Back to (front) Basics

So what is the difference between an aunt and a gran? Grans don't put your nappy on backwards.

Even I know that the picture of the bear goes to the front and that the sticky bits (before bowel movements) go either side of the bear - never cover his face (that means the nappy is too big) or stray so far from it that the bear looks lonely (that means the nappy is too small - or the baby needs some serious burping).

Having said that - Josh enjoyed having Tanya and Craig over for a visit and has been practising his crawling to surprise them with some controlled lurching for Christmas. Watching him come to grips with the rather complicated process of getting up on all fours and then balancing on his head just before he falls back on his belly is both intriguing and sobering. This kid is going to be going ballistic soon and I always promised myself that I'd show him the ropes. Better put my expensive gym membership to use or face being out-paced by a toddler - or is that inevitable whatever I do?

A Barack-aid of Teeth

Josh and I stayed awake on the night of the 4th/morning of the 5th of November - me to watch Barack Obama elected President of the USA, Joshua to come to grips with his rapidly emerging teeth. The first two (bottom centre) are out and getting a lot of exposure to mom's soft tissue (as this blog is read by families with small children, I'll say no more), dad's finger(s) (that dad would repeatedly offer fingers now bruised and tender is a sign of what I hope will grow into Agape love) and various bits of his own lip, corners of baby grows and other gob-friendly items.

The night was quite a good one for the two of us - his pain was short-lived (yes the Panado syrup did the trick, thanks mom) and I managed to sleep through states 5 to 49 and woke up to find that history was all but made despite not having enough oil in my lamp (no that’s not some subtle Viagra related statement, read Matthew 25). I didn’t feel that I had betrayed Barack by falling asleep – but I did stumble into bed in such a way that I “accidentally” woke Tracey to tell her that history was being made. She mumbled that waking her to tell her something rather for asking for something was history indeed and promptly went back to sleep. Still not sure I understand.

I tried to explain the significance of the new president to Josh but I think he was one step ahead of me. I pointed to a picture of Obama, which was on the same page as a cartoon of Jacob Zoomer (having jetted in to the Sates and then straight back out again with very little said or done); Joshua looked at the page, gave an almighty kick – hitting Zoomer in the part of the cartoon covered with a grass skirt and then fell forward to land a great big toothy kiss on the head of the new leader of the Free World. Ah the inner-sense of youth.

The Meaning of Mud

This is what Wikipedia says about Vesuvius:

Mount Vesuvius is on the coast of the Bay of Naples, about nine kilometres (six miles) east of Naples and a short distance from the shore. It is conspicuous in the beautiful landscape presented by that bay, when seen from the sea, with Naples in the foreground. Mount Vesuvius is best known for its eruption in AD 79 that led to the destruction of the Roman cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum. It has erupted many times since and is today regarded as one of the most dangerous volcanoes in the world because of the population of 3,000,000 people now living close to it and its tendency towards explosive eruptions. It is the most densely populated volcanic region in the world.

Today Joshua - now known to me as Vesuvius, erupted (a first for me, but previous cries from the bathroom and the laughter today, remind me that it happens from time to time). Years from now we'll talk politics and sport and music and stuff - and no matter how thick I feel (he'll obviously know so much more than I ever will - and his Maths will be a mystery to me) I'll remember that I mopped up and saved the day and I wont feel that bad.

If you dont get the mud reference in the title - it seemed silly to write pyroclastic flow, but it would have been appropriate.

How to Side Step the Boot

So the last time Josh and I watched the Boks play in the Tri Nations, Tracey took him outside - comments about bad language and the screaming doing him damage I recall. Today, the get-out-of-jail-almost-free-with-an-I-told-u-so-card day, Tracey and Josh were almost certainly not even aware of the game between the Aussies and SA. So this post is here so that Josh will know that we won, at least once, on the home leg of the 2008 Tri Nations. A good game: exciting, well ref'ed, passionately supported and thoroughly enjoyed at Middagkrans Farm - albeit alone. This is why we wear the green and gold - and why Div is paid the same (more gold than green I suspect!) and it's why I hope I'll call him Joe not Joshie.

How to Get the Boot

Throwing the baby out with the Rooibos

Tracy and I were accosted (in a friendly manner) by a Rooibos hamper toting shorty in the shops the other day. 'Do you drink Rooibos?' she asked. Joshua looked at her and puked - at 11 weeks this is normal and in no way meant to insult. She took a step back and pulled out a long slender pamphlet. She thrust it at Tracey - much like a sword (to fend off the infant perhaps) and said 'Just take this.' Turned and disappeared into a pile of ankle length socks.

