Lowest common denominator or challenge to be the best?

Yesterday I had one of those flights that you want to go on forever, you get someone in the seat next to you that you just want to chat to for the next few hours. Unfortunately for me this was a 50min hop from Brussels to London as I made my way back to Cape Town.

The topic of discussion was excellence vs mediocrity at schools in the UK. The person I sat next to was saying that at Sports Days in UK schools there are no longer any winners but instead everyone gets a medal for participating. Seriously!! It seems that it is stretching beyond the school field too. So the discussion revolved around reducing everyone to the lowest common denominator vs supporting our children to aim to be the best and it was deeply concerning.

As a parent I want my son to have the best and work hard for it. As an adult I am acutely aware that the general rule of thumb is effort in, results out i.e. if you work hard you should in theory be a success and reap the associated rewards at everything you do. I learned this at school. While during sports days the other kids had had a shower by the time I finished a 100m running race when it came to the swimming pool it was a role reversal as I loved swimming and grafted hard at it. So I learned that effort = rewards, that you cannot be No1 in everything, failure is a fact of life and how you deal with it makes you stronger.

So by hearing that there can no longer be any winners and that everyone has to be a winner so we don't harm a childs self worth is alarming to me. It also seems that the shrinks have taken over schools.

The question for me as a parent and adult is this. What do I want the 25 year old version of my 6 month old son to look like and become? Its a deep question and almost hypothetical question as anything is possible. However I, along with my wife of course, can right now build serious foundations that will stand him in good stead. For me, through our actions we have to teach him the effort in = results out equation without any doubt. If mummy trains hard, eats right, and sacrifices she can run Comrades marathon and win medals at the Masters Nationals Swimming Championships each year. Daddy by working hard, giving his all, sacrificing his own time can have a successful career and be a winner there i.e. if you apply yourself you can achieve. Through this of course will come failures and a second equation comes into play; failures = failure if not reacted to correctly i.e. you will fail, accept it, but deal with it and turn it into a success.

So the real question is "are we doing more harm that good by bringing everyone down to one level rather than showing all that there are winners and loosers in life but the only loosers are those who don't learn why they lost and react to it correctly?" Deep I know but I prefer the second part.

Parents engage with your child!

The other day I had a meeting at my second office also known as Vide e Cafe at Belevedere Square with a supplier. While we were having said meeting both of us became distracted at the lack of engagement between parents and child.

Now being a working parent myself I understand the concept of being on call 24/7 and I appreciate that work doesn't really care for half terms and school holidays but please if you are going to spend time with your children then at least engage with them. I'll explain why.

Case one - +/-4 year old child sat eating a cupcake while fixated with a kids tablet while her parent was immersed in her iPad and had zero engagement with the child

Case two - parent spend the whole thirty minutes on their phone walking around the cafe while the child desperately tried to get their attention by following them. The poor kid was told on more than a few occasions to "sit down and behave" ummmmmm right

Case three - baby cried in her pram for ten minutes non stop while her parent ignored her and was totally engaged with Facebook on her phone

Now for sure I don't know the full reasons for such lack of interactions but it still shocked me. What are we teaching children? what are the examples we are setting? Surely this time together would have benefited both parties through interaction with each other, creating and maintaining a bond and sharing some quality time?

My worry is that we have become so obsessed with our devices that we are forgetting about the little people right in front of us that in my humble opinion are so much more fun to play with.

So now Kim and I have set a new house rule while Mitch is still young. If you are with him the devices are off and on silent in the case of the phone. We had him for a reason and the best gift we can give is to make sure he knows he is loved and that we want to spend time with him. Devices can wait, our sons life cannot

Rant over!

My son has his own health team

Kids are spoiled these days I'm convinced about it. Let's look at communications, sit in any coffee shop and every three year old and their dog has an iPhone 5 and can be heard asking their parents for a 6, I have a 4 and am happy. When I was growing up we had one fixed line and I had to beg to use it. Kids!

