What's in a Name?

Baby names are always in the news and no more so than this week, with the naming of George Alexander Louis, His Royal Highness Prince George of Cambridge.  There was a lot of media speculation about what the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge would call their bundle of joy.  There continues to be analysis of the name and people pontificating over their choice.

Celebrities like the Beckhams have followed a trend of famous people giving their children unusual names.  Recently, Kanye West and Kim Kardashian named their daughter North.  Quite nice until you realise that she will take her fathers Surname.  There were sections of my family who were not happy with the middle name that was given to my little brother.

It seems that all of us, from princes to paupers, are scrutinised by what we call our offspring.  It is the first thing, other than DNA, that we bestow on them.  We hadn't given much thought to what we were going to call our baby until the day he arrived.  In our defence, we thought that we still had two months to go before making the decision.  We had a girl's name in the bag but as we didn't know what gender our baby was we needed a boy's name too.

We spent the early part of labour going through the alphabet trying to find a name starting with each letter, that we both liked.  We skipped Q, X, Y and Z.  By the time he was born we had chosen a first and second name for our little man.  The following day, in my first act of fatherhood, I registered the birth and named our son.  I know that I could have waited but we didn't know at that point if he would survive the trauma of being born prematurely and we wanted him to have a name.

He did survive and, looking back at our short list of names, we definitely made the right choice.  He fits his name well.  But does it make that much difference?  Shakespeare's thoughts on the matter in Romeo and Juliet would suggest not.

Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name which is no part of thee
Take all myself.

Does it really matter what we call our children?  As parents we love them unconditionally, no matter what they are called, even when they are royally winding us up.  There is their future well being to think about, but other than that, What's in a name?

The Long Weekend. Chapter3

Back in the days when I looked after R every Friday, we started to go swimming.  Due to the unique way the Council makes decisions, our local pool, South Leeds Sports Centre, closed down so I had to drive to Morley for our weekly splashing session.  This week the decision was taken to demolish South Leeds Sports Centre but you can read about that at South Leeds Life.

I'd arranged a play date for our swim and we decided to go to Armley Sports Centre.  R was giddy with excitement as we looked out his swimming trunks, swim nappy and water wings.  We chose an octopus to take with us and got in the car.  R was still bouncing as we picked up our dates and ran into the sports centre.

All was fine until we got into the changing room, that was when the spell was broken.  Suddenly R wanted to be anywhere but where we were and he certainly didn't want to go swimming.  In the two and a half years since he was born I have never seen him have such a tantrum.  Crying so hard he was almost fitting.  Backing away from me like I was about to eat him.  I managed to calm him down, soft gentle talking, making sure he was ok.  But when I suggested that he might like to have a swim it all kicked off again.  In the end we got dressed and our dates had a nice swim without us.

I was stunned to see R in this state.  I was upset too.  Firstly and selfishly, I wanted to go swimming and he had ruined my plan for the morning.  Secondly, I can still clearly remember the fun I had learning to swim with my dad, although I was a little older than R is now.  Thirdly, I don't want him to be traumatized by the idea of swimming.  I'll leave it a while before we try swimming again, perhaps it will be easier with mum in tow as well. 

Other than today's epic disaster this weekend has been great.  I do love spending so much time with my little boy and I think he like hanging around with me too.  Going back to work tomorrow morning will be a struggle but it wont be long until next weekend and more fun.

The Long Weekend. Chapter2

After yesterday's foray in to Leeds' cultural heart I decided to get back to earth for toady's daddy daycare adventure.  Earlier this year I sponsored a pig at Swillington Farm, with the sole intention of eating the whole beast from nose to tail*.  We have been visiting the farm every couple of weeks ever since to check on his progress.  Today we took the short drive out of Leeds to visit Breakfast.

Although it was only a short visit it was clearly an exciting one.  My piggy was sleeping in the shade of his sty but some of his younger cousins were happily running about the place.  We also saw the chickens and turkeys.  It was all enough to wear R out completely.  After yesterday's nap fail, I got a good two hour nap out of him this afternoon.

One of the things that saddens me about living in the UK at the moment are the constant reports that children don't know where their food comes from.  That milk comes from a cow and that chicken comes from chickens shouldn't be a surprise to teenagers.  As a bit of a food obsessive I refuse to allow this to happen to R.  He already knows where milk, chicken and ham comes from.  He has eaten whole fish with gusto.  He has eaten a wider variety of food in his two and a half years than I had eaten by the time I was 18.

Taking him to the farm reinforces the early message that animals free to roam around are happy.  In turn, I hope that this turns into knowledge that happy animals make good food.  You have to start these things at some point and there is no time like the present.

Z comes home tomorrow but not before our final adventure of the weekend.  I hope R will have lots to tell her about his time with daddy.

