The Twilight Zone

Elodie is 8 weeks old now and we have both been officially discharged from the various medical people. Things should theoretically be settling down but although Elodie does seem to be able to sleep longer at night, it still seems to take two to three hours of feeding/soothing/ putting her down/picking her up to settle her. Which means a typical evening will go like this - feed er around 7.30pm, bath and baby massage at 8pm, another feed after that between 8.30pm and 9pm. At this point, sometimes she will drop off for 45 minutes, then we have more feeding, interspersed with periods of putting her down then picking her up again. It's like a puzzle I'm trying to solve. I've been keeping a feeding and sleeping log to look for patterns. So far it hasn't helped.

Since my mum went back home a couple of weeks ago, I've been trying to get out as much as possible. I've joined a postnatal group and a bumps to babies group - but haven't got anyone else's number yet. But my quest to meet other mums continues.

Things change all the time. Elodie's first cold heralded a few sleepless nights. Her first smiles, however, brought the power to enchant - she will grin up at me mid feed and all is forgiven. She slept for 7 hours straight a couple of weeks ago. Sadly, that feat is yet to be repeated. She is now allowed to take her harness off for three hours a day - but cries when it is put back on, then forgets all about it, She gets stronger all the time, lifting her head up and pushing her arms and legs against anything that provides resistance.

She remains a gorgeous, beautiful little mite and sometimes I'm so overwhelmed with love for her it brings a tear to my eye. And when she has woken me for the umpteenth time and I'm exhausted and losing my patience, she looks at me with her big blue eyes and all is forgiven.

Yummy Mummy

Not the current meaning of the expression, implying as it does Nigella Lawson/Denise Van Outen/Jools Oliver sashaying around in Boden (whatever exactly Boden is) and preparing perfect cupcakes while looking stylish.



No, I think yummy mummy is a much better description of my baby's relationship with my breasts. As the weeks go by (6 so far), I become increasingly thankful that booby and baby seem to get on rather well together. I could not imagine the fadge of faffing around with making up bottles using 'cooled boiled water' and constant sterilising stuff. With breastfeeding, you never run out unexpectedly, nor can you forget to bring dinner with you, and it's always at the right temperature.

As well as all the advertised benefits (the pro BF lobby are really quite dogmatic), there are other rather nice things - as the source of dinner, Elodie follows me round the room and her eyes light up and her sobs quieten when I whip a boob out. And when she's feeding she looks up at me with impossibly deep blue eyes thinking 'mmm, yummy mummy' it's just magical.

Not withstanding the fact I accidentally melted my breast pump the other day (since replaced). Ooops...

Hips and harnesses

Elodie, it seems, is not quite perfect in the physical sense. Clicky hips discovered on her newborn paediatric exam have now turned out to be developmental displasia of the hips - and she has to wear a harness for at least six weeks.

I'm not entirely sure how to feel about it - it is, by the sounds of it, an entirely fixable problem and the physios umm-ed and aah-ed for some time before deciding she should go into the harness so she is sort of borderline. And the hip which was identified as problematic at birth improved drastically after wearing double nappies for two weeks - unfortunately the other hip, which had been borderline, did not improve at all. Hence the harness.

It looks a bit like a parachute harness without the parachute and with the addition of straps going down her legs and enclosing her feet. It is not exactly convenient. While she is allowed it off briefly every day to have some time to kick her legs about, the shape and structure of the harness means she can no longer wear vests that do up under the nappy, and some of her babygrows are immediately too small meaning for the most part we have had to move up to 0-3month size. More annoyingly for me has been the fact that she can't breastfeed in the same positions we had mastered - she has to have her legs held open at all times so cradling her is a big no-no. After quite a bit of practice (well, she does feed about a million times a day) we have got two poses, one for sitting down and one for lying down, which seem to be mutually satisfactory.

In other news, my mother has been ensconced here on and off for two weeks and has been extremely helpful. While here mainly to help me with things that the c-section physically makes difficult, she has also been doing almost all the cooking and washing up, as well as making lots of cups of tea and generally being helpful but not at all overbearing. I have managed to breastfeed in public once (prior to the harness being put in) down the pub with my sister and her husband, and have also had lunch in Costa Coffee with my mother and managed to make it to a postnatal group, a baby clinic and the breastfeeding cafe. I have also expressed my first breastmilk - but therein lies another post...

Two weeks is not very long

My husband's paternity leave ended on Monday and he went back to work. When I was planning to have a nice normal birth with no nasty stitches or operation, I had intended just to get on with the business of mummying on my own. But obviously, with a c-section things are rather more complicated, what with the not being able to bend over to pick things up or lift anything other than the baby.

So my lovely mother has come to stay. I am lucky in that we have a very good relationship and I like spending time with her. She is also not someone who is wont to tell me what to do, butt in, or generally interfere with me getting to grips with mummyhood. Instead, she has been very helpful at picking up things I have dropped, getting me cups of tea, and, of course, giving the baby the odd cuddle. We even managed to make it to Tesco the other day - with Elodie in tow. It took an hour and a half to leave the house as Elodie decided she wanted to feed, feed again, do a poo and then have another little feed first. Then she was fine and was in the car as good as gold, and happily in my sling while we walked around Tesco. Although when we got home, congratulating ourselves on our achievement, we realised that the small, separate pile of shopping which my mother had intended to buy had been left on the conveyor belt for the next customer. Ooops.

My husband doesn't seem to be suffering massive separation anxiety from having to leave his teeny offspring each day. And he is getting even better at sleeping through night feeds. Which have been getting a little more trying for me. I'm hoping that she is just going through a growth spurt, but the last couple of nights, she has been feeding on and off between about 10pm and 3am - sometimes just a tiny bit at a time then apparently falling asleep, but complaining when you try and put her down. This is really quite tiring. She then only gets up again at 6am to 7am, but really, that's not very much sleep for me. I think what makes it difficult is that I don't really know when she is going to stop - so each time having fed her, given her lots of cuddles, possibly changed her and then put her tenderly into the cot, I am hopeful that this is it and I can go to sleep. But invariably, it isn't. It doesn't help that I had a friend over yesterday and was unable to have a rest during the day, so am feeling really quite drained today. Elodie, however, seems very happy with life. She is also having a nice long sleep now - I am tempted to try and wake her to encourage wakefulness during daylight hours and sleepiness more during the night.

I went to a family centre with my friend T yesterday in the hope of joining a bumps to babies group. Unfortunately, there were no bumps or babies - apparently the group was quite big but they are hoping to restart it again after the summer because it all quietened down. I am now trying to search out other possible groups - I have got to find some other mums at some point or it will just be me and, err, mumsnet for advice. My husband thinks I have become addicted. I'm yet to post though, I'm currently just lurking. The family centre, however, was amazing - completely chaotic, unbelievably noisy and messy and just good fun with children crawling, running and playing all over the place. A favourite activity appeared to be mixing flour, water and some green stuff together with whisks and spatulas, which ended up with green gloop on the floor, on the children's clothes and hair, on the midwife we were chatting to and even a teeny bit on Elodie. I think she needs to get a bit bigger before she'll get the most out of it, but it will definitely be fun.

The first two weeks

Elodie has been with us for 15 days now. She's totally gorgeous and also unintentionally hilarious - who would have thought that a tiny baby could parp as loudly as an adult? I have been reflecting on some of the things that have surprised me over the last two weeks

*it is (currently) less tiring having a well-behaved newborn baby than being heavily pregnant

*if you don't feed soon enough from one boob, it will go hard, lumpy and may start leaking milk

*dads can sleep through babies crying. Mums can't.

*it is really frustrating not being able to bend down to pick things up off the floor when you drop them

*after a caesarean you will not be able to bend over sufficiently to shave your legs. Mine currently look like a forest.

*every time a midwife has been to my house, she has seen (and handled) my naked breasts

*every time a midwife or health professional gives you advice about anything, it conflicts with what someone else has told you

*to begin with, when you are breastfeeding, you will literally not be able to do anything else. It takes both hands, legs, and a mountain of pillows

*when you take iron tablets, your poo goes black

*despite nine months of abstinence, you really don't feel like getting ratted at all after having a baby. Disappointing, that one.

*post-caesarean, sitting up hurts. Moving too suddenly hurts. Bending over to pick stuff up hurts.

*when you take a teeny baby out with you, everyone looks at it and smiles

It's supposed to take about six weeks to recover from a caesarean - by that token I need another four weeks before I'm fighting fit. The question of sex raised it's thorny head last night. When my husband looked at me very seriously and said 'but I'm not a gentle lover' I pissed myself laughing. Hope it didn't hurt his feelings...

Hospital

Up until the day Elodie was born, I had never spent the night in a hospital. I now have four nights under my belt. My first night I was still, to be honest, quite out of it. I'm not sure what painkillers I was on actually during the surgery, but I do know that I had two top-ups of diamorphine through my epidural during the first 24 hours. My parents arrived - with a bag full of cheese and champagne - for the first visiting session and my father, bless him, put on a suit specially. The last time he wore a suit was at a wedding.