It seems you can do amazing things with Rooibos - tenderise meat; substitute for milk in almost any recipe (yay Rooiboskos for 'Milk Tart', hmm?); food for pot plants; to soothe itchy skin and to dye material. Just about anything it seems. As she ran from us, the shorty cried 'You can wash him in Rooibos too!' I wander if she hoped we'd wash off the sick before the next rep bumped into us. I said to Tracey 'You'd need a pretty small baby to make one teabag go the distance.' She said 'Yes, or a couple of bags and a very big tea pot.'

Food Glorious Food

Yay - Josh and I have our meals brought to us! Can you believe that people would offer to drop food off each day to help Tracey and I as we get to know our new son and his routine? Well that's exactly what our friends and the town folk have done - and that in 2008 in the land of crime and xenophobia (actually SA isn't as bad as CNN and the BBC made it appear - though no-one can deny that even Fhk had a town hall full of displaced and rather fearful foreigners - one of whom chose to return to Uganda rather than live in what I regard as paradise - one of us is a fool!) But thank you Franschhoek and friends - the difference you have made has warmed far more than our tummies!

Back to the feeding issue... So after months of not drinking wine (to save the foetus), Tracey now has to avoid chocolate, onion, broccoli and curry (to save us both from going insane or committing suicide via bashing our heads off from a lack of sleep caused by a bloated and irritable infant). It took 2 nights to work out that the chocolate issue is true and now we (she) accepts that if there's a hint that it might keep him up, it's better to put it down. Damn, being a guy has some serious benefits that are even better than the standing-up-toilet-thing. Which reminds me that I can't wait until he stands up and does his thing, rather than constantly replaying one of those ridiculous and ubiquitous 'comedy' scenes of the dad getting his shirt wet while trying to change the baby. I have learnt that 'checking' the pool pump or feeding the dogs just as the evening bath and change routine starts, buys just enough time and a valid excuse to keep my jersey on and my sleeves dry.

The NDC

Since Monday I have been greated by a number of smiling and 'knowing' dads. I'm one of them - a member of the club so-to-speak. The (New) Dads' Club. None of us have done much to quailfy (our wives will tell you that) but once the newness wears off we'll earn our stripes / smiles / frowns.

Funny thing - this bond I now share with fathers all over the world - a week ago I might have said it's silly to think that my life will change that dramatically; but there is a difference that is difficult to define. I mentioned to a dad of a beautiful teenage daughter that there is a primal stirring in me when I think about Joshua - he nodded and I could see the shotgun wedged between the front seats of his car and I realised that I'm blessed to start with a boy. I fear that he'll see a shotgun before I do! You go son! I hear that the next child is on the way. Oh well back to the drawing bed.

Surprise Surprise

At 2AM Tracey said something like "I think I'm having a baby." I said something that I'm not proud of and went back to sleep. At 4AM she had a bath. The contractions stopped and so did the panic. Little did we know. At 5:30AM she woke me again and said "I'm having a baby!" I said "Hang on let me just log on to my client's server and make sure that the update has finished." It haden't. A short delay to click OK and Restart and off we went - Stellenbosch via 4-Way flashers and lots of rhythmic breathing.

At 8:02AM Joshua Garner poked his perfect face - if not reminiscient of mom, dad, great gran (on mom's side) and granpa (also on mom's side) - out and said "Hey! This place is messed up but there's no going back now. Clean me, feed me and get me started - I'll do the rest. Time to sort this country out." I bought him the newspaper to show him who Thabo is - so that he can give him a shout and wake him up at sparrows before the xenophobic twits relieve their angst by slaughtering another hard-working Malawian and helping themselves to a Sony. Alas no pics of our esteemed Pres. Absent as he is always; save for some statement he made about the horse and bolting and how the stables are so clean - 'cause a little straw goes a long way to cover the mess but wait until the stench of the rot gets you and then you'll say kak, and you'll be right. Anyhow, Jo is here and man is he a beaut. I'm as proud as any new dad - not that I did much (and what little I did do was such a long time ago I can't say I recall it being that amazing - at least not the stuff that I did!)