*to read more about my adventures in pork click here.

The Long Weekend. Chapter1

We've been quite lucky with the way things have panned out since we had R.  Yes the start was far from ideal, but everything seems to have worked out for the best.  Even having my hours at work reduced to save the company money meant that I could dedicate more time to being a dad.  Every Friday was "Daddy Daycare".  We went swimming, fed the ducks and generally mucked about together.

Z's maternity leave came to an end at the same time as I was asked to go back to work full time.  Since then Daddy Daycare has been limited to the odd Saturday or Sunday so that Z could have a day to herself.  This weekend Z is off gallivanting around Wales on a Hen Do and I am back holding the reins.  I've tried to organise at least one thing for each of the three days with the express hope that R's afternoon nap won't let me down.

Today, with Z dropped off at Leeds Train Station, I made a small picnic and we set off to spend the morning at Leeds City Museum.  This is, without a doubt, one of my favourite places in Leeds.  I have and will continue to spend hours walking around the museum.  Perhaps one day, when R is a little older, I might get to look at some of the exhibits instead of toddler wrangling may way from Stone Age Yorkshire to modern Leeds.  Until that day I'm happy enough.  The place is full of child friendly interactive activities, which R gets more out of with every visit, and he loves toddler town and the tiger.

We left the museum and made our way across town to Park square to have our picnic.  There were probably too many "suits" for the squirrels to be out and about but that small detail couldn't spoil our lunch.  R is a good eater but the promise of cake for pudding made the sandwiches disappear in double quick time.

I was ready to go home after lunch but he had other ideas.  Our route to Park Square had taken us past the City Gallery and R wanted to look around there too.  Sadly this extra jaunt knocked my afternoon plans for six.  I'd hoped to get him home before the afternoon nap kicked in but alas he slept on the way home and promptly woke up the second I put the key in the front door.

I still had the chores to do that I was going to tackle while he slept, so I moved some of his toys into the kitchen so we could play while I cooked and cleaned.  The afternoon could never match up to the fun morning that we'd had but it was no disaster.  The only tantrum of the day came at bath time.  For some reason R has decided that he doesn't like baths.  That is until he is in one splashing around and then it's impossible to get him out and dried.

We said good night after a couple of stories and the day was made complete as he muttered "love you too daddy" as I laid him in bed.  There is only a day and a half left until Z gets home, we both miss her but I love spending time like this with my son.

Leeds 10k

On Sunday, along with almost 10,000 other people, I took to the mean streets of Leeds to take part in the Leeds 10k.  This was my first proper run since deciding to try and get fit in the middle of last year.  I'd taken the decision to do something about my fitness after realising that my son, R, would only be getting faster, as I was getting slower.

I got to Millenium Square at 8:10am and started to wonder what I was doing there.  Everywhere I looked there were people limbering up, stretching and generally looking like they knew what was going on.  A thought dawned on me.  If I just set of running, there and then, I could complete the course and be on my way home before the race had even started.

I didn't start running.  Instead I nervously stretched, took on water and tried to vanish into the crowds.  Now, I know what I put on my application form.  I know that I had estimated my time as around one hour and twenty minutes.  I do not know why I was corralled in with the elite athletes.  This did not do my confidence any favours.  The slowest section I could put myself in was sub forty five minutes, half my expected time.

We were ushered, by the army, to the start line, and there we continued to wait.  Finally, after standing around like cattle, whilst the morning sun beat down on us, a local radio DJ got us under way.  I was aware that I tend to run too fast but there was no slowing down.  Running in a crowd is infectious, you become part of a pack.  It's the closest I have come to feeling like a zebra on the Serengeti.  Luckily the crowds lining the route were a lot more friendly than the packs of lions that encourage the zebras across the plains.

The cheering on-lookers did help, as I'd be told they would.  The volunteers handing out water bottles and soaked sponges definitely helped.  Being passed by a panda and a banana didn't help my confidence at all.  But it was the thought of seeing my son at the finish line that kept my legs moving.  That and the thought of the money I'd raised for Bliss, got me over the finish line in one hour and seven minutes.

I know that I'm not going to challenge Mo Farrah any time soon but for me getting over the line was a great achievement.  If I can run for an hour, walking every now and the to catch my breath, then I'm sure I can kick a ball around a park with R without the need of an oxygen tank on stand by.

I chose Bliss, the premature baby charity, to run the 10k for as R was born 8 weeks early.  We were lucky that we didn't actually need their support but we witnessed first hand the work that they do for families who really need support when their dreams of a normal family life are in turmoil.  I know that my run is over but you can still support Bliss by donating on my Just Giving page.

Start at the end.

