Thieu, Whiffles and I went to our first cocktail party as a family unit on Saturday night. I was somewhat unsure about the whole thing but Whiffles assured us that it would be fine and to show she meant it promptly fell asleep and stayed asleep until we were safely home again. She wasn't even the only baby there - another one was asleep in the spare room shortly after she arrived and there were two more in utero, one within the hostess herself (who wasn't drinking cocktails).
Petite and R were there and at some stage I started telling them about the useless things I ended up packing to take to the hospital - items I'd been told or had read were vital for anybody about to give birth. Amongst the most useless was the pack of playing cards. When exactly did I imagine I'd be playing with them? Snap in between contractions? Gin Rummy as I pushed and panted? The next most useless thing was the hot-cold pack. We heated it up but the moment it was applied to my skin I knew it had been a mistake. I was already quite warm and the pack just felt awful. I guess I could've tried the cold option but I suspected that this would be just as unpleasant. And the third most useless thing was a snack. At no stage during the birth did I feel like chomping on a muesli bar or crunching on cashews.
We are in week three now and while Whiffles is definitely more awake, harder to settle and more vocal in her protestations about the unnecessary and undignified things I subject her to (baths, nappy changes, clothes being taken on or off) she seems to be robust. Infact she has developed and impressive double chin. 'She looks like Jabba the Hutt' Thieu exclaimed in alarm the other day. 'Shh,' I said crossly. 'Don't give her esteem issues.' Whiffles stretched and belched her distain.