Less Vegas

I should have been boarding a plane in about 12 hours to head for London and henceforth Vegas.

The flights were booked. Strip accommodation reserved. ESTA form completed. I was all set. Only packing remained to be done.

Then my youngest daughter took an awkward tumble as she played at home on Monday.

On the way down she cracked her head off a table hard enough to shunt it sidewards.

There were tears, horror, and concern. Which turned out to be misplaced, as there was no harm done other that some faint bruising on her temple. Just another toddler mishap.

What lasted longer than the concern was the sick feeling I felt in my stomach at the point I saw her stumble but was too far away to stop her falling.

As the afternoon wore on, I realised I couldn't bring myself to leave her and the rest of the family for almost a week. A long weekend in Vegas becomes a week away when the starting point is the UK!

So, I cancelled. Maybe it's the Christmas spirit, maybe I'm just a big sap, but something didn't feel right anymore.

I'm genuinely gutted not to be going but I had to follow my instincts. Anyway, a special trip is already being planned for next year.

How To Impress Many Women With One Gift

They say the way to a man's heart is via his stomach.

With a woman, the route is more circuitous.

It seems to start at the feet.

For a generation of men more than familiar with the Sex And The City girls and their never-ending lust for the latest Manolo Blahniks, Jimmy Choos, or whatever, this shouldn't be a great surprise. It wasn't to me.

What was surprising, was the effect the right gift can have not only on the recipient, but a multitude of other women too.

The scene was the Div household last Thursday. K was trying on outfits
for a Christening we were to attend on Sunday.

I pride myself on being a good shopping companion. Tactful but honest.

If I don't like something she tries on, I'm not shy about offering an opinion, though always in a constructive manner.

This doesn't always go down well in the heat of the moment, but she knows it means if I say I love an outfit, I really do love it.

With the birth being only six weeks previous, I knew this was a particularly sensitive time for offering opinions.

Outfit one was fine, but not brilliant.

Outfit two was great, except for the shoes. They were just a bit too clumsy for the outfit.

'I think you could do better', I told her.

'Well, I've been looking for weeks. You try finding a pair of blue shoes to match this skirt!', she responded just a little tetchily.

I said nothing, and retired to the computer room. That sounded like a fun challenge...

Step 1 - ASOS. I remember the early dot-com days when this was just another niche start-up that seemed doomed to crash and burn. Now they seem to rule the UK market for (fairly) affordable style. Plus I knew K had bought stuff there before so it was a safe bet.

Alas, they had what appeared to be the perfect shoes, but it was too late for delivery before Sunday.

Step 2 - I checked the website of the designer. Kurt Geiger. Same story here.

Step 3 - Last throw of the dice. Find a local stockist. At which point lady luck smiled on me. There was a Kurt Geiger outlet in one of the out-of-town complexes around fifteen minutes drive from work.

Step 4 - I zoomed over on Friday afternoon.

As an unaccompanied guy, walking into a trendy ladies shoe store alone, and seeking out a particular pair, must rank alongside job interviews, or meeting the parents of a new girlfriend, for pounding heart and clammy palms.

The store was quiet. The solitary sales assistant was young, blonde, and gorgeous.

I loitered while she dealt with a middle-aged couple who obviously weren't going to buy anything. Spotting my target I casually lifted them and did my best to appraise them in a manner devoid of fetishistic overtones.

The other couple left empty handed. The assistant politely enquired if I needed help? I did.

She checked with the store room. They had them in K's size. I bought them.

Gorgeous blonde girl seemed relieved I hadn't asked for them in an eleven.

As she wrapped, her curiosity got the better of her, and she gently quizzed me on the purchase. I explained the story. She looked at me like I'd suddenly transformed into a Thelma and Louise era Brad Pitt-alike.

I left the shop with a smile on my face, and a buzz of satisfaction at mission accomplished.

On my return, a few workmates wondered where I'd been. Flush with success, I explained.

The guys were agog, the few girls in the department impressed. Even more so when they saw the shoes. This felt pretty good!

I sprung the surprise on K once both kids were asleep. She was so amazed I thought she might cry. By now I was feeling positively heroic.

She told her pals, lots of them. The acclaim was universal. Her sister loved them.

By now I was starting to understand how rock stars feel. The smallest action sufficient to have women adoring you from afar, no matter how irrational it may be.

I do seem to have made a couple of enemies. Partners who reckon I've set the bar too high.

Do I care? No! She loved them, and I got to feel like a rock star for just a little while.

A small price to pay for these beauties!

