The last month or so has been somewhat of a daze.
I haven’t ever gotten around to watching ‘The Walking Dead’ yet, but I’m holding daily auditions for a starring role in a fresh season.
The zombie apocalypse has returned with a vengeance and this sequel packs one heck of a punch.
But let’s rewind a few weeks first, back to the start of this terrifyingly beautiful new adventure – matchsticks at the ready?
After cooking for 38 weeks our surprise pink package was finally ready to make her grand entrance, dutifully booked in for a planned C-section first thing on a Monday morning.
The previous weekend had seen mummy in hospital for her pre-op steroid injections thanks to an infuriating and rather annoying bout of gestational diabetes.
Fully prepped and ready for launch however, we were checked into the labour ward, bushy-eyed and bleary-tailed, first on the list in theatre and raring to go.
The care was second to none as we were introduced to midwife, doctor and anaesthetist and talked expertly through the whole shebang. I even got a cup of tea to calm my nerves.
As zero hour approached we were ushered into theatre for the main feature, professionals as far as the eye could see, a slick operation it certainly was.
With screens suitably positioned and spinal block administered, it wasn’t long before I was cradling my third born.
The miraculous and much anticipated Ruby Ana was here at last – the wait was over and she was just as perfect as her brothers of course.
After a few hours in recovery, and another cheeky cup of tea, we were transferred down to the postnatal ward just in time for the night shifters to clock on, another dream team to soon become in awe of.
But not before a visit from the original dynamic duo – who’d been champing at the bit to get their hands on their baby sister for months.
In a similarly heart-shattering moment to when my eldest met his younger brother for the very first time, the world seemed to stand still for a few seconds as the proud ruffians cradled their new precious cargo with bewildered expressions.
There are some moments that will last a lifetime and that was most definitely another.
With the brothers in arms off back to the grandparents’ it was time to go officially postnatal.
It had been just short of eight years since we’d been on this ward and my how times have changed.
I was allowed to bed down next to my girlies for the night so it was off to the car to grab the camp bed and set up a makeshift ward den – Bear Grylls would have been proud.
A night on the wards is certainly no picnic, however top notch the care, so I was certainly glad of my little rectangle of foam, which looked like sheer luxury next to the NHS issue hospital visitor chair in the corner.
The next couple of days saw us monitored marvellously – hearing screening, paediatrician check and breastfeeding advice all duly despatched.
All of a sudden it was discharge time, after a thorough debrief from the midwife in charge, a trusty checklist worked through to ensure we had all the info required.
Our NHS care had been all but exemplary, no complaints to the heroes in blue who put the interests of their precious little patients before everything else, 100% of the time. A thank you just never seems enough.
Ruby was coming home and the zombies would soon be on the prowl – our own nightshift duties about to kick in big time.
Our family of four, well eight if you count the cat, two dogs and the guinea pig, had now become five (nine), and as Rubes lay slumbering in her hand-me-down carrycot, reality finally hit home.
However desperate this dad may get from time to time, he lucked out beyond belief for sure.
Yes the nights are long, the sick is smelly and the nappies are nefarious.
But a family to treasure is a gift beyond measure and if two is better than one, three is without question the most magical number of them all.