“I am rather set in my ways” I have used this excuse for all kinds of things including self indulgence and being a narcissistic noncommittal coward. I am also using it as an excuse for not being fully thrilled about “the magical journey of pregnancy”.
I am by no means playing down the fact that it is nothing short of amazing that people can grow people in their own bodies but I have not been thrilled at the full on assault my body has launched at my docile existence. Everything changes from your moods to your eating pattern and at some point you are bound to look in a mirror and not recognize the person staring back at you.
I realized this morning however that the most significant change that has taken place in my life is the acute sense of self awareness.
My anticipation of certain events has ensured that I am acutely aware of every cramp, every movement, every gained inch and every twitch.
I can honestly say that at 18 weeks with the first fetal movement scheduled I have become an expert on the effect of gas on ones bowel and abdomen. I am intensely in tune with the rumbles and flutters and cramps as I anxiously await that moment when I can honestly say I felt the baby.
And after having mistakenly identified this phenomenon several times I am starting to feel like a hypochondriac. I am crying wolf when I have absolutely no idée what a wolf looks like and its frustrating to say the least.
I recall earlier in my pregnancy trying to define a specific parameter for the appearance of a baby bump to still my fears that my baby has stopped growing.
Or being incredibly worried about the actual existence of a baby due to my lack of early pregnancy symptoms.
Small things like abdominal cramping are monitored for any pain that exceeds what’s described as normal on yahoo answers.
And despite the fact that there is ample material on each small little niggle I have never truly felt completely satisfied that nothing is wrong.
You read that each woman is different each time you research your latest neurotic concern and since you have never been through this before you battle to define what is normal.
Today During a conversation with a college of mine I felt something new, like being bumped from the inside. It had happened for the second time today and I am now convinced that if I can get it to happen again it’s the real thing.
Yet in the back of my mind I fear I may be giving great credit to something as mundane as a fart which takes away from what is supposed to me a momentous experience, and there is always the very real possibility that I am over reacting or imagining things.
On other surprising news. It has to be mentioned that during a discussion with granny Larain this morning concerning babies I think I felt thingy Kick.
Not flutter but kick
I’m not sure it felt real different but I cant be sure it wasn’t just gas and I don’t want to give a fart any fan fair.
Not flutter but kick
I’m not sure it felt real different but I cant be sure it wasn’t just gas and I don’t want to give a fart any fan fair.
job hunt update
In the interest of documenting my pregnant job hunt accurately I would like to account that I attended two interviews this morning one with a recruiter and one with an employer.
My meeting with the employer went off well and they have expressed that they want to hire me starting as soon as Monday, at this point it became necessary to disclose the fact that I am pregnant. Which I have just done in a discussion with the recruitment office who set up the appointment. I am currently waiting for feedback on whether the offer still stands
My meeting with the employer went off well and they have expressed that they want to hire me starting as soon as Monday, at this point it became necessary to disclose the fact that I am pregnant. Which I have just done in a discussion with the recruitment office who set up the appointment. I am currently waiting for feedback on whether the offer still stands
I have no belly button!!!!!
Since the smallest appearance of a baby bump I have consciously tried to conceal it by wearing larger tops and loose fitting clothing, so it was with great astonishment that Eugene inspected his girl friends physique last night when I dared appear in a tank top.
At 18 weeks pregnant two things are quite eye catching. The first being that if it weren’t for my new found love of loose clothing I would look like the product of an incestual relationship between a tellytubby and an umpa-lumpa.
And the second being that I no longer have a belly-button. I used to have an inny that could house a small family and now my belly button in a leveled out spot in the center of my globulous tummy.
The bright side is however that I have great and I really mean great skin
At 18 weeks pregnant two things are quite eye catching. The first being that if it weren’t for my new found love of loose clothing I would look like the product of an incestual relationship between a tellytubby and an umpa-lumpa.
And the second being that I no longer have a belly-button. I used to have an inny that could house a small family and now my belly button in a leveled out spot in the center of my globulous tummy.
The bright side is however that I have great and I really mean great skin
At 18 weeks pregnant I have finally reached the end of my rapidly frying rope. This being said I think it is safe to assume that I have the worst timing in the history of human civilization.
After falling pregnant right after taking on a huge mortgage that we can barely afford, I chose now to start job hunting.
In my defense my desperation for a new job and more importantly a stable income is due to the fact that I cannot see myself or my beloved surviving parenthood and its financial strain when I’m earning peanuts.
I decided to give it a go and I posted my CV on a few portals. To my great surprise I received a fair few responses and started setting up interviews for today and tomorrow.
However I have been faced with the dilemma of when to tell.
Despite my constant bitching I can quite successfully hide my baby bump and after ready five hundred opinions on 6oo web sites I decided that I am not gonna let the cat out of the bag until someone either asks me an undodgeble question or offers me a job.
My first interview was with a recruitment agency in alberton who were doing a very general interview for a few positions one of which I am interviewing for tomorrow. I kept my mouth shut even though I felt terrible about it.
But I told myself that nobody wants to hire a preggie and Id rather they interview me based on my skill than the probability that im gonna drop a baby in their reception area.
The second interview however was not as easy. I really really wanted the job in this one. The offices are close to eugene’s the pay is brilliant and Ill be back into corporate sales.
But the recruiter asked that horrible question
“do you have any dependants” she said.
I was not going to blatantly lie to her because its going to come out and then I look horrible.
So I spilled my guts in the most sellable way possible and I now hope that my honestly is rewarded. If the employer does decide to see me Im at an immediate disadvantage.
But I want it so bad.
Tomorrow Im seeing another agency and a company and I can only hope that that goes well.
Im sorry that my writing is so horrid but the blog has very much become more a platform to make notes. I am hoping that someday I may be able to turn this into a book.
After falling pregnant right after taking on a huge mortgage that we can barely afford, I chose now to start job hunting.
In my defense my desperation for a new job and more importantly a stable income is due to the fact that I cannot see myself or my beloved surviving parenthood and its financial strain when I’m earning peanuts.
I decided to give it a go and I posted my CV on a few portals. To my great surprise I received a fair few responses and started setting up interviews for today and tomorrow.
However I have been faced with the dilemma of when to tell.
Despite my constant bitching I can quite successfully hide my baby bump and after ready five hundred opinions on 6oo web sites I decided that I am not gonna let the cat out of the bag until someone either asks me an undodgeble question or offers me a job.
My first interview was with a recruitment agency in alberton who were doing a very general interview for a few positions one of which I am interviewing for tomorrow. I kept my mouth shut even though I felt terrible about it.
But I told myself that nobody wants to hire a preggie and Id rather they interview me based on my skill than the probability that im gonna drop a baby in their reception area.
The second interview however was not as easy. I really really wanted the job in this one. The offices are close to eugene’s the pay is brilliant and Ill be back into corporate sales.
But the recruiter asked that horrible question
“do you have any dependants” she said.
I was not going to blatantly lie to her because its going to come out and then I look horrible.
So I spilled my guts in the most sellable way possible and I now hope that my honestly is rewarded. If the employer does decide to see me Im at an immediate disadvantage.
But I want it so bad.
Tomorrow Im seeing another agency and a company and I can only hope that that goes well.
Im sorry that my writing is so horrid but the blog has very much become more a platform to make notes. I am hoping that someday I may be able to turn this into a book.
sorry
I know that I have been a dismal blogger lately and I appologise for that, but the fact is that while I am nearing 18 weeks the news on the baby front is scarce and quite honestly I have not been very motivated to post anything funny.
Pregnancy has a way of amplifying every small nigeling little upset into the sinking of the titanik and you are left feeling down right depressed sometimes.
The biggest contributor to the depression is my job and the fact that I just cant catch a break. Clients cancell apointments and laps their policies and I am the ass that sits without a paycheck at the end of the month while the fact that I am pregnant prohibits me from finding a new job.
I cant write about it because I end up crying.
so untill I have some good news thats me bunnies
I'm sure by the end of this post you will be good and confused and quite honestly I dont blame you. This may not make any sense to you right now but its going somewhere for me. I know its not the best written piece I have ever writen but I had to jot it down quickly before it left me.
The zoo keeper stood waiting for me on the street corner. Tapping his feet in agitation and consulting he’s wrist watch every few seconds. He’s name was William and as I inspected the short old man it became clear that he’s parents must have had a sense of humor because William had a tail.
The zoo keeper was not tall, not even by my standards, his feet were big and flat and his big ears were softened only by his unkept white beard and sulky eyes. It was apparent that while he was able to communicate quite well with any form of beast of bird humans were among his least favorite and he regarded me with an instant air of disapproval.
So perplexed was I by the impatient little man and his generally cold greeting that it escaped my attention for the moment that I had no idée where I was nor why I felt I needed to be there.
“Your late” he grumbled at me and he’s frown made his eye brows look like a large hairy worm had taken up residence across his forehead.
I must has stuttered or mumbled something as my mind reeled and searched for words to explain my utter confusion.
Just then a large orange housecat turned the corner, he sauntered in that manner that house cats do and came to sit near the zoo keeper and gave me a rather expectant look that I didn’t understand.
“well did you bring it?” the zoo keeper snapped at me.
I felt the color drain from my face and my eyes widen, “your bag girl, check your bag” he grumbled again and obviously had little sympathy for the fact that my brain had turned to pudding.
I obediently checked my bag, among the usual mess of unnecessary and arbitrary items was a large jar of peanut butter, since I could not think of any reason the zoo keeper may require the use of my lipstick or any reason why the jar was in my bag I pulled it out only then considering what reason the zoo keeper may have to require a jar of crunchy peanut butter from in such an urgent manner.
My retrieval of the mysterious jam jar had not won me any favor in the sullen eyes of the zoo keeper and he glared at me with even less affection then he had afforded me before.
“well open it!” he shrieked “or do you perhaps expect him to do it himself”
I managed “oh yes of coarse” and did not quite master a tone of comprehension while the zoo keeper grumbled “unprepared, unprepared” under his voice.
The cat still looked at me in that asking manner.
I opened the jar and laid it the cats feet presuming that the jar was the reason I was being fixed with that look.
It seemed that presumption had for the moment won through as the housecat took to the peanut butter with reverence dipping his whole paw in the jar up to his elbow and then licking it of.
He rolled on his back with enjoyment savoring every last drop.
The zoo keeper simply waited, he did not tap his big flat feet or inspect his wrist watch he simply stared into space and waited.