Contraception The Div Way

Way back in the early days of this blog, I briefly mentioned some thoughts on pregnancy. Specifically I suggested replacing sex education with pregnancy education, as a way of trying to keep the teenage birth rate down.

How naive I was. I barely scratched the surface - and I use that term advisedly!

If pregnancy one was tough for K, and pregnancy two heartbreaking, pregnancy three was an entirely new experience. One which I couldn't write about on here at the time, as it would have given the game away.

K suffers from bad morning sickness, but in pregnancy three this got to the stage of being classed as hyperemesis gravidarum.

Hyperemesis gravidarum is morning sickness on steroids.

Forget a quick puke in the morning then a relatively normal day to follow.

Think instead waking up and being sick; eating breakfast and being sick; having a glass of water and being sick; having lunch and being sick; having a nap, and waking up to be sick; etc.

The doctors prescribed various combinations of drugs, all of which proved entirely ineffective. One of the major drawbacks being they were orally administered and she puked most of them straight back up.

When it gets to the stage that even a glass of water is intolerable, and sucking an ice cube becomes an ordeal, all paths start to lead to hospital.

K finally got to the stage where she was so dehydrated she could barely stand. Her ketone levels were through the roof - as her body ran out of fuel and resorted to burning fat - and she was clearly dehydrated to the point of incapacitation.

The hospital admitted her, hooked her up to a succession of drips - saline, glucose, and a weird yellow coloured vitamin supplement which, she assures me, stings like hell as it enters the bloodstream.

They also injected anti-sickness drugs that had a more beneficial effect - whether through increased potency, or simply because they were actually absorbed into her system.

After a few days she was discharged, and within a few more days she was ill again.

Another cycle of admission, discharge and regression followed, culminating in a third and final stay of four nights in hospital.

By this time the medics were actually contemplating dispatching a midwife to our home twice daily to administer the anti-sickness injections, as they are not normally available outside hospital. Fortunately K made enough of an improvement to manage without the drugs after this last stay.

With an energetic two year-old to look after, and my job being of the pay-as-you-work variety, stressful barely begins to describe the scenario.

Primarily, of course, for her; but there was certainly an increased burden to be shared by myself and our families.

This is definitely not pregnancy of the movie variety. We are not dealing with Knocked Up or Look Who's Talking here!

If the pregnancy was of the horrendous variety, the labour and delivery went fairly well, particularly when taking into account V being 9lbs 1oz at birth and delivered face-to-pubis i.e. head down but facing the wrong way.

This didn't stop us being regaled with various horror stories from unexpected sources. Such as the lady in the local soft play area, who told us how her daughter's shoulder jammed, and 'ripped' her open during the delivery.

Or, my workmate whose child was wedged so tight the pregnancy culminated in him and a midwife pinning his wife down by the shoulders, while a doctor wielded forceps with his foot braced against the bed for extra leverage.

Amazingly she actually had another child after that ordeal. Women ARE tougher than men!

In my previous post I didn't do justice to the true horror of the forceps.

I'd imagined some delicate almost tweezer like instrument, on a lilliputian scale.

The reality is more akin to something a barbecue enthusiast may be found brandishing with vigour on a sunny weekend afternoon.

Add to that the ventouse cup, scalpels, and the possible side effects of an epidural, and we are into Vincent Price territory. For those who missed my earlier post, a phrase to haunt your nightmares - incise the perineum. Enough said!

If all that failed to discourage the average teenage girl from denying her boyfriend a home run for as long as possible, perhaps the ultimate deterrent is less about pain and more about presentation. Stretch marks!

K got off lightly on these, but while she was pregnant we watched a BBC documentary about a girl who had gotten pregnant at thirteen.

By the time she delivered the poor girl looked like she'd had a particularly extreme session with Max Mosley.

Stretch marks is such a bland term. In severe cases they resemble open welts or burns.

If all else fails, the thought of no more hipster jeans or crop tops would surely deter a high percentage of our fashion conscious female youth from allowing themselves to get impregnated, though it may leave the boys with arms like Rafael Nadal.

Terrible Twos, Tempestuous Threes

If I were to kick this blog off again, I'd definitely pick a different name, as the 'Parenthood' content has proved to be extremely thin.

One problem I've come to recognise is that having only one child, and only limited experience of dealing with other people's children, meant it's been very difficult to know what is and isn't comment worthy.

In business terms, there was no benchmark for E, against whom I could make comparisons. Clearly that situation is starting to change, so perhaps more observations on V will be forthcoming.

