Week 6

Well once again I am back to being pumped full of drugs, except now I am also confused into the bargain too.

I had my first appointment with the doctor yesterday, and I was really glad that it was the same one that Keith and I had seen when we decided we needed to call in the big guns. He was made up for us, and I think possibly partly because of his excitement, he proceeded into full information seagull mode. I had a whistle-stop tour of “precious pregnancies”, boosting my progesterone until 3 months, and Down’s screening. We finished with a quick coffee break at “interventions” before I was ushered on my way to book my first midwife appointment.
On the subject of Down’s I find myself strangely settled. The tests that I can easily get don’t tell you whether you will have a Down’s baby or not, just the probability. Well what’s the point in that? Any vaguely intelligent person will tell you that probability can be as much of a friend as an enemy. If I am told that I have a one in 4 chance of having a Downs baby, what does that actually achieve, other than to stress me out for the remainder of the pregnancy? If not Down’s then what else? Human beings have a million and one ways in which to be imperfect, how can you mitigate for all of them? My newly nonchalant sense says “Que Sera, Sera” and I actually agree wholeheartedly.

One subject about which I do NOT agree however is this strange categorisation of my pregnancy as “precious” which at first glance may seem like a really sweet term, but in actual fact is a thinly veiled way of telling me that I am going to have to fight to maintain my autonomy. No sooner were the words “precious pregnancy” our of dear doc’s lips than he was telling me about how my obstetrician might “want to intervene” and that I would “want to discuss the idea of an elective C-Section”.

Let me make myself very clear right now so nobody is in any doubt.

Over my dead body.

I believe very strongly in birth as a natural process which should be led by the woman, not by some bloke who thinks he knows better than me what I need. I believe in birthing in a safe and secure environment with cherished people around to support you. I believe passionately that intervention should be kept to a minimum and I certainly don’t believe that an elective c-section is the way to achieve any of that.

And breathe.

On a lighter note, we somehow managed to accidentally start the nursery. I had gone over to see the local carpet people as I had heard they were having a sale and as luck would have it, there was a perfectly sized off cut for a real doozy of a price. And the carpet fitter had just finished for the day so could fit it there and then.

So we rushed back over the road and threw the contents of the nursery into the other rooms in time for the fitter to arrive. 30 minutes later we had a carpeted room. And since we had to put everything back, it seemed foolish not to put things back into their eventual home.
I must admit it felt REALLY weird seeing everything set up like that. Like it was a room in someone else’s house.

I don’t think I will spend much time in there over the next few months, other than to hang washing, because it makes this whole pregnancy so vividly real and I really want to just take each day at a time and enjoy every moment. Who would want to wish an experience like this away?

Rose Quartz Rocks

I did a test the other day, and it came back positive. There's a bit more to it than that, of course, but I thought I would write this post in a slightly pulp fiction-esque style, mainly because I'm so tired and have the brain power of a wet towel.

Not "ooooh I've had a bit lof a late night, I might need a few winks this evening" but so totally exhausted that I can barely summon up the energy to type. Nobody told me about that, well they did, but I didn't listen.

Anyway, I knew last Friday (13th) but for reasons I won't go into, I didn't do a test. I don't mean I had any clear indication of course, but I just knew in the way that you do sometimes. If I had to write a list of symptoms and clues as to how I knew, I just couldn't, but I did.

So come Tuesday I decided it was possibly time to make sure I hadn't finally gone entirely stark raving tonto and bought a cheap double pack of Boots finest. I was then faced with a very unusual case of stage fright and even before the "yes you've done it right you muppet, if you can't pee on a stick correctly what hope do you have of looking after a sprog" indicator had changed I was already making mental excuses about why I needed to wait until tomorrow to do another test.

I think I got about halfway through the first excuse when the second line started to appear. I often wonder what people's reactions are at moments like that, because I suppose one imagines that they are filled with turtle doves and champagne corks popping and leaping into your loved one's arms. In my case, I was in the middle cubicle of the work loos and my reaction was succinct: Bloody Hell.

I took a photo with my phone and was soon sending a photo to Keith, who's reaction was not to race down to my office and sweep me off my feet, it was more of the stunned silence ilk.

Useless boy.

So, a quick calculation tells me that I am currently 5 weeks pregnant, and on a constant voyage of hormonal discovery. Today's lesson was: Crying.

I was listening to Foxboro' Hot-tub on the way to work. For those who don't know, it is an awesome side project by the mighty Green Day and nothing in the slightest bit emotional. Except to me it appears because I was absolutely streaming!!! No clue why. Just was.

I'm still carrying the rose quartz in my pocket and I think I will for the remaining 8 months - just to be on the safe side of course.

And as for the rest, well, I'll let you know all breaking news as it happens!!