I on the other had tried to make sense of the strange place I had never seen before, where had I come from where we were going. I tried to explain my unique companions but nothing came to mind and since I saw no way out of where ever I was and since the zoo keeper and the cat seemed quite confident about their mission I decided to follow their lead.
The cat finished his jar of peanut butter, looking satisfied and full he dragged himself off his back and started to strut up the road in that self important way cats always seem to strut.
The zoo keeper followed plodding on on big flat feet and since it was the only avenue open to and since I hadn’t been told otherwise I followed too.
The zoo keeper stood waiting for me on the street corner. Tapping his feet in agitation and consulting he’s wrist watch every few seconds. He’s name was William and as I inspected the short old man it became clear that he’s parents must have had a sense of humor because William had a tail.
The zoo keeper was not tall, not even by my standards, his feet were big and flat and his big ears were softened only by his unkept white beard and sulky eyes. It was apparent that while he was able to communicate quite well with any form of beast of bird humans were among his least favorite and he regarded me with an instant air of disapproval.
So perplexed was I by the impatient little man and his generally cold greeting that it escaped my attention for the moment that I had no idée where I was nor why I felt I needed to be there.
“Your late” he grumbled at me and he’s frown made his eye brows look like a large hairy worm had taken up residence across his forehead.
I must has stuttered or mumbled something as my mind reeled and searched for words to explain my utter confusion.
Just then a large orange housecat turned the corner, he sauntered in that manner that house cats do and came to sit near the zoo keeper and gave me a rather expectant look that I didn’t understand.
“well did you bring it?” the zoo keeper snapped at me.
I felt the color drain from my face and my eyes widen, “your bag girl, check your bag” he grumbled again and obviously had little sympathy for the fact that my brain had turned to pudding.
I obediently checked my bag, among the usual mess of unnecessary and arbitrary items was a large jar of peanut butter, since I could not think of any reason the zoo keeper may require the use of my lipstick or any reason why the jar was in my bag I pulled it out only then considering what reason the zoo keeper may have to require a jar of crunchy peanut butter from in such an urgent manner.
My retrieval of the mysterious jam jar had not won me any favor in the sullen eyes of the zoo keeper and he glared at me with even less affection then he had afforded me before.
“well open it!” he shrieked “or do you perhaps expect him to do it himself”
I managed “oh yes of coarse” and did not quite master a tone of comprehension while the zoo keeper grumbled “unprepared, unprepared” under his voice.
The cat still looked at me in that asking manner.
I opened the jar and laid it the cats feet presuming that the jar was the reason I was being fixed with that look.
It seemed that presumption had for the moment won through as the housecat took to the peanut butter with reverence dipping his whole paw in the jar up to his elbow and then licking it of.
He rolled on his back with enjoyment savoring every last drop.
The zoo keeper simply waited, he did not tap his big flat feet or inspect his wrist watch he simply stared into space and waited.
I on the other had tried to make sense of the strange place I had never seen before, where had I come from where we were going. I tried to explain my unique companions but nothing came to mind and since I saw no way out of where ever I was and since the zoo keeper and the cat seemed quite confident about their mission I decided to follow their lead.
The cat finished his jar of peanut butter, looking satisfied and full he dragged himself off his back and started to strut up the road in that self important way cats always seem to strut.
The zoo keeper followed plodding on on big flat feet and since it was the only avenue open to and since I hadn’t been told otherwise I followed too.
A poo and a pram
Since Dr Yasmeen saw us and informed us that our darling Thingy will not be arriving on the 7th of September but in fact on the 12th and thus putting my calculations back almost a week. I feel like a terminal at the OR Thambo airport with this late arrival thing and I am taking the news with my usual bad grace.
I am quite ready to meet our little one but since I now have a little longer to wait than was originally estimated I may as well take this time to prove to you how brilliant I am.
While I may still be completely clueless when it comes to all things baby and have a long way to go before I attain any form of super preggie status I have learnt a few things that have basically been my saving grace for the past almost four months.
The first I didn’t really learn as I have always been stingy enough to accept hand me down lunches.
I am admittedly a bargain hunter of note and have been able to incorporate this part time hobby into my fulltime occupation of neurotic mother to be.
Like all first timers we had great intentions of providing our little Lilliputian with every luxury known to mankind. We knew babies are an expensive pass time but people had unfortunately always referred to the maintenance costs such as formula and nappies and never the start up costs. Nor the cost of the coronary bypass we found ourselves in need of after our first little stroll into baby city.
We went in with that kid in a candy store look and after repeating the words shit and fuck me several times (infront of moms and babies alike I might add) we dragged our long pale faces outside.
A week of utter financial depression followed after we made up our minds.
I wanted the pretty wooden cot but I refused to pay tree house R3500 for the damned thing.
Months ago I was under the impression that a compactum was a contraption used to crush cars, I have become wiser now and I want one but I would rather fornicate with a foul tempered cactus before I fork out two grand for the damned thing.
At this point we haven’t even discussed the fact the babies no longer get pushed around in prams but have graduated their mode of transport to an incredibly complicated contraption that can cost up to R6000 and is called a travel system. The producers of this sin agains mankind believe that the fact that its available in bright green justify this kind daylight robbery and the fact that those people who own corsa’s will have to invest in an SUV just to fit the damned thing in the boot was not part of the calculations that took place when inventing their compact folding system and has thus completely escaped the attention of these capatilist Nazi’s.
So in my pursuit of the finer things in life dragged the laptop closer and started typing.
I figured that since babies don’t last forever and no parent in his right mind, having taken out a second bond on his humble abode to provide the essentials for their brats, would have the heart to trash that wooden cot and compactum he’s toddler wanted upgraded to a ferari bed.
And since one moms trash is another moms sanity I searched gumtee until I found that bargain.
I did not pay R3500-00 for my cot I paid R400 for it and while it needs a wash it is perfect.
The compactum thing-a-majig did not break the bank and in absolutely perfect condition Eugene’s mom picked it up at a pawn shop for R1200pm.
I still scan the pages every day because we still need the damned travel system and the SUV that ensures you don’t need to decide whether you should leave the kid or the pram in the parking lot of the checkers sothat you can take the groceries home.
But I can assure you that come hell or high water I am beating the damn system.
I have even started a nice little collection of second hand kiddies books.
My little bargain baby
My second smart little tip spawns from the fact that eating whole brand cereal is like choking down brown paper envelope and. I have tried all of them, the boxes are different but all of them contain a compound of woodchip and cardboard bits, its no wonder you shit through the eye of a needle the moment you ingest the stuff, your body is reacting to a brutal assult by expelling the enemy.
However when you are pregnant, you find that despite being able to poo without assistance for the lions share of your life you have started shitting bricks no more than once a week and in the interim your farts should be registered as a weapon of mas destruction.
The magazines tell you to add more fiber to your diet and suggest the same cereal that you have sworn of because you cant swallow dust.
No shit Sherlock (excuse the pun)
Yet fear not preggies for I have found the solution in snow flakes easy bake bran muffins.
Yes I know easy bake is cheating but your not a mother yet and since you are gonna have 21 years of pretending you love baking for your kids you may as well shut it now.
These little darlings taste great and you can put jam on them. But one or two and the flood gates will open.
Believe me it works and it doesn’t taste like your chewing on a brick.
Anyways that’s me.
I am quite ready to meet our little one but since I now have a little longer to wait than was originally estimated I may as well take this time to prove to you how brilliant I am.
While I may still be completely clueless when it comes to all things baby and have a long way to go before I attain any form of super preggie status I have learnt a few things that have basically been my saving grace for the past almost four months.
The first I didn’t really learn as I have always been stingy enough to accept hand me down lunches.
I am admittedly a bargain hunter of note and have been able to incorporate this part time hobby into my fulltime occupation of neurotic mother to be.
Like all first timers we had great intentions of providing our little Lilliputian with every luxury known to mankind. We knew babies are an expensive pass time but people had unfortunately always referred to the maintenance costs such as formula and nappies and never the start up costs. Nor the cost of the coronary bypass we found ourselves in need of after our first little stroll into baby city.
We went in with that kid in a candy store look and after repeating the words shit and fuck me several times (infront of moms and babies alike I might add) we dragged our long pale faces outside.
A week of utter financial depression followed after we made up our minds.
I wanted the pretty wooden cot but I refused to pay tree house R3500 for the damned thing.
Months ago I was under the impression that a compactum was a contraption used to crush cars, I have become wiser now and I want one but I would rather fornicate with a foul tempered cactus before I fork out two grand for the damned thing.
At this point we haven’t even discussed the fact the babies no longer get pushed around in prams but have graduated their mode of transport to an incredibly complicated contraption that can cost up to R6000 and is called a travel system. The producers of this sin agains mankind believe that the fact that its available in bright green justify this kind daylight robbery and the fact that those people who own corsa’s will have to invest in an SUV just to fit the damned thing in the boot was not part of the calculations that took place when inventing their compact folding system and has thus completely escaped the attention of these capatilist Nazi’s.
So in my pursuit of the finer things in life dragged the laptop closer and started typing.
I figured that since babies don’t last forever and no parent in his right mind, having taken out a second bond on his humble abode to provide the essentials for their brats, would have the heart to trash that wooden cot and compactum he’s toddler wanted upgraded to a ferari bed.
And since one moms trash is another moms sanity I searched gumtee until I found that bargain.
I did not pay R3500-00 for my cot I paid R400 for it and while it needs a wash it is perfect.
The compactum thing-a-majig did not break the bank and in absolutely perfect condition Eugene’s mom picked it up at a pawn shop for R1200pm.
I still scan the pages every day because we still need the damned travel system and the SUV that ensures you don’t need to decide whether you should leave the kid or the pram in the parking lot of the checkers sothat you can take the groceries home.
But I can assure you that come hell or high water I am beating the damn system.
I have even started a nice little collection of second hand kiddies books.
My little bargain baby
My second smart little tip spawns from the fact that eating whole brand cereal is like choking down brown paper envelope and. I have tried all of them, the boxes are different but all of them contain a compound of woodchip and cardboard bits, its no wonder you shit through the eye of a needle the moment you ingest the stuff, your body is reacting to a brutal assult by expelling the enemy.
However when you are pregnant, you find that despite being able to poo without assistance for the lions share of your life you have started shitting bricks no more than once a week and in the interim your farts should be registered as a weapon of mas destruction.
The magazines tell you to add more fiber to your diet and suggest the same cereal that you have sworn of because you cant swallow dust.
No shit Sherlock (excuse the pun)
Yet fear not preggies for I have found the solution in snow flakes easy bake bran muffins.
