Paint and hedgehogs...

Today was a momentous day in our house: the nursery is finally decorated and all finished. Curtains up, lamp shade changed, cot assembled, changing unit ready, walls painted, wallpaper border firmly stuck and tiny clothes hanging in the wardrobe. We went for a unisex woodland theme in the end. I love it - hedgehogs everywhere!

The Other Half even bought the hedgehog shaped rug I had been bleating on about for the last month.

It's all starting to feel very real and imminent. And with six and a bit weeks to go, I really should pack my hospital bag.

Just in case.

The calming influence of The Other Half...

Tonight we had a horrible scare. I had my routine 31-week midwife check and all was going well until she started to listen to the baby's heartbeat. Normally this is a wonderful few minutes when yes, you do have to roll your top up, lie back and have cold jelly squirted onto your stomach, but you get to hear the amazing thudding heartbeat of your child in utero.

'It's very fast at the moment,' she said, and scribbled some numbers down on her pad. 'We'll listen again in a minute.' Repeat process. Same outcome. 'I'm going to listen for 5 minutes this time, as it's still not coming down.' Five minutes passed, more numbers scribbled. 'The baby's heart rate is very fast, and it's not coming down. It's around 190 bpm and the normal rate is between 120-140. This could be nothing to worry about; it may be the baby is just having a particulary busy afternoon in there that we've caught the middle of. But I'd like to send you up to the antenatal unit at your hospital to be on the safe side.'

We went to hospital, where I was hooked up to the fetal heart monitor (a very large, cold metal belt with a sensor on the buckle to record the baby's heartbeat) and checked and prodded by several midwives and an obstetrician. I've never seen so much graph paper in my life, and it was all coming out of the machine I was rigged up to. Finally, after three hours sitting in this room where women in varying stages of labour pain were coming and going, with The Other Half making conversation in an attempt to keep me calm, the doctor gave us the all-clear. Turns out they think I have a particulary active baby in there. But if I feel any pain at all, or the baby stops moving at all, I'm so go straight back to the unit. Relief.

Thank God everything is alright. And that The Other Half was with me - I would have been more of an incomprehensible quivering wreck had he not. He took us out for tea on the way home, and I burst into tears waiting in TGI Fridays for my chicken wrap. I think the enormity of everything hit me. I'm going to be a mother. And worry about this little person forever.

I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want...

This pregnancy continues to amaze me. A couple of nights ago I went along for a work's night out in the Salsa Cafe in town, where we were all munching on nachos and sipping sangria (virgin in my case), chatting about this, that and the other and the subject of pregnancy cravings came up. The usual tales about people eating industrial-sized jars of mayonnaise and gherkins were thrown into the mix, along with the obligatory 'I know someone who knows someone who ate chalk when pregnant (or add any other disgusting substance here - sometimes it's coal)' story, and I was asked whether I'd experienced any cravings yet.

I haven't had any, I explained. Apart from a couple of times after I'd stopped feeling car sick all the live long day and quite fancied a chocolate milkshake. But I don't think that was a proper craving, more like me really wanting milkshakes and using pregnancy as an excuse to have them. Yup, I thought I'd missed the boat with cravings.

Anyway, on my way home that evening I suddenly had an all-compassing hankering for (and this has divided the office as to whether this this absolutely rank or not) tinned mackerel and cucumber sandwiches. So much so, that I had to call The Other Half and ask him to make me some (and go and buy the bits if we didn't have the ingredients). He did both dutifully. (Even cut them into triangles as they taste better that way.) I have had mackerel and cucumber sandwiches every evening since. It's not so weird, is it? No different to tuna or salmon sandwiches? Well, that's my comeback anyway, when someone at work asks what the fishy pong emitting from my lunchbox is.

Bon Voyage...

Goodbyes are never fun, but at least we did in (comedy) style! Yesterday we gathered a leaving party together to bid adieu to my pal S, who is off to start her PGCE and new life in Cardiff. And how did we mark the occasion? We took a cruise! In a manner of speaking. Well, I say cruise - I mean a tourist sightseeing boat up the Tyne. That still counts though, doesn't it? It went to the mouth of the Tyne and slightly into the North Sea, after all... and we saw a seal. Just the one, mind.

