We have become gambling parents… no we are not taking punts our baby’s trust fund at the local bookies or on those bingo websites you see when watching day time TV. No not gambling of that nature, more of a risk benefit assessment at certain times of our parenthood journey.
For example, moving a naked soapy baby from bath to towel on bed is a risky business. Risk of bubs slipping out of our grip like a bar of soap, but also more pressingly (and thankfully yet to happen *touches wood as he types*) you could have a wee/poo moment during transition. Nappy roulette is also an interesting game to play, regular visitors to this blog (all three episodes!) will know we are bottle feeders. With bottle feeding comes less nappy action of the poo variety, what that does mean though is that when it does happen… it happens BIG! Therefore nappy roulette is a regular occurrence, you pray in silence that your turn to change is not THE ONE with the bullet in the chamber so to speak.
The cutting of the kitten-like nails of our baby is a gamble neither of us have taken yet. Being big fans of The Apprentice we have even purchased the Nipper Clipper from the genius mind of Tom Pellereau – they come with a handy window to prevent the nipping off of finger tips! Even so, we have both been too chicken to attempt it with a wriggler of limbs. We have resulted to minor cannibalism and nibbled at the offending mini blades on our daughters tiny hands.
The biggest gamble we took was not finding out the sex of our baby, it led to an exciting 9 months of speculation and buying non gender specific clothing (difficult to find in most stores but out there if you search far and wide) so when our little girl arrived she had a collection of outfits that were truly unisex. This week someone said “ooh what a lovely little boy” – we quickly corrected her, but in that case just ask boy or girl? Surely NEVER gamble!?
Trips out with the little one result in a car load of baby paraphernalia just to ensure every eventuality is catered for, the other day we had three outfit changes due to what can only be described as a poo-nami. Some changing facilities in public spaces you visit are great, others not so much. I am hugely surprised that security were not called to our local Waitrose (free coffee thank you very much!) when I used the baby change ‘room’. Me, baby and pram did not fit together cue a lot of crashing and banging and a fair bit of swearing. To escape with the pram intact I ended up resembling Austin Powers and his 15 point turn!
We did manage to find a local pub to fit all our ante-natal group into. The mums have been meeting up on a regular basis since all babies were born, but this was the first time dads were involved. All our bundles of joy lined up in their car seats as we chatted, ate and drank – the six babies (one baby & her folks couldn’t make it) caused quite a stir with other bar flies – especially around the festive time of year they did resemble the seven dwarfs (minus one dwarf) in their Christmas jumpers.
Us dads managed to talk rugby, Christmas lights and Star Wars (much excitement about the Episode VII trailer between two of us). But, as soon as our little ones were passed to us we turned to mush and began the baby talk – sleep patterns, nappies and the level of nostril stingingness of the waste products held within.
The support network the girls provide each other is fantastic and a reason alone to do ante-natal classes. As we shared stories of night time routines, nappy life hacks and the different options of bottle it was nice to know other parents suffer with grunty babies and talk to themselves.
One conversation summed it all up:
new mum “I’m glad that happens to you too and I’m not going crazy!”
new dad “No, we are all crazy… just we are all going crazy at the same time!”