Josh's room has a place for the rugby ball and a cricket bat and a shelf for the violin - just in case. I have sleeping tablets and a rational wife. Long may it last! Thank you Lord.

Stuck between a tail and a torso.

Tracey, Josh and I went to Barrydale for the weekend. Thought about leaving him at home with the house-sitters - but the process of taking him out appears to be irreversible so he tagged along. Not much of an imposition really but he does slow mom down a bit; and the wine drinking, while not entirely restricted, is certainly subdued. I figured Barrydale was a bit more like Calizdorp - with a strong focus on wine - but it wasn't; so the effect was negligible.

Less than a month to go and the boy is a real kicker (hope that's not some obscure euphemism in some odd-ball town somewhere for toe-nail-clipping-eater or worse). Given his previous reasons for kicking - the joke that is the Zim elections; Mad Bob; the Sharks poor finishing (season wise) and the removal of the Scorpions' tail and sting and surely head next (by the people who may be accurately referred to as the part of the body that is hidden between a tail and a torso) - I can only think that he's had enough and wants to get out to sort things out. It's about time someone did something. Will he be the one to save us from our problems? A part of me suspects that's he's likely to find all the no-doers (who are marginally less useful than all the do-gooders and peas in the same pod as all the say-nothings) and smack them about the head. His dad will surely encourage him not to be the violent sort but enough is enough. Kick. Kick. Kick.

Which seems to be quite common since the introduction of the ELVs. I think the game is better for it. At least now I can point out the faded pics of Naas and say "Ag, Jo, back in the day this was the man who could change, in the course of 80 minutes, the lives and loves of oh so many - by sticking his foot in it." Living on a farm such little accidents need to be dealt with pragmatically - and with a spare pair of Nikes kept on the veranda. Must remember to keep those clean as the due date is the end of the month and right now running excitedly and getting the nervous runs seem quite similar.

The Stormers and the tea cup

I organised a bit of a get together to watch the rugby yesterday - Stormers vs The Hurricanes. I figured that the dogs battle to come to terms with all the shouting, jumping, falling (off the couch) and wild splashing that accompanies a typical scene in our house when the local teams play - and it's because I haven't sensitised them to the game from early enough. So Jo got a chance to ease into things. The game was an important one, and with the good form that the Stormers are in I felt certain that he'd get a taste of all the 'activities' that make up a game.

Being from Fhk - there was no beer, just wine. Not that he needs to learn about that yet. The dogs were suitably positioned. The 'manne' were in front of the telly. The game ran on for 30 minutes before I noticed that the dogs had escaped, the wine bottle was empty, the Josh mobile (Tracey) had retreated into the kitchen and I was left alone to scream and fret about the complete lack of tackling and general ineptitude of the camera man, the ref and the state of refreshments in the house.

No wonder rugby in this country has gone to pot. While we, the guardians of the game, do the man-stuff - braai, discuss team selection, slate the government, re-live great tries and expound the virtues of low tackles and strong hand-offs - our young men-to-be are in the kitchen making potato salad with mom! What nonsense. I have decided (if not for Tracey I would decree) that all in the house will watch the Brutal Game (so much more exhilarating than the Beautiful one) - man and woman alike. No salad, no looking at the baby room, no measuring the thickness of nappies or the length of stretch marks - just watching rugby. 5 minutes off at half time to top-up the glasses and biltong bowls and if that's done well I'm happy to skip the post-match dissection from Naas and Co.

If he does end up playing the violin and asking for a tea set for his doll-house, so be it. But until it happens we will support our team as one!

Say what?

I 'discovered' some time ago that unborn babies (I can't spell feet uses) respond to the sounds and voices they hear through mom's swelling tummy. Some people swear (though not within earshot of the kid) that speaking to your unborn child has soothing / bonding / developmental / gender-changing effects. I don't know much about that - but I do know that Joshua can hear us - and that he has some definite views about life. If he likes something he tends to rub the the walls of his cocoon; if he doesn't like it - he tries to punch right through!

I discovered this while listening to Jack Johnson. I said 'I like Jack Johnson' - Tracey said 'I think Joshua is purring!' I paused the DVD and the History Channel voice over mentioned David Koresh. Joshua punched. Tracey said 'Put Jack on,' Joshua purred again. So I conducted a little test: Thabo - kick. Nelson - purr. Lucifer, Adolf, load shedding. Kick, kick, kick. Mother Teresa, Mark Shuttleworth and daddy. Puurrr. Mad Bob. Kick. Kick. Kick. From the mouths of unborn babes!

