Trimester Three

Trimester Three

The reason I decided to write a blog about becoming a Dad was to share lots of “how on earth do I do Dadding!?!?” stuff. The panic of getting ready to introduce an entire baby into the world, who will look upon me as a parent. As his Dad. A proper, actual Dad. Blimey!

But, as time has gone on and as the pregnancy has progressed, it seems that Frankton and I have been quite relaxed about it. Not flippantly relaxed at all; we just appear to be taking it in our stride.

This whole having a baby thing has flowed along smoothly, as if in a 1950s novel where every day is spent skipping through meadows, laughing gayly and drinking freshly squeezed lemonade as we await the little *pop* of our smiling, carefree child entering our lives. Probably freshly clothed and with a sparkling white nappy.

Trimesters: A Little Lesson

A year ago if someone had said to me “what do you know about trimesters?” I would have said, “I remember they were the textbooks we used in GCSE French.”

(A year ago, despite not being anywhere near having a baby, I was still attempting Dad jokes.)

The Dad Booth

The truth is that I really wouldn’t have known about trimesters. Even the fact that the clue is in the name, I wouldn’t have known that there were three of them. Whatever they were.

Six months into the pregnancy and I now know exactly what a trimester is, and how many there are of them. There are three trimesters (told you) and we – by which I mean, Kerri – are in the third.

Technically we cruised into it last Friday. Just another little milestone on the fun, carefree skipping journey to becoming a parent. I’d just finish re-painting the nursery wall and then we could watch a box set whilst we waited another three months for his arrival.

Oh look, 27 weeks pregnant. I do believe this is the third trimester. Cup of decaf tea before I press play?

Trimester three really isn’t anything to worry about, I thought. Absolutely it is the last one in the whole journey of pregnancy but everything is in check.  After all, as the last respective siblings in our families to be having a baby, Little Fella is inheriting quite a few items. (Or borrowing for now, at least.) There’s hardly anything for us to do.

Perfect.

On Friday night, as Kerri was getting ready for bed, I decided to Google about the third trimester.

Google: A Little Lesson

Never Google anything. Ever! 

The Third Trimestaaaarrrgghhhhh!

As I lay in bed, reading more and more about the third trimester, I obviously began to appreciate the effects it would have on Kerri. She is going to feel tired, her hormones are going to perform all sorts of acrobatics, she is going to feel tired, there will probably be nausea, she’s going to feel tired. Above all, she will need more care, consideration and understanding than ever before.

I love Kerri and I am in absolute awe of how she is as a woman; let alone a pregnant woman. I mean, she is incredible. I am sure every partner or family member thinks that of their pregnant loved one… and we bloody well should. The love I had for her before has multiplied in ways that, as someone with barely a GCSE in maths, I can hardly calculate.

The caring, understanding, focusing on Frankton as part of trimester three will be a joy. I will have a part in it. That is great. That is the gift.

I read on. There was a list.

  1. Put together your baby’s furniture and buggy.
  2. Pack your pregnancy bag.
  3. Finalise your birth plan.
  4. Stock up on household products.
  5. Join your birth club.
  6. Acclimatise yourself with your hospital.
  7. Be creative about third trimester sex!

What the actual..!?! That is a lot of all-of-a-sudden-stuff to do.

What does it mean: Stock up on household products!?! We’re having a baby; not a nuclear attack. (Although I have read about those early nappy times…) We’ve got 3 cans of Mr Sheen but I can’t see how that helps. Unless you squirt it and push the baby over furniture in a baby grow..?

What is a birth plan? Birth. Plan? We barely plan meals until we’re in the kitchen with the plates out. Seriously, the amount of times we’ve eaten fish & chips off cold plates because I forgot to put them in the oven first.

It advised about deciding who cuts the umbilical cord. I honestly don’t even know where to start with that. Again, my GCSEs, biology wasn’t my strong point. In a room of surgeons and midwives, and me; I can’t see that I am a major player in that. Or Kerri who, presumably by that stage, is well and truly spent.

And does number 7 correlate to number 4!?!

I cut the grass today, so I think I have started to get this preparation thing in check. And Frankton has just asked if I have ever thought to watch Line Of Duty, so she has that covered.

Aside from those two things, I think this blog is about to serve its purpose…

…HOW ON EARTH DO I DO DADDING!?!

 

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