Daddy-tastic: an update on the man

That's right folks, he hasn't ditched yet, despite my ever expanding amounts of napping, complaining and belly flesh.   Thom is hanging in there like a trooper and it’s a good time for an update into the current issues of dad-to-be.  Big on the agenda for the male of the household this week are:

1. Maternity bras
2. Heartbeats
3. Emotional restraint

Maternity Bras

Dubbed in Thom-language, the ‘get me a discount bra’.  As mentioned in previous blogs, the bump is not the only thing to protrude.  Boobs have been getting bigger and I have bought new containers to house them.  Non-wired seemed the way of the future with all the pinching of anything restrictive, and I ordered something called a ‘maternity bra’ online.  When it arrived I realized it was a fully functioning nursing bra.  Thom thought the clips that unleashed the puppies were hilarious, prompting him  to ask if it was the ‘get me a discount bra’.  The idea in his head being something like this -

I say: ‘How much for that hoover/ham sandwich/hover craft?’

Vendor says: ‘It’s [insert amount here].’

I unclip one of the handy discount-getting clasps and slyly say: ‘Are you sure?’

Heartbeats

We can feel for Thom in his current life situation.  It is a change from the days when he was young, unhindered and free.  Although, God knows, his body could not have withstood the young, unhindered and free behavior forever.  He suffered a broken skull on more than one occasion, bravely doing all the things that made life fun.  He has calmed down a fair bit, but one of the skull fractures has left him with a screwed-up inner ear on one side that has a freakish, bat-like hearing ability.  He has been able to put the bat-like ear to the bump and if the babies are positioned just right, he can hear the heartbeats.  It is a nightly activity now, and he gets a little hurt if they are hiding from him behind the placenta.

Emotional Restraint

‘Honey, can you empty the bin for me?’

‘Honey, can you make me lasagna tonight?’

‘Honey, can you also put a new bin bag in the bin?’  

This man has brains.  He dares not cross the growing female hippo without big ammunition.  He has cooked almost every night and developed a humorous, playful approach to the fact that I am zombie from the time the sun starts to dip below the horizon.  He has called me ‘the incubator’ which seems to pretty much sum up the main activities he gets to see me do – eating and sleeping.  I wonder if he screams in the car on the way to work or just types nasty texts that he doesn’t send to me to get any  of the less palatable emotions out.  Whatever he's doing, the man is a picture of zen-like emotional restraint, gliding through it all with a smile and still giving me a peck on the cheek on the way.  When I ask him, he is just full of love.  He can’t wait to meet the twins and, with the way he is, I’ll bet they’ll be very happy to see him, too.

The Lord taketh away. And sometimes he giveth a little back.

Yesterday I had an hour between clients and went hunting on Oxford Street for bump-friendly clothes.  There are not many places you can stroll into and browse great range of maternity wear. Thankfully, autumn is just beyond the horizon and the shops are full of big knitwear. 

I went to a favourite shop of mine and found a chunky cream coloured long jumper.  I picked up a 'large' imaginining that the size would see me through.  It was soft and I was honestly pleased with my find.

I browsed further, looking for something to spice it up. A scarf. A necklace. When I laid my eyes on a display table that seemed down-lit from heaven.  On it, a cobalt blue pencil skirt paired with simple fine knit tops and a choice of killer heels.  My hand started for it, as if of its own will or propelled by a divine force, when I realised that this season, I could not pull it off.  I looked down at the cream jumper in my hands.  Suddenly it seemed achingly dull.

I did what anyone one would do.  I reached for my phone to email a friend to have a little 'poor me' moan.  He emailed back: 'Don't start regretting your children before they arrive!'  He's right, I thought, distraught that I was already a crappy, selfish parent.

That evening, I returned home, shopping bag with the dull, but soft, jumper in hand.  Inside, other than a happy Thom, there was a package to greet me.  The maternary trousers I ordered over the weekend.  Black, skinny trousers for which I decided to splash out full price rather than troll about for second hand.

Once I tried them on I knew I'd made the right choice.  They fit brilliantly, showing some still skinny legs, and looked amazing with a number of tops I already had.  They fit comfortable over the bump and looked just great paired with fitted, bump-show-off tops.  I was happy with my new look and satisfied to go with it, abandoning the blue pencil skirt with a smile.  At least for this year.