Would it be so wrong?

Theoretically speaking, if one had responsibility for a nearly three week old mini person, and say after three weeks you get to register their birth, and as part of this process one has to decide on the person's nomenclature, and say if one hadn't picked out a middle name yet... would it be really bad to put down the word "Danger" on that space on the green form?

Just so he could impress the chicks in years to come with the line "Danger's my middle name" while they try and talk him out of some daring, but brave and exciting venture...? Surely he'd thank us?

The Worst Boss

Very hard to follow up that last post, but anyway - here is baby cushion's first appearance on the internet in photographical form...

How is he getting on, I hear you ask...

Well - he has settled right in. The dog has, after numerous talks and demonstrations, accepted that he is not actually a kitten, despite sounding and looking quite a bit like one.

Having a newborn in the house is kind of like having the worst boss ever - you have this person in charge who wants things done urgently, but can't tell you what it is they want, but they will get unreasonably angry if it's not done fast. They can't be reasoned with, you can't be prepared for their demands and they won't give you a decision to save their lives. Ah to be fair it's always food with him - he always just wants food - so it's not that much of a guessing game, more a "how long can we distract him from wanting food before we give it to him, so that he mightn't fall asleep in the first five seconds of eating" game.

Other big news - the proud mammy gushness hasn't worn off yet - he's actually able to flip himself onto his back from his stomach already, imagine... if there was an olympics for babies my little fella would rule the under 4 weeks category. Sure look at him waving at the camera on his leaving the hospital, that was when he was 2 days old, he can almost do Riverdance at this stage.

No other news really - watching alot of day time tv while waiting for my strength to return - have seen a couple of episodes of Fair City twice because the remote control was too far away, and when you're under a sleeping baby with a sleeping dog at your feet - you let them lie...

Making an Entrance

Well the newest arrival at Various Cushions Towers is settling in happily. This day last week I spent getting to know the hospital staircase exceedingly well, climbing up and down them during "early" labour - apparently it speeds things up - so the midwives kept telling me, and if I hadn't done that I might be there yet, because he took his sweet time (a full 24 hours) getting to the stage where they'd let me in to the labour suite for the "2nd Stage" of labour. (On second thoughts now I'm beginning to think they just told me to walk around alot in order to get me out of their ward, pestering them for my next hit of paracetomol - yes early labour is blessed with very little in the line of pain killer options)
Anyway - the next bit passed a good bit quicker, with the help of gas, air and the magical epidural, but ended with some high drama getting rushed to Theatre, (and not to see a play) for a hurried help out - luckily not a section (after 31 hours total - that would have sucked). There were some funny moments - with the midwife saying "Are you sure now you want an epidural or do you want to have a nice cup of tea and think about it?" - such a Father Ted moment, when I replied "Ah no thanks, I'll just have the epidural" and later at the very end when he finally arrived safe and sound and I was squeezing Mr VC's hand lovingly on the operating table, only to turn and find a very nice late middle aged anaesthologist trying to tactfully get rid of my attentions and get on with his job.
The baby is fantastic, and contrary to my not wanting to be a stereotypical gushing mother, I have to tell you - he is without doubt the cutest, most perfect, smartest, best sleeper, all round most fantastic and magical creature that ever breathed.
I'll get a pic up some time in the next month - am ridiculously tired and helpless here.
Oh - and his name is Micheál.
xxx