Introducing...Miss Olivia Bland!
As mentioned in the e-mail I sent out earlier today, the draconian regime at Bolton Hospital means that I'm kicked out when it's not visiting time, leaving me nothing to do but pace the house contemplating the enormity of what's just happened and attempting to come to terms with being a -gulp - dad, and then when i'm all paced out i hit the computer.
To avoid overloading your in-boxes with a thousand attachments, I thought I'd simply wack a load of pictures up here and allow you to keep tabs with life for the very latest person to be saddled with the surname Bland - but thankfully as the pictures attest and to widespread joy and relief all round - not saddlled with the Bland hooter!
The basics are as follows: Cath went into labour during Saturday night/Sunday morning; callously this didn't deter me from abandoning her and attending our humiliation of the vermin. The contractions picked up speed and intensity early Monday morning. We went to the hospital but things weren't far enough along and so were sent home. Cath spent all Monday groaning and cursing, while I spent it snivelling with a cold; it's hard to say which of us thought we were suffering the most, but I think I may have shaded it.
By 'Deal Or No Deal' - a particularly fraught edition which saw four of the Power Five opened before the Banker had made his first phone call, a fact that may have contributed to Cath's trauma - she could take it no longer and demanded that I 'stop moaning and just have a fucking Lemsip!'. And her pain was pretty bad too.
By six we were en-route to the hospital, with only a slight detour to a petrol station where I filled the car with petrol for only the second occasion in my life. That is not a euphemism by the way. Thy admitted Cath at seven, and she got stuck straight into the gas and air, sucking away like an Amsterdam regular - I'm alluding to drugs there, not the other variety of sucking associated with the 'Dam - and was soon in need of the harder stuff, falling into the embrace of Sweet Lady H herself with a shot of diamorphine.
Cut to about 1:20 and a slice of black-hair coated head appeared from where i don't want to think about, soon followed by the rest of the head, and then Olivia Bland wriggled out of the slime and into the world, weighing in at a magnificent 8lbs 11oz. She met the world with stunned silence, possibly the lingering effect of the diamorphone, possibly the result of seeing some weird looking bloke in glasses peering down at her.
I've spared you every single detail, not just out of sympathy for the squeamish out there, but because I wouldn't want to steal Cath's thunder for when she acts out the whole thing for you in person. I will say for the record though that all predictions of a hysterical, Tony winning performance in the Delivery Suite were way off the mark, and by the end she was almost serene!
Apologies for any sickening lurches into cheese and sentimentality in the above, but if you can't be cheesy on the day your daughter is born, when can you? As for me, i'm off to pace the house some more now. Tomorrow morning the NME will drop through the letterbox. Surely I can't still read it now that i'm a -gulp- Dad, can I? Maybe just a quick flick through, then I'll cancel it...
To avoid overloading your in-boxes with a thousand attachments, I thought I'd simply wack a load of pictures up here and allow you to keep tabs with life for the very latest person to be saddled with the surname Bland - but thankfully as the pictures attest and to widespread joy and relief all round - not saddlled with the Bland hooter!
The basics are as follows: Cath went into labour during Saturday night/Sunday morning; callously this didn't deter me from abandoning her and attending our humiliation of the vermin. The contractions picked up speed and intensity early Monday morning. We went to the hospital but things weren't far enough along and so were sent home. Cath spent all Monday groaning and cursing, while I spent it snivelling with a cold; it's hard to say which of us thought we were suffering the most, but I think I may have shaded it.
By 'Deal Or No Deal' - a particularly fraught edition which saw four of the Power Five opened before the Banker had made his first phone call, a fact that may have contributed to Cath's trauma - she could take it no longer and demanded that I 'stop moaning and just have a fucking Lemsip!'. And her pain was pretty bad too.
By six we were en-route to the hospital, with only a slight detour to a petrol station where I filled the car with petrol for only the second occasion in my life. That is not a euphemism by the way. Thy admitted Cath at seven, and she got stuck straight into the gas and air, sucking away like an Amsterdam regular - I'm alluding to drugs there, not the other variety of sucking associated with the 'Dam - and was soon in need of the harder stuff, falling into the embrace of Sweet Lady H herself with a shot of diamorphine.
Cut to about 1:20 and a slice of black-hair coated head appeared from where i don't want to think about, soon followed by the rest of the head, and then Olivia Bland wriggled out of the slime and into the world, weighing in at a magnificent 8lbs 11oz. She met the world with stunned silence, possibly the lingering effect of the diamorphone, possibly the result of seeing some weird looking bloke in glasses peering down at her.
I've spared you every single detail, not just out of sympathy for the squeamish out there, but because I wouldn't want to steal Cath's thunder for when she acts out the whole thing for you in person. I will say for the record though that all predictions of a hysterical, Tony winning performance in the Delivery Suite were way off the mark, and by the end she was almost serene!
Apologies for any sickening lurches into cheese and sentimentality in the above, but if you can't be cheesy on the day your daughter is born, when can you? As for me, i'm off to pace the house some more now. Tomorrow morning the NME will drop through the letterbox. Surely I can't still read it now that i'm a -gulp- Dad, can I? Maybe just a quick flick through, then I'll cancel it...
posted by Miss Olivia Emma Bland @ 5:33 PM
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