However, it did also have a so-bad-it-was-hilarious running commentary delivered by an old feller who keep telling us to look for buildings which no longer existed. And we were mooned at from the banks of the river by some scrawny looking young miscreants. But other than that, not a bad way to spend a bank holiday Sunday, all in all. I'd just have been under the duvet watching something shameful like Hollyoaks, ordinarily. But most importantly, S seemed to have a tip top time.

I didn't know what to get her for a leaving present, though. So, since she is about to embark upon student life (very brave to do it for the second time, and this time as an older and wiser mid-twentysomething - hopefully), I opted for a DIY student pack of essential university fare. I had great fun wrapping up mini variety boxes of cereal, instant noodles, a baked beans tin and a bottle of brown ale should she get homesick one night and feel the need for the blue-starred stuff. Oh, and the obligatory loo roll. You can never have too much loo roll.

And we still have no idea what a foot muff is for...

Who knew there were so many bloody makes of pram? Each with different terminology so you need a degree accredited by flaming Mothercare just to enter the store and be allowed to look at the displays. My mind has been spinning all the live long day. Strollers? 2-in1 prams? Travel systems? 3-wheelers? Tandems? (Actually - I think tandem is one we can safely cross off the list, since we know there is only one wriggler in there. At least I hope we can cross it off.) It really a minefield out there.

We've been into at least five separate shops - sometimes more than once - to compare things. And what did we discover? They're all con artists! The cheaper ones all feel like they've been built out of sticks and will implode and eat your baby. So you find something you think will work from the mid-priced section that meets all your criteria, see the price and think 'oh, well - that's not too bad.' Then you look closely and realise that the price is the pram frame only, and doesn't include the carrycot. Or the foot muff. Oh, and if you need a car seat, that's an extra £100. Plus the same again for the base. And don't forget your accessory pack - you might not be able to buy matching changing bags or parasols at a later date. By the time you've totted up the grand total, you've spent £750 quid on a flipping buggy without trying. And you still ask yourself what the hell a foot muff is, and do we need one?

In the end we decided to go for a model that was tall enough for The Other Half to push as well as me (it's always tricky, what with him being almost 6"5), would not involve taking out a second mortgage to pay for it, did not feel like it was made of matchsticks, and most importantly - could be collapsed one-handed without me bursting into tears in the middle of the shop crying that it's too heavy and I couldn't do it. It was tough, but we got there in the end - after several long hours beating away salespeople. And it'll be delivered next week so we have plenty of time to work out what a foot muff is actually for. Right, that's the pram sorted. Now for the cot...

Oh, and on the plus side, I was treated to a very nice chocolate milkshake in a diner this afternoon. Think it was for good behaviour, or at least good behaviour in the circumstances.

Pink or blue...

Yesterday, The Other Half and I trooped off to the hospital for another visit to the Antenatal wing - this time for the 20 week (anomaly) scan. Oh my god - that means we're halfway through! Eek! The sonographer spent ages checking the little wriggler's measurements (and it lived up to its name - it wouldn't stop wriggling! Squirmed about all over the shop then appeared to spend quite a lot of time with its backside in the air, mooning us - which resulted in some pretty rubbish scan photos), looking in detail at all its organs etc. (amazing to see its little heart beating in so much detail) and generally making sure everything is developing as it should be. It is, thankfully. Then came the question we'd been dreading because we didn't know the answer to it. 'Do you want to know the sex of the baby?'

Argh! Now, we have talked about this quite a lot. I said I would only want to find out if we didn't tell anyone else. The Other Half said he didn't think he'd be able to keep it to himself. Then we decided that we'd quite like the surprise, and the only reason people find out anyway is so they can start buying pink or blue clothes in advance, which is a bit of a rubbish reason to be honest. But when the sonographer asked, it suddenly dawned on us that this wasn't a hypothetical question anymore. We looked at each other, unsure, and I asked the sonographer if she knew what it was - 'Oh, I know the sex,' she replied. 'Do you want me to tell you?' Double argh! Yes but no!

We didn't, in the end. I think the surprise will be worth the hard work.

I just don't know what to do with myself...