For now, there's one area of child behaviour which is so commonly recognised, no benchmark is required. Namely, The Terrible Twos - a time of tantrums, tears, and what I've seen described as 'oppositional behaviour'.

It seemed to me that we were getting off quite lightly in this respect with E. For most of her twos she proved to be fairly easy to deal with.

She does seem to have almost endless reserves of energy, but for the most part she channelled them in entertaining or creative ways.

She loves to go to the park, she loves to go to various toddler/nursery groups, she loves things like painting, drawing, play dough, etc.

One activity I was quite happy to embrace revolved around my return from work.

K observed that regardless of her state at the time of my return, E would always spring to life and be ready to play as soon as I crossed the threshold.

Not only that, but she seemed to implicitly recognise that playing with daddy allows a wider spectrum of acceptable behaviour than playing with other kids, or mummy, or grandparents.

Specifically, there's a bit more rough-and-tumble allowed.

This would occasionally irritate K, particularly if I were a bit late home and E was getting sleepy and she looked set for a relatively swift transition from daytime to bedtime.

Sleepy toddler would spontaneously transform to whirling dervish toddler, and a period of tumbling, rolling, climbing, backflips and other games, would ensue. Not ideal preparation for bedtime.

For me, it was a joyous time. It's always nice to be welcomed enthusiastically after not seeing the family - often since the previous evening - and after spending most of my day stuck in front of a PC, a bit of physical exertion was no bad thing.

However, in the months approaching her third birthday, we noticed a definite change in E's behaviour.

The welcome home behaviour got a bit more manic, the games more frenzied, and a staring-eyed, teeth-clenching attitude became more prevalent on E's part.

Which all seemed terribly incongruous coming from this skinny, curly blonde haired, vision of innocence.

In retrospect I perhaps didn't take it as seriously as I should have. Laughing off the occasional slap or scratch as over exuberance. Even one of two headbutts seemed to be merely accidental - and may well have been.

E being our first child, I'd never realised how strong a skinny two year old could actually be. The punches are hardly knockout material but they do have an impact, and if she sets her mind to, for example, not allowing herself to be harnessed in the car seat, it's a tough job to get her secured.

One thing that started to toughen my attitude was her continual attempts to target my glasses. Which eventually led to them being so wrecked they barely clung to my nose and ears.

Replacement cost - £300. I was not happy, albeit my prescription had changed, so a new pair would have been required in the near future anyway.

K and I were now making a conscious effort to clamp down on the naughtiness - maintaining a united front against any misdemeanours - whilst still ensuring we were doing all the stuff the text books say should be done. Lots of activities to harness and focus toddler energy productively, making sure she didn't feel marginalised by the impending new baby, etc.

Still the teeth gritting and aggression continued, though at containable levels.

Until, that is, a bath time last midweek when, as I was lifting her from the bath, she caught me unawares and sunk her teeth hard into my neck with a vigour that would have made Dracula proud.

The pain was equal to anything I've had inflicted on me by an adult, and made worse by the complete surprise. Roars of pain, shouting, finger pointing, tantrum tears, and an early bedtime followed (for her, in case you're wondering).

It's difficult to strike a balance in these circumstances.

One the one hand I'm perfectly aware the Terrible Twos exists, and equally aware they were never going to disappear from the date of her recent third birthday. E is only a toddler, and mishaps and misbehaviour are bound to happen.

On the other hand, I was genuinely shocked by the calculated nature of the biting incident, and I do wonder if we've been a bit too soft on her so far.

She does seem to be a clever kid, and it does seem to us that she has a good understanding of right-and-wrong, but just doesn't feel compelled to comply with it sometimes. Time for some 'tough love', I feel.

Still it could be worse. All I've got to show for my suffering is a rapidly fading set of teeth marks on my neck.

A friend wasn't so lucky, when an incident involving his twenty month old son, himself, and a Thomas The Tank Engine toy, resulted in a broken nose for daddy!

He reckons it was an accident, but with the benefit of experience, I'm not so sure!

Life Is Good

This blog has been somewhat neglected for quite a while. Partly through time pressures, and partly lack of interesting stuff to blog.

Which isn't to say life hasn't been interesting, just that I've not been willing to put the pertinent parts in the public domain, until now.

Meet the latest addition to the Div clan. Another girl, born 3rd July 2008, who I'll call V for the purposes of this blog...

After we lost our second child to a missed miscarriage I didn't want to tempt fate by mentioning this pregnancy until it was successfully concluded.

There were a few problems along the way, but when V arrived she was fit and healthy, and weighed in at a whopping 9lbs 1oz. Quite a contrast to E's 5lbs 10oz!

