The Artist Formerly Known As Number Two Son

The Twelfth of October Two Thousand and Eleven. Wednesday.

It was No2 son’s birthday yesterday. Four years old. Why does that seem like an impossible amount of time in a way that No1’s twelve years doesn’t? I suppose it’s all the things that have happened in the meantime.

The first plans for further offspring surfaced back in 2001. After realising that we would pay less in mortgage payments than we were for our rent we bought a house with help for the deposit from our families. As time went on we would fill it up with all our junk but moving from the maisonette we’d occupied for the past year and a bit it felt like a palace. Plenty of room for the three of us – why not make it four?

Except…

No1 was a bit older and we were a bit less panicky parents now. And it was nice to have a little space and time, so maybe waiting a while was a good idea.

Five years later and we were about ready. Shu Shu had been working away in Hull while I had left the railway station to take on the role of househusband. Don’t laugh – it wasn’t a particularly clean house that I kept, but our son was washed, fed and taken to school reasonably effectively. It wasn’t fun, though. Shu Shu would spend several nights a week away from home – it was a bit of a stretch. We resolved that I would get my job back on the railway, Shu Shu would come home and we’d try for the baby that we’d been putting off.

We succeeded in the winter of 2006. It was November and we gladly told everyone that Shu Shu had fallen pregnant.

A week later she miscarried. It was so early that I don’t think we had got our heads around the idea of the pregnancy when we got this horrible news. We were almost apologetic when a work colleague of mine joyously hugged her only to be told it wasn’t to be. You start to have the niggling doubts at the back of your mind that that might have been the only chance you had. There didn’t seem to be any medical problems so we kept trying and early in the new year the signs were good. We waited this time before announcing, almost superstitiously not wanting to ‘jinx’ proceedings. But it all went well and as the due date was calculated it looked as if the new arrival’s birthday might be the same as his brother’s. Of course, he followed his brother’s lead instead and decided to turn up a fortnight late.

I remember deciding to find out the baby’s sex this time round, but I can’t remember the moment when I did or if or when I told his mum. I’d come up with No1 son’s name so it was Mum’s turn this time. She came up with a good one.

Another protracted labour. This time Shu Shu was determined to have a natural birth and muggins here was charged with reassuring her when the pain got too much. Oh man, it was like that episode of curb your enthusiasm (my Sixteenth Telly Recommendation – oh, I was laughing like a drain at this week’s episode) where Larry agrees not to let a dieter have cake ‘No Matter What’. She was in agony but I kept telling her to carry on without. Perhaps should have agreed a ‘safe’ word or would that have defeated the object? Anyway, in some ways it was more straightforward than last time around, in others, well, certainly more painful.

There must have been some concern as the paediatrician was brought in. Nevertheless, it was still going more or less according to plan albeit slowly. That is until the baby’s readings began to drop and it was decided to get it out as quickly as possible.

Dad puts on reassuring brave face and the team go straight for an episiotomy (and if you don’t know what that is, google it ‘cos I’m not going to tell you here!) and whip the child out. His extremely long umbilical cord was tied in a knot and wrapped around his neck so it seems like the right decision. Baby is fine and handed to Mother while the tidy up operation begins. In fact Mum is going to need a bit of work so Dad is going to have to look after baby while Mum is taken away. 

Which was fine, except I'd made a little error. I'd packed everything that we'd needed for the hospital, but somehow forgotten that there was a baby on the way and neglected to bring anything for him to wear. Luckily there were plenty of spare babygrows at the hospital and Christmas came early as No2 son was duly dressed in an outfit covered in Santas, holly and other yuletide paraphernalia. His first outfit was topped off with sky blue hat - excellent, the boy was a City fan from day one.

Everybody else cleared off, the delivery room was emptied very quickly. I had nowhere and nothing to do, I just stood there and chatted to my new son. He was very attentive back then, now he gets distracted very easlily. His bedtime story last night was punctuated by comments from his new Buzz Lightyear toy. But he kept coming back to the story - for the interesting bits.

Of course, his mother and I have now seperated. Strange to think that it'll soon be more than half his lifetime that he and I have lived apart. It was soon after I left that he was properly identified as deaf. I won't detail the farce of how long it took them to figure this out - it was frustrating enough at the time without reliving it. But it's been amazing seeing him develop into the seemingly indestructable young man he is today. Honestly, he's fearless, he throws himself about with no care for the possible consequences. His shins are almost always bruised and he'll think nothing of clambering all over you. I think he gets that from his tree climbing mother - I was never that daring.

But he is as daft as his old man and I'll settle for that. 

So that's the offspring's birthdays sorted for another year. Next, in about three weeks time, it's my turn to get just a little bit older...

More soonliest.