During the first night, as the drugs wore off, things got a bit painful. Also, there were several other women in the ward, some of whom were clearly not very well. The first 'breastfeeding' attempt largely consisted of one of the midwives manipulating my breast, Elodie failing to latch on, and then her hand-expressing a syringe of milk and giving it to her. Unexpected things were quite impossible and really rather painful, and I was unable to do the first nappy change - but when they came round at 3am, after checking I knew how to change a nappy, that responsibility passed back to me.

The morning brought ward rounds from the surgeons who had operated on me, and the anaesthetist who decided to give me more heroin. Soon after (or before, my mind is a bit foggy) I was encouraged to walk, with assistance, to take a shower. This was the most painful thing I had to do to date, and posed all sorts of unanticipated difficulties - like how to remove my bra when it was stuck down under the tape holding my epidural in place, or how to take off the anti thrombosis stockings when it was agony to bend in half. Then half way into the washing, I realised I was about to faint and had to pull the cord, and was found by one of the maternity care assistants, stark naked clutching my nightie sitting on a chair and, err, bleeding. She wheeled me back to my bed.

I was moved upstairs to the general wards later that day, where things were a bit quieter, and we started getting the hang of breastfeeding. More visitors came... Pain subsided a bit, and I came to the conclusion the only palatable hospital food was the multi-cultural asian halal meal, which was some kind of curry each time. My second night in the hospital was fine and dandy until I found myself in quite excruciating pain at 5am and had to get some morphine. Lovely.

Because of that, even though I was technically discharged from the hospital, I decided to stay another night to make sure if the pain returned I would be able to deal with it, and also to really nail the breastfeeding. Unfortunately, at this point my milk came in, and I went for nearly 8 hours without Elodie getting a decent feed, which was rather upsetting for both of us. Just as they were about to discharge us properly, I asked for help getting her latched on and the relief of her emptying my poor engorged boob was palpable.

Of course, nothing is as simple as that. An unstable hip joint had been spotted by the paediatrician when she was checking Elodie over, and she was supposed to have been booked in for an ultrasound scan and we were just waiting to hear when that would happen. Literally as we were about to leave - Elodie was in the car seat and everything, the midwives decided we couldn't leave until the appointment had taken place - and that meant another night in hospital. I was so ready to leave, I was absolutely gutted. I also had to wait for about an hour in the waiting area for a new bed, as they had given mine away. On the plus side, they felt so bad about the whole thing, I got a private room for the night, and help latching Elodie on to my other engorged breast. There were lots of apologies the following day when they discharged me, as it turned out that I could in fact have been discharged as the ultrasound appointment was at an entirely different hospital. Anyway, after all this, we were finally able to take our baby home.

Which felt pretty good.

Delivery

I was lying on my bed feeling a little despondant last Saturday morning, thinking that I had to wait five days before the big operation. As I lay there, trying to get a bit of extra rest, I felt a big kick low down in my pelvis that was quite painful. It felt a little different to what had come before, but I didn't pay too much heed to it.

Then I got a phone call from a family friend who assured me that having had both a natural birth and a caesarean, it would all be fine. All these supportive calls are helpful really only up to a point, as you kind of want to wallow a little in your own misery.

Anyway, after she got off the phone, I felt a bubbling sensation and then some fluid leaked out. I was fairly sure it wasn't me weeing myself, but you can never be entirely sure. As I stood up and called out to my husband, some more fluid came down my leg. I said to him 'I could be wrong, but I think my waters just broke...' The walk from my bedroom to the toilet pretty much confirmed this and suddenly it was all action stations. My first task for Saturday had been to repack my hospital bag to put in extra clothes etc for the anticipated longer hospital stay - something I had not yet done. I was also still wearing my pyjamas. I decided that it was highly unlikely the baby would arrive that second, so I would get myself ready before calling the hospital and coming in. I was a bit flustered and it was all a bit - not panicky exactly, but hurried.

The lady at the delivery suite, after I told her I thought my waters had broken and that my baby was breech and she said 'ooh, you'd better come in then'.

About 10 minutes later, we pulled up at the John Radcliffe Hospital where we were met by a midwife who took us to what I assume was one of the normal delivery rooms. She hooked me up to a monitor which measured mine and the baby's heartrate and any contractions I was having. It transpired that I was not in 'active labour' and had eaten some toast at 10am, it was unlikely anything would be happening until 4pm. Also, the anaesthetist and surgeons were all busy dealing with other pregnant women, so all I could do was sit it out and wait. And before long, I started having contractions - although they didn't really show up on the monitor and were disparagingly referred to by various medical people as 'twinges'. Twinges or not, they bloody hurt and also made me shivery and nauseous, which was just fab. And also like I needed to go and wee, which I kept doing - a weird experience as my waters continued to dribble throughout the afternoon. Delightful.

Just when I thought I might make it through the entirety of pregnancy and labour without an internal examination, the registrar who would be doing the surgery came and did an exam to check I wasn't just about to drop - I was only 1cm dilated so no issues there. All the other medical people followed, including one of the random doctors who did my presentation scan earlier in the week, and was there to 'consent' me to the surgery and any measures up to and including a hysterectomy if necessary to save my life. Then it was the worst part, when they took me off to theatre to be prepped and put under.

It was pretty horrible. I had to have an IV in my hand, which meant I had to have a local anaesthetic first, then they had to insert the epidural and pump in vast quantities of drugs, then they shaved my lady garden (or the top of it at any rate) and inserted a catheter. Considering my strong feelings against needles of all kinds, this was all just foul. And they kept asking me not to move because I was on a very tiny bed, so the only thing I could do to distract myself from the varying horrible sensations was make a fist. Not massively helpful.

To do the anaesthetist credit, the drugs were pretty darn good and seemed to do the trick very quickly indeed - with the added bonus that all the discomfort from my 'twinges' was gone virtually immediately. Soon after that, in came my husband, attractively attired in a blue gown and hairnet (which for some reason he has kept), and they put Elbow's The Seldom Seen Kid on. Once the drapes were down, I really couldn't tell what was going on - they tell you you will feel some tugging and slightly weird sensations, but it was actually much less than I expected to experience. And then, a few minutes in - literally - there was this crying sound and my baby was born and being taken away to be weighed and checked. I craned my head to get a glimpse of her - I was pretty out of it - and then my husband returned with our daughter in his arms, which proved a marvellous distraction from the rest of the surgery - which takes much longer. Before long they were wheeling me and my little girl - 8lb 3oz with an Agpar of 10 out of 10 no less - to the observation area, where I would spend my first night.

I suspect my reactions were affected by all the drugs and the stress of the situation - but when I heard that weeny little cry, I felt all overcome with amazement and love. Those first hours in recovery are a bit blurry, including as they did large quantities of fairly serious drugs, but there was a lot of cuddling, and staring at this tiny defenceless thing. I know all mums say it, but she was absolutely gorgeous - and because she didn't have the trauma of coming through the birth canal, she escaped having a weirdly bruised, pointy head. A fair bit of hair, deep indigo violet eyes (well, they all have that) and all the essentials.

I should point out that through all this, I was wearing my hospital gown back to front with the fastenings at the front to help with breast feeding, and nothing but my bra underneath it. But strangely, I didn't care two hoots - I did have a blanket covering my essentials. There was help with things like breastfeeding, and the first of many midwives spent lots of time vigorously manhandling my boobs to get some colostrum. And my parents came to meet little Elodie, and my dad even wore a suit especially.

It was all quite emotional. And quite lovely.

External Cephalic Version

So, let's rewind to Thursday. I got a call saying that the consultant would be able to see me for an attempt to turn the baby the following day - which was a big relief at the time. We turned up at the hospital to see the consultant, let's call him Mr Pixie, on Friday, feeling pleased that at least we would have either good news or a time scale for the next step.

"Hmmm", he said. "50% success rate? Not at this stage I'm afraid. It's more like 25%."

As he ran the ultrasound over my belly, he continued. "The baby's buttocks are deeply engaged into the pelvis. And it's not a particularly small baby. Nor is there very much amniotic fluid."

Putting the ultrasound down, he said he didn't think the baby was going to turn - but it was worth a go. So have a go he did. It was uncomfortable and weird rather than painful. It did also make me feel a bit like I was going to have a wee - which would have been hugely embarrassing. It was also completely unsuccessful.

Mr Pixie told me that it had been worth a go, as he had successfully turned a baby in a woman who was 41 weeks and in labour. Then he said the next step was a C-section, the only question was when. But because I had eaten at lunchtime it couldn't be that day, and the next available slot was Wednesday. A full five days later. And back to the same 'if you go into labour, come straight in and tell them you're breech'.