Mother and child are both fit and well, and I'm delighted to report V is showing signs of being a good sleeper. No doubt inherited from her daddy.

Public Service Announcement x 2

A few words of wisdom borne of my own experiences.

1. Last year I bought a Dell PC. It came pre-installed with McAfee security software.

After a while I noticed a few websites I use - including a forum I share with friends - were loading woefully slowly. I mentioned this to my friends. It ran fine for them.

In the grand scheme of things this was no big deal, so I grinned and bore it.

Recently I got rid of McAfee, and installed the free version of AVG Anti-Virus. Suddenly the web browser is running like a dream across all sites.

At a guess, I suspect McAfee was doing some sort of real-time (sic) validation of embedded content such as adverts.

My recommendation, ditch it.

2. E started off as a really bad sleeper, but after a few months became capable of sleeping soundly for upwards of twelve hours. Fantastic.

Alas, as the early summer mornings arrived this year, they triggered a dramatic change. Suddenly she was waking as early as 5.30am and announcing herself to us, usually with a cry of 'Beebies'. Not good.

K picked up a tip on one of the mummies forums she frequents. The advice was to buy a Stay In Bed Bunny Clock.

My immediate reaction was this was an overpriced gimmick. But sleep deprivation makes a man desperate, so the purchase was made.

When it arrived, my cynicism grew. It feels like it was put together for 50p in some SE Asian sweatshop.

Within days, my cynicism was dispelled. The idea is devastatingly simple yet effective.

The clock is a very basic LCD unit, attached to an illuminated face, split into two halves, only one of which is illuminated at any given time.

The top half shows a little bunny, backpack on, out and about on a sunny day. The bottom half shows the same bunny tucked up asleep in bed.

The time each half is illuminated can be altered.

The child needs simply to be told it's OK to get up when bunny is up, but if bunny is sleeping then they should stay in bed.

I guess this works better for some kids than others, but with E it was an instant success.

She now bounds into our room at a mercifully civilised hour, and usually proclaims 'Bunny is awake'.

I can't guarantee success, but if you are a sleep deprived parent seeking a panacea, this is definitely worth a gamble!

Winding Down

Mega project live. Defects under control. Propped up in front of the TV - glass of red in hand - watching Euro 2008 quarter finals, and skimming hundreds of unread Bloglines entries.

One of the sizeable backlogs belonged to Las Vegas and Poker, and I was genuinely astounded to see WSOP Event 33 had already been won.

Event 33!! I was dimly aware the WSOP was underway, and I've noticed a marked upturn in search hits for live webcasts or streaming, but Event 33. I just can't get my head around it. I've lost a month somewhere.

For the first time in several months I can contemplate an almost free weekend.

Plans so far encompass - repairing the long neglected lawn, ironing(!), and family time.

E is growing up so fast right now, and I do feel terribly guilty about missing a lot of time with her. Some days our only communication has been by phone - which leaves me feeling like a character from some 3rd rate Hollywood cheese fest.

One of her fascinations is aeroplanes. When she sees one flying overhead, I'll ask her where it's going.

She looks at me like I'm daft. 'To the airport daddy.'

I've taken her over to Edinburgh Airport a few times since it's possible to get really close to the runway and the taxiing planes. Close enough for her to wave to the pilots.

There's also lots of open ground for a kickabout when she gets bored with the planes. If there's one thing she has, it's energy in abundance.

Which is partly why this story really struck a chord.

The Royal Highland Show is held on the land beside the airport. This unfortunate little boy was playing in the same area where we are happy to let E run free.

Stories like this always make me feel terrible for the family, but it's a discomforting feeling to have such a direct link to our own activities.

I'd hate for E to become a McDonalds guzzling couch potato, but at the same time she can scare the living daylights out of me with her fearless approach to play. She always want to swing higher, spin faster, or come down the playpark chute head-first, backwards, or both!

While we always try to make sure she is safe, I think I'd rather have an energetic and independent child, pushing her own boundaries, than a cosseted, over protected, cotton wool child.

Like so many things in life, it's all about striking a balance, and finding the right compromises. Which is earier said than done.

Shannon Matthews Safe; Charles Darwin Spinning In Grave

Shannon Matthews the missing 9 year-old from West Yorkshire is safe. Which is obviously great news. I always get the feeling after 48 hours in these cases that if the kid hasn't turned up, the police will be looking at either an accident or murder.

So it's great news she has been found, apparently well after being missing for more than three weeks, and I am genuinely delighted for her family.