Now I come to healthcare. Here I am aged 37 and I have a GP who I might see maybe once a year if he's unlucky. I also have a physio that I occasionally see if I've overdone the running. And finally a chiropractor who whips me into shape when I've screwed my back up by over exerting myself by say mowing the lawn. Now I come to my dearly beloved son Mitchell aged almost six months.

Mitch, bless his cotton socks that never stay on, has a full team of healthcare practitione looking after him and it costs me a bloody fortune and a day a week of our time. First we have our rock and his best friend Hedi the Paediatrician. Legend of a woman and first call always. Next on the list is the nursing sister Penny who happens to be the sister of Robyn one of the ward sisters at the hospital Mitch has spend too much time at. Next on the list is Anna his chiropractor! Yes not six months old and he has his own chiro. Finally we have the latest addition to the team Kath the Paediatric Nutritionist who by the way I blog for at www.nutripaeds.co.za shameless plug but hey this is my blog......

We see each of these fine ladies once a month and are in almost weekly contact with them. Does he realize the financial or time cost? I swear to god he must think that he's the son of Brangelina! It's crazy. When I was reading the definitive guide to being a parent I got the impression that babies sleep, eat and crap in no particular order. Boy were they wrong because if that was the case I'd still have money and zero medical bills, perhaps I should offer to rewrite the book?

Oh just to make things even more fun Mitch as started to teethe so I'm just waiting for the Paediatric dentist appointment and bills to enter my life.

Seriously, seriously seriously how much attention does the man need!

The moment it arrives

You know there really are some things that you can never be prepared for and becoming a father is one of these things. One minute you are a family of two the next you are three. Becoming a father means different things to different people, to me it was a moment of responsibility, of standing up to be counted. To others it's a deeply emotional experience. I never had that wail with joy experience, god dammit I'm British! Stiff upper lip ole chap!! What I did feel though was a deep sense of love for Kim my long suffering wife. Together we are in this until we die now so our love needs to be stronger than ever.

Unlike many we went for the sun roof option of birth rather than pushing it out of the trap door. Ours was a health decision to ensure the safety of Kim who had had a shocker of a pregnancy. Being totally selfish as a man I preferred the sunroof option as it to me seems more controlled and predictable.

Of course out came little Mitchell Corey Edwards kicking and screaming, a happy little chap then! Being six weeks premature he was whisked straight off to icu, so was Kim who had an epidural due to her being allergic to most pain meds known to man.

The day was mostly a blur and a rush, however the evening was long as I celebrated with way to many cool drinks to remember much about it. Being surrounded by joy and my closest friends was simply awesome and now the journey starts.

A lesson in business

For those of you who physically know me you know that I'm a Marketing manager when I choose to actually work, and for those of you who don't physically know me well I've just told you what I do when I choose to work. So for me a lot of the fun with this pregnancy has been the unexpected business lesson I have received. In all honesty if someone had said that I'd get an MBA in Marketing just by her maj having a gluten free bun in the oven I would have belly laughed at them, but its what I'm getting and I expect to pass "cum laude" at this rate.

On our first trip to the gynie we are presented with a "congratulations package" with our sizable invoice. It contains a photo album from a stretch mark oil company (thanks Bio oil), a pack of Pampers nappies, some baby wipes (ideal for me to mop my brow when decorating the baby room), a hand towel, a bunch of discount vouchers, and some sponsored guide/how to books.

That weekend we head to do our monthly grocery shop and are stood positively crapping ourselves (pardon the pun) in the nappy aisle while we compute how much we'll be spending on shit disposal for the next few years when a delightful young, and not unattractive, sole approaches us. "Are you expecting?..... great what sex is it?.... oh you don't know, well here have one of each...." and presents us with blue and pink branded photo frames, thank you Huggies.

We then head to Baby City, which as an aside I have made the beneficiary of my monthly salary payment as I figure it will save my bank account from acting as nothing more than a middle man. It was the same thing, we bought one pack of nappies but came out with enough stuff that we needed a trolley.....each! More freebies than the opposition get when playing the Stormers at Newlands.

