Claire Pregnant

“SORRY WHAT?” Over the last week or so these two words have populated the breadth of my vocabulary. On a recent visit to my GP I mentioned an ear complaint which consisted of full on blockage in the left side for at least 12 hours after every bath. He advised two drops of olive oil in the ear twice a day. On asking if I could have the ear syringed he informed me this was no longer considered good practice and would not be an option… (?) Fine.

Pau dutifully dressed my ear morning and night until I felt like a limp salad. All this achieved was complete and utter deafness along with a crick in the neck as I tried to catch the sound waves whizzing past the other side of my head. We got tired of the oil and so stopped. The inner contents of my ear then presumably, firmed up and began to send pain alert signals to my brain. Great! - infection was the message. Explaining this to the midwife last Thursday, she didn’t hesitate to call my GP’s surgery and demand they syringe my ears as soon as possible. An appointment was made.

In the meantime, I’m waddling around the house making all the appropriate ‘I’m heavily pregnant’ gestures; sharp breaths inward whilst leaning into the arch of my back. Meanwhile Pau is having a man cold and suffering from EXTREME tennis elbow owed to over usage of modern technology; the computer mouse. He occasionally looks up through red puffy eyes and manoeuvres himself toward me in a pretty good interpretation of my own funny walk to remind me how terrible he feels.

So picture the scene - Hommerton labour unit. Me: legs akimbo, screaming SORRY WHAT? intermittently through the gas pipe whilst static forces charge through my bloodstream thanks to the TENS machine and Pau: wheezing over his sling comforting a redundant arm in an effort to himself ‘breathe! breathe!’ Jees, who’s the patient here?

BUT by miracle jets of warm water, my ear is now cured. Pau is getting over his cold and has an appointment with an injection for his elbow this Thursday. Slowly we’re coming back…

Today has been eternal! I’m beginning to feel REALLY uncomfortable. I slept until 11.30am, got up and went back to bed an hour later sleeping next to Mr. Gin (our cat) until 3pm. Amazingly, I woke after having had a miserable dream where I was forgotten and abandoned by everyone I loved, on my birthday, in a cold, derelict, Victorian school (somewhere austere), needing to do something to help create happier thoughts. I found the inspiration to bake a cake only to slob and indulge further (with the resulting cake of course) in front of a movie. The hours seem to pass so slowly and considering most of them have been unconscious, you might say I’m a little fed-up.

My bump is heavy and tender. The little jabs at the side and tucked under the ribs leave a sore spot and my chest feels… (difficult to explain) compressed making me breathless. I woke the first time today with groin ache. I woke the second time with period like twinges low in the pelvis and a visit to the loo presented a possible/maybe sign that things are beginning to progress in the right direction… … … maybe… possibly… ?

I can’t quite believe I’ve passed my due date. Baby just needs to get himself to the start line and we’re on our way. It’s amazing to think life as I’ve known it will change forever any day… (breaking into song) ‘A Whole New World, a new fantastic point of view…’ Where is that cheesy stage number from?

Phrrr, think I’ll go back to bed!

Watching quality television : ’skinny celebrity mums’ (a title to that effect) I found myself guilty of the desire to be taut and trim again. Knowing how your body will change during pregnancy is an unknown until you go through it and it’s been a small obsession of mine to deal with and accept the transformation. Pau has been documenting the physical changes almost monthly. There’s been some obvious high-lights for me : BOOBS! (didn’t have those before) and I’ve proudly watched my bump grow into a compact beau.

BUT, now I come to the final hurdle I’m beginning to wonder what my new self will look like after the birth. It’s a slightly tenuous thought balancing feelings of happiness and excitement with (dramatic moment); buried woe. I’d love to think I’ll spring back into my old girly figure but I fear expectations as these are… hopeful?

It’s here. Today is the day. The finale of finales. The long awaited relief. The prize won for nine months of focussed physical and mental endurance. Yes, the day has arrived that I officially earn myself the title of ‘MUMMY’! …

HelloOoo in there

… ?

No, there are no fingers tapping, there are no hands ticking, there is no restless moping, and certainly, no sighs of frustration… IT’S ALL FINE!

Having visited the hospital today for an appointment with the midwife, we have learnt that baby is still not engaged and happily mobile. Oh God, there it is, the first sign that he may be like his mother - La la laaaa… happily lethargic, lazy, daydreaming the hours away as he floats in his personal bubble, blissfully unaware of the hard journey to come and LATE.

Ok, we know that 80% of first born babies arrive late with only 5% arriving on time. There’s no hard and fast rules to nature and it is after all an Expected due date. So expect we shall continue to endure… sorry enjoy… Actually having given the midwife the date we conceived she was able to calculate what could be a more accurate time of arrival - Exactly one week later - Thursday next week, so there’s time yet to disco.