Yet it's hard to shake off the horrible feeling that her abduction opened a window into a society that shouldn't exist.

The family life of her mother, Karen Matthews, makes Shameless look like Brideshead Revisited. The statistics are mind blowing.

Age 32. Seven children. Five different fathers. Bloody hell!!

If the average British worker was as productive there would be no recession fears, no deficit worries, no trade gap. We'd be world beaters!

Should Karen fancy her chances as an entrepreneur, I'd suggest she looks into setting up an Internet dating site. She obviously has expertise in the meeting and mating market.

In a way you have to admire her inventiveness and time management skills. How she managed to get time for a social life once she'd got to four or five kids, while still in her twenties, is a puzzle to me.

It must really hurt for couples struggling to have just one kid they'd love unconditionally - marooned on NHS IVF waiting lists that measure in years - to be exposed to an alternative word where kids are produced on a production line, with little apparent regard for their welfare or the likelihood of giving them a stable upbringing.

On a more practical level, it must be galling for families where the parents both work but struggle to make ends meet due to child care costs, to witness a culture where work is a swear word and kids are utilised as a means of enhancing social security benefits.

It seems to me we've reached a point where flawed government policies, allied to a culture that really is shameless, has turned Darwin's Theory of Natural Selection on it's head.

If you are smart, motivated, and hard working, the odds are you won't have the cash, or more crucially the time, to raise a big family. This is especially true where the woman is keen to continue working. There aren't many Nicola Horlicks around!

Conversely, if you can't be bothered working, but think the world owes you a living, having loads of kids seems to be the fastest legal route to boosting your income.

The inevitable consequence of this situation is that survival of the fittest ceases to be the norm.

The smart and hard working will be out bred by the feckless, whilst simultaneously being screwed for an ever higher percentage of their income to fund the offspring of the benefit junkies.

All of which sounds perilously close to a Nazi-esque view of the world. Which makes me very uncomfortable, but I cannot see where else current trends are taking us.

I'm absolutely in favour of protecting the weak; a high standard of comprehensive education; free health services; and Gordon Brown's oft quoted desire to end child poverty.

However it's clear to me that current policies are not going to achieve that aim. There has to be a better way.

I've got some post-budget thoughts on the general economy, but here's a quick hit in the area of Child Benefit.

Currently child one gets a higher weekly allowance and all subsequent kids are paid at a reduced rate. Why not continue the taper so that child three gets less than two, etc? I'd imagine that by child four, condoms or The Pill would be a much more prominent part of the conversation with any prospective partners.

This could be kept revenue neutral by increasing the payments for kids one and two, so no stealth tax here.

I can't claim this as a perfect solution - and it has definite echoes of China - but it's a step ahead of current policy which is a licence to breed without any regard for the consequences.

Only Two...

...and she already drives better than Britney.

Seventeen!

Funny how some posts resonate for unexpected reasons. Kent's recent mention of AJ's academic achievements caught my eye.

K was off on a girlie overnighter leaving me in full control of home and toddler for the weekend.

By this afternoon, a tidy up was in order. A swift clearance of the lounge produced, among other things, a pile of books.

'That's a bloody big pile', I thought. 'Wonder how many there are?'

SEVENTEEN books on the lounge floor! Which made a hell of a mess, but I'm telling myself counts as good parenting.

Now if only we could persuade her to stop tearing the covers off them...

Leisure

Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It's been ten days since my last post.

Ten days! Where did the time go? (Little Me Too! reference there for the fellow parents)

Well ironically enough I've been busier than usual at work, due to some impending leisure time. I rejected an option to renew my current contract, which meant it expired at the end of May.

Cue a period of frantic activity, wrapping up loose ends and doing a handover of my activities to some guys based in a different part of the UK.

I wasn't totally desperate to get out of the job, and I liked my workmates, but when someone else offers a rate rise equivalent to the annual mortgage payment, it's pretty much a no-brainer. The life of the contractor.

I've got a few weeks before the new contract starts, which incorporates a pre-planned holiday to the Scottish Highlands with wife and child.

Neither K nor I is keen on taking E on any long trips, particularly not flights, so a few hours in the family car suits us fine.

This prospect of this sort of trip was one of the reasons we went for a big diesel car. We've booked some time at two 'family friendly' hotels, and I'm praying the weather cooperates.

In the meantime, I've got a few free days. Day one of which I spent stripping down a silicone coated bath, tiling, and filling and sealing a damp affected floor.

The tenant in the flat I let out in Glasgow is on holiday for a week, so I'm taking the chance to do some repairs to the property.

