It's the mid-point of the 11th month of the year! If that isn't something worth celebrating with a luxury mug of hot chocolate and a mince pie, then I don't know what is. My first mince pie of the year, by the way, although I very much doubt it will be the last.
Today felt a lot more like the time of year it actually is, rather than some weird, deceptive late-Summer day like what we had yesterday. It was a hell of a change from one 24 hours to the next, although I don't know why that should surprise me anymore.
Anyhoo - away from weather - it's been just another day in the life of Newborn Rian and His Insatiable Appetite for Breast Milk. It's quite a disheartening time in a Dad's life, really, these first few weeks and months. Junior really has little to no interest in getting to know you, and just sees you as an inconvenience that they have to endure before they go back to the one that provides lactation. I can see that it could be soul-destroying, if you weren't made of strong enough stuff. You've been waiting months on end to get a chance to meet your offspring, and when they finally drop out and appear in your world, they couldn't give two shits whether you're there, or in a ditch. Post-Natal Depression in Fathers isn't talked about often, but I can imagine it being a thing.
Apologies if there are any weird spelling errors or additional, unexpected letters in this posting. That mince pie was far more crumbly than I expected it to be, and I now have to find a can of compressed air to blow all the bits of pastry out of my keyboard....
RC 15-11-22
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