No Pain, No Gain!

Big Moment - Part 2 ... continued from Part 1.

If you haven't read Part 1 yet, then you need to do so, as this will give you some useful background information in regards to the tense moment we were going through.  Just do it!  Click above link.

The amount of medical staff around my wife's bed in the delivery ward had increased from 4 to 10 within minutes of the nurse claiming to have seen the foot of the baby.  At this point, I was starting to feel slightly lightheaded and was VERY unsure about what the next few minutes and/or hours would bring.

This is not exactly something you learn in the pre-natal classes or in any "What to Expect, When Expecting" book.  You have to learn it the hard way.  Some of the nurses had just started their career, so they were equally white faced and fretting.  This in turn caused the midwife to turn into Nanny McPhee, in regards to facial expressions, causing the young nurses to panic.

While the nurses were freaking, there were 3 people looking under the sheet between my wife's legs, discussing what to do.  Thankfully, one of the senior consultants made a decision to get her into surgery immediately - no time to spare.

I was trying to help, but was constantly in the way, as I was lying in teal position under my wife's bed.  The midwife suddenly grabbed me by the neck and pulled me against the wall - "Pull yourself together man, we need everyone to be CALM!"  Then she did a summersault over the bed, and started to push the bed down the corridor towards the elevator.  Man, she was like the woman from Matrix ... expect she was old, wearing a doctors coat, nerd glasses and smelling like a chemistry.

As we arrived at the elevator, we had to wait for the fecking thing.  I was frantically hitting the button on the wall, until some clever nurse inserted her emergency lift key.  It still amazes me that we had to take the elevator to the surgery room.  Couldn't they have had the delivery ward and surgery room on the same floor?  It reminded me of the scene in "Mr. & Mrs. Smith" where they are in the elevator listening to background (elevator) music, just before the action happens.

I was dragged up the stairs by some energetic fitness freak of a nurse, not considering I haven't done any exercise for 7-8 years - other than the Wii - so my face was quickly turning red.  She placed me on some silly little bench outside the Operating Room (OR).  The OR was not even ready, so now the group of people surrounding my wife had grown to 20, including the cleaners.

An innocent anesthetics assistant was trying to give my wife some liquid to drink, but my wife made it perfectly clear that she did NOT want it.  His face went from cheerful to somewhat distraught.

The next few minutes went by very quickly - at least for me.  The OR doors were closed and locked.  I was not allowed in, simply too many people and too much pain.  However, I was at that moment in time cursed for being able to hear, and the sounds made the "Saw" series sound like Disney;  Foul language, screams, doctors raised voices, flashing lights and shadows walking past the glass door.

Out of the mist created by the warm OR, came a nurse walking towards me.  Her eyes had seen things no man should ever see, and she gently asked me if I was ok.  Of course I wasn't.  Couldn't she tell that I was an emotional wreck, biting frantically at the bench, while peeing my pants and crying?   Anyway, I stood up and smiled, "Yes, I'm ok, thanks for asking.  Can I have some water please?"

Suddenly the OR went silent, the doors were unlocked and opened.  The doctor came over to me and said congratulations.  My wife had given birth to a little girl.  I shook the doctors hand hard, but soon realised that he was still wearing the gloves he had used during the procedure!

I was escorted into the OR, where I was greeted by my wife and gave her a kiss.  Then we were handed the little bundle and I cried (again) when I looked our new daughter in the eyes.  Thankfully she looked like my wife.  Despite the ordeal my wife had gone through, she still managed to look gorgeous - even with her legs strapped to two poles.  I smiled at her and said "We did it.  Where can we get a pair of those poles for our house", and winked.  That made her laugh.

Can I just say, all this happened in less than 20 of arriving to the hospital!  My nerves just can handle this anymore - no more kids.

I was asked to go to the ward and wait.  The girls would be rolled down as soon as they were ready.  My wife was of course offered the traditional cup of tea and toast - I didn't get anything.

The nurse on the ward asked me to change the baby!  What clothes and which diapers?  In the panic and rush, my wife had grabbed the wrong bags and as a result we had nothing for the baby.  As soon as my wife arrived, I kissed her again and had to go home to get clothes - under strict orders by the nurse.

On the way home, I cried again, making my helmet all misty, overwhelmed with emotions.  It is not easy becoming a dad again.

----------- You can also read:

• Night of 1000 Squeaks - the first night with the baby in the house
• Eyes full of Sand - my first night feed

Ready or not, here I come!

The Big Moment - Part 1

The day we had been waiting almost 9 months for had finally arrived, and like the previous two deliveries, we were not ready.  Lets face it, you can never be ready for the actual moment of your child is born.  It doesn't matter how many books you buy/read, how many hours you spend on Google or how many pre-natal classes you attend, you will never be ready for the actual time.

For some women, contractions / labour can last 24 hours, but I would assume that most women "only" have contractions in average around 10 hours before the action.  This is not easy to comprehend for us men, as we don't feel pain, but it looks fairly painful.  It would probably be like getting flicked on the testicles every 3-8 minutes, according to my lovely wife!  Not sure if that explains it and not sure how she would know how painful that actually would be.  NOTHING compares to that!

