Antipodea: Mad about the boy

The wee one has finally arrived. At 7.52am (Australian Eastern) on 2nd September 2005, so he is now anout two and a half days old.

Obviously his coming about was not straightforward, as us Campbells seem to go out of our way to make things difficult. The ordeal started on the morning of the 1st, around 4am. Jen woke me up to let me know she was having contractions, about 3-4 minutes apart.

Now, having seen a few labouring chicks in the past, I have to say she didn't look all that uncomfortable, but it was early days. This is not something that can be mentioned to anyone with a possible dilating cervix as birds are sensitive about that sort of thing, and to question her discomfort would be like asking for help singing falsetto. The mad hairy feminists have the hormonal half of the population under the impression that doubt expressed by any male is tantamount to revoking voting rights.

In any event they got worse so after 2 hours we headed over to the labour ward, and waddled (or at least one of us did) to one of the Screaming Rooms. While we were there, Jen developed the same vomiting and diarrhoea that the rest of the family had had for the preceding week. This was confirmed by the obstetrician who pointed out that half a centimetre of dilatation was less than impressive and that she just had the dreaded lurgy.

I went home to get some sleep before work, who I had already called to explain I wouldn't be in. I turned up at 4pm, 2 hours late. They kept Jen in (private healthcare loves milking unecessary admissions for a bit of extra cash) for intravenous fluids, although a night out would have left most people more dehydrated than her at that point.

After arriving at work at 4pm, I got another call around half past to say she was now in labour. I hung around for a couple of hours to try and at least get some work done, then trotted off to the hospital. Rather than leave all the gear (mum and baby bag, camera) in the car, I had already chucked it in the house, so turned up empty handed to a sore and contracting wife.

A mere 16 hours, one epidural and several visits by the obstetrician later, Jen produced a 9 lb 1 oz, healthy, disgruntled boy who turned out to be called Callum Gordon Campbell. I confessed to the midwife that I was a shit life partner and parent by having not so much as a spare vest to replace the one the boy had already covered in products of conception, and so had to dash back to the house to grab the carefully prepared and neglected first time parent kit, and spare knickers for the wife.

Callum is simply beautiful. The touch of neonatal jaundice and his rather stout frame do make him look like an Islander, but he is a perfect and so far very placid little one. As long as he gets his feed, he is spending his days mostly sleeping, ignoring the paediatrician, and getting stroppy about bathtime. He will occasionally open his eyes to see if there is a nipple within striking distance but otherwise he seems to be getting over the biggest day of his life so far.