When the first photo was taken, we still had mother to lie on, but immediately after that Jane was rolled off to the operating theatre for some attention.
So, Ian was left 'holding the baby', but that's not such a chore.
We sat in the recovery room, and waited.
Incidentally, about all these quiet and calm pictures. Apparently this was only when I was in the building. When Jane and Rachel were still in hospital, every time I arrived I was told how she woke and was inconsolable just after I left, she'd been terrible for hours, but she'd just settled to sleep in the last couple of minutes...
And while we were waiting for Jane to emerge from wherever she'd been trundled to, I marvelled at tiny fingers. Such tiny fingers. Gosh, wow, I know everyone says this, but so tiny!
At long last, Jane returned from theatre (to the great relief of Rachel and Ian). This was a little over three hours after the birth, and Rachel got something to eat. (An aside - Jane was on a fluids drip for a while, and then they left the gizmo plugged in for purposes of pumping in drugs, but it came out the next day).
At two days old, the first of what will no doubt be an enormous collection of soft toys appeared. He'd been patiently waiting at home for nearly two weeks, but could be denied a visit no longer.
On the Friday, we escaped the hospital (actually, as an aside - Epsom General Hospital maternity unit is fantastic, and everyone there was really terrific to us).
I just like this picture, there's no real reason for it!
As you can see, Rachel was immensely excited to get home.
Now we are at home we find ourselves in the hands of amateurs. Luckily, they're fairly knackered amateurs, so we get to quietly lie on mummy...
and quietly lie on daddy (who doesn't really have seven fingers on his right hand)...
and only occasionally do they try anything rash like a 'top and tail' wash.
Actually, that wash went OK. However, the next day we tried our first bath. It was hellish. Washing the hair went OK, except we forgot the baby bath wash liquid stuff, so it was really just a rinsing the hair. After that it all went downhill. We managed to get poo on the kitchen floor, two towels, daddy's trousers and (special treat for him) all down daddy's chest. What fun! Luckily, because of our dry skin, the midwife says only one bath a week, so we don't need to do that again in a hurry.
As you can imagine, that particular bathtime was not recorded on
film. However, while there may not be any photos, it is indelibly
ingrained on the memories of at least two of the three participants.
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