On top of this Dischem have given us a baby bag packed full of goodies (Clicks are too tight apparently), and our Medical Aid company Discovery have done the same which now explains why they can only afford to pay out 10% of the so called "medical aid rate" every time my dodgy knee needs a little nip and tuck. We are literally overburden with free useful stuff that until a few months ago we didn't know was useful.

Now where am I going with this you cry. Well lets get to the point. In the short time "we" have been preggers my office has been turned into a warehouse of branded goods that we have not paid for and by doing so "we" (royal we you understand) have decided which brand of pretty much everything we will be buying, sorry Huggies the cheap plastic photo frames were just too cheap for her maj's liking. And this is the point. As a pregnant couple you are seen as a total cash cow that is prime for a dammed good milking every day of your life henceforth. So what these very clever people know is that if they get you now they own your back pocket going forward so what they aim to do is cruise missile you from the get go and I love their thinking. 

Now if only I could find a pregnant person to bombard with prison fencing......devil child that needs locking in a room anyone?

The fetal test

We just hit 12 weeks pregnant which means its time to go and get everything checked out at the fetal clinic. As no surprise to anyone this cost, a lot, but like the rest of the expenses is required. I have a feeling that this will be the story of the rest of my life.

So the big thing with a fetal assessment is that its scary as hell. I mean until now the worry has been "lets get through the miscarriage danger zone" and at 12 weeks you are kind of over that hurdle and relaxing a bit. Now comes the fetal test where you find out if it has downs syndrome or any other major defects which lets be honest is scary.

So after being given a statistics lesson, which we passed apparently, it was time to take a peak. Its like a second hand car AA assessment "a comprehensive 144 point check where we look at the water behind the neck, blood flow, arms, legs, make sure the body is functioning. And theres more......we can see if its a chic or dick!" Ok lets just say that even if we didn't want to know the sex you would have had to have been wearing a blindfold not to see that appendage "thank you grandad!" I even had it measured, 10% of his overall body length! Can't remember much else about the assessment as I was too busy trying to work out that if my bit was 10% of my 6ft 4ins length how long it would actually be, I quit doing the maths before I reached the conclusion that I would just make myself feel inferior due to my current girth and what it could be.

So the rest of the test, well her maj tells me it was all good and that he was touching his toes, bastard I can't even see my toes these days let alone touch them, and he was doing a happy dance. My other vague memories are of how bloody impressive the technology is. Seriously this stuff is immense. Seeing the blood flow in your snot gobblers brain, counting ribs, seeing the kidneys empty the bile, well its spellbinding.

I fully woke up from my semi-haze of course when we had to divert a mortgage payment to the receptionist to pay for the assessment. I have a feeling we might not be the most generous on the Christmas present front this year. I also get the impression that I might not get any camera equipment but a load of baby clothes. Oh joy to the world.

It's real

So its official and its real we are most definitely pregnant, by we I mean her maj is pregnant and I look like I am, but either way there is a kid in there. Well we say kid but right now its more a kidney bean with a heart beat but apparently its a living child.

So we headed off to the gynie, lovely lady, who upon meeting me said to her maj "Jesus luv you picked a biggun to have a kid with!" Charming. We got on immediately. So we saw it, its a small thing and nothing much to right home about but for the first time reality kind of hit. Its all well and good having a piss stick to tell you that you're expecting but there is nothing more real that actually seeing the little fella or felless.

Right off the bat its been decided that her maj due to her back op is not pushing this thing out so its an elective sunroof delivery probably two weeks before due date which means mid May. Seems a long way off but pretty sure it won't be.

One things for sure the little blob doesn't like its mum being hungry, its a case of "get hungry, vomit your guts up" for her maj so far, having a feeling that it could be like this for a while. Don't know whats worse, the pain her maj goes through wretching her guts up or me being woken up by the noise of her doing so at 2am every day and then while I'm eating my scrambled egg breakfast. Either way its not pretty. Aint parenthood grand!

