Aw. Despite my hopes yesterday, sadly Katherine & Magnus are spending tonight at the hospital after all. I really miss them - I'm rubbish on my own, mooching around the house and looking lost - but given the happenings of Saturday morning I'm glad that the Maternity Unit are looking after them so well and making sure everything's tickety-boo before release.
Today went fine, with me changing a couple of nappies entirely on my tod with minimal disaster, and Magnus having quite the appetite. He's got a touch of the jaundice (though not as much as the above photo suggests) so gets placed in the sunlight whenever any happens to appear in Kirkcaldy, counter to the usual advice on babies and sunshine, but seems fine otherwise, veering from dozy slumbers to wide-eyed mouth-clucking milk-hunger (and, oh, his utter disappointment when I pick him up and he roots around for a nice milky nipple, only to get a mouthful of t-shirt).
Anyway, time for bed, back to the hospital again tomorrow - I can only hope that this time tomorrow there'll be three of us here, not just me (in which case I probably won't be blogging, so if all's quiet here tomorrow evening then all's gone fine). But if you've not read it yet I've got to point you in the direction of Charlie Brooker's latest column in the Guardian. Partly because it's a wonderful piece of writing, partly because the events he describe are very close to what happened with ourselves (the only notable deviation being that when I put scrubs on it all proceeded to go ahead) and as such he nails the emotions, feelings, the sheer holy-shitting-fuck-WHATness of it all - and the overwhelming feeling of love and euphoria that quickly followed. Here's an excerpt but, seriously, do read the whole thing. It's all true.
Apologies for swearing in the presence of a child, but the first thing I thought was "Fuck me". Not just as an expression of surprise, but as a mission statement, as in: "Fuck me and what I want – from now on, my task is to protect you, whatever or whoever you are." Prior to the birth, other dads had warned me that "bonding" might not happen for weeks, even months. Also, I was worried I might simply feel nothing. Instead I felt reprogrammed, head-to-toe, in an instant. That was a shock.