Yes I know easy bake is cheating but your not a mother yet and since you are gonna have 21 years of pretending you love baking for your kids you may as well shut it now.
These little darlings taste great and you can put jam on them. But one or two and the flood gates will open.
Believe me it works and it doesn’t taste like your chewing on a brick.
Anyways that’s me.
our first sonar
On Friday Eugene and myself drove to our first pre-natal appointment with an elephant in the back seat. The out of place pachyderm sat quietly not unnoticed but definitely undiscussed.
Both of us were terrified, excited mind you but terrified. Our quest to become educated about our pregnancy had accomplished little more than to turn us into nervous wrecks.
To one another we were desperately trying to present a positive picture of confidence while in reality we were thinking about what our chances were of finding out that our baby had stopped growing.
Or repeating to ourselves the statistics of downs syndrome or infant deformities, conjoined twins and all the other horrors that prompt e-mail chain letters.
For a moment I chastised myself for refusing to forward those e-mails. Right there and Then I bargained with the universe promising to send every annoying- send this to as many people as possible burnt baby email that enters my inbox if my baby would just please be alright.
Admittedly not all of my fears were well founded or even based on excessive research.
I actually feared that the baby that had been mine and Eugene’s soul obsession for the past three months did not exssist at all.
When I felt anything other than utter shit I convinced myself that I was not pregnant and that I was simply picking up ridicules amounts of weight. When I felt like utter shit I was sure it was an indication that there was something wrong with the baby.
As we drove the tree lined streets to the hospital though it felt like both conflicting fears and a whole array of others had culminated around me and I felt like I was about to puke butterflies.
I appreciated the fact that if that is how I felt Eugene must have felt ten time wore, as unlike me he has a tendency to over think things but he handled it like the big burly pillar of strength I expect him to be. Only the little wrinkles around his eyes belied the fact that his head was about to explode.
When we finally reached the Birchmore hospital in parktown the elephant followed us into the waiting room with the pink door and stomped around in front of us as we waited to meet Dr. Yasmeen for the first time.
We had never met the doctor as I had avoided any contact with any doctor for as long as I remember and I had put special effort into not being accosted by a doctor who chose to major in fannies.
However one of the great necessities of a pregnancy is a presiding gyno whose soul job is often to belay the ridiculous fears of neurotic mother to be such as myself.
And one of my greatest necessities was a gyno who was willing to accept medical aids so after five hundred phone calls in search of this endangered creature we found Dr. Yasmeen and other that she took medical aid we knew very little about her.
After getting the medical aid nitty-gritties out of the way the receptionist issued me with a urine dip stick and sent me to the ladies. It occurred to me then that pregnancy can be defined as a time when your primary concerns are your upchuck reflex and trying not to pee on your hand. But I had long since accepted that there was little dignity in this thing called pregnancy and dutifully squatted at command.
Upon my return to the dr.s rooms with the pink door my way was blocked by a heavily pregnant lady who had dropped her dipstick and was attempting to retrieve it. Like a giraffe at the watering hole her legas were spread to accommodate her colossal tummy in the bend. Her one hand hung onto the receptionist desk and the other groped for the silly stick. I looked over to Eugene who had a twinkle in his eye as he watched the exercise . I considered for a moment helping the poor unfortunate preggie but it occurred to me that I was not inclined to touch stuff I had peed on let alone stuff that someone ells had peed on and besides this was hilarious and since people would laugh at me like that in a couple of weeks I may as well enjoy the spectacle. Finally Eugene and I met the doctor. Dr. Yasmeen is a kindly little Muslim lady whom we both liked instantly.
She asked us questions about our medical history and asked me how far along I thought I was, her and my calculations differed by only a day and I patted myself and my google info on the back
But the fact was that these questions and details were simply a prelude, soon I was lead into a darkened room and my eyes instantly focused on the ultrasound machine. I was weighed and my blood pressure checked and just as I was asked to lie down on the bed Eugene was called in. as doctor put conductor gel on my tummy he took his place behind me and took my hand in his.
Without warning there it was
Perfectly clear our baby
Till today I cannot tell you what I found more memorable. That busy little baby rolling around for us to see or Eugenes hand squeezing mine, perhaps it was knowing that while I cried black eye liner all over Dr. Yasmeens pillow the big burly man behind me was unashamedly crying with me. It was the most amazing moment for us as a couple and I doubt there has ever been a moment in either our lives that would beat that.
Our baby performed beautifully and pushed at the scanner giving us a great view of five fingers and then turned so you could count the vertebra in its back.
We were only slightly disappointed to that we could not find out the sex of the baby there and then but we were perfectly content knowing that he or she is perfectly happy and growing exactly the way it should.
We left the elephant there and drove home smiling like goof balls saying over and over how amazing that was.
Now its real now I know I’m becoming a mom and I can barely wait for our next appointment is “Thingy” a girl or a boy.
Both of us were terrified, excited mind you but terrified. Our quest to become educated about our pregnancy had accomplished little more than to turn us into nervous wrecks.
To one another we were desperately trying to present a positive picture of confidence while in reality we were thinking about what our chances were of finding out that our baby had stopped growing.
Or repeating to ourselves the statistics of downs syndrome or infant deformities, conjoined twins and all the other horrors that prompt e-mail chain letters.
For a moment I chastised myself for refusing to forward those e-mails. Right there and Then I bargained with the universe promising to send every annoying- send this to as many people as possible burnt baby email that enters my inbox if my baby would just please be alright.
Admittedly not all of my fears were well founded or even based on excessive research.
I actually feared that the baby that had been mine and Eugene’s soul obsession for the past three months did not exssist at all.
When I felt anything other than utter shit I convinced myself that I was not pregnant and that I was simply picking up ridicules amounts of weight. When I felt like utter shit I was sure it was an indication that there was something wrong with the baby.
As we drove the tree lined streets to the hospital though it felt like both conflicting fears and a whole array of others had culminated around me and I felt like I was about to puke butterflies.
I appreciated the fact that if that is how I felt Eugene must have felt ten time wore, as unlike me he has a tendency to over think things but he handled it like the big burly pillar of strength I expect him to be. Only the little wrinkles around his eyes belied the fact that his head was about to explode.
When we finally reached the Birchmore hospital in parktown the elephant followed us into the waiting room with the pink door and stomped around in front of us as we waited to meet Dr. Yasmeen for the first time.
We had never met the doctor as I had avoided any contact with any doctor for as long as I remember and I had put special effort into not being accosted by a doctor who chose to major in fannies.
However one of the great necessities of a pregnancy is a presiding gyno whose soul job is often to belay the ridiculous fears of neurotic mother to be such as myself.
And one of my greatest necessities was a gyno who was willing to accept medical aids so after five hundred phone calls in search of this endangered creature we found Dr. Yasmeen and other that she took medical aid we knew very little about her.
After getting the medical aid nitty-gritties out of the way the receptionist issued me with a urine dip stick and sent me to the ladies. It occurred to me then that pregnancy can be defined as a time when your primary concerns are your upchuck reflex and trying not to pee on your hand. But I had long since accepted that there was little dignity in this thing called pregnancy and dutifully squatted at command.
Upon my return to the dr.s rooms with the pink door my way was blocked by a heavily pregnant lady who had dropped her dipstick and was attempting to retrieve it. Like a giraffe at the watering hole her legas were spread to accommodate her colossal tummy in the bend. Her one hand hung onto the receptionist desk and the other groped for the silly stick. I looked over to Eugene who had a twinkle in his eye as he watched the exercise . I considered for a moment helping the poor unfortunate preggie but it occurred to me that I was not inclined to touch stuff I had peed on let alone stuff that someone ells had peed on and besides this was hilarious and since people would laugh at me like that in a couple of weeks I may as well enjoy the spectacle. Finally Eugene and I met the doctor. Dr. Yasmeen is a kindly little Muslim lady whom we both liked instantly.
She asked us questions about our medical history and asked me how far along I thought I was, her and my calculations differed by only a day and I patted myself and my google info on the back
But the fact was that these questions and details were simply a prelude, soon I was lead into a darkened room and my eyes instantly focused on the ultrasound machine. I was weighed and my blood pressure checked and just as I was asked to lie down on the bed Eugene was called in. as doctor put conductor gel on my tummy he took his place behind me and took my hand in his.
Without warning there it was
Perfectly clear our baby
Till today I cannot tell you what I found more memorable. That busy little baby rolling around for us to see or Eugenes hand squeezing mine, perhaps it was knowing that while I cried black eye liner all over Dr. Yasmeens pillow the big burly man behind me was unashamedly crying with me. It was the most amazing moment for us as a couple and I doubt there has ever been a moment in either our lives that would beat that.
Our baby performed beautifully and pushed at the scanner giving us a great view of five fingers and then turned so you could count the vertebra in its back.
We were only slightly disappointed to that we could not find out the sex of the baby there and then but we were perfectly content knowing that he or she is perfectly happy and growing exactly the way it should.
We left the elephant there and drove home smiling like goof balls saying over and over how amazing that was.
Now its real now I know I’m becoming a mom and I can barely wait for our next appointment is “Thingy” a girl or a boy.
our first sonar
On Friday Eugene and myself drove to our first pre-natal appointment with an elephant in the back seat. The out of place pachyderm sat quietly not unnoticed but definitely undiscussed.
Both of us were terrified, excited mind you but terrified. Our quest to become educated about our pregnancy had accomplished little more than to turn us into nervous wrecks.
To one another we were desperately trying to present a positive picture of confidence while in reality we were thinking about what our chances were of finding out that our baby had stopped growing.
Or repeating to ourselves the statistics of downs syndrome or infant deformities, conjoined twins and all the other horrors that prompt e-mail chain letters.
For a moment I chastised myself for refusing to forward those e-mails. Right there and Then I bargained with the universe promising to send every annoying- send this to as many people as possible burnt baby email that enters my inbox if my baby would just please be alright.
Admittedly not all of my fears were well founded or even based on excessive research.
I actually feared that the baby that had been mine and Eugene’s soul obsession for the past three months did not exssist at all.
When I felt anything other than utter shit I convinced myself that I was not pregnant and that I was simply picking up ridicules amounts of weight. When I felt like utter shit I was sure it was an indication that there was something wrong with the baby.
As we drove the tree lined streets to the hospital though it felt like both conflicting fears and a whole array of others had culminated around me and I felt like I was about to puke butterflies.
I appreciated the fact that if that is how I felt Eugene must have felt ten time wore, as unlike me he has a tendency to over think things but he handled it like the big burly pillar of strength I expect him to be. Only the little wrinkles around his eyes belied the fact that his head was about to explode.