I never thought I would be writing this post when I started Further Adventures.  I certainly never thought that it would be the post that I would go "live" with.  But events over the last few days have changed the course of or future family history.  While the massed hordes of the worlds media are gathered at St Mary's Hospital in west London, lenses and microphones trained on the doors, waiting for news of a new Royal baby, we had an appointment the Early Pregnancy Unit at St James' Hospital to make sure everything was going to plan.

While happy with our lot we have been trying for a second bundle of joy for a couple of years.  We had an early miscarriage last year at around 4 weeks so we have been nervous and protective of our news about this pregnancy.  There had been signs that all was not well this time around either, but NHS Direct, Midwives and the staff at Jimmy's EPU had all allayed our concerns.  Everything was "perfectly normal" and "nothing to worry about" at our stage of pregnancy.

The first time around was plain sailing.  No morning sickness, no odd cravings, no extreme fatigue and no "spotting".  Along with the advice we'd been given from the professionals, we were trying to convince ourselves that this time things were just more normal.  In the back of our minds there remained a black and nagging doubt.

Yesterday that doubt was confirmed.  At 11+2 weeks we had another miscarriage.

Today's scheduled scan at the EPU has been cancelled.  A fourth pregnancy test within the next 10 days should be the final act in this adventure.  We are, as you can probably guess, devastated.  We'll take solace in the joy that our little boy gives us and we'll keep trying to give him someone to play with, somebody for him to share our love with. 

I had wanted use this blog to capture my thoughts and feelings during this pregnancy, as well as reflecting on my experiences last time around.  I was also going to write about looking after a toddler and my adventures in childcare.  I may well continue with the blog, only time will tell.

Running up that hill.

I'll admit it.  I'm not getting any younger and I'm certainly not getting any fitter.  Quite the reverse in fact.  That I haven't managed to any sustain any kind of exercise regime since I was 18 hasn't helped matters.  Before going to university I used to play Rugby Union, but I didn't fancy getting involved in the "Uni Club" lifestyle.  Instead I started making serious inroads into developing a drinking habit.

I've had the odd dalliance back into getting fit but nothing ever stuck.  I joined a gym and went a couple of times.  I only found out that it had closed down when I went to cancel my membership.  I bought badminton rackets and shuttlecocks but I didn't really look too hard to find an opponent.  I did manage to lose some weight after somebody mistook me for Jack Black but that was through diet not exercise.

I am an avid sports fan, but exercise for the sake of it just isn't something that inspires me.  Then, last summer, I had an epiphany.  We had had some friends visiting for the weekend with their little girl.  It had turned into a nice afternoon so we took a trip to the park to let the tiddlers run off some steam before bed time.  We also took a football with us, admittedly for the benefit of the dads and not the children.

After twenty minutes or so kicking the ball around I was in a mess.  My son, not even two at this point, on the other hand, still had energy to burn.  I know it's hard to believe but I was a child once myself.  I knew that running around, a lot, is one of the things that children do best.  I also knew that in my condition I was in no shape to run around for long periods of time without keeling over.  I needed to do something about my lack of fitness before it was called on.

The London Olympics came and went and I still hadn't done anything about getting fit.  The memory of that day in the park was still vivid in my mind, but I didn't want to become a gym bunny and the thought of humiliating myself in front of strangers if I joined a sports club terrified me.  If I was going to do this I was going to have to do it myself.

I decided to start running.  I've been known to mock joggists in the past, but I needed to do something or face a lifetime of fat gags from my son*.  I asked around and took some advice, the most important piece of which was to spend some money on a pair of running shoes.  There were two reasons for this. The first was the advice.  If I started running in my battered old trainers I'd probably injure myself and stop running as soon as I started.  The second was the thought of an expensive pair of trainers taunting me every time I saw them unused.

A few months down the line, I'm about to take part in my first 10K.  I'm not ready for it by a long way.  I'd wanted to set a decent time but I'll settle for finishing and not being humiliated.  It's the thought of future summers running around with my son that will get me across the line.  I'm also raising money for Bliss, the premature baby charity, but that is for a different post.

*probably the same fat gags I levelled at my dad and he wasn't fat.

Mum's the word

It was the second midwife visit today and I was glad to be involved.  My important role was to get the star of the show to the meeting on time, which I achieved with flying colours.  After that I was sent packing, back to work, while the Midwives poked, prodded and pried for the best part of an hour.

I know I would have been little more than in the way if I had been there too, but my curious nature always seems to get the better of me.  What did they ask? What did they say? When is the next appointment? Is every thing OK?  I'm sure I can't be the only man who would like to be at their partner's side every step of the way, but our work, to a certain extent, is done for now.

What I do know is that by their calculations we're now at 10+1.  That's a quarter of the way through this adventure already.  Next up is the dating scan when we get to see the newest member of the family for the first time.  After that we'll go public and start telling everybody our good news.  Until then, mum's the word.