I just can't concentrate at work at the minute. Hell, who am I kidding? I can't concentrate anywhere, on anything much at the minute. I'm not blaming anyone (okay, maybe I am...I say as I point to my stomach), but I just feel heavy and full and icky. (Yes, yes - it's not rocket science - I do know that I am pregnant.) According to all the websites I now look at daily (ahem - on my lunch break, of course), the little wriggler will be undergoing a massive growth spurt over the next few weeks and will be incredibly active. This however does not explain why I have to keep telling people at work to email instead of talking to me, because I'm liable to forget everything they say as I'm full of baby. Sigh.

Ooh, and I noticed today that my job (well, the maternity cover for my job) is now being advertised on work's website. Which I'm a bit puzzled about because it's only August and I'm not going anywhere until probably mid-December. Hmmm. Talk about getting a head start. On a different work-related note, I find myself being extremely easily irritated of late. Especially by people who sit over the other side of the office and sneeze at a decibel level I didn't think was possible for a human to reach, WITHOUT COVERING THEIR NOSES. I mean, how difficult is it? Not only do they offend my ears but they don't bother to take the simplest hygiene precautions in the middle of an epidemic when half the office seems to be off with swine flu.

Smelly auld hippies.

Gathering up the gang...

On Thursday some gal pals came round for a catch up over food - probably my last chance to cook for them all for a long while as one friend, S, is leaving our Northern realm to start her new life in Cardiff in a couple of weeks. It was a lovely, proper girly gossipy evening - and so nice as we haven't all been together in what feels like a long time. I made the gang:

Greek souvlaki with tzatziki
Mediterranean couscous salad
Served with flavoured olives, warm pitta bread, lemon drizzled rocket and avocado
And for dessert - Hot chocolate fudge cake

Yum! And it all went down well. The Other Half even poked his head in the dining room to hoover up the leftovers.

Last night we attended a family wedding party - the evening reception (the couple were married in a small ceremony last week - I think it was her second and his third wedding!). We didn't stay too long though - The Other Half and I only really knew each other and it's not much fun at all when I'm sticking to water because I couldn't face any more sickly sweet coke or lemonade, and he's joining me out of sympathy! Plus we had all manner of random strangers come up to us to wish us well (which we don't mind at all), and bestow their sage advice and old wives' tales upon us (grin and bear it through gritted teeth). Apparently I am going to have a boy as I'm all bump up front. (Where the hell else is the bump meant to go?!)

Speaking of the bump, yesterday was also a turning point as I felt the baby move for the first time! It's amazing - I knew instantly what it was, feels like there's a giant butterfly in there fluttering about. A bit squirmy and wriggly, too - as if it's turning over and trying to find a comfortable sleeping position. And since that first recognisable squirm, it hasn't stopped moving! From here on in I shall refer to the wee one as the little wriggler. The Other Half can't feel anything yet - but it'll only be a matter of weeks until hopefully he can make out an elbow or foot!

The pillow fight...

For the past couple of weeks, every now and then I've been experiencing a shooting pain in the very base of my back - around my coccyx when I stand up or bend funny. A bit like there's a trapped nerve, but there's not. I've discovered this phenomenon is yet another tribulation many pregnant ladies have to put up with, and it goes by the rather delightful name of PGP (pelvic girdle pain). Joy. The midwife helpfully says there's not much you can do about it - rest, don't strain, have baths and try some pelvic exercises when it doesn't hurt. But it should disappear after the birth. Comforting thought, only five more months to go.

One thing that may make a difference and alleviate the back pain a bit, she suggested, is adjusting my sleeping position. I had been doing this unconsciously anyway - in the mornings I've often found I'm curled up at an odd angle on my side and seem to have pushed The Other Half so far out of the bed he's ended up in the spare room. I think he may need his own bed permanently, now. There are now NINE cushions propped around me when I sleep like a wall of padding. Two supporting my back when I'm lying on my side, two between my knees to support my pelvis, two on my other side wedged under the bump, two on top of my pillows to make my weird sleeping angle more bearable, and one under my elbow, just because. You can't move for cushions. But it does seem to be helping.