We were at the hospital for about another two hours, having a long talk with the anaesthetist (who did not inspire me with masses of confidence with his talk of pain, side effects etc) and the theatre nurse. I was also given some anti nausea drugs to take the night and morning before the operation, and, somewhat more randomly some antibacterial wash which I was supposed to use all over my body including my hair to make sure I didn't bring MRSA into the hospital.

We left with a definite time by which the baby had arrived, feeling a bit emotional and disappointed, but pleased to have an actual date. Of course, it turned out the baby had other plans.

Unto us a child is born...

Or delivered by caesarean at any rate. We returned from hospital with Elodie Caitlin today after a mildly trauamatic few days. The full story - in all its instalments - will follow over the next few days if I manage to keep my eyes open long enough. But for now, the following will suffice. After various happenings, we went into hospital on Saturday and she was delivered at 4.30pm by caesarean. She's fine, I'm fine and we're now finally home. All the things I had been firmly hoping not to have, ranging from epidural anaesthesia to a prolonged hospital stay, ended up being pretty much inevitable. And some of it was indeed quite horrible. But the outcome was really very lovely.

Here she is just moments after she was, in the words of Macduff, ripped untimely from her mother's womb.

And this is us at home earlier today.

And finally, in the hospital bed. Not in chronological order I know.

Just one quick thought to leave you with - part of my care plan included intravenous injections of diamorphine into my spine. Diamorphine being the medical name for heroin. And I've got to hand it to all those junkies out there, cos it is bloody good stuff.

More later.

Breech

There has been something of a change of plans in the Bellygazing camp. At my 40 week appointment today, while palpating my bump, the midwife frowned and said that while she thought the baby's head was engaged, there was something at the top of the womb that hadn't been there when she last examined me. It might just be a bony bottom, but she thought there was a possibility the baby was breech....

What??? Anyway, she wanted me to have a presentation scan at the hospital - normally carried out on Tuesdays - but as there was a good chance I might go into labour before then, she called up the hospital and convinced them to scan me today.

About half an hour later, after two doctors had squirted an unseemly amount of jelly on my tummy and peered at a screen in a serious fashion, they concurred - stupid baby was indeed upside down in breech position.

I wasn't overly impressed with the doctors, who have booked me in for an external cephalic version on Tuesday (what is it with Tuesdays, is it the only day anyone works?) in a bid to turn the baby the correct way round and strict instructions to come straight to the delivery suite at the first sign of labour. The ECV has something like a 50% chance of working -but that goes down the further on you are and I will be at 40wks+5 by Tuesday, so chances will be less good. And if I do go into labour before then, I will almost certainly be whisked into theatre for a caesarean section, which I really, really don't want.

It seems to me to be a bit of a risk waiting so late to attempt this procedure, but I was a little bit in shock (having expected the scan to confirm that the baby was head down) so didn't say too much about it. Fortunately, my lovely midwife had instructed me to text her with the result and she called me up and talked me through what could happen next. It could be seriously painful, too, especially given how far along I am.

Basically, it's all a bit pants. There's still a chance I could deliver naturally, particularly if they successfully turn the baby, but more than likely I'm going to end up having a c-section one way or another. Which means six weeks barely able to walk, drive or even bend over, a lovely epidural to knock me out, a catheter, possibly a drip, several nights in hospital and generally having to recover from major surgery. Whoop de doo. But at the end of the day, I will get my baby one way or another, and she is still happy and healthy, and doing all sorts of kicks and rolls as we speak. Pesky little blighter. My midwife is going to call the consultant man (apparently a national expert on turning babies, which I'm sure he boasts about proudly to all the people he went to school with) tomorrow and see if there's any way he can squeeze me in before Tuesday - but she wasn't too hopeful. She did also advise me to stop having sex as that might bring on labour. I now have to stop doing all the things I was doing to encourage labour and hope to hang on until Tuesday - strange to have to change my mindset at this point.

Join me in thinking positive 'turn round baby!' thoughts.

The Waiting Game

Impatience has now taken over as the main ruling emotion at Bellygazing towers. Although my due date is not until Thursday (and the original date from my last period was Friday) I'm about ready for things to start happening. It's not that I am suffering from ennui from having nothing to do, indeed yesterday, with my lovely other half here, I had a nice day involving scrabble (7 letter word and 62 points for tenantry, go me), qwirkle, and a lovely walk around the block in the sun culminating in a big fat white Magnum, it's just strange being on a countdown which has no clear end in sight.

There have been some very nice things going on in the last few weeks - my sister has taken me out for lunch twice, as has my mum, and we went to the cinema to see Inception (in the hope that by planning something I wanted to do, baby would throw a spanner in the works). I have done lots and lots of cooking (I now have neither tupperware nor space in my freezer left) and a few less exciting things such as, err, washing the shower curtains.

But I still don't know when things will actually get going. My due date is fairly meaningless, and it would be perfectly normal for nothing to occur for a further two weeks, taking me all the way to September 2... and while lots of boring types assure me that it's worth hanging on for a September baby so the little one gets the advantage of being the oldest, rather than the youngest in the school year, being the one with the sack of concrete in my belly I am rather inclined to disagree. My husband keeps on asking me for any 'surefire signs' that labour is imminent, and basically, there aren't any. Even once contractions start (not even a whisper of Braxton Hicks as far as I can tell), they could stop again and do that over the course of a couple of days. A bloody show might herald imminent labour - but it might still be a week or more before things start moving and I might not even feel it. An irresistible urge to clean is even less clear - but let's be honest, I can't really see myself being overcome with a need to get on all fours to scrub the floor at midnight. As for things like diarrhoea, that would probably just mean last nights dinner had disagreed with me.

I have another appointment with the midwife tomorrow. I had rather hoped not to be able to make it - or to arrive proudly (and perhaps rather painfully) in the early stages of labour, but as yet I see nothing to suggest I shan't be at the doctors bang on time with nothing to report. I suppose they may then offer me such lovely things as dates for a membrane sweep (eurrggh) and the prospect of an induction, and I would rather not have to have either of those things. She will probably suggest natural remedies to get things moving - but I am already pressing my long-suffering husband into service to give me lots of sex (the only natural thing which has any evidence behind it), walking as much as I can manage, drinking raspberry leaf tea and eating spicy food. I have been given guesstimates from various different sources as to when bambino will make an entrance, ranging from yesterday to August bank holiday Monday. I cautiously put my own money on very late tomorrow (as I tend to be early for everything) but I am becoming less and less convinced. The other half thinks maybe Sunday.

Whichever, I hope it's not too much longer. To continue the 'plan something and you won't want to be able to do it' method, we are going to have a nice spicy lunch tomorrow before the midwife appointment, then head to a bumps and babies group. I hope to have more news soon

39 weeks

By this time next week, I could have a baby.

In actual fact, by this time tomorrow I could have a baby - or I might still be waiting in three weeks time. But it is now officially just one week to go until D-Day - read the D as either due, delivery, dilation, disaster, disappointment.... whatever fits.

I'm now about two and a half weeks into my maternity leave, and so far, I haven't really been bored. It transpires I quite like sitting around reading books and eating strawberries. Plus, when the baby does that weird ripply whale thing across my belly it is completely fascinating. I've also really liked staying in bed until I can be bothered to get up (sometimes not much before midday) and rewarding myself for all the hard work I am doing growing this baby with great hunks of gooey chocolate.

I had an appointment with my doctor today (an extra one scheduled by my midwife to keep an eye on things as the bulbous nature of my puffy ankles and hands has become somewhat alarming) and things appear to be progressing in the right direction. I'm still getting the period-type pains and it would seem that this is indeed linked to the head engaging - we are now at 3/5 engaged. This is good news, although I do now feel when I get up and the weight goes onto my feet that there is something distinctly uncomfortable going on in my down-belows. I also went swimming last week, which was soooo nice - until I had to haul my whale-like carcass out of the pool, feeling every inch of extra blubber as it emerged from the water. Definitely worth it for the 40 or so minutes of weightlessness, lovely.

I've been thinking a bit about things I didn't expect about pregnancy, and things that I miss. I really miss being able to walk for longer than 10 minutes without having to stop for a rest, and all the other associated things. I miss my little ankles, not that I had ever much thought about them before. I miss being able to get up without having to employ the use of a heavy-duty hoist. I really miss being able to lie flat on my back or my front more than I would ever have expected, and being able to sleep all the way through the night (not going to get that one back unfortunately). And I never expected to start snoring, apparently quite heavily and quite reliably, in the last few weeks of pregnancy. It generally wakes me up, definitely wakes my husband up, and as soon as he starts tossing around in a bad-tempered fashion then that's it for sleep for either of us - until I do another half-snore and automatically wake myself again. I also never expected to misjudge the size of my bump on a regular basis seeing me walking into door handles, car wing-mirrors, the wall....

