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.