It's a miracle!

Not three weeks after being informed of my golf balls shooting nothing but sawdust a miracle happened! Her Maj being a few days late with her periodicals decided to bite the bullet and piss on a stick. Low and behold the second line appeared, cue a look of shock, then delight, then "oh fuck I better call the gynie and get a blood test".

So while her maj was off giving blood I sat there in bewilderment about how the hell that happened, and decided to go and buy a lotto ticket, I lost but seemed to win the lottery that is getting the missus preggers. Her Maj arrived back with another piss stick and the first medical bill of many, drunk a pint of water and had another squirt. Two lines again, two hours later the blood work confirmed that we were expecting.

At this point your mind goes into over drive, first thing hug, look at each other then hug again, then once more for luck. Then to call the parents and siblings and super close friends, of course its all super quiet, top secret (well discounting that Obama and co probably know about it by now due to phone hacking).

Time to hit the interweb to devour anything and everything, first 13 weeks is miscarriage prime time so buy cotton wool and wrap her maj in it. Names, oh shit what shall we call it, check the bank balance, bugger why did we go out for dinner last night as we can't afford that now we're preggers. And that is the first aftenoon, panic, joy, panic, crap yourself, joy.

Then you go to bed, look at each other, and say "we did it babe" and feel a bond and love that you have never felt before, and life is good!

Masculinity test

So after two years of giving it the best of British the time has come when her maj has decided that I need to get my swimmers counted. For most of us chaps this brings a gasp and our testicles hit our tonsils at the thought of being a non-man, I mean we're men how can we fail to produce off-spring? The sad reality is that in 2013 a lot of us can't due to the food we eat, the stress of modern day life, and the fact that many decide that a perfectly good way to spend our weekends is sat on a rock hard saddle and peddle our little hearts out for several hours thereby crushing, bending and slapping our bits. Yes chaps one in four of us might not be as manly as we like to believe.

So the fateful day came. Off her maj went to work and left the specimen jar and a list of not exactly romantic instructions. "See this? point your bit at it, shoot your load into it, and make sure you get it at body temperature to the lab within an hour." Simple right?

Well first things first you have to fill out the form and the jar with your details and sign a declaration that you haven't so much as looked at the missus in five days. With that you're ready to go. Now where to do the deed, don't want to mess the clean sheets up so its off to the lav you go and sit on the throne. Your body at this point thinks you are there for another form of relief and lets a few liters of methane escape. Great start, not. So now to get excited. Suitable reading material? not so much as a dog eared Readers Digest to find something remotely erotic in. This could take a while.

Finally after almost reinventing fire and having the onset of friction burns your bit springs into life and realises its time to play ball. Now you're going full steam ahead and grab the specimen tub only to find that a woman has obviously created this test as a practical joke as the tub is the width of a pin head and you have to shoot a load at it. They obviously forgot to include the instruction that army snipers need apply for this test. And kaboom you fire Apollo 11 into the tub but get half of it over your work pants and shoes and hand, fuuuuuuuck!

Now the clock is ticking on your hour so as quick as you can you wash up, change shoes, change pants, kick the dogs out, put the pot in your top pocket and throw on a skiing jacket to keep it at body temperature and you're off. Into the car, heaters on full bore, and cue the Italian job driving exhibition. Into the car park at the hospital, a quick sprint into the labs packed waiting room sweating bullets and are greeted by a nurse "can I help you Sir?" hardly able to muster a grunt it is apparent what you are there for and she acknowledges this "oh you have a semen sample sir, give it here please, yes that looks like a good sample" and promptly puts it under her arm while "taking down your details". With that you pay your money and leave totally stripped of any pride and go on your merry way.

Five days later you get the news, plenty of swimmers, just the wrong ones, you just don't have enough of the fertilising ones, oh shit time for fertility treatment.......