It’s been a while since the last time I wrote something down to put on here. We’ve seen New Year and the first of our many future nights in, we’ve seen midwives and blood, encountered the reactions of some and learned third hand of the reactions of others. This might be a long entry so either ensure you’re sitting comfortably or turn back now.
Happy-if-slightly-sober New Year!
I spent New Years Eve sober in the company of other sober adults for the first time in a decade. I figured it is something I need to get used to as the next 20 years of my life are going to be dominated by raising a helpless child and then worrying about an irresponsible teenager with brief periods of struggling to find a babysitter so that we can at least have a little bit of freedom. I may sound like I am woeful of my ‘lost youth’ but I’m not. It’s high time I started acting like a grown up. A common theme of the commentary from people who have been through this themselves has been ‘you finally have to grow up’. Even at this early planning stage I am beginning to understand what they mean. There is so much to consider and acting like a teenager is not the way to go about it. So New Year was spent as a responsible adult in the company of other responsible adults. Watching Mark and Lyndsey care for Hayden and Evan it seems unimaginable sometimes that very soon Jenny and I will have one of our own to lavish care and attention on. But we will. In seven months and nine days if we’re to believe the estimated due date we’ve been given.
Midwifery.
The 20th August is the due date we were given by the midwife when she came to see us on Friday last. I was silently pleased to see that I was correct with my own estimation. Since then, of course, I’ve learned that the actual due date is merely the centre point of a four week due period and that our baby could arrive at any point within that period and would not be consdiered to be late or early by any medical professional. I wonder why we subscribe to the idea of due dates when they are, essentially guides and not very accurate ones at that. Which brings me to a concern about this due date business in that labour would be induced if a woman passed the two week after due date mark. Due to the inaccuracy of the due date and the knowledge of it really being a due period, if someone goes to two weeks passed the due date they could really be exactly at the true due date and inducement would be folly or conversely they could be four weeks past the true due date and really should be panicking. Hell, we can only trust in nature to take it’s course and for the timely arrival of a healthy child.
So we spent Friday afternoon going through medical history and discussing our various family history of diabetes and other ailments. We talked about what can be eaten and what cannot be eaten (by Jenny, not by me). About the effects of alcohol and about medicines which were fine to be taken without consultation. By the end of this thrilling discussion I was counting my blessings that blokes don’t get pregnant. Rather her than me, in a completely self-centred and selfish fashion. Perhaps society is becoming a little over sensitive and over protective. It seems that foods which were considered OK twenty or thirty years ago are no longer considered OK. I imaging I’m going to spend the next seven months and then the subsequent five years muttering ‘it never did me any harm’ as others warn of the dangers of your child playing in dirt.
We moved onto the main set piece. Blood. Jenny, bless her, was terrified of having her blood taken by the midwife. I think that it is because she has been lucky enough to avoid any major medical involvement so having someone take blood out of her would was very nerve wracking. I’ve been cut and brusied and scraped more times than I care to remember, so the whole event was fascinating for me. I think however that her nerves gor the better of her blood flow and the midwife with 30 years experience of extracting the red stuff failed in her mission and told us to go to the hospital instead. She then booked us in for our scan (this week!!) and went off on her way.
We have nothing to worry about.
We’re not at risk.
The odds are in our favour.
So why do I feel terrified that something is going to be wrong??
Blood.
This was fun. Monday, poor Jenny is a trembling wreck as we arrived at the hospital to see the phlebotomist. Thankfully we didn’t have to wait long, and thankfully the nurse was successful in taking a decent sample before the nerves could get the better of Jenny and she ran screaming in terror from the building. We’ve heard nothing back and they told us that no news is good news. This is going to be the first of a long line of tests and blood being taken and examinations and such. She had better get used to it. (of course I’m an incredibly supportive partner and hold her hand all the way through these trying times)
Reactions of the less pleasant kind.
Of course, when you have something to be incredibly happy about such as this there are people who are not happy. They either want what you have got or realise that their life is missing something. With the announcement that we were expecting our first child came the first negative feelings. The (ex) girlfriend of a friend of mine was the first to display negativity to the news. My friend is unable to have any more children due to a mishap when he was younger. He has a beautiful Daughter of his own but can never have more. This knowledge has been the destroyer of recent relationships and it seems that the news that Jenny and I are expecting hit home with his current partner and caused them many problems. It is terrible when you cannot celebrate the greatest of news with the greatest of friends because his partner is sensitive about a situation neither of them has any control over. I know my friend is very happy for us. And I know he feels guilty because he was unable to share in our happiness.
Overall, the reactions have been fantastic. People are genuinely happy for us.
This place
I’ve been struggling with work and feeling demotivated about most things as a result of feeling demotivated at work. That is why it has taken me a month (!!!) to write this entry. I will be updating much more regularly now.
