johnny9fingers: (Default)
Fred's waters broke at 5.30pm yesterday.

She was delivered of a baby boy by c-section at 10.31pm. Henry weighed in at 7 3/4lbs.

I got back to Dulwich at 3.30am. It is now almost 9am and I'm due back in the Hospital.

Go well and do good things.
johnny9fingers: (Default)
On Friday morning, the day of the Cambridge wedding, we saw the midwife.

After a few examinations with the old portable ultrasound-thingy that they have, she opined that the offspring-to-be was still in a breech position. So just after the wedding had finished we toddled off to the Nightingale ward at King's College Hospital only to have the diagnosis confirmed, and more importantly the news that the sort of 'piked' breech the baby was in, and the fact of this being a first baby, and the fact that SWMBO's stomach muscles are still ridiculously taut (fifteen years with a personal trainer twice a week can do that to a bod) meant that moving the baby about would prove difficult.

Doctors don't give advice anymore: they give information to enable folk to make informed choices. This isn't always what you want really.

Stats, however, do prove useful, and they allow folk to weigh probability. For despite that we are all sui generis to ourselves, we certainly aren't to the quacks.

Upshot of all this is we've opted for an elective C-section, rather than risk a breech-birth with all its attendant problems. So a lot of the ante-natal stuff we'd been practising and anticipating is no longer relevant. Anyway the date's been set: 12th May, nine days off.  We're rather hoping the bathroom will be finished by then.

Fred, of course, has gone into work today, mono-manic lass that she is, and will probably attend the LLP's partner's meeting tomorrow too. After which I may just confiscate her Blackberry.
johnny9fingers: (Default)
Fred's bump is getting much bigger. We're about a month away from 'due' date, but I'm pretty certain any offspring of mine and SWMBO is liable to be pretty wilful, and not likely to appear to order. Premature, possibly; late, probably: but that's down to genes and environment.
Anyway, she's not having that easy a time in this last part of her pregnancy, poor love, but has a tendency to put on a brave face. Ergo, I'm having to learn 'anticipatory' skills which don't fit into my normal laid back/slightly slobbish behavioural habits acquired over many years self-indulgence. But Madame has at least made me civilised again. In the three years I have lived with her I have learnt that bedroom floors decorated with dirty washing are not a good look. I have learned the virtue of putting things back in their proper place (you can find them again). I know how to work the various white appliances about the kitchen. I can hang out washing, and have been known to cook.

However, ironing is still a skill I must yet master, but you can't have everything.

As an aside, our ante-natal class teacher told us we should get used to taking naps whenever and wherever possible. I shall endeavour to put this into practice on all occasions: it will be my mantra, and if such was good enough for Churchill, it's good enough for me. Time to practice my new regime I deem.

Wow.

Nov. 8th, 2010 04:26 pm
johnny9fingers: (Default)
Okay.

SWMBO is three months pregnant. I've seen the scans. He/She/Whatever is alive and kicking, and we have a minimal risk ratio for Downs: 1 in 1546, against which the background risk for lasses Fred's age is 1 in 77. Aren't statistics a wonderful thing, bigod.

Given that I call her Fred and she calls me Fred we've named the child 'the Fredlet' for now. (English relationships are such odd things: I've never before had the same nickname as any partner: and I have no idea where Fred came from, or which of us called the other it first, but I suspect it was me. I'm like that, you see. SWMBO trumped my ace, damn her, by then reciprocating in kind. Now you can see why I married her.) 

So we put a bid in for the house. Final bids, sealed envelopes sort of thing.
We bid the asking price: £699,500.
Turns out so did the other couple.

The odd thing was the sellers seemed to like us more than the other couple. Fantastic. Because we've got it we're prepared to take a bit of a beating on Madame's house. Stretched close to the limit for now, but things will eventually get easier. Alas, I can't unlock my capital for some indeterminate time, but even so we'll cope. I mean, I'll be saving her a nanny's fee for a bit, and also her partnership may finally recognise her worth. And, thank the gods, we aren't badly off: I know of chums who are close to parlous states in these trying times.