I don't really miss my waistline that much - and to be honest I reckon I'm still a pretty hot mama, just with a ginormous bump. And I definitely don't miss the ability to bend over and sweep the floor, I'm quite happy to let that one go for now.

Maternity leave - one week in

I have been not working for just over a week now. It's a strange state to be in - having been in full-time employment for what, seven and a half years, to be off with no fixed date of return. And no real idea when the big event is going to be.

To deal with all this free waddling time, I compiled a long list of things to do to keep me entertained. Ranging from cook lots of food to freeze, to sort out all the baby clothes by age. But as I'm likely to have up to five weeks of this, moderation and pacing myself is the key. So I'm trying not to do more than one or two things on the list in a day. I have also been adding to the list sporadically, and have stocked up on a large quantity of reading matter. That said, after popping to the library and picking up four books last week, I've already read two of them.

At 37 and a half weeks, the bump could become a baby any time now. I reckon we've still got a little way to go yet as bumpee is moving like a crazy thing, we sat watching my belly fascinated for about half an hour the other day. It was like there was an earthquake in there. I somehow feel that when it's imminent things will slow down slightly. I have had a new sensation, however. For the last few days I've been getting what feels like mild period pain and back ache in the evenings. Having googled this extensively, I suspect that it's the baby's head engaging. I'm pretty sure it's not Braxton Hicks because it's not something that comes and goes, and there's no 'tightening' feeling that I think would be associated with any kind of contraction. It's just like slight period pain. But it does feel like things are in motion...

From 60 to 0 in 30 weeks

Having had a low risk, easy ride pretty much all the way through my pregnancy, I had to hit a wall of some description somewhere along the line. The sacrifice has been my mobility - and consequently a certain degree of independence.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not stuck in a chair/bed in bed rest unable even to scratch my own arse. That would be horrible. No, but since our lovely little trip to Dorset (with the associated crippling sciatica) I have had to downgrade my movements and expectations dramatically. It seemed to happen virtually overnight - in Dorset I managed a cliff-path walk of two miles in each direction. Granted I was more than a little bit rubbish the following day, but a couple of miles of gently meandering was in no way off the table.

Now, however, I have slowed right down - it takes me about double the time to get anywhere and in the last few weeks of work the really quite short walks to and from my bus to work (normally taking about five minutes) were taking longer and longer and actually leaving me genuinely knackered by the time I got to my destination. At about the same time, I realised that my wedding and engagement rings were actually cutting into my fingers and rubbing my skin away, and that my puffy feet and ankles were no longer just making an appearance on hot days when I had been on my feet for some time - they were there all the time. They are actually quite comical, although it is very disconcerting.

So, things have to be adjusted accordingly. I walked to my last appointment at the doctors - granted it took me 35 minutes, but I did it. It will have to be the bus next time. I was hoping to pop along to a 'bumps to babies' class which is about two miles away (with no sensible bus route) - I just don't think I can manage the walk, even if I leave plenty of time.

I worked my last day on Friday (and slipped in a cheeky festival in the weekend - firmly attached to my chair at all times and sending the other half off regularly to fill up my water bottle and go in search of sustenance) and now have what could be one week and could be closer to six before the little'un makes an appearance - and am going to be virtually housebound in the interim. I will post some thoughts on maternity leave v shortly.

Taking into account what I've already said, I need to keep mobile and active as much as possible, so I shall be trying to get out of the house every single day - even if only to waddle up the road to the park, round it once and then back home again.

Whale in a bag

The first time my husband saw the baby rippling, wave-like across my belly, he was completely engrossed and said it was just like a whale in a bag. I don't know what his frame of reference is because I am fairly sure he has never seen a whale in a bag (or, indeed, a whale at all on anything other than Blue Planet) and big though I am these days, I am hardly comparable to the biggest living mammal.

I have somewhere in the region of six weeks to go, and we are in the throes of what seems to be the longest British heatwave in memory. Generally speaking, I love the sun - sitting and reading, playing frisbee, swimming, beach, walking, lalala. But it's all a bit harder at the moment. I'm not going to whinge because I'm still having a much happier and easier pregnancy than an awful lot of people, but it seems rather unfair that I can't sit out in the sun to enjoy my breakfast without disintegrating into a sweating heap of lard, so dank with moisture that my heels left little perspiration marks on the decking.Yes, that's right my HEELS. I was also the comedy character of the office yesterday when it was noticed that my ankles had swollen up to about three times their usual size, despite, the fact I had been industrially putting them up on a box under my desk and swilling gallons of water. At home, I intersperse putting my feet up on a rocking chair (surprisingly soothing) with sticking them in a bucket of cold water. I have also been eating more fruit than I would have deemed humanly possible. I went into ecstasies yesterday when I discovered that all the strawberries had been reduced to 60p (allegedly once they were on sale for £3.99) and I immediately bought three punnets. Mmmm. The health-giving effects of eating a whole punnet in one sitting were probably counter-acted by the fact that I ate two doughnuts and a bagel while walking to the car, though.

All is going well at the moment - my 34 week appointment showed that the fundal height remains bang on, blood pressure is still good, and they are still looking at me as low risk. Filling that urine sample pot they give me every time was a bit of a challenge though in terms of, er, getting it in the right place to catch the optimum flow. It's not so easy twisting these days. My sample was rather paltry but fortunately they didn't comment. The delightful subject of perineal massage was also broached at this appointment. My response was rather along the lines of mmmm, yes I'll read the leaflet. I have read about this. I can see the logic. The attraction, however, escapes me. And bearing in mind it took me a full stream of piss to manoeuvre a millimetre of urine into my sample bottle, I somehow suspect that even if I was eager to give it a try it would almost certainly end up with me falling over/off the bed/putting my back out twisting into a weird position. So we'll just leave that one methinks.

There is so much advice and opinion out there. While I have luckily escaped a lot of the annoying talking to that pregnant women get because I don't really have many friends with babies, there is a lot of conflicting information. For example, for my swelling ankles, I am advised to elevate my feet above my heart. But at the same time, I am now being told that to encourage the baby to get into the optimum position, I should be leaning forward where possible with my hips raised above my knees. I see no way that these two things can be done at once, although I did have one slightly amusing image of me with my legs lifted up and apart to sort of head height and me leaning bump forwards through the gap. Somehow I don't think this is what they had in mind. And also, in terms of sleeping - for some reason one should definitely be trying to lie on your left side again to encourage optimum baby positioning. But some of the other books say that many women find the only way they can sleep at all is propped up on their backs. It's beyond me.

I think I shall continue taking this all as I take most things - in my stride. I'll do a fair bit of reading (that being the kind of person I am), talk to some of the people who should have a trustworthy opinion, then make up my own mind. And continue eating lots of strawberries.

Women - know your limits

I was always mildly amused by the Harry Enfield sketch about women and their limits, I particularly liked the bit where the man's brain filled up with information in an orderly fashion while the lady's brain was more like a child scribbling.

It is not, however, those kinds of limits to which I am referring. I am finding it really rather difficult to modulate my activity level to one appropriate to a heavily pregnant whale - sorry, woman. With regret, I have stopped cycling. I even hung up my dancing shoes because the last salsa session I had left me so exhausted I could barely get out of bed the following morning - and my bump has got sufficiently big that there would always be 'something between' me and my dance partner. But I still keep accidentally overdoing it - walking a bit too far or too fast, that kind of thing. It takes me slightly longer every day to walk to the bus and I get overtaken by little old ladies as I waddle/lumber down the street. With all this, it has gone from taking me about half an hour to cycle to work, to over an hour walking/bussing/walking. I'm trying to meet up with a friend for lunch but am having serious doubts about my actual ability to walk swiftly enough to meet her, eat, and walk back within a reasonable period of time.

You have to go against all your natural (or mine, at any rate) inclinations - usually if I start to get out of breath, it is a signal I should be working harder. If stuff starts to hurt, I am feeling the burn and it is a good thing. This is not however the way you are supposed to approach things if pregnant. As soon as you get out of breath or your heart is racing, or you feel a bit hot YOU MUST STOP NOW. Likewise if you have any sort of abdominal pain - that used to tell me that I was working my tummy muscles. I was slightly amused by some of the indications that you should stop exercising - for example, having persistent contractions, bleeding, or having poorly controlled epilepsy. Are there really women for whom this would not be a signal to slow down?

I have taken to browsing that barometer of national opinion, Mumsnet, of late. Just to read some bits and pieces about pregnancy etc. It's quite an eye-opener - clearly home to a very wide range of mums from wildly different socio-economic/class/political backgrounds. The forums seem to go off on weird tangents with everybody getting all judgemental. But they do make for interesting reading. I haven't contributed yet, I am just what they call in the trade a 'lurker'. I suspect the vitriol, dogmatic advice and occasionally blinding ignorance are no different to what you would find on any internet forum, but they are not places that I tend to hang out online.

