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Dear Dailybooth,

I've just signed in for the first time in a few weeks since my hands have been rather full following the birth of my son. On signing in, I was presented with a notice saying that one of my posts had been removed because it was deemed inappropriate by the administrators. This seemed extremely strange as I've never posted anything remotely risqué on the site. I acknowledged the notice and clicked through to my profile to find out which of my posts had caused offence, and was horrified to discover that it was clearly the one featuring the first ever photograph of my newborn son.

I cannot understand why this post was deemed unfit for the site, and am saddened by the loss of the image and the words that accompanied it. This has left a glaring gap in the narrative of "my life in pictures" as recorded on Dailybooth over the past twelve months, which charted the rekindling of a relationship and the conception and pregnancy that followed. By removing this post, you've effectively removed the climax of the entire story.

This has also caused irrevocable damage to my regard of Dailybooth as a safe, community-oriented blogging tool.

On a site that -when I last checked- was still known to celebrate "Naked Friday" with a weekly barrage of scantily-clad teenagers, I am completely gobsmacked that the image of a brand new human being, fresh from the trauma of birth and yawning its first breaths on the hospital weighing scales (genitals covered), might be considered unsavoury. (The community guidelines your notice links me to are vague at best.) At the very least, it would have been nice if you'd emailed me to ask if I could swap the image for something else. I'dve laughed, but probably obliged so long as it meant saving the post, along with all the comments of congratulations I received from friends, followers and strangers.

I demand a full explanation, until then I shan't be using the site, which is a real shame because I've met some truly lovely people on here. Many thanks in advance of your time.

Best regards,
Colin White / Wonderlust

5 comments
February 4th, 2011
wonderlust snapped a picture

the boy with no name

on the third day they gave us our results; more frustratingly ambiguous numbers, which somehow meant a prolonged stay in the hospital. the positive thing about this was they moved emily out of the shared ward and into a side room where we could at least have some privacy.

i was familiar to most of the midwives by now, and they became less strict about the visiting hours, although i still had to go home every night. everybody that came to visit wanted to know his name, but we still had yet to choose one, and any discussion only seemed to strengthen our resolve to wait until we all got home.

8 comments
December 30th, 2010
wonderlust snapped a picture

visiting hours

the days that followed were surreal. while in absolute awe of our brand new son, we found ourselves at the mercy of the medical professionals, from whom we received varying degrees of care, who insisted that both mother and child be kept at the hospital for tests and observation.

the strangest thing about this was having to say goodbye every evening, leaving emily and baby on a shared ward, drawing that curtain and creeping out of the quiet hospital, scraping snow off of the car and driving home alone. i had to explain the preposterous situation to our increasingly baffled dog, take him for a walk, try to squeeze in some sleep and then drive back the next day.

meanwhile we whispered our reassurances to one another, shared whatever food they provided, or snacked on the bits i'd bring. if we sat top and tail, we could make ourselves quite comfortable on her single bed. "does it seem real yet?" i asked. she said she was just about to say the exact same thing to me.

4 comments
December 30th, 2010
wonderlust snapped a picture

the night that held its breath

two weeks since our due date sailed by, our nine-month-long wait has finally whittled down to hours, and tonight is the last night. we leave early tomorrow morning for the hospital, where emily is booked in to be induced. let's hope they will succeed where all the old wive's tails have failed.

it's 2am and neither of us can sleep, and for the fifth consecutive day the snow continues to fall and fall...

3 comments
December 2nd, 2010
wonderlust snapped a picture

the waiting room

she said it feels like we're in a waiting room, just the two of us, killing time, nervously anticipating the inevitable call. our unborn boy is ready to arrive, although he has yet to choose his moment; still tossing and turning and making up his mind.

it's been over a week since i lost my job, and although at times i still wrestle with regrets, i've slowly accepted everyone's advice that it was a blessing in disguise. no more driving home in the dark, no more chauvinist prick owner giving me shit, no more wasted effort, no more stress. best off all it means i can be on hand to support emily and, over the coming weeks, ensure our child can enjoy the gentlest possible début. i'll look for work again in the new year.

emily found a white feather on my desk the other day, indicative she says that someone up there is looking out for us. the very next morning an unexpected tax rebate came in the post, which meant suddenly everything would be okay, and reignited our hopes for a proper christmas.

so i've hushed my better instincts to go earn money, and our time stretches out before us like a willing whore. we nurse each other through sickness, we snuggle on the sofa, and whenever it's not raining we go and feed the swans. these are the good times. ready when you are, son...