Consequently I actually got home later today than I would if I'd been at my 'proper' job.

Not that I minded. It's good to escape from the office PC for a while, and I do enjoy the occasional opportunity to do some physical work. A change is as good as a rest, as the saying goes.

The plan is to finish the job tomorrow in time for her return from holiday.

On the property theme, I caught a little bit on TV tonight about the Spanish property crash. This seems to have particularly hit the holiday village type developments, frequented by Brits and other northern Europeans.

No doubt there are some aspects of the Spanish property system that are open to criticism. The experience of one couple under the Spanish 'land grab' rules was genuinely terrible.

What gets me is the sympathetic treatment handed out by the media to people who are effectively failed business people. One couple had bought two off-plan properties on the same development, planning to sell one on at a profit pre-completion, to fund the purchase of the other.

When the market tanked, they were in the mire. Such is life!

Yet they get TV time and a virtual hug over their predicament. Why!?

They borrowed to invest; invested unwisely; and lost. Maybe they were unlucky, maybe they didn't do enough research, or maybe they just got $$ signs in their eyes and plunged in without a second thought.

The British attitude to property is a peculiar thing. So many seem to see it as a cure for all ills.

Often there seems an expectation that bricks and mortar are a magical financial instrument, offering reward for no risk. The reality is, where there is potential reward, there must be a risk of some type.

If people can't understand this, they shouldn't be trusted with credit. The lack of self awareness is truly staggering. One can't help but wonder how some of these people managed to raise the deposits on their purchases.

Probable answer - remortgaging their home in the UK!

Précis of a Difficult Week

Firstly, a heartfelt thanks to those who have contacted me through comments or email. All the kind words have been very much appreciated by both of us.

It's been a week since we got the news, and I'm steeling myself for a return to work tomorrow. Assuming yet another cold bug has cleared up a little by the morning.

Having got over the initial shock of receiving such terrible news, we've been trying to maintain as much normality as possible for the sake of E.

She did get her first ever overnight stay at the grandparents on Monday, as K needed to undergo a surgical procedure known as a D&C to remove what remained of our baby from her womb.

That was an emotionally difficult day for us both, with the added factor that she had never undergone a general anaesthetic and was understandably nervous.

It's worth saying the doctors and midwives at the hospital have all been great. The medical profession is often criticised for lack of patient empathy, but the staff we encountered were universally sympathetic and caring.

The procedure went well, and has at least allowed us to draw a line under the pregnancy.

That said, I think it will be quite some time before our emotions are entirely settled.

We've both resigned ourselves to the fact we were victims of one of nature's quirks, and understand and accept what happened.

Which means we can rationalise it, but not ignore the sadness and despair that continues to linger within us.

Christmas shopping this week seemed to bring a never ending procession of newborns in prams, with parents beaming proudly at their offspring. I feel nothing but delight for them, but couldn't help wondering about what might have been for us.

I'm sure that will fade. Time being a great healer, as the saying goes.

My only overnight stay in hospital came about six years ago, when I had my tonsils removed. That's usually a childhood operation, but I was one of the unlucky adults.

I can still vividly recall coming round from the anaesthetic in a darkened room, whilst traces of (I presume) morphine still circulated in my veins.

My giddy, dreamlike state soon to be replaced by one of absolute bloody agony, as the effects subsided and only co-codamol was on offer for further pain relief.

I spent a week off work, mostly alone at home immersed in computer games as a distraction from the pain I was enduring. Whole days passed with me subsisting on a diet of soggy cornflakes and warm soup, whilst I razed cities to the ground and launched wave after wave of armoured assaults.

This week my distractions from the emotional pain have been football and poker.

The visit of Celtic to Ibrox being a real throwback in terms of passion, commitment, and scything acts of brutality - most of which went unpunished. I was nowhere near as deeply engaged in proceedings as I would usually have been, but the distraction was welcome and the result acceptable.

Much as I yearned to divert myself further through poker, I didn't trust myself to engage in any big bet cash games. So I ground out enough limit hands to work off the monthly Interpoker reload bonus, and played in a few of the daily freerolls.

Coincidentally, my rakeback provider had also laid on a couple of big freerolls. I got nowhere in the $10,000 at Interpoker, but squeaked into the top 30 of the $12,000 at Full Tilt.

Making the top 30 from 1600+ entrants is pretty commendable, even if maybe 35% didn't actually turn up, but it's still frustrating to make a mere $40 when $2500 is on offer to the winner.