This may all change once I am trapped at home with a squawling child. Advice on amusing internet forums welcomed...

Immobile

This pregnancy lark is surprisingly hard work at the moment. We went to the Dorset/Devon coast for a couple of days this week. It was gorgeous, lovely weather, lots of beautiful views and walks... and for the same reason, extremely frustrating.

I think I mentioned I had to give up cycling a couple of weeks ago after a somewhat alarming ride down a hill where I realised I probably couldn't stop if I needed to. And of late I've been having the odd stabbing pain in my right buttock, which could be anything, according to Google, from sciatica to pelvic girdle pain to symphysis pubis dysfunction (please God not that). This is something I've had every now and again throughout pregnancy, but just the odd rather painful jab. It was getting a bit worse on our first day down at Lyme Regis, but still manageable. The following day, which was much cooler, I felt up to a proper walk, so we walked two miles along the coast path and then two miles back. What would be a fairly short walk in normal circumstances. I managed pretty well, slowly, but not too bad. The stabbing pains came a little more frequently on the downhills, but it was okay and the views etc were awesome.

The following day was a nightmare - almost every step caused me serious pain. I had to get my husband to get the car to come and pick me up from the town centre (it was only about a five minute walk away).

It seems to be better again now, and I managed a day walking around Marwell Zoo without too much hardship, but I think the lesson is clear - I really can't walk all that far without it causing me problems. Plus it's just soooo tiring. This doesn't bode particularly well for the first weeks of maternity leave - while waiting for baby to arrive. I have visions of myself soldered to my chair or bed, occasionally heaving my whale-like carcass up to the sink to refill my water glass. Not terribly elegant. Hey ho.

But I'm not going to let it beat me. It's festival time again this weekend, so we're heading to Cornbury Park to mingle with the posh folk and listen to middle of the road bands. Not my normal cup of tea, but 'Poshstock' is probably the best festival if you don't want to expend too much energy. Plus, I quite like the Noisettes. Hubby will be carrying my chair...

A brief rash of pregnancy madness

I spent approximately half an hour trying to lock my own back door this morning. It's not a particularly difficult door to lock, you have to lift up the handle before turning the key. Which I did repeatedly. I practised with the door open and the bolt moved fine. But it wouldn't turn whenever the door was actually shut. I went outside and tried to lock it from outside. Still no joy.

I had to leave fairly soon, and was beginning to get a big panicked about what the hell I was going to do. Husband not answering his phone. Can't find his work number. Eventually get his work number off my computer. Call him and promptly burst into tears. Talk to him and do exactly the same thing I've been doing - exactly the same - and the door locks.

Now I'm the colour of beetroot, sweating in a most attractive manner (it's also a very hot day) and wailing like a washer woman. If that is in fact what washerwomen do.

Anyway, the door is locked, the tears have gone and hopefully the unattractive magenta flush has subsided. Which is as well, as I need to go to work now.

30 weeks down, 10 (ish) to go

I'm beginning to see everything in numbers:
30 weeks pregnant
6 weeks to my last day at work
26 days left to work
3lbs the weight of the baby
6kg gained
40cm length of the baby
28cm fundal height

Although of course there are variations in some of these.

I am also searching for some other numbers - how many weeks before I should have my hospital bag packed? Date of baby shower? Price per nappy of the cheapest nappies? Haemoglobin level? Amount of ice cream it is acceptable to eat in the third trimester? Square root of 144?

Ok, I know the last one of those, but you get the picture.

I feel I am having a pretty easy pregnancy, which makes me wonder (in whispers) if a lot of women are drama queens who take advantage of being up the duff... or if I'm just very lucky. The books tell me I could be expecting all kinds of delightful developments by this stage, including constipation, varicose veins, mood swings again, swelling of hands and feet, extreme tiredness combined with insomnia again, heartburn, haemerrhoids, Braxton Hicks contractions, shortness of breath, constant need to pee and perhaps most delightlfully, increased vaginal discharge. Lovely.

All I can complain of is very slightly puffy ankles and fingers after hot days (hardly surprising), getting out of puff a bit faster than normal and a few nights which have featured a certain amount of tossing and turning. Not much to write home about really. I do waddle a bit and struggle somewhat with picking things up from the floor, but honestly, it's not that bad.

Let's hope I remain in this nice happy low-risk category for the next few weeks.

Can't be long now...

I think someone has said that to me pretty much every day for the past couple of weeks. Imagine if I was just fat - that would be embarrassing...

I turned up to my salsa class for the first time in a couple of weeks wearing my new super-cool 'mind the bump' t-shirt and my uber camp, uber Italian salsa instructor came over, recited the words in his lovely accent, placed his hands on the bump then gave me a hug. At the end of the class, I asked him to tell me if he thought me and bump were struggling to keep up and he said no quite vehemently, which was reassuring.

People at work ask a lot, and it rather embarrassingly comes up in work-related situations when I am making plans for well ahead and I have to explain that it won't be me doing whatever it is, as I am off on maternity leave. I'm not used to - or particularly comfortable - divulging personal information in a work capacity. It's funny how a visible manifestation of pregnancy is virtually public property, although so far I have been spared the indignity of random strangers coming up for a tummy rub. For the most part, I like the recognition - it seems like it took a really long time for me to look pregnant, and it also gives me an excuse to put my hands on my lower back, push my belly out in that preggers lady, and attract sympathy where needed.

That said, bending down to pick stuff up is becoming a bit of a bitch.

My tummy upset turned out to be a violent but swift attack of the D and Vs, probably norovirus my doctor friend reckons, and other than being able to eat virtually nothing for three days straight and feeling quite drained it left me pretty much unscathed.

Coincidentally, I had a midwife's appointment just after said outbreak and I was told that my dark urine was consistent with dehydration and the presence of ketones in it indicative of the fact I hadn't really been eating. But that I shouldn't worry. So I didn't. Other checks were all good - baby heartbeat all present and correct, fundal height (size of belly measured very technically from the outside using a tape measure) at the text book measurement of 28cm at 28 weeks, etc etc. I was also offered the chance to be weighed, and as I hadn't stepped on a set of scales since my booking appointment, I thought why not - weight gain since 8 weeks of 6kg, or about 13lbs. According to midwife, that's v normal - according to google, perhaps slightly lower than average but I strongly suspect I had already put on a few extra lbs in weeks 1 to 8 so I think it all balances out. She also told me I'm likely to put the same on again. That sounds like less fun.

My wardrobe is becoming more and more limited. There are still a few non-maternity clothes I can rock, but anything trouser related is a no-no. Am contemplating buying a couple more things to make me feel good about myself but wonder if this is an unnecessary indulgence and expense. I did buy an extra pair of (non-maternity) pyjamas from Tesco in a size up from normal but I think this may have been an error of judgement - they are a bit too big to wear under the bump while if I wear them on the bump, they will stretch beyond all human proportions by the end of pregnancy and I won't be able to wear them. Tricky. Heyho, they were only £7 and the bottoms have stars on them.

Third trimester

In the past couple of weeks I've gone from having really a pretty small bump to swelling to the point I look like I've stuffed a huge melon down my front. And from having a pretty normal appetite to being constantly hungry. Yes, indeed, I am pregnant. Can't hide it now even if I wanted to. I'm still just about managing to cycle to work, some of the time - although people are constantly expressing shock at the fact that I'm on my bike. I foresee fairly soon it will get a bit too bulbous for that kind of shenanigans, but I'm going to try and keep on doing it until 7 months.

I now have less than two months left at work and it is beginning to feel a bit like the end is in sight. The baby kicks a lot - and recently my husband has been able to feel it sometimes when he puts his hand on my tummy.

We went to a festival this weekend and it was telling just how much more knackering everything is now - walking, dancing, just sitting in the sun. Fortunately, my other half was on hand to lug around all the stuff you need to camp. It's like I need to make adjustments to how I live my life on an almost daily basis.

This morning I woke feeling really sick - and then I ended up throwing up violently three times. Followed by a small amount of diarrhoea. I don't know whether I ate some dodgy festival food, or picked up a bug, or it's just a weird pregnancy thing, but it was pretty horrible - no work today and probably none tomorrow either. I hope it's a one off.

Shopping

Received wisdom is that once you have a child, the endless merrygoround of spend, spend, spend is inescapable. Pregnancy too offers shopaholics the chance to go completely mad (and buy cute outfits with ears and slightly nauseating phrases on them to boot).

While I am quite realistic about my financial situation and determined not to do what apparently every new parent does and buy far too much, a certain amount of shopping is inevitable. And I rather fear my husband has got slightly hooked. Since last posting, we have ordered a cot mattress (I think everyone will agree this is an essential purchase), a couple of blankets from Ebay, and visited Mothercare at least twice, not to mention Primark's baby section.