Strewth.

A chum of mine paid over a mill for a place built in 1880 with six or so bedrooms and rooms in which a grand piano would be unimposing in Dorking that is quite spectacular, but needs a bit of work. We're not yet in that league if we shall ever be. I mean, what if the little blighter wants to go to boarding school: as and when all these Harry Potter weaned juveniles demand the upper-middle-class equivalent of the pair of ridiculously expensive and frivolous trainers or the latest X-box virtual reality slaughterfest?

I shall give it the X-box of its generation in the hope it grows up unable to read, and therefore will not present me with such extravagant fancies. Oops, did I say that aloud?

Oddness

Oct. 10th, 2010 01:42 pm
johnny9fingers: (Default)
Firstly I've unlocked this entry for any on my f-list to see.

johnny9fingers.livejournal.com/206502.html

Secondly....

And in my dream my ancestors came to me and said that the child would be a daughter and I should name it for Parvati or one of her avatars.

Lalita.

So, if it's a girl child we will call it Lalita.

If it is a boy child Henry has the diminutive Harry and Hal, Ronald for my father and great-grandfather. Havelock is also a familial forename, but HRH may be pushing it a bit. Henry Ronald Gregson Barnes: four (or is it five?) generations from the House of Lords. Gregson comes from SWMBO's side.

All in all I'm beginning to hope it will be a girl child.
johnny9fingers: (Default)
Ah well, off to vote. Then I shall breakfast at the French Cafe while reading my newspaper.

I think SWMBO voted LibDem, but I've refrained from asking her: it would be like reading your wife's mail, which surely is the mark of a cad. I, on the other hand, shall vote for Shrek: and not because I like fat green ogres with Scots accents, merely because I see no viable alternative that, having voted for, I could live easily with my conscience.
johnny9fingers: (Default)
Yet another hugely busy weekend.

Next weekend looks even busier as SWMBO and I have to take care of  her Nephew and Niece as her Bro and Sister-in-law absent themselves for their Ten Year Anniversary celebration.

I shall try to be less grumpy than usual. So I'll have to work whatever curmudgeonliness out of my system by then.
johnny9fingers: (Default)
Whereas my cup should be overflowing with the results from the Cricket [note capitalisation] and the fact that Spurs are top of the league, small niggles have kept me grounded.

We weekended (awful coinage, that) in Brighton, or Sodomy-on-Sea, as Julie Burchill once called it. Shoreham Airport (one of SWMBO's clients) hosted its annual 'Battle of Britain' airshow and RAFA, who were the organisers, pulled out the stops, bringing Spitfires, Hurricanes, Lancasters, Mustangs, etc to the happy multitude. Of note were an couple of ME109's and a B17....but to an Englishman, the sound of a Rolls-Royce Merlin engine stirs the heart like nothing this side of Olivier as Harry giving his 'Once more into the breach' routine, or Winston extolling 'the Few'.

From the airfield itself we had a spectacular view across the South Downs, and in one direction could see the English Gothic Revival Chapel of Lancing College. The day was beautiful, and apart from the airplanes and some of the fashions, it could have been a summer's day in England any time in the last three hundred years.

Sixty-nine years ago, these same skies were full of brave young men, in what were the fastest, sleekest craft of their time, knocking seven bells out of each other.

Which brought to mind many things: how much I hate war, and how thankful I am that we won that one, being but two.

Stayed at a little boutique hotel called Hotel Du Vin. Nice place, and I can recommend it if you have that sort of money to spend on frivolities.
 
In an attempt to keep in step with the general atmosphere of Brighton, Madame and I embarked upon a marathon of.....horizontal and vertical exercise, ending alas when she broke it. (And I almost fainted: there are places to have bruises, but your knob ain't one of them.) The bruising is receding, but.....I am delicate from birth and not used to such rough handling.

I suppose, when I recover, it will be liking getting back on the horse and putting it to the fence again. But as for now I'm blaming her roughness rather than my weakness.

Nurse, it's time for my bed-bath. More drugs too.

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