When we finally reached the Birchmore hospital in parktown the elephant followed us into the waiting room with the pink door and stomped around in front of us as we waited to meet Dr. Yasmeen for the first time.
We had never met the doctor as I had avoided any contact with any doctor for as long as I remember and I had put special effort into not being accosted by a doctor who chose to major in fannies.
However one of the great necessities of a pregnancy is a presiding gyno whose soul job is often to belay the ridiculous fears of neurotic mother to be such as myself.
And one of my greatest necessities was a gyno who was willing to accept medical aids so after five hundred phone calls in search of this endangered creature we found Dr. Yasmeen and other that she took medical aid we knew very little about her.
After getting the medical aid nitty-gritties out of the way the receptionist issued me with a urine dip stick and sent me to the ladies. It occurred to me then that pregnancy can be defined as a time when your primary concerns are your upchuck reflex and trying not to pee on your hand. But I had long since accepted that there was little dignity in this thing called pregnancy and dutifully squatted at command.
Upon my return to the dr.s rooms with the pink door my way was blocked by a heavily pregnant lady who had dropped her dipstick and was attempting to retrieve it. Like a giraffe at the watering hole her legas were spread to accommodate her colossal tummy in the bend. Her one hand hung onto the receptionist desk and the other groped for the silly stick. I looked over to Eugene who had a twinkle in his eye as he watched the exercise . I considered for a moment helping the poor unfortunate preggie but it occurred to me that I was not inclined to touch stuff I had peed on let alone stuff that someone ells had peed on and besides this was hilarious and since people would laugh at me like that in a couple of weeks I may as well enjoy the spectacle. Finally Eugene and I met the doctor. Dr. Yasmeen is a kindly little Muslim lady whom we both liked instantly.
She asked us questions about our medical history and asked me how far along I thought I was, her and my calculations differed by only a day and I patted myself and my google info on the back
But the fact was that these questions and details were simply a prelude, soon I was lead into a darkened room and my eyes instantly focused on the ultrasound machine. I was weighed and my blood pressure checked and just as I was asked to lie down on the bed Eugene was called in. as doctor put conductor gel on my tummy he took his place behind me and took my hand in his.
Without warning there it was
Perfectly clear our baby
Till today I cannot tell you what I found more memorable. That busy little baby rolling around for us to see or Eugenes hand squeezing mine, perhaps it was knowing that while I cried black eye liner all over Dr. Yasmeens pillow the big burly man behind me was unashamedly crying with me. It was the most amazing moment for us as a couple and I doubt there has ever been a moment in either our lives that would beat that.
Our baby performed beautifully and pushed at the scanner giving us a great view of five fingers and then turned so you could count the vertebra in its back.
We were only slightly disappointed to that we could not find out the sex of the baby there and then but we were perfectly content knowing that he or she is perfectly happy and growing exactly the way it should.
We left the elephant there and drove home smiling like goof balls saying over and over how amazing that was.
Now its real now I know I’m becoming a mom and I can barely wait for our next appointment is “Thingy” a girl or a boy.
Both of us were terrified, excited mind you but terrified. Our quest to become educated about our pregnancy had accomplished little more than to turn us into nervous wrecks.
To one another we were desperately trying to present a positive picture of confidence while in reality we were thinking about what our chances were of finding out that our baby had stopped growing.
Or repeating to ourselves the statistics of downs syndrome or infant deformities, conjoined twins and all the other horrors that prompt e-mail chain letters.
For a moment I chastised myself for refusing to forward those e-mails. Right there and Then I bargained with the universe promising to send every annoying- send this to as many people as possible burnt baby email that enters my inbox if my baby would just please be alright.
Admittedly not all of my fears were well founded or even based on excessive research.
I actually feared that the baby that had been mine and Eugene’s soul obsession for the past three months did not exssist at all.
When I felt anything other than utter shit I convinced myself that I was not pregnant and that I was simply picking up ridicules amounts of weight. When I felt like utter shit I was sure it was an indication that there was something wrong with the baby.
As we drove the tree lined streets to the hospital though it felt like both conflicting fears and a whole array of others had culminated around me and I felt like I was about to puke butterflies.
I appreciated the fact that if that is how I felt Eugene must have felt ten time wore, as unlike me he has a tendency to over think things but he handled it like the big burly pillar of strength I expect him to be. Only the little wrinkles around his eyes belied the fact that his head was about to explode.
When we finally reached the Birchmore hospital in parktown the elephant followed us into the waiting room with the pink door and stomped around in front of us as we waited to meet Dr. Yasmeen for the first time.
We had never met the doctor as I had avoided any contact with any doctor for as long as I remember and I had put special effort into not being accosted by a doctor who chose to major in fannies.
However one of the great necessities of a pregnancy is a presiding gyno whose soul job is often to belay the ridiculous fears of neurotic mother to be such as myself.
And one of my greatest necessities was a gyno who was willing to accept medical aids so after five hundred phone calls in search of this endangered creature we found Dr. Yasmeen and other that she took medical aid we knew very little about her.
After getting the medical aid nitty-gritties out of the way the receptionist issued me with a urine dip stick and sent me to the ladies. It occurred to me then that pregnancy can be defined as a time when your primary concerns are your upchuck reflex and trying not to pee on your hand. But I had long since accepted that there was little dignity in this thing called pregnancy and dutifully squatted at command.
Upon my return to the dr.s rooms with the pink door my way was blocked by a heavily pregnant lady who had dropped her dipstick and was attempting to retrieve it. Like a giraffe at the watering hole her legas were spread to accommodate her colossal tummy in the bend. Her one hand hung onto the receptionist desk and the other groped for the silly stick. I looked over to Eugene who had a twinkle in his eye as he watched the exercise . I considered for a moment helping the poor unfortunate preggie but it occurred to me that I was not inclined to touch stuff I had peed on let alone stuff that someone ells had peed on and besides this was hilarious and since people would laugh at me like that in a couple of weeks I may as well enjoy the spectacle. Finally Eugene and I met the doctor. Dr. Yasmeen is a kindly little Muslim lady whom we both liked instantly.
She asked us questions about our medical history and asked me how far along I thought I was, her and my calculations differed by only a day and I patted myself and my google info on the back
But the fact was that these questions and details were simply a prelude, soon I was lead into a darkened room and my eyes instantly focused on the ultrasound machine. I was weighed and my blood pressure checked and just as I was asked to lie down on the bed Eugene was called in. as doctor put conductor gel on my tummy he took his place behind me and took my hand in his.
Without warning there it was
Perfectly clear our baby
Till today I cannot tell you what I found more memorable. That busy little baby rolling around for us to see or Eugenes hand squeezing mine, perhaps it was knowing that while I cried black eye liner all over Dr. Yasmeens pillow the big burly man behind me was unashamedly crying with me. It was the most amazing moment for us as a couple and I doubt there has ever been a moment in either our lives that would beat that.
Our baby performed beautifully and pushed at the scanner giving us a great view of five fingers and then turned so you could count the vertebra in its back.
We were only slightly disappointed to that we could not find out the sex of the baby there and then but we were perfectly content knowing that he or she is perfectly happy and growing exactly the way it should.
We left the elephant there and drove home smiling like goof balls saying over and over how amazing that was.
Now its real now I know I’m becoming a mom and I can barely wait for our next appointment is “Thingy” a girl or a boy.
weird dream
Last night I dreamt that I was having a normal tough day at the office, from my third person view I could see that I was very very pregnant.
I looked like a cow.
I was banging away at the keyboard while talking on the phone.
Bla bla bla I went and then fell silent.
This being my dream there was no shortage of exaggerations as my water broke right there and then like the Vaal damn bursting. It was ankle deep all over the floor.
Well at least I hope this is an exaggeration.
Anyway a bunch of my colleges came rushing into the room as I calmly told my client I had to go and immediately dialed Eugene’s number.
“hallo” ….
“I’m fine”…
“yes listen are you busy cos I need you to do something”….
“well its kina urgent, will you go home and get my hospital bag pleas?”…
“yes and then meat me at the hospital”
“my water just broke”
“no Im fine”
And I hung up.
Am I the only one who thinks that was weird.
I got into my car latched my seatbelt put my hazard on and proceeded to drive myself to the hospital.
At this point the dream ended and I know it was a dream because in real life I would probably get lost on my way to the hospital and end up having my kid at a petrol station in Soweto
I calmly got up and packed my laptop up and demanded my bag be carried by one of the sallow faced people wading through amniotic fluid.
I looked like a cow.
I was banging away at the keyboard while talking on the phone.
Bla bla bla I went and then fell silent.
This being my dream there was no shortage of exaggerations as my water broke right there and then like the Vaal damn bursting. It was ankle deep all over the floor.
Well at least I hope this is an exaggeration.
Anyway a bunch of my colleges came rushing into the room as I calmly told my client I had to go and immediately dialed Eugene’s number.
“hallo” ….
“I’m fine”…
“yes listen are you busy cos I need you to do something”….
“well its kina urgent, will you go home and get my hospital bag pleas?”…
“yes and then meat me at the hospital”
“my water just broke”
“no Im fine”
And I hung up.
Am I the only one who thinks that was weird.
I got into my car latched my seatbelt put my hazard on and proceeded to drive myself to the hospital.
At this point the dream ended and I know it was a dream because in real life I would probably get lost on my way to the hospital and end up having my kid at a petrol station in Soweto
I calmly got up and packed my laptop up and demanded my bag be carried by one of the sallow faced people wading through amniotic fluid.
It happens
When I first fell pregnant I looked at the 9 month calendar with dread and apprehension, convinced that waiting 9 months to see our baby would be excruciating and I had quite convinced myself that before the end of the third trimester the curiosity and expectation would have burned a hole in my head.
Yet before I could wipe the purity out my eyes I am standing at the end of my first trimester with only six months to go.
I had also suffered an illusion that hubby being who he is, me being as impatient as I am would, by now, have everything organized and planned out.
We have, to say the least, been overwhelmed by the amount of stuff Baby will need and have failed to make a move on anything till now.
The room that we have designated for baby remains little more than a disorganized laundry room with sad curtains and a cupboard full of PC parts. And I have only just found a doctor that suites my strict budgetary requirements
I have thus come to the conclusion that mother nature does not need nine months to grow a baby and it is well within her power to start producing a “just add water” production model for child birth. However being a woman and understanding the fact that human beings are a flawed species she had the foresight to provide us with a 9 month grace period during which we can if not mentally, but habitually prepare ourselves for the greatest responsibility of our lives.