We also went to a pre-school nearly new sale, picking up a bouncy rocker thing for £4 (my sister tells me this is really one thing worth getting) and a toy snake to wind round a cot or pram for 50p(more dubious on this one but it was only 50p and made the poor boy very happy).

We also picked up a pack of 5 baby socks from Primark, along with a couple of tops and trousers for a grand sum of £7.50, along with a big baggy t-shirt for me to give birth in (£3) and a huge button down nightie and even bigger pyjama bottoms with drawstring waist for a few more quid to wear after the birth and feed littl'un from.

And, err, a small pack of maternity towels and disposable knickers, a pack of Tesco ultrasoft newborn nappies and economy baby wipes, and a breast pump.

On the plus side, I think I have almost everything I physically need for this baby to come into the world, save for a couple of bits like a changing mat and cot sheets, and most of the contents of my hospital bag. But this child already has enough possessions for a small army. And I do still think I'm being quite restrained... I'm saving the rest for the baby shower. Which I need to find someone to throw me.

Carnage at the NCT sale

Last week we decided it was about time we actually bought something for the baby, as up to that point, we were all set to bring a child into the world with nothing for it to wear, nowhere to sleep, and no means of carrying it other than my own fair hands. So the baby would have to be naked, sleep on me and be carried by me.

Anyway, I did a wee bit of research and found that there was an NCT Nearly New Sale (capped up as they did in their literature) taking place in a town nearby on Saturday. I twigged that it was only on for an hour and a half and suspected that might mean it was quite busy so decided to get their a little early.

Busy is not the word. As we pulled up, 15 minutes early, the queues of about 200 women, children and some men were reminiscent to me of people queuing up for rations in the third world. By the time we had actually got to the door, there were at least 150 more people behind us. Then, the rummage rumpus began...

To be fair, it wasn't as cut-throat as it could have been. No worse than prime-time Primark shopping. But you had to be very definite and deliberate as you attacked the tables. If you put something down for a moment, chances were someone would snatch it out from under you.

We were a little daunted but took it all in a spirit of humour (so much so that the woman in front of the queue, eavesdropping, turned to us and gave us some advice). And success was ours. Although prams and pushchairs were thin on the ground and all looked a bit on the tired side, we are now the proud owners of a Mamas and Papas cotbed - for a princely sum of £40. We also bought a couple of bags full of newborn babygrows, and, on impulse, a rather fetching purple babycarrier for a tenner. And I picked up some nifty black maternity trousers for work and an awesome pair of cropped, checked blue and cream dungarees. My husband did not think they were so awesome, but what does he know?

Anyway, we left about £60 poorer (once cake and tea were added to the mix) but feeling like we had actually made a start. And then spent approximately two hours trying out prams. I had no idea how many different options there were.... it was completely bonkers. But we did make a choice and now my parents are forking out the cash.

So all good. More later.

*SPOILER*

Having just moved house, not got the internet up and running yet at home, and being well, you know, preggers an' all, I've been quite lax about updating.

So, the scan - so much better than the first one. I don't think I realised quite how nervous I was about everything being okay with Giuseppe the bump until I got there, rolled my trousers down and took a big fat glob of gel on the tummy. But it was absolutely brilliant. This time, although bizarrely the printed pictures weren't quite as clear to me, you could see much more during the actual scanning. They come at your bump from every possible angle, and then stop and take measurements of things I didn't even know you needed to measure. And, most breathtakingly, you could see the movement. When she got underneath Giuseppe, you could see two little feet paddling away. The arm was endearingly up close to the head, and the spine was clearly visible.

And all clear - everything within normal range. Although we did notice looking at our printout afterwards that the head circumference was actually a bit below the average, but she said the readings were broadly average so nothing to worry about. And as far as I'm concerned, anything which lessens the difficulty of squeezing a watermelon through the eye of a needle is a good thing ;o)

And timidly we did say that we would like to know the sex if it was possible. So she swivelled that little wand and pointed to the relevant area. "Now here are the external genitalia. I think you're having a little girl. There are no signs of any boy parts there."

Result! I was going to take this with a big ol pinch of salt because I've heard before that unless they see a willy, they can't really be too sure. But I asked her this and she said in a confident voice "I think it was a pretty clear view".

Sadly, we had pretty much decided on a name if it was a boy - now that it's going to be a girl our shortlist of possible names is growing all the time. I'm very excited though. You're not supposed to say it, but, not very secretly, I wanted a girl. They are just less icky than boys.

21 week scan

Here's the latest image of the teeny baby - which now has a head circumference of 170mm, apparently... Next update for gender news....

Movement

I think I had been feeling the baby moving for quite some time before I realised what it was. Yes, the sensation in my lower abdomen felt different, but I figured that it was a result of the pregnancy in that my digestion was a little more active, and that I was feeling a bit excited and having nervous butterflies.

Then, I was really doing nothing else at all, possibly watching some telly or reading a book, and I got that strange slightly fluttery feeling completely isolated. And I realised it was probably the little baby doing somersaults.

Since I realised what it was, it's been much easier to recognise the sensations (and they're probably getting stronger all the time). They seem to be in different parts of my belly (not vastly, but I guess the kiddo is kicking different parts of the womb)and range from waves, to flutterings, to what does feel like the kick of something with about the strength of a stick insect. Evidence indeed of the life growing inside me. It's too little at the moment for anyone other than me to feel it, but it's becoming more noticeable and does sometimes almost stop me in my tracks. Which I quite like. Subsequently, I'm feeling more and more protective over the burgeoning bump. I should probably stop screeching my bike into the back of cars, I guess, then.

Halfway there

I am 20 weeks pregnant today, so officially halfway through my pregnancy. Woohoo!

I am yet to feel the bump (we have christened it Giuseppe because I thought it was a funny name) moving. But depending on which source you go to, it sounds like that first strange sensation may not happen until 20, 22, 24 weeks or even later - while some people get it as early as 16 weeks.

I have been googling '20 weeks pregnant pictures' furiously and the vast majority of them look way more preggers than I do. I am told this is a good thing, because it means when I am about to pop I won't be quite so humungous. I think it is probably because I wasn't stick thin to begin with, although as my best friend E points out, I didn't have a particularly fat belly. I have no idea how much weight I have put on, because I have no idea what I weighed to begin with. One thing is certain - my waistline has gone the way of the dodo.

Life continues to be rather tiring, but I have recently, on more than one occasion, managed to stay up past midnight, about which I am inordinately proud. I'm not sure if I'm blooming exactly, but I don't look too bad and I feel pretty happy.

I had a lovely bout of pregnancy hormones the other day when the stresses of moving house (next Tuesday!) got to me and I could not see past the challenges of shifting a futon, washing machine, desk and fridge. I ended up in tears on the phone to my husband. I am still mildly stressed about moving, and keep wishing that I could wake up one morning and all be moved, but it's not to be.

On another front, I've had my first taste of stress incontinence, which was just lovely. I was having a fairly major allergic reaction to dust while packing, sneezed very hard and a teeny tiny bit of wee came out. Lovely.

I have my anomaly scan next week, which is deeply exciting. We are planning to find out if sproglet will be sporting a willie or a lady garden, although my parents apparently want to be kept in the dark. Good luck with that one...

Hopefully by my next post there will be something exciting to report. I will at least have moved...

Waterproof maternity trousers

I'm still currently hovering around the phase where I don't really look pregnant yet, but I am definitely thicker around the middle - a waistless wonder, you might say.

Most of my clothes still fit, but I have a penchant for slim-fitting smart work trousers, none of which will currently do up other than my uber comfy black linen ones which were a bit too big anyway. Having had the foresight to order a selection of random maternity clothes from ebay (which are mostly surprisingly wearable)this has not yet proved too much of a problem. When last week I discovered my suit trousers did not do up for my grandfather's funeral, I just popped on my new black, stretchy maternity skirt, and it went well enough.

Some things are harder though. My coats are getting a bit snugger and more difficult to do up, and it seems a waste to buy a new winter coat when we are (hopefully) about to go into spring - massive waste. And waterproof trousers. I have a not particularly old and very snug pair of these. So snug now, I suspect they would probably split right up the backside, bobsleigh stylie, if I attempted to pop them on and get on my bike, which is what they are for really.

It's a strange limbo place at the moment, not appearing all that pregnant and having a lovely bump to stroke smugly, but still having to avoid all the best cheese and suffering the indignity of overstretched waistbands.

Here's to the arrival of the bump!

Heartbeat

Another exciting milestone moment. Today, I heard my baby's heartbeat for the first time. I rolled down my new pregnancy skirt (courtesy of e-bay) and my funky purple tights to expose my belly, momentarily distracted by a couple of unexpected hairs by my belly-button (where did they spring from) and braced myself for the 'doppler'.

I think when I was imagining my ultrasound scan, what I actually had in mind was this intriguing doppler device, a sort of blue and white wand to which a large dollop of cold jelly was applied before it hit the belly.