Well, it's helping me. I'm not so sure about it helping The Other Half. He seems to have settled for the bum end of the deal - on the nights he can see enough space to sleep, he has to strategically climb into bed and take whatever room he can claw back. That's if the cat hasn't stolen his spot completely, though. She likes the cushions. On such nights, he's relegated to the spare bed. And I would feel really bad about this but it's hard not to be pleased when my back hasn't hurt for the first time in three weeks.

Sweet dreams are made of this...

This morning I woke up in a cold sweat, and when coupled with a feeling of complete and utter blind panic - that's not such a good way to start the day. I was reading an article online not so long ago that said pregnancy can make your dreams incredibly vivid. 'Ooh,' I thought. 'I haven't been dreaming much recently that I can remember. Wonder if it'll happen to me?' Haha, yes it did. I felt sick when I woke up. And proceeded to shout at my poor, unsuspecting Other Half. Cue Wayne's World's Scooby Doo dream sequence, and I'll take you inside my dream...

I was about seven months pregnant, it was a weekend (I know this because the Grand Prix was on the TV) and I was getting ready to hop into the bath. The house was as it is now, i.e. no nursery set up, no pram on order, no pile of Allen keys from flat pack baby furniture. While in the bath and thinking that we really should get a move on and start to sort out what we'll need in time for the new arrival, I went into labour early. And it was a remarkably quick labour, even for dream standards. (Let's just hope the real one is as quick and easy.) No matter how many times I shouted for The Other Half to phone the midwife, or the hospital, or anyone - he kept saying he'd do it after he'd seen the Grand Prix. Anyway, I had the baby in the bath and woke up still screaming for The Other Half to phone the midwife.

Literally. I think I may have whacked him with a cushion in my panic and yelled 'WHEN I SAY PHONE THE MIDWIFE, YOU PHONE THE MIDWIFE - OKAY?!' To which he woke up startled and mumbled something I couldn't hear (but it was probably something about me being a crazy, hormonal raging pot of fury) and looked at me with fear as I ran for paper and a pen to make a list of essentials for the baby. 'In case I have the baby early in the bath,' I explained. 'And we don't even have anything - the only thing we do have is one solitary baby grow hanging in the wardrobe. We must have a list!!'

And a list we have. It seems to have alleviated my panic, for now.

The bump cometh...

Today was my first day back at work after my week-long holiday of sleeping, lying in bed watching DVDs and shopping for maternity clothes that don't look like ancient Laura Ashley relics or involve any sort of dungarees. Why is it that people think pregnant women swan about in dungarees? In films it's like the only costume they have for ladies up the duff. I'd be able to hear the derisive laughter from here if I turned up at work wearing such giant-sized toddler apparel.

Anyhoo, I actually wore a maternity top to work today for the first time. I'm not quite into the comedy maternity jeans yet, but the tops are pretty good. And it seems all my begging, pleading, screaming and general tantrum-esque impatientness with not having a visible bump has all paid off - people who didn't know I was knocked up commented on my bumpiness today! Hooray! It just seems to have instantly appeared as soon as I wore something with a maternity label.

Why is it I didn't look pregnant until I wore a maternity top? Are they magic tops? I think they might be.

Grow, bump, grow!

I'm feeling very impatient. I'm in an awful inbetween stage of my pregnancy where I still don't really look like I'm with child, so passing folk just think I've stuffed myself with a few too many roast dinners and piled on several pounds round the middle. Urgh. However, there might be no real bump to speak of yet - but my clothes are getting a little nippy. And it's never a good thing when you can't fasten your jeans up anymore and the old elastic band and safety pin trick to get a wee bit more longevity out of them no longer works. Yup, time to go shopping for maternity clothes.

And that's what I did today. I was actually quite surprised with the range of stuff I've managed to get - it's all from stores I normally buy from, and very similar to what I'd wear anyway with a slightly different cut to make room for expanding stomachs. Apart from the best invention ever - maternity jeans! They look like regular jeans, but instead of having any buttons or zips at the top, they have an enormous stretchy jersey material piece that almost comes up to my armpits. But they're sooooooo comfy - I may actually wear them all the time, not just when I'm pregnant. (Incidentally, I had a male pal at uni who had a similar pair of pants he kept specially for nights when he ate his supper in those all-you-can-eat chinese buffets. Buffet pants, he called them.)