After that it’s up to us.
One day you find yourself flat on your back in a hospital ward with your legs spread like a Russian gymnast and a voice like an African Vuvuzela trying desperately not to poo in the doctor’s hands while at the same time pushing to expel a whole human being from your body’s most unlikely orifice.
You’ll grunt and squeal like a Christmas pig and swear like a liquored up sailor and perhaps for the first time in your life not be compelled to stop your Mascara from running, but before you can completely curse the day you met the pail faced fear stricken man by your side “it happens”.
A tiny wrinkly little body attached to a very big very high pitched voice comes howling into the big bad world.
You’ll smile while doctors and nurses pretend they notice that he looks like you.
Provided daddy is still on his feet and not comatose under the doctors feel he’ll be given the howling bundle to hold and you’ll marvel at how gentle he can be with those paws of his.
For the most part it’s a perfect utopian picture and its one no parent ever forgets (apparently) but you do forget that 3 days later you stomp about the house in a sleep deprived mess, wearing one slipper, an unlatched nursing bra and a chopstick in your hair.
You forget that every day you go and pee in excruciating pain and hope that by some miracle the instruction manual that you are sure got lost in transit, may appear.
After all there must be some comprehensive guide that can tell you what exactly is the limit to the amount of fluid that kid can expel and how long can one go without sleep before one starts to dissolve.
Alas there is none, not even a measly “handle with care” sticker.
583 phone calls to your mom and 3weeks latter you slowly get the hang of it and the details of the first few days fade into insignificance, you’ll simply say “it was hard” and smile at the Lilliputian version of his dad in his crib.
In this instance mother nature’s wisdom is limitless. Somehow she knew you could do it on your own and to make sure that you don’t discourage your kin from walking the path she equipped you with a selectively bad memory.
I have been told that babies are a miracle, but my very close observation of new mommies and old mommies and mommies to be has lead me believe that a mommy’s resilience is by no means just a small part of that miracle.
Yet before I could wipe the purity out my eyes I am standing at the end of my first trimester with only six months to go.
I had also suffered an illusion that hubby being who he is, me being as impatient as I am would, by now, have everything organized and planned out.
We have, to say the least, been overwhelmed by the amount of stuff Baby will need and have failed to make a move on anything till now.
The room that we have designated for baby remains little more than a disorganized laundry room with sad curtains and a cupboard full of PC parts. And I have only just found a doctor that suites my strict budgetary requirements
I have thus come to the conclusion that mother nature does not need nine months to grow a baby and it is well within her power to start producing a “just add water” production model for child birth. However being a woman and understanding the fact that human beings are a flawed species she had the foresight to provide us with a 9 month grace period during which we can if not mentally, but habitually prepare ourselves for the greatest responsibility of our lives.
After that it’s up to us.
One day you find yourself flat on your back in a hospital ward with your legs spread like a Russian gymnast and a voice like an African Vuvuzela trying desperately not to poo in the doctor’s hands while at the same time pushing to expel a whole human being from your body’s most unlikely orifice.
You’ll grunt and squeal like a Christmas pig and swear like a liquored up sailor and perhaps for the first time in your life not be compelled to stop your Mascara from running, but before you can completely curse the day you met the pail faced fear stricken man by your side “it happens”.
A tiny wrinkly little body attached to a very big very high pitched voice comes howling into the big bad world.
You’ll smile while doctors and nurses pretend they notice that he looks like you.
Provided daddy is still on his feet and not comatose under the doctors feel he’ll be given the howling bundle to hold and you’ll marvel at how gentle he can be with those paws of his.
For the most part it’s a perfect utopian picture and its one no parent ever forgets (apparently) but you do forget that 3 days later you stomp about the house in a sleep deprived mess, wearing one slipper, an unlatched nursing bra and a chopstick in your hair.
You forget that every day you go and pee in excruciating pain and hope that by some miracle the instruction manual that you are sure got lost in transit, may appear.
After all there must be some comprehensive guide that can tell you what exactly is the limit to the amount of fluid that kid can expel and how long can one go without sleep before one starts to dissolve.
Alas there is none, not even a measly “handle with care” sticker.
583 phone calls to your mom and 3weeks latter you slowly get the hang of it and the details of the first few days fade into insignificance, you’ll simply say “it was hard” and smile at the Lilliputian version of his dad in his crib.
In this instance mother nature’s wisdom is limitless. Somehow she knew you could do it on your own and to make sure that you don’t discourage your kin from walking the path she equipped you with a selectively bad memory.
I have been told that babies are a miracle, but my very close observation of new mommies and old mommies and mommies to be has lead me believe that a mommy’s resilience is by no means just a small part of that miracle.
Im scared
With the first trimester firmly behind me and the slow emergence of a profile resembling that of a Cambodian orphan I am on constant lookout for that Pulitzer prize winning vulture, the carrion eating hellbird has yet to show its face leaving me to deal with the ever increasing influx of woman who naturally gravitate towards preggies such as myself.
After much practice I have learnt to suppress my urge to shoo of the gaggle of congregating belly touchers that attack me around every corner and to enjoy the female company for the first time in my life.
To my shock and amazements I have to admit that this has not been a completely terrible experience as these woman tend to be an endless source of encouragement and ,unlike many other people, actually expect a longwinded answer when enquiring about your day and your health.
They are perfectly happy to answer stupid questions about nappy brands and breastfeeding without looking at me as if I’m an invalid. It seems that each just feels honored that you chose to ask her.
I have thus tapped into an endless resource of advice and knowledge that , unlike the preggie books don’t bombard you with ever increasing list of things you should not do.
On Friday Eugene and I will see an OBGYN for the first time an event that I approach with both fear and expectation.
The fact is that for as long as I care to remember I have avoided any form of doctor like an ABBA reunion concert. So on Friday I will clear my mind of any thoughts of my remaining dignity and spread my little legs for a complete stranger.
I have learnt that pregnancy is a trade off and this is no exception, in return for my willingness to subject my vajayjay to severe scrutiny I get to see my baby for the very first time, we get to hear his little heart beating and with any luck we may be able to find out if it’s a pink one or a blue one and settle the arguments once and for all.
Sadly I must admit that my excitement had been marred by the fact that I am having nightmares about what might show up on that screen.
Since the day I found out that I was pregnant I have googled my fingers to the bone and have print stains on my fingers from paging through stacks of pregnancy magazines.
I have read about birth defects and preemies and miscarriages and infant distress and cutting the cord to soon, the effects of too little folic acid and too much fish I have tried to be versed on what one should do and what one shouldn’t do. Too much exercise, too little exercise.
At the moment I am a walking dictionary on every possible eventuality and I am a neurotic mess. More so than I normally am and I carry a constant fear that something may be wrong or that despite my best efforts I am harming little Tyler or Liana.
If I feel too good I convince myself that the baby has stopped growing if I feel too bad I tell myself this is not normal.
Not even the fact that people are now starting to comment on my belly soothes the loony inside.
I hope that once Friday has passed my fears will be laid to rest
Fair Thee Well.. Kak day
This morning it dawned on me like a dark Tranvaal thunder cloud. Up until now I had never considered it, I admit it was a concern, but it was a concern that paled into insignificance in light of the ever increasing amount of larger problems I have been forced to deal with since “Thingy’s” arrival in my life.
When I put my mind to it, I can honestly say that I recall very few significant valentines days in my life. And to make matters worse the only Valentines’ day Eugene and I succeeded in spending together was marred by the fact that my scull was at that point registering its disgust with my lack of dental attention by expelling, rather painfully I might add, one of my back molars from my jaw.
The resulting effect was a 9pm high speed trip around Gauteng to find an emergency dentist (a species more endangered then the Do-Do) as the effects of the 26 mypaids I was sure would tide me over had worn of.
In preceding years my general attitude towards the utterly ridiculous waste of my time left much to be desired, as I marched about clad in black grumbling about consumerist propaganda. Those with a mind to persuade me that it was a “nice” holiday were told that I was dying from sugar shock and had their friend cards revoked.
No Ladies and Gentlemen Leanne Parker is by no means a Valentines day fan.
This said, I have to admit that when it finally dawned on me that this Valentines day would be the very last of these loathsome days that I would spend in a degree of care freeness I was slightly disturbed.
By Next year Eugene and I would have become one of those couples whose only wish for the day is peace and quite and some semblance of the life we once lived.
“Us time” will be at the top of our wish list.
Pleased don’t get me wrong I’m Pleased as pie (that’s one of my new mommy phrases) that by this time next year “Thingy” would have arrived in all its wet stinky glory, I am simply caught in a moment of reflection.
All of this however has driven me to the decision that I am going to moderately scale down the bitching to a tolerable level where I may enjoy and celebrate the next 6months of moments where I will be able to say “you know this is the last time”
Like the last Christmas we spent as people.
The very last time I saw my waistline.
The last time I could walk into a shop and not dart for the baby section.
The last time I googled anything that had nothing to do with pregnancy or children.
My last birthday that I can behave irresponsibly (well almost)
The last DVD I get to rent that isn’t animated
The last time we can go to a restaurant that doesn’t have high chairs
The last time we can…..well you know… I think my gran reads this I can’t say that kina stuff.
And sometime in September “Thingy” will arrive and put and end to life as I know it.
The birth of our baby will put an end to a great many things.
For instance hopefully it will put an end to the raging argument about “Thingy’s” name and sex.
“Thingy” will put and end to whole nights of sleep and nursery decoration.
He or she will poop and pee its disgust at afternoon naps and every item of white clothing mom owns.
I hear passing the pencil test also becomes a thing of the past and oh lets not forget the slow painful death of the “entertainment budget”
Contrary to popular believe I will not become a citizen of the state of mourning for a time that has quite obviously run its coarse.
No I have decided that I am going to keep my mind on the rare privilege in my future. One reserved for children and new mommies and daddies.
After all who would have thought that at the age of 25 I will be able to say
“this is the first time”
And while clubs and couture and sleeping till 9am will fade into the memories of my past my future hold new things like;
First Christmases, first time at a family restaurant as a family, first smile, first step, first day of school….
On other news I just bought two huge yet stylish tops that should hide the baby bump for a while.
Aunty Chaz has graciously offered to buy “Thingy” a cot and I suspect that her motivation behind the generosity spawns from being witness to my past dealings with children.
Granny Ina has been equally as giving and has found a cherry wood compactem for “Thingy’s” bath and other gee-go’s and Granny Parker is sewing her fingers to the bone creating a doughnut contraption.