According to her (our) doctor and her chart, her due date said that we still had another two weeks to go, but my wife is always early; 5 weeks early with our daughter and 6 weeks early with our son.  Why this one would come on time is beyond me.

A large proportion of our family, predicted that it'll be a boy.  And, my so-called physic sister-in-law was adamant that it was going to be a boy, and had actually used spiritual forces and a gold ring to foretell the gender - and, he was going to be born only 1 week early.  My prediction was that she was going to go on or shortly after Easter and that it would be a girl.

Wednesday morning when I was getting ready to leave the house, after the breakfast feeding frenzy of our two kids, my wife said that her stomach was a little bit sore and that she needed to relax.  It was my duty to call in cavalry, my mother-in-law who "luckily" lives nearby.  She came over to the house to lend a hand with the kids while I was at work.

Shortly before lunch, I received a phone call at work from my disstressed mother-in-law, saying that my wife was in pain and she needed an ambulance.  In the background I could hear my wife cursing like "The Exorcists" and asked if I could talk to her.  I quietly explained to her that having a baby during business hours and during the week is not really an option, and she ensured me that she was fine and just needed to rest.  Sorted!

...but no, it wasn't sorted!

Close to 15.00 (3pm) I received another call from my mother-in-law, who this time was in a frantic panicky stage, screaming "he no good, he go!".  Who the hell was he and what had happened?  After some translation in my head I understood that it had to be my wife she was talking about.  I briefly spoke to my beloved wife, and she informed me that they had called an ambulance, as her pain was getting stronger.  Oh, and by the way, the water had broken.  What water?  The shower pipe? What?

Then it struck me.  The aquarium glass had broken.  Damn it.  I had just cleaned it.  Thankfully my wife clarified the situation, and it was actually her water that had broken, meaning she was preparing to poop the baby.

My initial reaction was somewhat subdued and I was just wondering where the water had landed, and how easy it would be to clean up.  Instead of asking, I agreed to meet my wife at the maternity hospital.  While having her contractions, water breaking, keeping her in panic mode mother calm and waiting for the ambulance, my wife actually informed me that she had cancelled the horseback riding and gym for the kids!  How on earth did she manage to think of that?

Shortly after, I was driving on my hog (my Vespa scooter) to the hospital, ready to participate in the delivery of our 3rd child.  When I say participate I of course mean lending my hand and arm for physical abuse and my ears would absorb all the negative language.  The man's role in most deliveries is simple. You need to act as United Nations between two stressed and hostile nations; one side your beloved wife who hurl verbal abuse at the medical staff when they touch her and on the other side the medical team trying to assist my wife.  You need to use all your political skills to negotiate a successfully delivery.

While waiting, I was nominated the award for "Worst Timing Ever".  because I had left the office in a rush, and had waited for the ambulance, I never got a chance to go to the toilet to pee.  I Simply had to go and legged down the corridor.  38 seconds later I was back in the war zone.

Minor glitch in the overall plan - the baby was lying in a breeched position, which is not really ideal for giving birth and will often require a C-section..However, despite all the doctors and nurses best efforts to , time was not on our side and my wife was giving birth to our third child.

For you ignorant people out there, a baby is meant to be born head first, so when the nurse says "I see a foot!", then you know it is NOT the ideal delivery scenario.

...more to follow in Part 2.

Lethal Experiment!

A fart is a reflex that expels intestinal gas through the anus.

Yes, I'm almost 38 years old, but farts still make me laugh.  There you go, I said it.  I'm a sad case, but I don't give a damn.  I have fun and have no problem saying it.  You should admit it too.


You have to admit it, farting is absolutely disgusting, but it can be really funny at times.  When did you last watch a movie where somebody farted and you burst out laughing.  It is so childish, but you just can stop laughing.  Not sure what it is about farts, but it makes people smile - most of the time.  Yes, if you fart while having in intimate moment, then it will not be accepted or considered funny.


Obviously, you don't fart in public or among extended family.  It is something sacred that is only done among people you know and trust; close family and friends.  Well, to be honest, you would only really fart among like minded friends.


The truth is, everybody farts, even the Pope and Obama, so it's ok to break wind.  Farts has even been given thousands of nicknames, and just mentioning these makes me laugh.

• After dinner mints
• Back draft
• Blinking the brown eye
• Burp taking the elevator down
• Swamp Ass
• Stepping on a duck
• Flapping the ring
• Gas alert
• Juicy doughnut
• The missing sound
• Ninja
• Pedo
• Hello missus
• Sound of silence
• Lethal weapon

Because of my childish behaviour, I decided to conduct an experiment.  My wife had already gone to bed and was snoring heavily, which was perfect for my experiment.


Objective:
Can people smell farts when sleeping?


Test subject:
My wife was halfway across to Pandora, pretending to be an avatar in the midst of a battle between good and evil.  The snoring sound indicated that she was NOT planning on returning for a while and was therefor a suitable victim.


Test:
I quietly flapped the ring, releasing a lethal toxic gas similar to that found on Pandora (Avatar), killing most mortal men.  The aim was to see if people can smell while sleeping.  Even I, the owner of the lethal gas, was finding it difficult to breath calmly and I was at times struggling to stay awake.