It being an NHS device, there was a lot of crackling and white noise before the distinctive whung-whung noise of the baby's heartbeat came out. Just like I was imagining it would. The ultrasound, by comparison, was disappointingly quiet. Anyway, I don't think they really did any counting or anything, but they reassured me and my husband (I brought him along as he has been desperate for continued proof that I am indeed still carrying our child, not just fat and lazy)that it all sounded very happy, healthy and normal.

They also reassured me that I do not have HIV, syphillis or hepatitis, so that's good news. Who would have thought, all those years on the game and not even a touch of chlamydia to show for it? Obviously, I'm joking. Blood pressure normal, wee normal, boobs normal - actually, they didn't comment on the boobs (which have now swollen to a massive 36F and are only getting bigger).

So next stop, anomalies scan. When we'll actually be hunting for whether or not sproglet has a teeny penis. By then, I should look quite preggers (right now, I just look a bit fat I reckon) and should be feeling the baby move - still waiting for that first kick.

Knowing me, I'll probably think it's wind.

Broken

Everything appears to be broken at the moment. My husband and I are planning to move out of our two-bedroom house with a tiny, barely there bathroom in a month's time into a nice clean flat with a big kitchen.

It seems like the house has somehow cottoned onto this and is making rumblings of protest. The immersion heater stopped working earlier in the week. We initially thought it was the thermostat, but when we actually got a plumber out yesterday, it emerged that the situation was pretty much terminal. And because we rent our home, we have had to go through a long, convoluted process with the landlords, the plumber and us acting as a cold and dirty intermediary. It is not sorted yet, oh no, we've got both plumber and landlords coming up on Wednesday to replace the thing. This also means the landlords can nose around the house and moan about the state it is in (with pregnancy and bereavement, cleaning and maintenance has not been very high on our list of priorities).

Then, the other day, our phoneline stopped working. This is something which has happened a few times, due to guttering issues which our landlords have never addressed, water gets into the box and corrodes it, eventually rendering it useless. I can live without a landline without too much difficulty, but it's a bugger having no internet access at home.

Also, twice in the past three days, our fridge/freezer has randomly stopped working for a short time - then kicked in again. I think it must be on the way out, which is fair enough as I bought it secondhand six years ago. But it will involve a fairly major operation when we get it out because the dimensions of the kitchen are barely big enough for two people to pass each other.

Anyway, while all these issues are being resolved, we are relying on the kindness of friends and relatives to pop over for a quick shower and food which has been reliably kept cold. I hope things are rectified sooner rather than later.

In other news, I have been reflecting on some of the things I may soon not be able to do - tie my shoelaces, shave my legs, get up from a low chair unaided, cut my toenails... Am I to become a semi-invalid, or a semi-slob in the later months of my confinement?

Decisions, decisions

Absence...

I've been absent longer than I intended to. It has been a rather trying and heartbreaking couple of weeks.

The day after I had my scan, my father urged me to IMMEDIATELY tell some of the people he was absolutely busting to tell, including my granddad. Which I did, and that was all very lovely.

The next day, my grandfather had a massive stroke while driving his car home. He was taken to hospital, I went up to see him, gasping for breath, looking tiny and on the way out, for three days, then had to return home. He died a week after the stroke.

It just goes to show time waits for nothing. Here I am with a burgeoning new life to shout about, while at the same time someone very dear is slipping away. And while everyone wisely says that at least he got to know that he was going to be a great-grandfather, that's not the point. Because he never will be, now. He will never get to hold my baby in his arms, nor will he or she ever reach up and grab his nose or his glasses. He'll never even get to smile at me fondly as I swell with child and waddle past. I'm probably looking at this from an almost entirely selfish point of view, but it hurts. He was my last surviving grandparent and now he too has gone.

While I've been grappling with that, the bump (which we're now going to call Giuseppe - only while it's a bump!) is still doing what babies do. I am beginning to look distinctly podgy, although not, so far, actually pregnant. Just like I have been eating a lot of cake, which is of course true. I am still quite tired, but not dead tired like I was. In a couple of weeks, I get to hear the baby's heartbeat for the first time.

The world carries on, bereavements and pregnancies being only a tiny part of what must come to pass. While I believe (perhaps you should ask my husband on this one) I have escaped the excesses of pregnant hormonal behaviour, I have found plenty to make me angry. We are planning to move house and have found somewhere we would like to go to. My references have been refused basically because I am pregnant. !!! Words cannot describe the fury. Being an honest sort, when it said are your circumstances changing I said I would be going on maternity leave. Apparently, there is 'no guarantee' that I will return to work. So two married people, in their late 20s/30s, with full-time jobs they have held for more than three years, cannot rent in their own right, we have to have my dad acting as a guarantor. I felt about 12.

I suspect the maternity process will bring up far more iniquities than I had imagined.

Voila!

And there it is, the little teeny baby.

We're really having a baby!

I didn't really quite believe it until today. Mixing among the other couples waiting to be scanned at the JR, I felt a bit like a fraud. Some of them were quite obviously pregnant. Several had brought small children. There was a huge mix of people, ranging from people who looked a bit older than us, to younger mums (one of whose bottom was busting its way out of her low slung velour trackie bs), to one couple I can only describe (freely succumbing to my own prejudices) as the scummiest the council estates of Oxford can offer, complete with missing, black and rotten teeth, greasy hair and multiple piercings. Mmmm.

Anyway, it wasn't until our name was called and a sonographer called Jagdeep briskly swept us into a room, matter of factly told me to drop my keks and lift my shirt (ooh-er missus) and applied some of that lovely gel just like in the movies.

And then, suddenly, on the screen, there was our baby. And it looked like an actual baby too, not just an amorphous blob, but a teeny tiny person complete with head, visible nose, arms and legs, and fluttering heart. It was really there. I really am pregnant after all, not just swollen with pie and extra lazy. I was almost surprised to see it there, especially considering the weird dreams I have been having (a story for another time) and it was demonstrably alive. Although it did seem to be having a little relax, as while the heartbeat was clearly visible, a bit of coughing and motion wouldn't get it to move. Sleepy baby. Just like it's mum at the moment.

It feels real now, and so exciting. I've been desperate for this scan for ages, to reinforce the fact I really am pregnant, and to give me the go-ahead to shout it from the roof-tops. Which I now intend to do.

I'll post the pix tomorrow once I've got them scanned in.

Money, money, money

My husband and I are not well-off. This has never been a problem, as we have enough money to eat, live in Oxford, and go to the odd gig and neither of us has particularly expensive tastes. We are also fortunate enough to both do jobs that we love (I'm a journalist, he's an archaeologist), and like most jobs that people do because they love them, the pay is fairly pitiful.

That said, we're a long way from the breadline. We don't earn nearly enough to qualify for any kind of state assistance and tax breaks, and I think I can comfortably say that we earn rather more than vast swathes of the population even in wealthy Oxford (in fairness, I am talking about the single mums on council estates, but I'm trying to get some perspective).

Like I said, this has never bothered me - I don't need a lot of money, and we had enough. Until recently, when I realised I had spectacularly over-estimated the amount of maternity pay I would be entitled to. Demonstrating perhaps that even the well-educated can be impressively dense, until last night I was under the illusion that for the first six months of maternity leave, I would get 90% of my full pay. Er, make that six WEEKS.

SIX WEEKS? That's insane, how on earth is anyone supposed to manage on the 123 quid a week statutory pay after that? This is particularly pertinent as we really have to move to somewhere with a kitchen that does not form icicles inside the windows on cold days, and with a shower that doesn't have tiling paint flaking off as you wash. I've found the place we want to move to and it's perfect and lovely and ticks pretty much all my boxes, for only 100 quid more a month than we currently pay. I had been counting on getting 90% of my pay for a while, and cutting back on stuff to save for the time when I only got statutory pay. This makes things much more problematic. Now I have to figure out how to budget for this, or decide if we're going to have to move from one shoebox to another shoebox with a nicer bathroom but in a much less pleasant location.

I'm going to miss food.

Act of Faith

It would appear that the back pain was not permanent, which is a good thing. Just had one day/night of excruciating pain followed by a weekend of occasional twinges.

It's a funny thing, this pregnancy lark. Half the time I feel like I'm making it up. It's far too early for movement (other than trapped wind and the like) or anything approaching a real bump. The only actual hard evidence I have is those pregnancy tests - which I took now about five weeks ago. Anything could have happened since then. Sure, I haven't had a period and have been having bouts of extreme tiredness and waves of passing nausea interspersed with desperate hunger, but that mostly sounds like me on a normal day. What if I've got it all terribly wrong? That would be gutting.