Eugene and I will be spending out Valentines at the Wescliff hotel pretending that we are Oh so La-di-da and taking full advantage of the end of morning sickness and exhaustion oh and that other perk that comes along with pregnancy
CHANGING
I maintain that I must have once had a relationship with “that man Murphy” a relationship ,mind you, that must have gone sour because I can honestly not think of any other reason for a person to begrudge me so maliciously.
You see a few days ago I was reaching the end of my rapidly fraying rope, I felt like I was drowning and in accordance I posted a very strongly worded bitch fit to express to my very minute reader base that I felt like utter crap and I needed someone to tell me that its okay and remind me that this little pitfall is a ditch in comparison to some of the mighty sinkholes I have talked my way out of.
I have decided to not remove that ill advised rant from this documentation of my pregnancy, arguing that, contrary to popular believe, I am not that far removed from the normal 2x chromosome baring homosapian and if I have days like these other preggies have them too and somewhere there should be someone telling these poor sods that its quite normal to despise your life from time to time.
(Dear reader if you do decide to hate your life please do so responsibly)
Damn I’ve lost my train of thought…….
Oh yes. As I was going to say in my very long winded explanation of something mind numbingly simple…..
This post however served a duel purpose in that it proved to me that my little thingy has inherited its daddies good luck gene.
Not only did the whole financial mess take a positive turn after the post but something very strange happened.
An old friend whom I have not spoken to in a year tract my blog down and read it.
Refreshing as it is to hear that there are still people out there who are into the kind of self fladulating behavior that would prompt one to sit through my over descriptive monologs, I Still came close to swallowing my tongue when she phoned.
In a state of utter shock we met for coffee and my friend then proceeded to hand me the subject for my next post on a silver platter.
(And you thought this was the post)
“I remember” she said, and I flinched as I tend to do when people start sentences like that lately. “You used to say that you would never have children”.
I smiled and tried to pan my current pregnant state off to fate having decided otherwise.
The fact of the matter however was that she was quite right about my past convictions and admittedly I had mentioned that I was waiting for menopause before I decided to have kids.
This got me thinking, and after about five seconds of quite contemplation (I can only manage five seconds at a time) I realized that practically every single one of my convictions have been changed by the abrupt arrival of the Thingy into my life.
Pre-pregnancy I professed that I would take every possible step to have a pain free birth and now I advocate natural birth.
I was convinced that hospitals were the place to be and yet today I am making plans to convince gene that a home birth would be better.
Don’t even get me started on the breast feeding thing.
But I think the most markable change is the fact that I am bursting at the seems with excitement at the prospect of becoming a mom.
How weird is that.
Next thing you know Ill want to get married, luckily I know that the scheduled falling of the sky will prevent this lunacy from coming to fruition… but still.
Eugene is no exception to the matter. The man has become a walking talking baby catalog, as he merrily goes on his way dealing with this as he does with any momentous occasion in his life.
By buying gadgets.
Luckily for him Babies come with lots of gadgets and my man has been having sleepless nights fantasizing about his plans to make our kid the most wired up baby in the history of man kind.
He has also adopted that far away contemplative look you used to see superman wearing as he gazes into the sunset and reflects on how to change world.
It seems that while a woman grows to the size of an oil tanker during pregnancy men change in their own way and suddenly shoulder the responsibility of changing the world to a place fit to house the fruit of his loins.
He will stop using bad language and start smoking outside, he’ll chastise you about the way you drive and the safety of what you drive.
He’ll start reading the labels on food stuffs to check for led paint, melamine and whatever ells the Chinese are poisoning our food with.
Dad’s to be walk around the garden plotting out construction sites for jungle gyms and tree houses.
He becomes concerned with the swimming pool gate that doesn’t lock and starts training three boisterous pit bulls to play softly.
I swear my dogs are the only dogs in the world that adjust their behavior the moment the word baby is mentioned.
He becomes a decorator and handy man, and gives me disapproving looks every time I forget about the child proving and almost rip the cupboard door off its hinges.
And every week and every day that goes by while you curse things like stretch marks, bathplug nipples and the cost of baby crap you realize that what they say in those cliché magazines is true.
The moment you fall pregnant the you that you knew dies and you start from scratch because everything changes, its like being a teenager all over again.
And just when you think you’ve come to terms with pregnant you, you have to start again and meet mommy you.
How daunting
YAY FOR ME!
Reset, Restart, Reload
During my short stint as a PC gamer I developed a handy sense for when a mission has gone so far wrong it’s beyond salvation. I learnt to cut my loses instead of forging ahead to an almost certain defeat.
Today is not shaping up to be a good day, I would wager that it may turn out to be an even more dismal day then yesterday.
Today I find myself reflecting on the fact that life like those games has reached a point where the mission should be aborted, the outcome is almost certainly hopeless and despite my best efforts I am drowning.
Unfortunately in real life the reset button is the off button and you don’t get to try again later.
I was short paid this last month and I fear the same outcome at the end of the month.
The house is costing us a fortune and people owe us money.
My medical aid may not cover my pregnancy and there is no way of knowing whether they will without my condition being diagnosed.
We can’t do that because we have no money.
Nedbank wants to sue me Nashua mobile wants to sue me Im behind on my car payment and my loan payment.
My car needs services my tires have no tread on them my rims are bent and I have no breaks.
I have fines to pay, and a child to prepare for.
People are pressuring me to get married, I don’t have enough clients.
I desperately want to see my baby just to make sure that all this is real but I cant afford the scan, Im playing a guessing game about stuff I know nothing about.
I want to crawl into a hole and never come out again.
Eugene is so good about trying to keep me from stressing but I know hes worried so Im more worried because I am helpless.
Today is not shaping up to be a good day, I would wager that it may turn out to be an even more dismal day then yesterday.
Today I find myself reflecting on the fact that life like those games has reached a point where the mission should be aborted, the outcome is almost certainly hopeless and despite my best efforts I am drowning.
Unfortunately in real life the reset button is the off button and you don’t get to try again later.
I was short paid this last month and I fear the same outcome at the end of the month.
The house is costing us a fortune and people owe us money.
My medical aid may not cover my pregnancy and there is no way of knowing whether they will without my condition being diagnosed.
We can’t do that because we have no money.
Nedbank wants to sue me Nashua mobile wants to sue me Im behind on my car payment and my loan payment.
My car needs services my tires have no tread on them my rims are bent and I have no breaks.
I have fines to pay, and a child to prepare for.
People are pressuring me to get married, I don’t have enough clients.
I desperately want to see my baby just to make sure that all this is real but I cant afford the scan, Im playing a guessing game about stuff I know nothing about.
I want to crawl into a hole and never come out again.
Eugene is so good about trying to keep me from stressing but I know hes worried so Im more worried because I am helpless.
In the catagory of subjects not discussed
It has been my experience that most of the information that first time mothers- to-be get from “so-called” reliable sources is, to say the very least, inadequate and incomplete.
This explains why woman without children regard you and your slowly dying waistline with envy and utter unmasked excitement, while the wiser mother of two seems to regard you with a measure of pity.
She knows what your going through and knows what is still to come, but dutiful to the unspoken code of decorum surrounding this event she refrains from scaring the crap out of you and simply warns you to take your vitamins.
So you dutifully pop a carefully regimented routine of folic acid and omega three, you refrain from sushi and drink non alcoholic beer that tastes like fermented cat urine, you pee constantly and your boobs hurt, but you smile when people tell you how wonderful it is because you know that this is normal.
You knew that this would happen long before you even seriously considered having children and you had long since come to the conclusion that these small hiccups are a small price to pay when in pursuit of fulfilling ones biological destiny.
Alas some time near the end of your first trimester you start to realize that when mankind was ordered to go forth and multiply, nobody stopped to negotiate the terms by which this frolicking fornication would take place.
And now you are stuck to bare the repercussion of gross non disclosure.
The ugly truth, that at some point you are going to stop and say “oh my god what have I done” is shrouded is impenetrable darkness and secrecy.
You were never told that you will go through a phase of morning for your now dead and gone social life or that you will silently wonder if you’ll love your baby enough to accept that you are now a frauw.
While you may only have wallowed in this self loathing cesspool of insanity for a short while you will feel the guilt of it for weeks or at least until you find a way to redeem your soul.
None of the magazines that you have suddenly taken to reading ever tell you that despite the endless crooning and attention you receive from every person you know, including those you thought you weren’t speaking to, you will on some level feel very alone.
The prospect of childbirth looms in your future as possibly the most terrifying thing you have ever faced and your body is doing all sorts of strange things. And while the daddy-to-be is aware of these life altering changes it is all a rather inconsequential abstract to him and you know it. He doesn’t grasp the full weight of what is happening to you and he was never designed to.
Someone should truly write a book about pregnancy definitions so that prospective preggies would know that the direct translation of “Morning sickness” is “all day, all night sickness that feels like your stomach lining is clawing its way up your thought” or that food aversions means that you will be averted to food in general, that you will constantly feel overeaten and even the slightest thought of anything creamy will make you want to vomit in your mouth.
The list of pregnancy symptoms should be revised to include;
-Farts so powerful it makes the nuclear holocaust look like a low adrenalin getaway.
-Feeling lethargic should be more adequately explained and an unparalleled exhaustion the likes of which are only rivaled by death itself.
- Your body is running at the same temperature Hitler once used to burn Jews at and yet you’re still feeling cold
-Back ache Back ache back ache!!!!!
And for crying in a bucket could somebody please for all the love in the world start making maternity wear that does not resemble a badly stitched circus tent from the 1800’s
Your going to want to kill him about a baby name and the nursery color scheme and he’s going to write your rage off to pregnancy mood swings, instead of your dream of the perfect kid with the perfect name being ruined by his utter inability to sit down shut-up and agree with you.
Any moment he spends lying on the couch will be seen as a direct reflection of his willingness to help out when the baby arrives and you will consider feeding him to your pets to spare yourself the aggravation.
You will feel the slight urge to impale the next person who uses their experience with babies thirteen years ago as a platform to tell you what to do and you will cringe every time some random person completely molests the principal of personal space to rub your tummy.
People who tell you that your glowing put themselves in serious danger of having their eyeballs donated to someone more likely to put them to actually use them and you are quite sure you’ll pass out at the sight of another pink polka dot.
And the truth is that you will feel terribly sorry for yourself much of the time while working incredibly hard to hide the feeling from other people because you too now prescribe to the pregnancy pact of “shut up and deal with it”
However all this considered it is kind of nice to know that you have hundreds of people who are all of a sudden incredibly concerned with your wellbeing.