Result:
NO, people do not smell anything while sleeping.  My wife kept on sleeping as if nothing happening, which let me to conclude my experiment quickly.  I had to open the window to get in fresh air.  My nostrils were burning!


No need for advanced testing equipment of degrees in science.  All you need is lethal pedo, a duvet and of course an unknowing innocent victim.

Quick vote

My wife is due in the next few weeks, expecting our third child, and we are of course very exited.  As with our previous kids, we do not want to know the gender of the baby until it is born.

The most important thing for us us that are having another baby and that the baby is healthy.

Many new parents want to know the gender, and I can certainly understand their reasons why.  Knowing what to expect in regards to gender will allow parents to buy clothes and nursery equipment in either pink or blue.

Our first child was a girl and our second was a boy.

What do you think our third child will be?

Did you know the gender of your first child?

My Ace of Cake

When I first met my wife many moons ago, she was not well skilled in the kitchen - or anywhere near the kitchen for that matter.  I'm not being male chauvinistic, but she was just a disaster when it came to cooking.  It was clearly something she hadn't tried before, and probably never wanted to try either.  She just hadn't been in a kitchen before - at all.  It was like watching a blind person using an iPod.  I blame her parents of course, for this lack of marriage preparation training.  Kitchen navigation is one of the core lessons to teach your daughter.

I remember the first time she had to cook, or help me prepare dinner.  I asked her to boil the potatoes while I picked up a friend from the airport.  2 hours later, when we returned to the apartment, there was a strange smell of burnt soil.  The flat wasn't huge and the kitchen tiny.  What was causing these strange fumes?  And more, where were the potatoes?  I quickly spotted the pot where I had placed the potatoes and noticed that the bottom was covered with a thick black crust.  Mystery solved. She had burnt the potatoes.  When I asked her what had happened with the boiled potatoes, I got this evil stare and a quick reply "Boiled potatoes?  I had to put water in the pot?  You didn't give me clear instructions!".  I left it at that, no point arguing over burnt spuds, and ran to the local chipper to get fries.

Looking back, I strongly believe she had invented a new technique for making homemade chips / french fries. A technique that will be fully appreciated and worshipped when the planet runs out of water.  Then all the master chefs will come running to her for advice.

Despite the early failures in the kitchen, my dear wife has become a very good chef and makes lovely dinners.  I normally made dinner every night, before we had kids.  But because kids needs to eat early, she started to cook dinners during the week and I'll cook in the weekends.

Her interest in cooking / baking has taken her down different avenues, opened new doors one could say.  She is particularly fascinated by baking birthday cakes for the kids - even when it is not their birthday!  Not just any kind, but cakes that are shaped like princesses, dogs, balloons, etc.  If you have seen the "Ace of Cakes" TV show, then you'll know what I mean.

This is a skill she has been perfecting over time and she can now make the most amazing birthday cakes.  She is making fantastic cakes for the kids' birthdays and they love them.

Now, I fully support and appreciate these creations, but her determination and stubbornness when making these wonders are often scary.  She spends weeks planning the design, and investigates various techniques on the internet.  Lately, she has resorted to YouTube to get tips and hints, showing her how to make the perfect icing coatings and home made decorations, etc.

However, when the cakes are being made hell breaks lose.  The kitchen looks like a war zone; flour everywhere, ALL baking utilities are out, bags of spices scattered around, decorative figures standing in line prepared for battle and the MacAir is running YouTube and other baking sites.  The entire house smells of exotic spices and freshly baked cakes.

The actual process making these creations can take anything from 1 hour to 2 days - it all depends on the icing and design - or so she says.  For safety reasons (my safety), I retreat into the living room, out her reach, as I would otherwise get run over by a runaway (flying) bowl.  She curses, screams and sweats during the ordeal.  Sometimes I wonder if she is related to Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde.  Dough flies into the living room. It gets stuck on the TV closely followed by a pack of butter.  Calmly, I scrape off the dough and butter, while I dial the local parish office to get connected to the baking exorcist.

I have tried to assist her at times, despite how silly this might sound, to provide her with support.  But, more often than not, she has already been absorbed by the dark baking powder force, and she gives me the store of the flaming eye and utter words that I cannot repeat here.  I love it when she speaks dirty, but not when she bites kitchen utensils and spins her head.

Honestly, I never expected this transformation to happen.  When I fell in love with her, she was dressed in black and wore black eye makeup - black was her colour.  The first time we went to the pub and we had to go home (drunk of course) she was literally lying on the road outside the pub, attempting to stop a taxi.  Now, she's throwing baking rollers, bowls and ingredients around the kitchen ... or at me.

The creations are, as I mentioned earlier, amazing.  Our kids love them and all their friends are clearly jealous when the cake is presented, and feuds starts when cutting the cake, as they all want part of the decorations.  Some parents have even asked her if she could make a birthday cake for their kid's birthday.  Thankfully she has declined.  None of her friends should have the same cool cakes as our kids and I'm not sure my nerves would last too long anyway.

- cakes below are from our daughter's 6th birthday; cats 'n dogs theme