Tuna, Mate

9 weeks to go! And we're eating a lot of tuna. I don't really mind. I like tuna, and it's easy to wash down with 2 glasses of wine (the first is mine and the second is Tracey's - as she "isn't drinking" - the kid is going to grow up in Franschhoek, so I guess his time will come!).

I hope he's going to be an active kid - not active as in climbing up the curtains and stuff - but keen to play outside, jump off the roof and occasionally try to spend the night in a tree (or even make a tree-house if it doesn't involve me). I like active kids. I think they help me imagine being active - which is enough to remind me that feet up is a lot more enjoyable than nose to the grindstone. Joshua will be active I'm sure, and while I don't really fancy building a tree house - I will. I have also thought of making a sled that Amber could pull. The kid will be decapitated for sure when she goes hurtling into the orchards after Bongi - but can you imagine the rush. Makes me wish I was slightly smaller or Amber a bit bigger.

Speaking of the dogs - we went for a walk to the farm dam today and I figured that if Joshua is going to come along on these outings in a few months time, we're going to have to strap him in to his 3 wheel pram-thing (one of those off-road, run-a-marathon-with-it jobs). The road is certainly 'off' and as steep as the descent into Hell - so come August expect to hear cries of dismay from Tracey, cries of frustration from me and just cries from Josh as he hurtles down the hill, mud splattering all about and dogs barking and biting at his wheels. Book in to Fhk Pass Villa and catch all the action!

What's in a name?

Before we knew that he would be a 'he' we spent quite a lot of time looking for a good name for it. We looked through a couple of books, considered re-naming the dog (she's called Amber and I really like Amber as a name), crossed off all the cool names that have been used by our friends (Adam and Kerry got Jessica, so that was the first to go), considered inventing a name and Googled. In the end, an awards ceremony at a local school gave me a bit of a wake-up. I had settled on the idea of choosing a unisex name and we had all but settled on Cameron (yes Cam, named after you), despite Cameron meaning crooked (nose) or something. After UnisexName received his third award for the evening, the person handing out the certificates finally twigged that UnisexName was a girl and corrected himself, making him a her and causing much embarrasment for all. I decided that won't happen to my kid. A boy will get a boy's name and a girl a girl's. Sorry Storm, Skye, Savannah and Stardust.

So why Joshua? Truth is I like the idea that a name means something. Apple Poppyseed is cute, but... Joshua means "God saves" (or similar). I don"t know if Joshua will think He does. It doesnt really matter. I'll do what I do because I think He does. I hope Joshua agrees - so I guess it does matter - but not in a way that I'll disown him if he disagrees. Can you believe that some people do that?

Speaking of which - I have also thought that Joshua may very well become something I am not. If he ends up fabulously rich or handsome I won't mind. Many a man has suggested that I ensure he gets a rugby ball before he gets a Barney. After all, today he's cuddling a fluffy toy, tomorrow he's combing Barbie's hair, and then before long he's buying XS bright Ts at Gap. If he ends up a rugby playing boy I'll call him Jo for short. If he plays the violin, he'll be Joshie. Joshua, Joshie, Jo - that's my boy!

Tracey said ...

Tracey, she should know, she's a doctor, said: Don't expect anything. Some people try for years and get nothing. Tough, I have heard that some people get preganant on their first try.

We did too.

Crazy really. Who actually plans to have kids these days? I can buy the 'Oops, we're having a baby' line any day, above the 'So we decided that now is the right time to have kids' one. My parents worried about their kids having sex, drugs and rock 'n roll. I'm too worried about everything let alone those three. Sex is way to dangerous these days - how any kid actually gets up the courage to loose his or her virginity I dont know (what with 'private' pictures published on the Net - and who hasnt got PICASA or Flikr or woteva, HIV/AIDS, spiked drinks, and your lover as likely to emigrate from SA as wear a stapled condom). Drugs? Well dont need to say much about them. Coke, TIK, wine - horses and donkeys really, and how bad can riding a donkey be. Good luck kid. As for the rock 'n roll; they dont make music the way they used to! At least the future promises that s/he'll be too drunk to notice it's rubbish - just got to figure out how I keep it like that so that s/he stays a virgin.

Seriously, how cool is this. I'm going to have a baby!