe off next door.
Needless to say, most people had a few beers through the afternoon and enjoyed the BBQ spread along with Grace's lasagne and Linda's traditional trifle. Whilst people's bellies digested the veritable onslaught, the rain kept falling but failed to put a dampener on things. In early evening most of the the blokes retreated into the living room for the World Cup runners up game whilst the kids presented various puppet shows emotionally blackmailing or forcibly bullying us into attending (I was probably one of the latter). These often descended into teddy bear violence with various Princess dolls squaring up to large teddy dogs all eventually transforming into a spinning cloud of felt and fur, whilst us viewers politely watched struggling to keep up with the show's plot. None of the performers were even puppets?! I bet Auntie Tricia preferred the puppet shows of old... When Baby Reid grows up a bit, he or she will be taught how to perform a proper puppet show.
Everyone has been great on hearing the Baby Reid news (apart from Myra's customer). Facebook has even proven itself to be almost useful in aiding with this. We did get one complaint from someone finding out on facebook, but to be fair to us, it was not actually on facebook, it was my blog at Reidnet, so there! -)
Anyway, thanks everyone for your well wishes. They're all greatly appreciated. Excitement and joy is now officially over - let the stress and panicking commence!
The BBQ was also the perfect opportunity to tell everyone of Baby Reid. Mum and Ka were especially looking forward to hearing the 'Sarah Scream' when my cousin heard the news. Cousin Sarah is renowned for her scream when either something really exciting, shocking or hilairious happens. In this case it could probably be described as a case of all of the above as, true to form, when Ka told Sarah in the conservatory, she let out a belter. The birds of Chapelton abandoned their branches in fright, the sheep and cows in the surrounding fields faltered in their grass munching, looking up with curiousity and Myra the hairdresser accidentally chopped someone's fringe off next door.
Needless to say, most people had a few beers through the afternoon and enjoyed the BBQ spread along with Grace's lasagne and Linda's traditional trifle. Whilst people's bellies digested the veritable onslaught, the rain kept falling but failed to put a dampener on things. In early evening most of the the blokes retreated into the living room for the World Cup runners up game whilst the kids presented various puppet shows emotionally blackmailing or forcibly bullying us into attending (I was probably one of the latter). These often descended into teddy bear violence with various Princess dolls squaring up to large teddy dogs all eventually transforming into a spinning cloud of felt and fur, whilst us viewers politely watched struggling to keep up with the show's plot. None of the performers were even puppets?! I bet Auntie Tricia preferred the puppet shows of old... When Baby Reid grows up a bit, he or she will be taught how to perform a proper puppet show.
Everyone has been great on hearing the Baby Reid news (apart from Myra's customer). Facebook has even proven itself to be almost useful in aiding with this. We did get one complaint from someone finding out on facebook, but to be fair to us, it was not actually on facebook, it was my blog at Reidnet, so there! -)
Anyway, thanks everyone for your well wishes. They're all greatly appreciated. Excitement and joy is now officially over - let the stress and panicking commence!
Thursday, 8 July 2010
The scarey and fantastic
We're sitting in a small white room. A feint humming ringing through the air under the large, square tile like lighting. Agitated, I wait. The computer opposite me stares out blankly before the operator steps up to her console. Following a tap on a monitor key pad the operator adjusts the screen to suit her eyeline and settles down to input the vital information. Tapping gently on the keypad I grow impatient, waiting. Reaching the end of her inputting the operator switches the monitor to a blank, black screen, her palm rolling over the cursor ball on the right of her console. Then, taking control of the controls with her left hand a blurring vision sweeps through the blackness on screen. A grey cloud swerves through the black. Then it appeared. Through the blackness an image materialized. A small, fuzzy image formed in greys and blacks of a small rounded form. A head, large and round, curved down over a body, identifiable by the rivets of a small spine. The surrounding oval of blackness shimmers as the body moves, as if sensing the scanner. A baby. A Reid baby.
Ka smiled at me from the medical bed as the radiographer moved the ultrasound scanner over her lower half of her tummy. Ka is pregnant. 13 weeks and five days to be precise.
Obviously we've known for at least a few months now, but seeing the moving image on screen makes it all real. Properly real! After our first anniversary at the weekend, relaxing in Troon, we began to get a little nervous as the week went on knowing we had the hospital appointment on the Thursday.
As Ka sat and watched the images I questioned the radiographer about the baby's movements and it's body parts, identifying one from the other. Parts of the live image remain dark and cloudy making it difficult to make out some of the features. Baby Reid even stretched as we watched. It's arms lifting up as it tilted it's head back and seemed to straighten his back. I say 'his', but, of course, we don't know the sex yet. As we talked I tried to suss the radiographer out as to the gender but she wasn't giving anything away. Apparently one of a babies first senses to develop is it's hearing so its now time to give up the swearing. Ka had been talking to her belly occasionally in the past few months, using emotional blackmail to clinch the last magnum from the freezer and such like. While I had been previously dismissing the idea I should maybe now start talking too. Introduce myself. Time to start getting used to the idea of being a father?! Scarey. But fantastic!
Ka smiled at me from the medical bed as the radiographer moved the ultrasound scanner over her lower half of her tummy. Ka is pregnant. 13 weeks and five days to be precise.
Obviously we've known for at least a few months now, but seeing the moving image on screen makes it all real. Properly real! After our first anniversary at the weekend, relaxing in Troon, we began to get a little nervous as the week went on knowing we had the hospital appointment on the Thursday.
As Ka sat and watched the images I questioned the radiographer about the baby's movements and it's body parts, identifying one from the other. Parts of the live image remain dark and cloudy making it difficult to make out some of the features. Baby Reid even stretched as we watched. It's arms lifting up as it tilted it's head back and seemed to straighten his back. I say 'his', but, of course, we don't know the sex yet. As we talked I tried to suss the radiographer out as to the gender but she wasn't giving anything away. Apparently one of a babies first senses to develop is it's hearing so its now time to give up the swearing. Ka had been talking to her belly occasionally in the past few months, using emotional blackmail to clinch the last magnum from the freezer and such like. While I had been previously dismissing the idea I should maybe now start talking too. Introduce myself. Time to start getting used to the idea of being a father?! Scarey. But fantastic!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
