When Creed from The Office reacts to a hearing about a water birth he remarks: "Must have been like low tide on Omaha Beach." he wasn't far off.
Keeping with the World War II analogies, a regular birth is a lot like the result of a platoon of soldiers that has just been fired on at point blank range by a Tiger tank's 88mm canon. There's a lot of screaming, shouting of orders, and of course blood and rather nasty looking red chunks everywhere... and I do mean everywhere. It's all over the bed, on the underside of the bed, the floor, and up the walls, even six feet away. I didn't check the ceiling closely, but I imagine it was there too.
I'm glad we agreed on a hospital birth.
Before the fact, I'd imagined that I would have had difficulty with the birthing process... fainting and what not. I found that when I was in the midst of it, I really didn't have time to be anything else but clinical about the experience.
By the way, thank you all for the congratulatory messages and well wishes.
For all of you wondering how we are doing, I can say that I'm finding that having a infant taking residence with us isn't too far off from our original expectations. Like most three week old's, she essentially exists in the following states: hungry, sleepy, crabbity, poopy, and a combination of all four. For anyone without children who would like a sample of what the experience is like, spend a night with an incontinent howler monkey with a severe case of insomnia and you'll know more than you'll ever need to.
Of course, it's probably easier to find a newborn to borrow.
The only thing I'd say that has irritated me so far is the inane questions and statements people make to me. For example:
"Getting any sleep? Hahaha"
This is the most common comment I receive. Word of advice, don't ask the severely sleep deprived if they're getting any sleep. Your car may be bombarded by dirty nappies (of which I have an ample supply). We're all getting sufficient sleep, just not at the most ideal times (as per my previous posting).
"Your life will never be the same... hahaha".
Gee, I had no idea. And all along I though it would be like having a pet rock. Of course, like a pet rock, at this point she's also pretty good at being used to wedge doors open.
"When are you going to have your second? Hahaha."
I've scheduled the initial proceedings to begin in a couple of weeks. Would you like to purchase tickets to watch? We're renting an auditorium.
"You'll never be able to own nice things again. Tee hee hee."
Thank-you for the optimistic appraisal of my situation. My cats have already seen to my furniture anyway, and the rest of my belonging have been evacuated to a cat free, child free zone for safekeeping for the foreseeable future.
"Sick of diaper changes yet? Hee hee."
Actually we're going with an environmentally friendly and sustainable solution. Our cat, Matilda, believes that the child is in fact, a strange hairless, oddly needy, overly noisy, over-sized kitten, and feels that we are not dealing with it pro-actively enough. Being that she is zealously interested in taking on some responsibilities, we allow her deal with the day to day cleaning aspects. Nothing cleans better than a cat tongue.
"Your baby is so beautiful/cute!"
Out of politeness, everyone says this about every baby on the planet, even when they're clearly the exact opposite (On a few occasions after going into shock, I've had to stop myself from blurting out "What an ugly baby!"). Of course, I think my baby is extraordinarily cute, but of course, I'm biased. Personally, I prefer honesty to empty, potentially insincere compliments.
When encountering new proud parents accompanied by their ugly, ugly newborn (or you just want to be more original), I can recommend some alternatives that are honest, polite and have enough of an element of truthiness that those of us that have trouble lying can still manage and still look relatively convincing :
"What an intelligent looking baby!"
"What a symmetrical baby!"
"My what long fingernails!"
"What a cute (insert body part here)!" (directing attention away from the ugly bits)
"He/She looks just like his/her father/mother".
If the child doesn't fit any of the above, open your mouth in horror, point behind said parents, and then quickly hide.
Keeping with the World War II analogies, a regular birth is a lot like the result of a platoon of soldiers that has just been fired on at point blank range by a Tiger tank's 88mm canon. There's a lot of screaming, shouting of orders, and of course blood and rather nasty looking red chunks everywhere... and I do mean everywhere. It's all over the bed, on the underside of the bed, the floor, and up the walls, even six feet away. I didn't check the ceiling closely, but I imagine it was there too.
I'm glad we agreed on a hospital birth.
Before the fact, I'd imagined that I would have had difficulty with the birthing process... fainting and what not. I found that when I was in the midst of it, I really didn't have time to be anything else but clinical about the experience.
By the way, thank you all for the congratulatory messages and well wishes.
For all of you wondering how we are doing, I can say that I'm finding that having a infant taking residence with us isn't too far off from our original expectations. Like most three week old's, she essentially exists in the following states: hungry, sleepy, crabbity, poopy, and a combination of all four. For anyone without children who would like a sample of what the experience is like, spend a night with an incontinent howler monkey with a severe case of insomnia and you'll know more than you'll ever need to.
Of course, it's probably easier to find a newborn to borrow.
The only thing I'd say that has irritated me so far is the inane questions and statements people make to me. For example:
"Getting any sleep? Hahaha"
This is the most common comment I receive. Word of advice, don't ask the severely sleep deprived if they're getting any sleep. Your car may be bombarded by dirty nappies (of which I have an ample supply). We're all getting sufficient sleep, just not at the most ideal times (as per my previous posting).
"Your life will never be the same... hahaha".
Gee, I had no idea. And all along I though it would be like having a pet rock. Of course, like a pet rock, at this point she's also pretty good at being used to wedge doors open.
"When are you going to have your second? Hahaha."
I've scheduled the initial proceedings to begin in a couple of weeks. Would you like to purchase tickets to watch? We're renting an auditorium.
"You'll never be able to own nice things again. Tee hee hee."
Thank-you for the optimistic appraisal of my situation. My cats have already seen to my furniture anyway, and the rest of my belonging have been evacuated to a cat free, child free zone for safekeeping for the foreseeable future.
"Sick of diaper changes yet? Hee hee."
Actually we're going with an environmentally friendly and sustainable solution. Our cat, Matilda, believes that the child is in fact, a strange hairless, oddly needy, overly noisy, over-sized kitten, and feels that we are not dealing with it pro-actively enough. Being that she is zealously interested in taking on some responsibilities, we allow her deal with the day to day cleaning aspects. Nothing cleans better than a cat tongue.
"Your baby is so beautiful/cute!"
Out of politeness, everyone says this about every baby on the planet, even when they're clearly the exact opposite (On a few occasions after going into shock, I've had to stop myself from blurting out "What an ugly baby!"). Of course, I think my baby is extraordinarily cute, but of course, I'm biased. Personally, I prefer honesty to empty, potentially insincere compliments.
When encountering new proud parents accompanied by their ugly, ugly newborn (or you just want to be more original), I can recommend some alternatives that are honest, polite and have enough of an element of truthiness that those of us that have trouble lying can still manage and still look relatively convincing :
"What an intelligent looking baby!"
"What a symmetrical baby!"
"My what long fingernails!"
"What a cute (insert body part here)
If the child doesn't fit any of the above, open your mouth in horror, point behind said parents, and then quickly hide.
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