Thats it.
After a second IV failing and the poor little tike requiring the last cupla doses of anti-biotics via intra-muscular injection (ouch...), the horse-piddle gave all and sundry a clean bill of health and frogmarched us out the door.
(No, actually, they all said wonderful goodbyes and wished us the best - the midwifes and doctors at the Royal Wimmens were frankly, and simply, magnificent. Thank You.)
The only last minute heartstopper was when a new pediatrician started with the final check up and subsequent (honourable) discharge. She lent over, looked Mike carefully up and down, and pronounced in a carefully measured tone;
"Mmmm... this ones clearly suffering from a severe case of cuteness."
His first car ride was wholly uneventful, despite various friends suggesting it would be sheer panic for the driver with such special cargo.It was noted that little Mike in his brand new (council hired) baby capsule, complete with 5 point rally harness, monocoque survival cell, energy absorbing connectors, fully padded surrounds, flame resistant jump suit and naturally floppy body, was clearly the safest occupant in the car. If not all of Melways page 77, or indeed the road to Baghdad airport for that matter.
Still, Mistress P requested a stop at Green Point to check him over, just to make sure...
Home and a quick show-off to the neighbours. Then it was down to reality, which pretty much consists of feeding, sleeping, pooing and weeing. Same for Mike too.
In fact it's in the downstairs department that Mike has learnt his first party trick.
This takes the form of doing wee-wees on everything he possibly can about 10 seconds after
pants down for a nappy change. Without fail. Of course dad must have the memory of a goldfish, cos he continually forgets to place a hand towel or some other prophylactic device over the lads trouser snake, immediately after nappy removal. As Maxwell Smart would say, "ahhh... the old wee wee on everything in sight trick. I fell for that one twice last week."Or in dads case, today.
(AB was also heard to exclaim: "You know, this is the first willy not-attached-to-me I've ever touched!" And some may say thats a good thing too - not that theres anything wrong with it.)
The first night home proved to be a godsend for Mistress P, who despite feeds every 3 hours, announced she hadnt slept so well in a week. (In the horse-piddle at night, if your bub isnt screaming, someone elses is - or a nurse is trying to jab you/baby with something and/or asking
you if you're sleeping.) By the second night Mike was sleeping for up to 4 hours straight, and hence even dad is getting more rest, in total, than during the mad horse-piddle daze of the previous week.Still, easing into the new life seems to be the order of the day. As AB emailed friends, a typical afternoon goes something like:
"Right now (3:22pm) Mike and I are sitting on the deck as mum catches some shut eye. We're enjoying the sun and dreaming of a cupla knots more SE and maybe a windsurf. Mike says "wa wa wa" which I think means he's gunna wimp it and pike on the sail; either that or he wants a booby."Despite this scene from happy families, AB and Mistress P have just discovered they're the worst parents in the world.
Lil Mike had a feed and was sleeping away. Then he was bellowing. Then AB calmed him. Then he bellowed some more. Then AB calmed him. This went on for some time.
Mistress P: "Did you check his nappy?"
AB: "Nuh - didn't you?"
Mistress P: "Nuh."
Oh dear.
Upon subsequent inspection the poor little tike looked like he'd been marinating his bum in Werribee's finest for about an hour. Just dont tell the local council maternal health care nurse or the Sandringham horse-piddle midwife, who have already visited on the first two days and told us how well we were all doing...
By way of redemption, AB read Mike the sail reviews from the latest issue of BOARDS magazine. (We've decided to skip the cat-in-the-hat stage and go straight to the literary heavyweights.)
Home is where he heart is. If not the boy. Print this post
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