7 comments
November 7th, 2010
wonderlust snapped a picture

days before you came

it was approaching the end of the thirty-sixth week which, by their count, is what they call full-term, and they said that you could come at any time now. your mother and i clung to one another on those sparing days i wasn't at work, soaking up one another's company with joy and apprehension.

a walk in the park during the october break, a time i've always associated with great change, rich with the scent of the turning leaves. we laughed as our dog bounded like a new spring lamb, kicking them up like amber confetti, tasting it all for the first time; as british summer changes its jacket for british winter.

it will be hard for you to conceive that these days ever existed, and so might it be for us, eventually. our adventures that preceded you will be fairy tale, and days like this will be the stuff of legend, each of which we'll begin "oh, before you were born..."

13 comments
October 27th, 2010
wonderlust snapped a picture

elsewhere

i had gotten lost in that long dark tunnel of employment-related frustration; temping, part-timing, and applying applying applying. despite the bleak outlook i kept my aim high, and i sympathized with every potential employer that sat before me wondering if i might be the chap to pull them out of the quicksand, or to finally sink them.

suddenly the tunnel gave way to light, i got the big break i'd been looking for, and found myself in my first store manager position. a massive weight was lifted, as suddenly we could plan again, and stock our cupboards with proper food. suddenly my unborn son had a father that held his head high once again.

meanwhile time continues to accelerate. we spent yesterday evening rediscovering one another's lips, and talking about how fucking crazy life is. in a few short weeks it won't be just the two of us any more, as the boy inside her belly keeps reminding us, for he too will make his first move into the mad mid-autumn light...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3F25ZjdQaG0

7 comments
September 24th, 2010
wonderlust snapped a picture

it was the best of times, it was the worst of times

if happiness were wealth, then i'd be a very rich man indeed. unfortunately though, the common currency of the world is paper and coin, both of which are increasingly hard to find. i've had to turn my routine upside down to make ends meet, and sometimes i worry that i might fail.

incredibly, it has been three weeks since my last 'booth. we are about halfway through our pregnancy. emily is magnificently swollen, her belly now hard, and we've begun to start buying tiny things for our little boy to wear when he arrives, although we have yet to decide on what we'll call him.

i now spend my days mowing lawns, digging holes, moving rubble and such; the kind of things my bare hands had quite forgotten how to do, having sat in front of a computer for far too bloody long. it's wonderful to have my evenings back again, which we spend together in our cocoon, the definition of two peas in a very fetching pod.

i hope you are all well in your worlds.

12 comments
July 8th, 2010
wonderlust snapped a picture

bump-shot for june

another month on, and her belly continues to swell. in the last week or two it has grown firmer, and she described how her muscles ached as though she'd done a hundred crunches.

her pelvis still hurts from where the seatbelt cut in during our accident last week, in that god-awful moment when we almost lost everything.

the show, as they say, must go on... and so it does.

11 comments
June 20th, 2010
wonderlust snapped a picture

RTC (road traffic collision)

60mph seemed like a reasonable pace, what with the waterlogged roads and the relentless rain. windscreen wipers went uselessly about their work, and our headlights made only the most superficial cut through the spray and into the early morning gloom.

we were pushing tentatively on, London-bound, up the central lane of the motorway, approaching 6:25am. i had literally just said to emily, my pregnant passenger: "oh god, this wanker coming up behind us doesn't even have his lights on..." and then suddenly, BANG!

she later told me how -even as i wrestled to maintain control of the car as we span- i kept telling her it was okay, everything was okay. somehow, in the awful slow-motion, i remained utterly focussed on bringing us to a safe stop, disregarding the other vehicle as it performed a sideways triple-somersault up and down the soft verge.

we slammed into the barrier on the central reservation, facing back the way we had come. i was unimaginably relieved to observe that neither of us were bleeding, and that neither of us had blacked out. we hadn't died, although for a second there, we had most definitely expected to. i pounded on the horn to warn oncoming traffic. again and again i pounded. we're alive. we're alive.

as i wound down my window, the road was a mess with rain and rubble and glass from the other driver's car. i cannot for the life of me remember what the bloke looked like, but he was already standing beside the wreckage with his phone pressed against his ear. "you mad cunt," i spat venomously across all three lanes, "you didn't even have your fucking lights on."

11 comments
June 17th, 2010
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colin white is a 28 year old male from United Kingdom.

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hello! i'm colin. writer, dreamer, designer, & maker of exceptionally good cocktails. aquarian. libertarian. i love people automatically, & i am considerate of other creatures. i believe life is supposed to be fun, that money is nothing more than paper, & people are supposed to be free. i'm a new soul, & i dress to the left.

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