Same Sh*t, Different Hospital

One of the good things about the second time around is that you get to learn from the mistakes you made the first time around.

When I was pregnant with Alfie and each “mini crisis” came up, Keith and I would go to our appointments in the belief that we would have a reasoned discussion with the consultants and that they would be impressed with our knowledge and delighted to engage in some in depth discussion.

Error.

Important Lesson: Consultant appointments are not a forum for open and well researched discussion. Consultant appointments are an opportunity to be talked at and for you to listen and do as you are told.

So this pregnancy there is a slightly different approach.

As with Alfie I have buried Keith and I under a mound of research to be reviewed and digested: Research on VBAC risks and benefits, on hypnobirthing, refresher research on my blood condition, the whole shooting match. Armed with that I feel very comfortable that we are able to make a decision that is right for us, and Keith feels comfortable that he just needs to do as he’s told.

So this different approach means that we are happy to go forward with midwife led care and can’t see anything new or positive that a consultant can bring to the debate. I don’t feel the need to “prove” my knowledge to anyone this time, and Keith has assured me he has no questions he would like to ask a consultant, so we have no need of the visits on offer.

Today the letter arrived to inform me of my first consultant appointment on 20^th May. A very kind offer and a reassuringly prompt turnaround so full credit to the hospital for their efficiency.

I thought it only fair that I call to let them know of our decision because I wanted to free up the slot for a more needy woman. In hindsight, I should have saved myself the trouble and the jovial tone of voice:

“Good afternoon maternity department, how can I help you?”

“I’ve just received a letter inviting me to a consultant appointment and I’m calling to let you know I won’t be attending”

“Right can I take your details please”

“Certainly my number is xxx”

“Mrs Batsford? This is an ante natal appointment, they are going to want to see you.”

“I won’t be keeping the appointment”

“Are you sure you want to cancel?”

“Yes please”

“Right, I’ll do that for you know then”

Sounds like a very polite conversation doesn’t it? Except that there is no font to illustrate the open animosity in this lady’s voice; the utter contempt that I would be phoning to decline an appointment with the consultants. If there had been subtitles to her words they would have been:

“THERE ARE WOMEN BABIES DYING ALL OVER THE WORLD BECAUSE OF A LACK OF OBSTETRIC CARE AND YOU ARE WASTING THE CHANCE THEY WOULD LOVE TO HAVE. YOUR SELFISHNESS IS RESPONSIBLE FOR POOR DEAD BABIES. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!?”

Yes lady, yes I am. Oh and this? This is your dummy, would you like it back?

Anti-blubber

There is a difference between growing a beautifully formed baby bump and just plain getting fat and the line between the two is shockingly easy to blur. 

The problem (are you listening Mother Nature, you unreasonable wench) is that you are pretty much incapable of doing anything more than dragging yourself through the day for the first 3 months meaning that all your good exercise habits from pre-pregnancy crash and burn and your net calorie intake increases leaving you with the inevitable outcome.

Not a recipe for a good self image.

So as soon as my first trimester exhaustion so much as looked over its shoulder to plan its strategic retreat I was up, trainers on ready to start my anti-blubber campaign. If I’m honest, I have maybe been a little too hasty because I have spent the last few nights asleep by 8.30, but I’m not going to let a little thing like that worry me.

I have decided on a two prong approach this time: Davina and running.

In actual fact this is remarkably similar to my approach pre Pip, except this is the “diet” version with far less actual effort due to the extra effort of growing a whole new person.

So predictably I chose this DVD which might be 5 years old, but is still effective. I love that the workout is broken down into lots of little sections so you can do as little or as much as you feel able to. And helpfully for me there are lots of posture checks and reminders to drink water and breathe and other vital life skills I usually forget when I concentrate on too many things at once - like combining steps and digs and toe taps and shuffle ball change and splits and jazz hands. I may have made a few of those moves up.

The running is still a future plan at the moment. Mel and I are both ex runners and have decided we’re going to go out together to see if we can kill each other. On my side, I have that I have only taken 2 months off so far and I was pretty on form before that. Mel has taken 12 months off but I have a sneaky feeling she’s still going to hand me my ass in a sling. I have picked out a slightly challenging 2.5 mile run for next weekend so if you don’t hear from me after then, I probably didn’t make it home.

The Long Weekend

I'm basking in the glory of a 5 day weekend, and five whoooole glorious days with a teething Alfie. I know, I'm jealous of me too.

I have rediscovered an old love this weekend too - actually scratch that, an old obsession - I like to call White Chocolate. Not that famous evil version that we don't allow in this house, but the Green and Blacks version. Oh. The. Precious. Things. I covet this stuff with such a serious passion that I am seriously concerned that when I hit the beach this summer Greenpeace are going to turn up and try to cast me out shouting "Swim Orca, swim!"

Might be a good thing then that I started my new exercise regime this weekend. Yeah, cos that's going to offset the billion calories in each of those delicious creamy squares of chocolatey goodness.

Also good that I finally got measured for a new bra in the right size because my old maternity bra was so small I was sporting a uni-boob which is a truly bad look. Turns out I was a back size AND a cup size out, which is really going some!

And my final thought for the day – I saw this and can’t quite decide whether the designer is a genius or a complete sadist.

Applying it to my own little bundle of melodrama (did I mention THE TEETHING?!?) who is terrified of the vacuum (not surprising considering how rarely he hears it) could I imagine this being the perfect way to create good vacuuming memories? Possibly.

Could I also imagine this being the source of the mother of all hysterical fits should child and sucky hose accidentally come into contact while actually sat on the sucky device? Oh hell yeah.

And do I want to risk the resulting counselling bill? Not s’much.