Didsburydad's Blog

From the not so mean streets of M20, blog about being a dad, Didsbury and dealing with parental confusion

Archive for the tag “Karma Sutra massage Didsbury”

Early Morning and the sun is not even threatening the flags

It is 5.25am and there is rare quiet and calm in the house. It may seem unfeasible to be up by choice now, but time is precious and in a busy house with children, on an almost sunny spring day, this is magic.

The sun is coming up over the Metrolink station and the waft of Lynx seeps under Didsbury Son’s door and throughout the house. In 5000 years the Lynx particles (which have an ability to hang around pungently in a manner that makes kippers envious) will carbon date Didsbury Son to the month. This is the post-Primary pre-Hollyoaks phase. A confusing time when joyous childhood easiness makes a last stand before the inevitable rise of the surlies.

This is the last night of the fair. By the big wheel generator, a boy is stabbed and his money is grabbed and the air hangs heavy like a. Wait, sorry that’s The Smiths, I had a flashback through the glinting sun back to the 80s.

The Mighty-Headed twin boy, whose spherical bounce is a source of both pride and wonder to me is flat out. His hands look poised to conduct and his lips purse, ready for the 6.30 kisses, changing, tickles and bottle. The pearly topped presence in the next cot down is purring and there is a hint of a smile as she sighs happily towards the edge of sleep. All 3 blessings counted I make myself a mug of tea just how I like it, safe in the knowledge this is the only drink in the next 24 hours I will be able to finish whilst its still hot.

The sound of the suburbs waking up fills my senses. The fretful mothers who feigned religious observance to get the “right” primary school for free dream of getting into illegal without being asked to move their 4x4s. The Karma Sutran staff sleep and hope their dreams will have a happy ending and in Cibo they wonder if the Venetian influence in their restaurant will be enough to see off the Didsbury Loungerians or No. 4’s small but perfectly formed army.

The village wakes up slowly. Deliveries, cleaning, early workers then schoolchildren. Bottles are banked near The Fletcher Moss and Didsbury’s 3000 hair snippers ponder where everyone will be going on holidays.

As the time slips by I have only one dilemma. Do I go and wake the twins to keep them in their routine? Or do I make myself toast and marmalade, proper coffee and sit in the garden to bask in the rays, safe in the absolute certainty that the moment I have laid out a slice of heaven on a plate the first waah will tumble down the stairs and my next view of breakfast will be of coffee with a skin so thick it could wrap around a Rhino.

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A head.

Parenthood – Six New Medical Conditions

Being a Didsbury Dad is a wonderful life. Not even the demise of La Tasca, the pavement parking that makes pram pushing painful or the scary designs masquerading as art in the “new” diminished Withington Hospital can dull the glow.

As Didsbury Son edges inconsistently towards teenagedom, his qualities only occasionally dulled by extreme vagueness and the odd sulk, I look at my two new Didsbury Babes with joy, apprehension and a slightly locked shoulder.

It’s not the thought of teething, chicken pox or stranger danger that keeps me awake at night. What allows me to talk to the moon at 4am is the fear that I am going to have to sit through Junior School concerts again. At one of Didsbury Son’s schools it was so bad I booed a Year 3 “Grensleeves”. All dads know that there is only so much feigning you can do when a potential free evening is savaged by a recorder played ingloriously by unknowing fingers and partially cleaned milk teeth.

I digress – this is my 100th Blog so I am having a celebration ramble.

It’s not even the awful school concerts. It’s the low-level parental pain that is more daunting than the realisation I had at a baby clinic recently. In the years when I was larging Madchester and feeling invincible, my twins contemporaries’ dads were in nappies themselves. I talk about Wagon Wheels and Choppers, they get teary eyed over a Game Boy.

In addition, there is the realisation that every hair that grows on these tiny Churchillian bonces takes them a little further away from new babydom.

One sad day all this will be covered in hair

One sad day all this will be covered in hair

So 6 things of which to be wary;
1. The Domino Effect – Baby Boy is a whopper. A milk guzzling, eyelash fluttering, full-face smiling whopper. Leaning over to pick him up without bending properly and then lifting back up nearly 20 pounds of milk and muscle does things to a spine that’s crawled past 39 … Bad things. That pop at night is the morning’s Sciatica, the afternoon’s tingling and the following night’s Ibuprofen.

2. (SOS) Shiny Object Syndrome: I promised never to moan about sleep deprivation. Even when it’s counted in minutes; sleep interrupted by a smiley/crying/wet/hungry baby always has a redeeming feature. It’s downside is that my attention span is down to Didsbury Son’s level. Anything longer then eight minutes is a genuine struggle that needs something bright or noisy shaking to keep my eyes open.
Didsbury Wife pointed out to me that it takes about eight minutes for light to get to us from The Sun. I pointed out it takes approximately eight minutes to walk the pram once around Didsbury Park and then I nodded off.

3. Designer Milk- I never realised that babies projected milk with no warning and can reach a shoulder from 10 feet. Every single piece of clothing that I have has been tie-dyed with Aptamil.

The doctor seemed un-moved when I explained my predicament

The doctor seemed un-moved when I explained my predicament

4. Milk Neck- bibs are fine but there is always a missed trickle that comes to give you a sticky kiss when you pick up a baby to burp them.

5. Golfer’s Elbow – honestly, I have golfer’s elbow and a cortisone injection habit.  Apparently it is widespread. When I sheepishly admitted that it was painful, I was deluged by empathetic nods from fellow sufferers and  it opened a secret world to parental pain that again, no one tells you about when you’re expecting.

6. BootPov – I had wondered why Boots the Chemist had so many branches. Now I know. Every over parent of children under the age of… 30 knows that on birth you give Boots your blood group, PIN number and roughly 90% of your earnings and 50% of your overdraft. I now have enough Advantage points to buy almost a day’s worth of nappies.

These are only exacerbated by Pramrage, CHOCS (central heating overload causing sinusitis) and Shrunken World – even I realise that my daily happiness and schedule tightened by feeds and changes makes my conversation as dull as the lighting in the nursery at 3am and as shallow as the milk my baby boy leaves in a bottle after a feed.

Twins do not always grow at the same rate

Twins do not always grow at the same rate

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