It’s been, what, nine weeks? Ten? Sorry about that. Unfortunately when I haven’t been working or eating my entire weight in cheese, I’ve spent the majority of my time sleeping. As it is I’m sorry to say that this will be a Long Post, and probably quite boring and drivelly if babies and pregnancy aren’t your thing. I won’t be offended if you skip and wait for the next post, honest!
As I mentioned briefly in my last entry, I’m having a baby (around twenty four weeks at this point), and it’s been both an exciting and terrifying experience.
We had been trying, but had only started seriously trying in terms of checking dates on calendars and things like that for a couple of months, so we count ourselves ridiculously lucky in that way, so much so that, in the beginning, I was a bit in denial and ignored a couple of the early signs that I really should have been looking out for.
I first realised that something might be up on St. Patrick’s day. I was singing at a small gathering at a fellow church member’s house that evening, and even on a chilly mid-March night, all I could bear to wear was a floaty knee-length dress that was about three cells thick, and conceded to wearing a pair of black tights only because I didn’t want to look like a complete lunatic swanning around in a summer dress when it was barely ten degrees. Anyway, we played our set and headed home, and I decided not to think much more of it. I was probably just coming down with something.
The next day I got into my car to drive to work, and I wondered what That Smell was. It was like a really powerful, industrial cleaning product, and if you’ve ever seen the state of my car you’ll know how unlikely that is. I realised it was my beloved candy floss car freshener, suddenly for some reason reeking of Domestos and betrayal. Then there was the printer, which also decided to assault my poor nose that day. Then the return of the hot flashes. When I was having a good whinge to one of my friends at work about the heat in the office, she pointed out that it was, in fact, freezing in here, and was I quite alright?
I decided it was probably a good idea to buy a test. So, I left work and headed to Abbeycentre to enjoy a not-at-all-excruciating fifteen minutes in that aisle in Boots gawping at the three billion types of tests for sale. Blue ink? Pink ink? Digital? Week counter? I cheaped out and got the least expensive one, obviously. Why drop twenty quid on something I was just going wee all over? Then I bought a nice pair of shoes and a pretty notebook, because, you know, treat yourself.
Three hours of hanging out in a state of false nonchalance at my mum’s and desperately holding my pee as-per-instructions later, I was standing in my bathroom with a positive pregnancy test in my hand.
I’d like to say that I was instantly flooded with motherly instinct and joy, but honestly at first I felt a bit numb. With Dave out for the night with friends, I went about my normal night time routine and headed to bed. I was a little shocked, maybe. This was what we wanted, and yet for some reason I still hadn’t honestly believed it was going to happen. Babies were something that other people had. It felt bizarre to think that I was carrying one myself. I struggle quite badly with poor self esteem and anxiety, so maybe a part of me had assumed that this was a Nice Thing, and therefore I couldn’t have it or it would get taken away from me (a battle I also faced early in my relationship with Dave). It took a little while for me to relax into it and start getting excited.
Still, we couldn’t keep it from our parents for long. We told our folks on Easter Sunday, and thankfully chose to tell Dave’s granny as well just a few days before she passed. We waited until twelve weeks before we told anyone else, and we think our favourite reaction came from my partner-in-crime, baby’s honorary auntie Emma:
She got so excited that she cried and couldn’t concentrate on finishing her Chinese! If you know Emma, it takes a lot to distract her from a really good takeaway. She’s already full of fun ideas for Baby Wharry and summer holiday adventures – such a good auntie!
It’s true that from the moment you find out that parenthood is on the horizon, you never stop worrying. From a run-in with a very doomy-gloomy out-of-hours doctor to a bit of a bleed at eight weeks to a minor car accident at ten weeks, suffice to say we heaved a sigh of relief when we hit the golden twelve-week mark.
I like to think that this has all been practice for what’s to come, though. I can tell myself that we’ll be relieved once Baby Wharry is with us and in one piece, but that’s just not true. We’ll likely start by being up every hour just to check they’re still there, then proceed to why are you crying I have literally run out of ideas when will you learn to talk to us, then move on to the Toddlerproof Everything stage. Then there’ll come worries about how they’re getting on in school. Will they make friends okay? First sleepovers. Do they miss me? Are they feeling pressured at school? What if someone breaks their heart? What if they go out at night with their friends and they’re late home? Is that new boyfriend/girlfriend going to be good to them or mess them around? Are they going to be okay living on their own? Do they need my help? Are they okay?
It’ll go on and on, and God willing, we’ll have the privilege of worrying about them for the rest of our lives.
What about you? Have I missed any biz with you lot since I last checked in? Let me know!