So I'm all set and can actually wear attire that fits to work next week. But I still want to know where this bump is. It's been four months now, surely it must be on its way? I WANT A BUMP! Please?

Like a busy bee...

This week is gonna be a busy ole week, methinks. I have a week off from work (woohoo!), and while I intend to use the time wisely and sleep as much as humanly possible - I also have a midwife checkup, my sister is up visiting from the Big Smoke, and we have relatives over from Cyprus. Speaking of whom, it was their Golden Wedding party last night. Fifty years is quite a long time to be married. I'm approaching three.

Now, it was nice to see people I haven't clapped eyes on in ages, and chat to folk about my impending motherhood - but really, was is necessary for everyone and their dog to come and give me their sage advice on childbirth and babies? They could have let me sip my lemonade in peace, but no. I nodded through countless tales of sleepless nights (some evil babies who apparently didn't start sleeping through the night until they were 5), horror stories of labour and birth, listened to the debates of whether I'm having a boy or a girl depending on the height, circumference and pointiness (pointiness?! I hope to god it isn't pointy) of my bump (there's not much bump to speak of yet, so that one was a bit difficult), and smiled sweetly as newfangled methods of child rearing were derided.

I know they all mean well, but if I hear "Ooh, sleep now while you have the chance!" one more time, I might actually burst a blood vessel through screaming.

I'm picking up good vibrations...

The Other Half, my unborn child and I went to see Brian Wilson last night. Tremendous gig! I was worried he'd destroy all my childhood memories of The Beach Boys over the course of an evening, but no - the doddery old fella still has a good pair of lungs on him (and a top notch accompanying band!). And it was the baby's first live music experience. I think it enjoyed it. The Other Half also spent the journey home amusing me with renditions of Beach Boys songs sung in Vic Reeves' club singer style. There is no end to the man's talents.

Yesterday was also my folks' 29th wedding anniversary. (Their 'furniture' anniversary, according to t'interweb.) And my mother dearest informed me that next year for the 30th Anniversary- which I'm pretty sure is 'pearl'- she'd like a clock. A clock?! Alright mother, I'll get you a clock. I'm guessing she wasn't happy with sad bunch of tulips I got her yesterday that didn't stand up. Damn tulips.

At last, my head is out of the loo...

Inform the national media, ring the church bells, write it in huge letters in the sky and make me a nice sandwich, please - my head has finally emerged from its lengthy stay down the toilet pan and I'm back on food for first time in weeks - hale-bloody-luliah! I'm celebrating with a homemade curry and The Other Half. Come on!

Mmmm, curry.

In six months time...

I got a flavour of life with a newborn, tonight. A work pal and I went to visit another gal from work who just had a baby girl. We were instructed not to dare enter their house without food, so we stopped off at the supermarket for lots of chocolate pudding. Ah, the baby is gorgeous. And teeny! If I wasn't already up the duff I'd be going home and complaining to The Other Half that I think it's high time I should be.

They're coping really well. Really nailed the whole nappy-changing malarkey, and they even made our dinner! I know that my house will be the scene of utter devastation by comparison in six months, and that will really irk my neat-freak hubby. Tomorrow I'm having tea with some more work pals, then off to see my sister who's up from the big smoke for her birthday. A better week than the last, at least. Think I'm starting to feel a bit better on the whole sickness front, too. Fingers crossed.

And just in case you were wondering, The Hoff story is correct. His ex-wife Catherine married an actor named Michael Knight in 1992. Wow. Some urban myths really are true. According to Google.

Good mood, bad mood...

I was in a good mood today until I went out for tea...I even managed to eat at lunchtime and everything. I'll not go into details but tonight's tea out was quite an odd affair. It felt really strained, and I was bluntly snapped out and I'm not sure why! Then just to round everything off nicely, after tea the group smirkingly decided to go off for cocktails at which point I was really fed up and feeling sorry for myself so went home. Bah.

On a different note, another pal texted me when I got home with a picture of a new baby we're going to visit this week. She's so cute! Oh my god, that'll be me in six months. Argh!

And on a completely different note again, I've just realised that Tiger Woods looks like a black David Gest. Strange. And I'm about to Google an urban myth I heard today - that apparently David Hasselhoff's ex-wife married somebody called Michael Knight. That can't be true, surely?! I'll let you know.