In part I was a victim of timings, as the hand I went out on, in a battle of the blinds, was easily foldable, but it was getting late and K was going to the hospital the next day. So external factors were at work.

Perhaps the most encouraging sign this week was my eruption last night when I got AK cracked on an ace high flop - by a buffoon who paid three bets to see a flop with K2s and went runner-runner for the backdoor flush.

The shouting, cursing, and general outrage that such an idiotic play should be rewarded was an encouraging indicator that my emotions are returning to their normal levels.

There's still a long way to go, but I'm already looking forward to putting this year behind us, and making plans for a rosier future.

Dark Times

This blog has been running for almost two years now, and I've racked up over 300 posts in that time. Some mediocre, some interesting, a few amusing, and one or two that are pretty damn good, even if I say so myself.

In all that time, I never imagined I'd have to write one like this.

The pregnancy is no more. The baby lost to a miscarriage.

It had all seemed to be going so well. The bump was developing, and although the Mrs (henceforth 'K'), was still suffering morning sickness, she felt the worst was over.

So it was with great optimism that we attended the first scan yesterday afternoon - unfazed by the grim weather that assailed us as we crossed the hospital car park.

Arriving a little ahead of schedule gave me the chance to grab some lunch in their cafe - having rushed there from work - and we sat discussing K's maternity leave options, as we marked time ahead of the appointment.

When the first images from the scan flashed up on screen, memories of the previous pregnancy came racing back.

It had been quite stressful. K suffered a lot of early bleeding, which led to a scan after only 6 weeks, at which point the baby resembled nothing more than a tiny prawn - with a flashing dot at it's centre, which the staff told us was the heart beating.

This time, I was able to make out something more closely resembling the images I recalled from the later scans, but as the operator began to ask questions of K it became apparent something was wrong, and the smile faded from my face.

As I heard the dread words, and K burst into tears, it became obvious to me what was missing from this scan - a heartbeat.

For a few moments I felt dizzy, detached, like a viewer watching a drama unfold on a TV screen. All I could do was hold K's hand and cuddle her. It didn't feel real.

We've had no problems with bleeding. The morning sickness is supposed to be a good sign - indicative of high levels of the necessary hormones. The bump has been growing.

So how can the baby be dead?

Once it had sunk in, the staff showed us to another room, and gave us some time to ourselves.

Later they explained that although the pregnancy had gone for 14 weeks, the baby had only developed to a size equivalent to 8 weeks. In all likelihood, it had been growing very slowly and died in the previous day or two before the scan.

The fluid sac that protects it had grown at the normal rate, hence the expanding bump.

All of which seemed logical, and as that facts sunk it, reality dawned.

The drive back to my parents to pick up The Toddler (E) was mercifully short. I could barely focus on the road.

Breaking the news to them was made all the harder by E's broad smile welcoming us, and her puzzled stare as she watched K hug my mum.

When we got home, all we wanted to do was lie down. Both of us felt physically drained by the experience.

24 hours later, the shock has worn off, and reality has set in. I've been doing some reading on miscarriages and the statistics surprised me.

According to the NHS over 10% of pregnancies end this way, so it's hardly unusual.

I think what hit us hardest was the total lack of expectation that such an event was occurring. As the staff at the hospital said, most people have an idea something is wrong due to bleeding, pain, or other symptoms in advance of the scan.

We were feeling optimistic and anticipating the experience of seeing our new baby for the first time.

Right now we are trying to focus on the positive. There's no suggestion any future pregnancy would be affected by what has happened, and if it had to happen, better to be sooner than later.

That doesn't make things good, but we understand that other people go through much tougher experiences than this, so I'm sure we will be fine, though it may take a while before normality is restored.

Until then, we will be trying to get on with life, and appreciating what we already have.

I can't see it being a jolly festive season, but I'll savour every moment spent with my family, and give all the love I can to the great child we already have.

Oops!...I Did It Again

No, I didn't marry Kevin Federline, but I may have to rename this blog Poker, Pique, and Extra Parenthood, as Mrs Div is now officially pregnant again.

Baby eta sometime around early June next year. Though if the first one is anything to go by, he/she could easily be here a bit earlier.

Mrs Div and I are delighted as you might imagine, though her delight is presently being tempered by severe morning sickness. The 'morning' bit being something of a misnomer since it actually lasts all day.

The Mrs being pregnant has a range of secondary impacts. Some more beneficial than others.

On the plus side - if pregnancy one is anything to go by - it means I'll have more time at the tables, since the Mrs will be often off early to bed, leaving me at a loose end.

