It's been a while since I last blogged, for various reasons. Mainly one, if I'm honest. With a second child, I have rediscovered sleep deprivation in a big way.
I have certainly noticed the difference. As with many new parents, the first few weeks of life with baby number one passed in an atmosphere of hushed tones and pastel colours. Sleep missed out on could be recaptured the following day. This was especially true for us, as neither Penny nor I had work commitments and, living in Aylesbury, we didn't really have a social life either.
This time out, there is still the school run to do, and all the other commitments of entertaining a five year old. I feel better equipped to be useful, whereas Rosalie was born a week after I was discharged from the spinal injuries centre. Back then I struggled to look after myself, let alone a baby.
Trying to offer my beloved a few hours of sleep, I find myself spending evenings on the sofa, under a gurgling, snoring, farting baby. Inevitably, this opportunity for reflection at the end of the day is often seized upon by the freewheeling 'you're-tired-and-I'll-do-what-ever-I-want' part of my brain, which occasionally leads my mind to darker thoughts.
Many of the 'how far I have come' thoughts are really past their best these days. In some ways, I feel I have peaked. My wheelchair skills are pretty good, I have learned to live with the pain. It's not pleasant, but I have learned to live with it. I'm even working some of the time. Each small victory over previously insurmountable obstacles reveals another barrier. Despite being a pretty logical person, it is hard to stop a small part of me from searching for that last piece of the jigsaw, the one which will enable me to get up and walk back into my old life.
New victories are becoming fewer and further between. I cannot justify the time sacrifice to take up a new sport, nor the money required for new equipment, let alone finding somewhere to keep it. As it is, my tennis chair hangs on a rope over the front door like a wheelchair of Damocles, causing all but the bravest guests to refrain from protracted greetings or farewells. This is not because I'm a curmudgeon. It is because we have no space. It is also because I am a curmudgeon.
Yep, with the added reminders of my lack of mobility which are sure to come once baby becomes toddler, it's downhill from here on. Not always a bad thing now I'm in a wheelchair, but a sobering thought when wondering what kind of father I will be. This is not a boy v girl thing. It's just that when Rosalie was getting mobile for the first time, I had lower expectations of what I would be able to achieve, hence more empowering victories as I discovered that I could do more than I thought. With time, I am inevitably moving towards that moment when I discover that I can do less than I thought..
This may sound gloomy, and for that, dear reader, I apologise. But parenthood can do that. It's one of those moments in life when one reflects on 'things'. It's also a time when one forgets 'things' and finds one's clothes are covered in 'things'.
I have certainly noticed the difference. As with many new parents, the first few weeks of life with baby number one passed in an atmosphere of hushed tones and pastel colours. Sleep missed out on could be recaptured the following day. This was especially true for us, as neither Penny nor I had work commitments and, living in Aylesbury, we didn't really have a social life either.
This time out, there is still the school run to do, and all the other commitments of entertaining a five year old. I feel better equipped to be useful, whereas Rosalie was born a week after I was discharged from the spinal injuries centre. Back then I struggled to look after myself, let alone a baby.
Trying to offer my beloved a few hours of sleep, I find myself spending evenings on the sofa, under a gurgling, snoring, farting baby. Inevitably, this opportunity for reflection at the end of the day is often seized upon by the freewheeling 'you're-tired-and-I'll-do-what-ever-I-want' part of my brain, which occasionally leads my mind to darker thoughts.
Many of the 'how far I have come' thoughts are really past their best these days. In some ways, I feel I have peaked. My wheelchair skills are pretty good, I have learned to live with the pain. It's not pleasant, but I have learned to live with it. I'm even working some of the time. Each small victory over previously insurmountable obstacles reveals another barrier. Despite being a pretty logical person, it is hard to stop a small part of me from searching for that last piece of the jigsaw, the one which will enable me to get up and walk back into my old life.
New victories are becoming fewer and further between. I cannot justify the time sacrifice to take up a new sport, nor the money required for new equipment, let alone finding somewhere to keep it. As it is, my tennis chair hangs on a rope over the front door like a wheelchair of Damocles, causing all but the bravest guests to refrain from protracted greetings or farewells. This is not because I'm a curmudgeon. It is because we have no space. It is also because I am a curmudgeon.
Yep, with the added reminders of my lack of mobility which are sure to come once baby becomes toddler, it's downhill from here on. Not always a bad thing now I'm in a wheelchair, but a sobering thought when wondering what kind of father I will be. This is not a boy v girl thing. It's just that when Rosalie was getting mobile for the first time, I had lower expectations of what I would be able to achieve, hence more empowering victories as I discovered that I could do more than I thought. With time, I am inevitably moving towards that moment when I discover that I can do less than I thought..
This may sound gloomy, and for that, dear reader, I apologise. But parenthood can do that. It's one of those moments in life when one reflects on 'things'. It's also a time when one forgets 'things' and finds one's clothes are covered in 'things'.
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