That said, I am finding it increasingly hard to deny that my breasts (already a hefty 34DD/E) are doing their utmost to bust out of my bras. And over literally the last three days, I noticed something approaching a teeny, tiny little rounding of the tummy. Of course, both of these things can be achieved by a concerted eating of pie (in which I have most definitely been indulging), although the tummy action does feel sort of tight rather than squadgey - not unlike trapped wind. I got a friend to take a picture of it yesterday, in the interests of documenting my transformation into giant belly monster, although the lighting makes me look more like a slightly tubby 'actress' in a somewhat dubious soft-core porno, rather than an 11-week-pregnant woman.

I have my first appointment with the midwife a week today then the Monday after that it's scan time (v exciting) so if all that goes according to plan, and I'm not just imagining the whole thing, then I can go public very soon.

For the first time today, I gave in to nausea, extreme exhaustion, a bit of a headache and a burgeoning cold to call in sick. It hasn't been quite the relaxing day off I hoped for, as I have spent most of it sneezing my head off and being moderately disgusted by my bogeys. But it's probably done me good. I think I've done well to make it through almost my entire first trimester without having a day off until now.

On the advice of a friend, I bought a random bundle of maternity tops on ebay today, 15 quid for seven. In theory, they should be my size and they look quite wearable in the pictures. We shall see if that was money down the drain when they arrive...

Pain and lies

I have done my back in. Not by doing something foolish like lifting something heavy - a cast iron bath, for example, which my mother thought it would be a smashing idea to move when she was up the duff with my brother. No, all I did was cycle in the rain with my work bag slung across my back. Part of the way to my destination, I realised there was something wrong - perhaps I went over a pothole, or twisted and swerved in an inavisable manner...

At any rate, by the time I got to work I was in not quite excruciating but very real pain, leading me to limp like a chimp who has been buggered senseless.　Not the best look, but fortunately instead of derision (the normal response from some of my infantile colleagues) I managed to score sympathy and a rather necessary lift home at the end of the day. I'm hoping it's nothing more than a twinge and will be gone in the morning.

Elsewhere, it's astonishing the number of white lies I have had to dish out while the pregnancy remains on the down-low. A couple of my colleagues were discussing the trials and tribulations of IVF in relation to a couple we knew (ish) who had finally manage to conceive in this manner. Me being the only married of the three of us they turned and asked if we were planning to have children. I said 'yeah' in a somewhat distant tone and they somehow took this to assume what I meant was 'one day, but sure as hell not right now'... Then one of the same colleagues was trying to track down pregnant women who were going to be having ultrasound scans and was desperately asking if we happened to know anyone who was pregnant...

"Yes" I cried inside my head, "me!" but of course I remained resolutely unhelpful.

I am spending a fair bit of time googling maternity clothes, pregnancy symptoms and various stages of gestation in my down-time at work but so far no-one appears to have noticed. I am surrounded for the most part by men, which could explain it, or alternatively they could be all unexpectedly discreet. Which I somehow doubt.

It is now only two weeks to my scan so provided that goes okay, I think I can break the news to those not in the know. I had to tell one of my other friends the other day because I am due to be bridesmaid at her wedding in May and she was planning to order dresses. Thankfully, she was thrilled and is happy for me to find my own, individual maternity bridesmaid dress. Hot, n'est-ce pas?

I wonder if anyone has their suspicions or whether they're all completely in the dark. We shall see.

A sartorial dilemma

It is, I suspect a quandry faced by all pregnant women at some stage. At nine weeks pregnant, I am a long way from showing and I don't think I've put on any weight yet (or not so you'd notice).

However, two of my favourite pairs of jeans need replacing. Not because of porkers preggersness, but because I've worn them so often they have worn through ever so slightly where my thighs rub together. Nice. My normal course of action would be to replace them. But what with? With normal jeans in my normal size, which would probably fit fine right now but not for that much longer? With normal jeans a size up which will be loose for now but prob last a bit longer when I start to bulge, and possibly after I have the baby when I am still a little bit bulbous? Or with a trendy pair of maternity jeans? I have no idea what they will be be like, I read somewhere you're supposed to buy them in your normal size and they're all stretchy and cunning, but I suspect it's a little early for maternity garb.

I did have a quick shifty at preggers stuff in Dorothy Perkins and they had some uber long hoodies which very much took my fancy. Although obviously that in no way solves my current dilemma.

What to do, what to do. Primark may well turn out to be the answer, as their stuff is so cheap it doesn't really matter if I can only wear it for a few months. Although I really should consider slave labour/the environmentally-friendliness of disposable fashion and all that malarkey.

In other news, the tiredness is almost overwhelming now. I went to bed at 8.30pm last night and when I got up at about 8am this morning, all I wanted to do was go back to bed. Life's not fair.

Ice, snow and dancing pregnant women

It has been an insane few days. It snowed a lot the other day. A LOT. In fact more snow than I've seen in England ever.

To add to that, my best friend got married yesterday. She doesn't know I'm pregnant yet. It has been virtually impossible to get anywhere, with my car snowed in, the roads covered in three inches of compacted snow and general panic all around. The wedding was one that will certainly go down in history, as the venue had to be changed less than 24 hours before the ceremony, half the people skidded their way to the church and pretty much the entire wedding party had a pair of wellies as well as poncey posh shoes. And struggling the three miles to work in treacherous snow in my wellies has also been a somewhat nerveracking experience, fortunately my husband was unable to get out to his work so carefully walked me there on the worst day.

Anyway, the wedding happened (remarkably successfully in the end) and the day ended with a few more people knowing about the grape. This was an active decision we made. We wanted to tell our closest friends in person, and at the same time, and two of them had trekked down from North Yorkshire. Even though it's still early, my husband really wanted to share it with them.

So we dragged them all into the bar at the end of the night and made the announcement. Cue much gasping, hugging, excitement, rubbing of my tummy (which is exactly the same at the mo as if it was not full of baby) and celebrations of the first group baby. Hmmm, not exactly how I would have christened it. But it was a genuinely lovely reaction, let's just hope they can keep their mouths shut to the rest of the world for the next month.

As for dancing pregnant women - I am a keen salsa dancer and do it enthusiastically (and prob somewhat amateurishly) once a week, bar a little break for Christmas. Classes start again on Tuesday and I wanted to check if it was all good.　What I found instead was video after video of dancing pregnant ladies. They ranged from impressive to hilarious. I particularly liked the one which just showed a pregnant belly gyrating to Shakira's Hips Don't Lie. Well worth googling if you fancy a giggle. As soon as I look a bit preggers, I fully intend to video myself working it.

But for now, I am just soooo tired. Being Human is back on at 9.30pm tonight, if I can manage to stay up that long.

The Grape

Apparently, that's how big my baby is right now, the size of a grape. Hmm. Is that one of those really nice big juicy grapes, or a tiddler which is really just an oversized raisin? I personally have never seen two grapes the same size. Alternately, I could go by the expected size in millimetres, but then I would have to find a ruler which I suspect would prove one task too far.

I shall just go with it being small. Still v small.

The whole pregnancy symptoms thing is a bit of a mystery. In that there are a number of things that I am experiencing which could be linked to the grape but then, they could be just be stuff. For example, I am constantly tired. Not exactly the first time I have been tired. I am also hungry a lot - a common factor in my daily routine. I did really, really want a cream egg the other day but I suspect that was just greed rather than a pregnancy craving. Although, it is harder to explain away the fact my nipples are uber sensitive to anything from walking fast to putting on a top - or the fact that my belly seems to be acting as a bizarre mini hot water bottle. It's seriously weird, I noticed it first soon after I took the test when I was walking down the road, freezing my ass off when suddenly my belly started radiating localised heat.

I don't know if I feel pregnant yet exactly, it still feels a little surreal. But I have a date for my ultrasound scan which is also marked as the now we can tell people cut off point. Still a month away though.

Anyway, I'm going to curl up with the grape, a big blanket and a trashy film. Does life get any better?

Smug

Today is New Year's Day, and I am working. The reason I am smug is because for the first time in goodness knows how long, I do not have a hangover on the first day of the year. And the relatively light workload (which will be exchanged for time and a half plus a day in lieu) is a total breeze.

It is, as people seem to have suddenly realised, the end of the decade. I think my life has changed more than it perhaps will at any other time in the last decade. In the past ten years, I have met my future husband, completed my degree, gone to Glastonbury for the first time (then four subsequent times), got my first full-time job, become an aunty, moved in with a partner for the first time, travelled everywhere from Israel and Egypt to Malaysia and Sri Lanka, got married and, in the dying hours of the decade, become pregnant myself.

Of course, this year is set to be a huge sea-change as well, with pregnancy and babies likely to dominate this year then probably at least the following 18. New milestones to look forward to - giving birth (!), leaving my baby for the first time with someone else, kids' first days at schools, then all the things that I did not so very long ago.

I got a letter from the midwife earlier this week, I shall be having my first appointment on February 4. Which is exciting. But I will have to wait until then to know anything more about the bump to be. Maybe I should buy one of those nauseating you and your pregnancy books...