It’s refreshing when daddy brings home take out when you don’t want to cook. Its great to know that my little sister is wishing my pregnancy over with as much impatience as I am because she cant wait to be an aunty.
Its also kina cool to sit back and remind yourself that you are getting closer to the end every day and that soon you get to be one of those wiser woman
This explains why woman without children regard you and your slowly dying waistline with envy and utter unmasked excitement, while the wiser mother of two seems to regard you with a measure of pity.
She knows what your going through and knows what is still to come, but dutiful to the unspoken code of decorum surrounding this event she refrains from scaring the crap out of you and simply warns you to take your vitamins.
So you dutifully pop a carefully regimented routine of folic acid and omega three, you refrain from sushi and drink non alcoholic beer that tastes like fermented cat urine, you pee constantly and your boobs hurt, but you smile when people tell you how wonderful it is because you know that this is normal.
You knew that this would happen long before you even seriously considered having children and you had long since come to the conclusion that these small hiccups are a small price to pay when in pursuit of fulfilling ones biological destiny.
Alas some time near the end of your first trimester you start to realize that when mankind was ordered to go forth and multiply, nobody stopped to negotiate the terms by which this frolicking fornication would take place.
And now you are stuck to bare the repercussion of gross non disclosure.
The ugly truth, that at some point you are going to stop and say “oh my god what have I done” is shrouded is impenetrable darkness and secrecy.
You were never told that you will go through a phase of morning for your now dead and gone social life or that you will silently wonder if you’ll love your baby enough to accept that you are now a frauw.
While you may only have wallowed in this self loathing cesspool of insanity for a short while you will feel the guilt of it for weeks or at least until you find a way to redeem your soul.
None of the magazines that you have suddenly taken to reading ever tell you that despite the endless crooning and attention you receive from every person you know, including those you thought you weren’t speaking to, you will on some level feel very alone.
The prospect of childbirth looms in your future as possibly the most terrifying thing you have ever faced and your body is doing all sorts of strange things. And while the daddy-to-be is aware of these life altering changes it is all a rather inconsequential abstract to him and you know it. He doesn’t grasp the full weight of what is happening to you and he was never designed to.
Someone should truly write a book about pregnancy definitions so that prospective preggies would know that the direct translation of “Morning sickness” is “all day, all night sickness that feels like your stomach lining is clawing its way up your thought” or that food aversions means that you will be averted to food in general, that you will constantly feel overeaten and even the slightest thought of anything creamy will make you want to vomit in your mouth.
The list of pregnancy symptoms should be revised to include;
-Farts so powerful it makes the nuclear holocaust look like a low adrenalin getaway.
-Feeling lethargic should be more adequately explained and an unparalleled exhaustion the likes of which are only rivaled by death itself.
- Your body is running at the same temperature Hitler once used to burn Jews at and yet you’re still feeling cold
-Back ache Back ache back ache!!!!!
And for crying in a bucket could somebody please for all the love in the world start making maternity wear that does not resemble a badly stitched circus tent from the 1800’s
Your going to want to kill him about a baby name and the nursery color scheme and he’s going to write your rage off to pregnancy mood swings, instead of your dream of the perfect kid with the perfect name being ruined by his utter inability to sit down shut-up and agree with you.
Any moment he spends lying on the couch will be seen as a direct reflection of his willingness to help out when the baby arrives and you will consider feeding him to your pets to spare yourself the aggravation.
You will feel the slight urge to impale the next person who uses their experience with babies thirteen years ago as a platform to tell you what to do and you will cringe every time some random person completely molests the principal of personal space to rub your tummy.
People who tell you that your glowing put themselves in serious danger of having their eyeballs donated to someone more likely to put them to actually use them and you are quite sure you’ll pass out at the sight of another pink polka dot.
And the truth is that you will feel terribly sorry for yourself much of the time while working incredibly hard to hide the feeling from other people because you too now prescribe to the pregnancy pact of “shut up and deal with it”
However all this considered it is kind of nice to know that you have hundreds of people who are all of a sudden incredibly concerned with your wellbeing.
It’s refreshing when daddy brings home take out when you don’t want to cook. Its great to know that my little sister is wishing my pregnancy over with as much impatience as I am because she cant wait to be an aunty.
Its also kina cool to sit back and remind yourself that you are getting closer to the end every day and that soon you get to be one of those wiser woman
hello
Today I start by apologizing for my long absence from this blog sighting the joys of pregnancy as my water tight reason for slothly behavior.
It just so happens that in the past few days I have been given ample reason to argue that pregnancy is by no means a wonderful experience nor do pregnant woman glow. And whomever said so has either not been pregnant or was smoking tik when they were.
No I don’t glow instead my complexion has taken on the depressing shade of partly putty and my temper is no less flexible for it.
I am tired all the time, my morning sickness seems to be of a rather ambitious strain that, despite my futile doses of crackers, aims to stick around all damn day.
My boobs are “stripper quality” huge and feel like they are back in puberty and to top it all of the pregnancy gods have deemed it so that I start to develop headaches as well.
Anyway…
Its seems that the orah of excitement surrounding the pregnancy has subsided somewhat and things are getting back to normal (except for the fact that I feel like kak all the time).
Eugene is still in worry overdrive and I am convinced that somewhere in the deep reaches of his PC he keeps a spreadsheet documenting my diet, vitamin frequency, sleep patterns, urination frequency and the like.
He also walks around warning people not to get on my nerves as my current condition fuels my already combustible temper to the point where I will gladly relieve your neck of the weight of your thick head. While this is a complete exaggeration I have not stopped him as I rather enjoy the valid excuse to walk around constantly cursing.
Tomorrow we are at eight weeks approximately and above are great pictures of what the Thingy looks like at this point
7 weeks David Nel
As of today I am seven weeks pregnant and as I say this with pride at having made it through another week without incident I am prompted to reflect on my pre-preggie days and my utter disgust at being told the term of a woman’s pregnancy in weeks.
In my stream lined perfect universe a woman was 2months pregnant or 4 months pregnant and not 8weeks or 16 weeks pregnant.
The labor of dividing weeks to illustrate months was by no means the highlight of watching other woman expand to the size of small countries and it did not take me long before I stopped asking that dumb “how far along are you question” all together.
However Pregnancy itself has a way of buggering up such streamlined perfect universes as mine and now in my own pregnant state I find myself inclined to the same horrible habit.
I also find that it is a habit born out of the fact that finding out you are pregnant is the best day of your life regardless of whether you expected the news or not, and
as soon as the euphoria starts to ware off, you realize exactly how long nine months is and that placing waypoints 30 days apart is cruel and unusual punishment for any expectant mother (or father for that matter).
Yes its called expectant for a reason and the fact it that marking your progress by weeks instead of months helps to calm the excitement that’s burning a hole in the back of your scull.
Yes Ladies, Gentleman, Grannies, Granddads, Great Grannies, Great Granddads, Aunties, Uncles Cuzons, Great Cuzons, and cuzons once removed.
I am at the front door of my seventh week and due to my regular consumption of nutritious low fat low taste meals have not picked up any weight, a fact that I am sure my mother will be proud of.
Don’t get me wrong I am by no means becoming a fan of the new “prego-rexia” movement. The fact is that since I only ate one meal a day before my pregnancy and have now increased that number to five I am doing exactly the opposite. A practice that, while providing the thingy with its daily dose of grub is speeding up my metabolism and while I am not picking up weight I may be slowly losing it.
I have also started to substitute my abnormally large intake of cheap coffee with moderate doses of earl grey tea.
I realize that tea also contains caffeine but after all the bad habits I have given up so far asking me to completely cut out caffeine would be the equivalent of asking me to flay the skin of my face.
IT AINT GONNA HAPPEN.
Sorry Thingy, Mommy’s no saint.
I drink more water and under Eugene’s unflinching vigilance take a multi- vitamin twice a day that makes my pee turn tennis ball yellow.
As far as the baby is concerned, Thingy is not lacking in news by any stretch of the imagination.
During this week Thingy should develop elbows and slowly but surely fingers that will, I’m sure, be sporting a Parker solute in no time.
Thingy is also busy growing feet, intestines and teeth this week and will be limiting the size of his head to a manageable size in accordance to our very long conversation about the limitations of mommy vjayjay.
Eugene and I have discussed the matter and decided that since Thingy will be taking his surname and thereby continuing Eugene and his father‘s endangered lineage I am entitled to name the baby after my father. Presuming we have a boy.
So if it’s a boy Thingy he will be named David Nel.
And I am hoping for a big mop of curly black hair.
Sobering Pregnant Lady Rant
The reason I stopped blogging was because I was finding it increasingly difficult to write. I argued that it was lack of reference material as apposed to skill that was so sorely lacking in my writing.
I promised myself that I would recommit myself to the failing cause as soon as I found a subject worthy of my genius.
Thus, upon discovering that I, a more unlikely creature than a hobbit, am expecting a baby, I took a duster to my key board and took another stab at changing the world (or at least those whose social lives have trickled down to an insignificance that warrants the reading of my profound bull shit).
After all pregnancy is a writers dream a single subject containing life changing revolutions, health and well being, romance, Violence (I hear mood swings can get pretty big), Hippopotami and boobs.
It’s a love story, its family drama, it’s a comedy and come the third trimester has great potential for an action ending.
Blast to hell were my rose colored idealisms when I discovered that while the big picture may present itself as a Pulitzer prize winner to the outsider the truth is that journaling a pregnancy is as boring as an oven glove.
There are only so many paragraphs one can write on the increasing pain and size of my boobs or the fact that pure exhaustion is slowly but surely strengthening my believe that woman have been badly done by in the great scheme of things.
Naturally I could resort regurgitating facts or taking the “pregnancy Magazine” approach to the situation and shovel some unsubstantiated rubbish that pregnancy and childbirth is the most wonderfully fulfilling experience.
The fact is that there is nothing fulfilling about feeling like you are permanently hung over or about trying to squeeze your incredibly tender boobs into a C cup that is as of two weeks ago a cup size to small.
No ladies and gentlemen its scary, It might even be funny at times but I assure you “wonderfully fulfilling” are not the adjectives I would have used.
Sobering…. Yes that’s it… Sobering would have been my choice description. A child takes all of three seconds to make you realize that your life up to now pales into insignificance in light of what you now face.
To remind you that no matter how old or stubborn you get you always need your mom.