On the negative side, I'd better enjoy the action at the tables, since it's all I'm going to get for quite a while!

My record at knocking up the Mrs is pretty impressive. In PokerTracker terms it would probably go something like:

Games Played:	2
Periods Seen:	0
Win % at Showdown:	100%

With that in mind, Mrs Div jokingly suggested she keep me occupied for the next nine months or so by putting me out to stud - and I don't think she meant the 7-card variety.

I'm not averse to this idea, and I'd be happy to negotiate with any interested parties.

Suffice to say, if you happen to look like...

or
or

...negotiations shouldn't be too protracted. Whereas if you are more along the lines of...

or

...best to wait til the Euromillions cheque clears before you call me.

Cute Chick

So this blog is called Poker, Pique, and Parenthood.

For a while there was precious little poker, but I'm catching up on that now. The pique is ever present. But there's not been much mention of parenthood recently.

Halloween seems a good time to redress the balance...

The little one is going great guns at present. I think we've been really lucky in that she seems to be an eternally happy baby. Even the various cold bugs she has come down with over the last few months haven't got her down.

Which is more than can be said for me. People often say that parenthood is an expensive business, but I'd never appreciated the variety of ways it can dent the bank balance.

As a freelancer, time is money, so losing about two weeks of work to ailments picked up from the toddler is a pretty expensive hit.

While I'm languishing in bed, or on the sofa, the little one continues to scoot around the house laughing and giggling, with little regard for her hacking cough or streaming nose.

Which is how I came to be off work today - with yet another bug - and had the joy of seeing her dressed up to go visiting a few friends in her costume.


If there's such a thing as an instant cure for the common cold, this must be it. I was howling - as was the Mrs, and the proud grandparents.

Speaking of whom, I think doting grandad has to take the blame/credit for the toddler being torn between two favourite TV channels - CBeebies (predictable) and UK Racing (huh?).

It seems her affection for 'horsies' has been nurtured by the daytime viewing habits of the babysitting granda.

Though, to be fair, he must also walk her in her buggy for about 20 miles each week - which gives her ample opportunity to see up close the horses in the fields close to our home.

Right now I'm already anticipating the day she announces she wants a pony - though I suppose that would be preferable to her deciding a career in bookmaking is the way forward.

Her favourite books are still of the big bright picture/nursery rhyme varieties, but if I catch her thumbing through Harrington On Hold Em, I'll know we are in trouble.

Baby Talk

Congratulations to Cocktail Doll on the birth of her baby son. It sounds like she had a tough time, so hope she is feeling better soon.

I found her site last year and it has some good casino anecdotes on it.

The reason I was searching was that I always like to be prepared before visiting new places, to maximise the experience.

Usually this involves reading a guide book, and a phrase book, so that I can manage a few key communications in whatever the local language is: count to ten, say 'please' and 'thank you', and of course the most important phrase of all 'two beers'. Particularly important on football trips with the lads, or when visiting Prague with anyone.

For the USA language isn't (much of) a problem, but tipping is! In the UK tipping is pretty much reserved for restaurant staff, and even then it's hardly viewed as mandatory. I knew the USA, and Vegas in particular, was different. So it was good to get some idea of what was, and wasn't, expected. I also made sure that I accumulated lots of $1 and $5 bills before reaching Vegas, so I was well prepared for the outstretched hands.

My own wife's pregnancy seems to be on an even keel now. She was super ill for the first 14 weeks or so, but has recently started to feel better. She also had a few complications early on, which have now been resolved. Consequently, we have seen three baby scans already, instead of the usual one:

7 weeks - a tiny little blob, the size of a fingernail, with a twitching core which the sonographer told us was the heart. My wife said the baby looked like a prawn.

11 weeks - an identifiable baby, we could even see the fingers on the hand, but no movement other than the beating heart.

14 weeks - amazing! A fully formed baby, and we could see the legs kicking, and the baby changing position as we watched.

The whole thing seems very real now. My wife has started to get bubbling sensations in the pit of her stomach, not full blooded kicking, but she can definitely feel movement.

It's full steam ahead now on the preparations. The house we live in is quite old, and when we bought it we renovated and redecorated one half, which was a little run down. Now we need to redecorate and furnish the other half, to make it baby friendly, and available to accommodate the streams of visitors a new child attracts. Yesterday was furniture shopping, today was bathroom shopping.

So, any poker profits will be invested wisely. I'll probably do a monthly summary on how I'm getting on, and square it with the cost of cots, prams, sofas, etc. to see whether the small stakes poker players of the world are financing the baby preparations. Every little helps!