A couple of male quotes from the ante-natal class tonight:

"So, it's next week we're discussing breast feeding?"

"You can breast feed them, as their sole source of food, for the first year"
His partner - "He's been reading" and then "ain't no way I'll be breast feeding for a year!"

I wonder sometimes that I should be taking a more active interest in the baby. Reading up about things, talking to people, discussing more with Deb the changes she's going through. Someone at Deb's work said to her yesterday, "Michael must be talking to you all the time about the birth". She just looked at him.

It's not at all that I'm not interested in the baby and what's happening, or that I don't care. It's rather, I think, just the way I deal with things. I don't worry too much in advance of things, or even think about them too much beforehand. I'm not a fatalist, but there's certainly an element of me that thinks what will happen will happen. No use worrying about it now, just deal with it when it arrives.

Interestingly, the co-ordinators/facilitators/instructors at the ante-natal class say, "listen to all the advice etc, but in the end, do what feels right for you at the time" as far as baby care goes. I like pragmatism.

Winter has arrived here in the last couple of days. Cold strong southerly winds and rain. All my life, the arrival of winter has been heralded by these sweeping southerlies. I love watching the build up of cloud as they arrive - thick, high, dark, rolling cloud; perhaps a brief moment of calm as the last of the northerly dies away, and then, BAM, the southerly hits. Whipping up white-caps in the harbour, bringing stinging rain and a sudden temperature drop.

A good southerly might last 4 days, I can remember some of eight or nine. There'll be some short clearances, a little watery sun, and then another band of showers will run across the harbour, blocking out the far shore.

Magic moments can come at the end of a good southerly. A couple of days of still, sharp, clear weather. Intense blues skies and cold evenings. Snow on the Tararua peaks at the head of the harbour. I love those days.

Winter also means we move to two cat nights; both cats finding positions on the bed. Gump has taken to curling up on the outside at the foot of the bed, usually on my side until I push her to the middle. Tess likes to be under the covers, often waiting until we're asleep before ferreting her way in, and I wake up with  a furry body pressed lengthwise against me. Between the two cats and Debbie, my body contorts to some weird positions.