The Big Scream

I have been going to the cinema with Doozer. It is something you can do at both cinemas in Brighton, the big one (which mainly shows new big releases and is nearer to my house) and the little independent one (which shows a more interesting selection of films but at a time the keeps clashing with other things in a way that means I havent been to any of them yet)(there is literally no reason for telling you this apart from to explain the selection of films Ive so far been to see)(And now Im double-explaining something that you probably werent even questioning anyway. Should I go back and delete this bit? Should I start all over again? Should I delete the whole post in case this dithering puts you off reading it? Delete the whole blog in case you realise it all to be endemic of everything thats ever been posted here? It is a quandary.)(Im going to start all over again)(Oh, no, I tell you what, I will change the focus of this post, and write the stuff I was going to write in this post in another post, Im in a typey mood this evening).

The cinema is good. They leave the lights up a little, and play the film not as loudly as they usually would, and the screening is open almost exclusively to parents and tiny babies, who therefore feel free to wail when they wish to (the babies) feed at will (same) change nappies (the parents) and fall asleep without judgement (both).

I have also done a baby massage class, which was very informative both in terms of how to do massage, AND how long exactly it takes between removing Doozers nappy and him weeing everywhere, so that was very good.

Next, I will go to another class. Some kind of singing and playing and goodness-knows-what class, but you know what? It doesnt really matter what the class is in. Im still too shy and too scared to meet and talk to people at coffee morning type things (I can picture myself at one: I would walk in with Doozer, head straight for the coffee table, pick up a drink, stand in a corner staring at it/some leaflets/posters/anything there was to stare at while the drink was too hot to drink, then panic when someone tried to start a conversation with me, make a joke that was completely inappropriate and almost certainly inaudible, and run out of the door, HOPEFULLY with the baby. Mine. That is precisely how it would go.)

Otherwise, we walk along the seafront, we sit in the living room staring at toys or in the bedroom making faces, or try and work out which cry means sleep and which cry means hungry, and how to turn a slightly sleepy face into a nap. I go out for coffee with people from our birth class, and we compare notes on how much sleep, and where sleep, we get, they get, everyone gets; how many feeds and how much everyone eats; the babies how long they are; how heavy; how maddening and how adorable our offspring can be, and whether its all normal, or whether we are, as we suspect, not doing as well at this as everyone else, like they got sent the manual and we didnt. And we come away feeling a little bit reassured, and always a little, tiny bit more paranoid about something else.

And now, in the evenings, I sit with two hands while the monitor beeps to let us know it is working, but hes not making any noise, upstairs. So, slowly, I learn to type two handed and fast again.

This is fun. Its not always fun, and its completely different to what I was expecting. But I think its going to be ok. I think.