The things nobody tells you part one...

Here are a few things I have discovered so far about being pregnant. Nobody thinks to tell you this stuff when you're knocked up. It can be a bit of a shocker. I'm sure there's some covert operation in place to keep these delightful symptoms a secret from all women of a child-bearing age in case they never procreate. Anyway.

First trimester pregnancy awfulness:

Tiredness.
This just hits you all of a sudden. It has so far led to going to bed at 7pm and uncontrollable sobbing on my part for no reason whatsoever. And I can't even watch adverts any more for fear of seeing some homeless kitten on the RSPCA fundraising one.

Digestion.
To be blunt, it's slower. Thankfully I haven't had heartburn and fingers crossed I don't...I've heard horror stories of women drinking nothing except Gaviscon and mint tea for nine months.

Puffiness and heaviness.
This is not baby weight. It's water retention (the kind you usually get right before your period - except this time there is no relief of that for at least another 8 months.) You just feel rubbish and large, and there's not even any visible sign of a baby yet.

Boobs.
They've just grown! Out of nowhere! This is not such a bad thing in men's eyes - but they hurt like hell. They're tender and sore and the nipples are the worst. It's even painful to take a freakin' shower. And bras don't fit you anymore.

Wee.
You pee round the clock. Why? I have no idea. The baby is so teeny it can't be pushing on your bladder. But it's obviously doing something to it.

Going off stuff.
Nature's way of purging your body of bad stuff, I suppose. Gone off coffee and alcohol completely - which is no bad thing as you're not supposed to have them anyway. I've also randomly gone off bananas.

Morning sickness.
It's a big lie. Gone by lunchtime? Ha! I wish. It's all the live long day. And here's another thing: THERE IS NO CURE! It's horrendous. I'm bloody sick of ginger snaps. The only thing I've found to keep it at bay is to graze on rice crackers throughout the morning. Which is like eating drinks coasters.

Glowing.
No - it's not pregnant lady radiance, it's sweating from all the hurling and retching and the effort of constantly running to the loo. My skin has broken out in sympathy spots, and my face permanently looks like I've just sprinted up the stairs several times.

I'll do an update of everything else I'm looking forward to (I say with a hint of sarcasm - cravings, bumps, freaky movement, sleep or lack of - oh yes) as and when they happen. Oh what a wonderful time this is.

More jelly on my belly...

We (t'Other Half and I) trundled off to the hospital for our re-scan today - and we now have an official due date! Today I am 12 weeks + 4 days pregnant and the baby is apparently due on 4th January. Which is the date I'll have to go with even though I don't agree with it as it'll be on all my official forms for maternity leave etc. Hmmm. I work it out to be nearer the original date that the midwife gave me, 29th December. Oh well. (And you can use your imagination as to how I can work it out. Let's just say we only needed to try once and you get the idea.)

This is the third due date I've been given actually, 29th Dec first, then it moved to 31st Dec...and now 4th Jan. Whatever - this baby will turn up somewhere around New Year. (I've now jinxed it all and bubs will decide to make an appearance mid-Jan, and give me two weeks of overdue hell.) The hospital folk carried out some tests today, too - and took some more blood (I've never had so many blood tests in my life) to do the nuchal fold combined test which assesses the likelihood of the baby having Down's Syndrome, the results of which I'll get soon. But everything else looked fine according to them.

And at least they had the decency to warm up that sodding gel before plastering it over my stomach this time. By god, it was cold last week. It's all over my jeans, though.

It's all so very twee...

Short post today as I can't really be bothered, if I'm frank. I promise to have interesting things to write about (and actually be arsed to write them) very soon. Ooh, actually, this is good news and worth shouting about: The Other Half started his new job today. Woohoo! Well done him, it hasn't taken him long at all really - and he's slogged his heart and soul out to find a decent role. And I'm not 100% sure exactly what the job is...something to do with online marketing?? I'll really have to learn. Bad wife.

It was Fathers' Day yesterday - and I made The Other Half a little card from the bump. Overly-sentimental, syrupy and corny? Yes. But hell, this might only happen once so I feel no shame milking every soppy occasion for all its worth!