That family are genetically programmed to love you the most when you desperately need it.
That people still have the ability to surprise me no matter how cynical I am.
And that contrary to my believe Eugene can manage excitement about an event that did not happen in strict accordance to his very well mapped out plan.
On Saturday right after my incessant complaining that my lack of morning sickness is fueling my neurosis Morning sickness pitched up and kicked me in the head.
I spent the whole afternoon feeling like I had endured a week in the company of a very unsympathetic tequila worm.
Eugene had a good giggle at me and proceeded to make it his personal mission to ensure that I get my nutrients despite my protesting digestive system.
Luckily the morning sickness dissipated at around 11pm that night and has as yet not resurfaced.
I intend to loge a formal complaint in the form of a very snotty letter with whom so ever is responsible for naming it morning sickness. This is clearly gross misrepresentation and I object.
I spent much of Sunday putting up the pretence that I am a normal human being and not a slowly inflating atomic incubator, all in the interest of our guest Louis.
I doubt that I was a very convincing and a diagnosis of my poor performance has prompted me to the decision that the next time I am temped to trade under a guise I should chose a subject I know more about and never attach the word “Normal” to its description.
I also made a phone call to the Cape Town Parker sect to share the happy news that my grandparents are to become great grand parents for the second time.
Gran cried as was expected of her.
It also just occurred to me that their first great grand child (the Australian born Tanner) was also born in September.
Either way the cape town branch are incredibly happy which makes us happy.
On another Note Eugene and I have deducted that given both our above average intelligence and exceptional genes, our child is guaranteed to be the most intelligent and good looking creature to ever be born into this world and is destined for world domination.
Hehehehehehe.
Things that I have learnt today
Babies need a lot of stuff. I mean really really a lot of stuff
Dear Little-tadpole-looking-thingy
Dear Little Tadpole-Looking-Fetus-Thingy
My name is Leanne but you can just call me Mommy. I’m the squishy wet stuff all around you, the drumming noise you can hear, that’s my heart and it’s all yours.
You surprised us my little thingy, we didn’t know you were there, but now that we do we wouldn’t have it any other way.
We admit that you weren’t expected but we will never deny how much you are wanted.
You’ve turned your Daddy into a real goofy dope, your arrival in our lives has rendered him comatose. He wonders around with a funny grin on he’s face and glassy eyes as he imagines little baby feet with little baby toes and a little baby nose.
He kisses you good morning every day and rubs my tummy at night, you’re his be it all and end it all and your not even a cm long.
I can’t wait for you to meet him.
I’m sorry if I’m getting some things wrong, you’re my first thingy and I don’t know much about you. But don’t worry I’m reading a lot and soon I should get it all right.
By now you should have noticed that the food has gotten better and I have fixed the air conditioning, soon you’ll have more space too and you and I can sort the rest out as we go along.
For now all you need to do is thingy stuff like grow and float and cause mommies boobs to hurt. Daddy and I will be out here getting the world ready for your arrival.
Lots of love
Mommy and Daddy
Does it all come with the bump?
I have read every baby magazine I could get my grubby little paws. I read glossy page after glossy page of mommies saying what a miracle it is to be pregnant and how wonderful it feels to know there’s a life growing inside you.
Unfortunately after my week long crash course in babies my stress levels have spiked not declined.
Despite the fact that I have stopped smoking and people now refrain from making loud noises and sudden movements around me. I only feel more and more stressed.
I feel stressed because stressed is all that I feel.
I have come to terms with the fact that I am going to become a mom and am to say the very least psyched about it, but I don’t feel pregnant.
Yes I know its an abstract term in essence and I have pondered the exact definition of it myself and while I have yet to come up with anything conclusive I am sure that feeling pregnant must feel different.
And I don’t feel different.
Apart from having a conscious motivation to eat more regularly, take my vitamins and quit my bad habits I feel the same.
And feeling normal has never been this uncomfortable before.
Apart from the intangible, abstract and perhaps idealistic feelings that I should be feeling I am also not displaying any of the more medical accurate symptoms.
I don’t have morning sickness
I don’t have food aversions (other than my aversion to the time consuming practice of eating more than once a day)
I don’t feel more tired than usual (Okay that a lie, I do but that’s only because I haven’t been sleeping lately because I was on the wrong side of the bed)
My sense of smell is only more acute because I’v quit smoking and the frequency of my bathroom visits is by no means an accurate benchmark as I have always had a bladder the size of an atom.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Yes I realize that all you more experienced woman are rolling your eyes at me ready to pick up the phone and remind me that I’m only six weeks along and all this will come.
And you don’t need to, I know that logically you are right, but the fact is that I am petrified that I am going to have that blood test done and the docs gonna tell me I’m not pregnant.
That I’m gonna have to go home and tell Eugene that that baby that he’s been kissing and talking to and bragging about never existed.
Drizel said that she only started to feel anything at 12 weeks and tomorrow when I have the blood work done (a prospect that in itself could reduce my towering confidence to rubble) I’m going to hanging on to that for dear life
Murphy mamma
Last month I said to the ladies at work that God was by no means an engineer, no engineer would have designed anything as dismally flawed in design and practicality as giving birth, personally I put it right up there with the platypus as prove that God has a sick sense of humor.
None of these ladies thought that was funny and have since taken to beating me with their handbags in the hallways.
I also recall saying that I will only have children when man kind finds a way to skip the stinky sleepy bitchy baby bit and go right to cute amusing toddler.
Then I made the cardinal mistake of saying dumb shit like, “my kids will never” and “I will never be one of those baby obsessed woman”
I had challenged the two most powerful woman in the universe and was about to get brought back down to earth forthwith and with speed.
Sometime in December, under the mask of silly season frivolity, God and Murphy met to negotiated a formidable alliance with one single goal in mind.
One that no single being whether mortal, immortal or ethereal has ever succeeded in, a feet so unreachable that it would take careful timing and two of the most certain laws in the universe in perfect sync to accomplish.
By the beginning of January the was over and I had been shut up (all be it momentarily)
And while I refuse to revise the statements that got me into trouble I will say this.
While god may not be an engineer, I am quite convinced that she is a baker as the human incubation process is one even I marvel at.
And there is a possibility all be it small that I may become slightly concerned with babies.
However I would like to qualify that this is only because I find myself in the dark regarding the current state my body and I are in.
Naturally I did what any self respecting idiot would do and googled it.
Yes my browser has been working overtime and I have visited and read every baby site the net has to offer, problem is I still feel like and idiot because all of them tell you that no matter how much you prepare or how much you know you’ll never be ready.
This then begs the question “why the hell bother to write this crap then?”
This being said I do admit that I have learnt a thing or two.
The first being that how far along you is not calculated from the actual conception date but rather from the date of you last period making me 6 weeks pregnant as of yesterday.
I also found a calculator that estimates my due date at around the 7th of September this year and that according to the Chinese gender birth calendar I am expecting a boy.
I truly hope that some ancient Chinese mumbo-jumbo is more clairvoyant than my sister who is convinced that I am carrying a girl and is as we speak contemplating whether barby and hallo kitty are pink enough for my little girl.
Oupa Hilton seems very excited about having a baby to play with and for some reason I suspect that be it boy or girl it will be spoilt rotten.
None of these ladies thought that was funny and have since taken to beating me with their handbags in the hallways.
I also recall saying that I will only have children when man kind finds a way to skip the stinky sleepy bitchy baby bit and go right to cute amusing toddler.
Then I made the cardinal mistake of saying dumb shit like, “my kids will never” and “I will never be one of those baby obsessed woman”
I had challenged the two most powerful woman in the universe and was about to get brought back down to earth forthwith and with speed.
Sometime in December, under the mask of silly season frivolity, God and Murphy met to negotiated a formidable alliance with one single goal in mind.
One that no single being whether mortal, immortal or ethereal has ever succeeded in, a feet so unreachable that it would take careful timing and two of the most certain laws in the universe in perfect sync to accomplish.
By the beginning of January the was over and I had been shut up (all be it momentarily)
And while I refuse to revise the statements that got me into trouble I will say this.
While god may not be an engineer, I am quite convinced that she is a baker as the human incubation process is one even I marvel at.
And there is a possibility all be it small that I may become slightly concerned with babies.
However I would like to qualify that this is only because I find myself in the dark regarding the current state my body and I are in.
Naturally I did what any self respecting idiot would do and googled it.
Yes my browser has been working overtime and I have visited and read every baby site the net has to offer, problem is I still feel like and idiot because all of them tell you that no matter how much you prepare or how much you know you’ll never be ready.
This then begs the question “why the hell bother to write this crap then?”
This being said I do admit that I have learnt a thing or two.
The first being that how far along you is not calculated from the actual conception date but rather from the date of you last period making me 6 weeks pregnant as of yesterday.
I also found a calculator that estimates my due date at around the 7th of September this year and that according to the Chinese gender birth calendar I am expecting a boy.
I truly hope that some ancient Chinese mumbo-jumbo is more clairvoyant than my sister who is convinced that I am carrying a girl and is as we speak contemplating whether barby and hallo kitty are pink enough for my little girl.
Oupa Hilton seems very excited about having a baby to play with and for some reason I suspect that be it boy or girl it will be spoilt rotten.
Facebook faster then Granny-Grams
One of the people I looked forward to breaking the news to was definitely Eugene’s mom.
This is not her first grandchild but she suites the role of granny so well one would think she was born to do it.
Besides that telling her would guarantee peels of laughter and unparallel happiness, much like the reaction I got from Crystal.
Unfortunately My sisters ecstasy at the prospect of becoming and aunt was all of two minutes old before it hit facebook.
I have yet to see the comment but someone told me it was some less than trivial comment about her becoming an aunt.
Little did my vocal sister know that Eugene’s sister and mother would happen upon this post only minutes after this.
Both granny to be and Aunty Jacky, both being of sound mind in possession of ample amounts of grey matter made quick work of my sisters conundrum and then sat back and waited for us to call.
At this point I must shoulder some of the blame, wanting to be present when Granny Ina was told that soon she would have two grandchildren to dote over, I warned threatened and cursed Eugene if he phoned his mom before he got home as I wanted to hear.
My insistence obviously made time for this drama to unfold.
There Im sorry.
Now in the category of blaming other people for this.
Thanks to Aunty Crystal the wind was taken out of my sales when Granny Ina was called and her son announced with the eloquence and class of an elephant in a china shop that, and I quote, “Lee is op die paal”.
Her reply was that she knew and I was plagued by visions of crème Brule flopping.
Either way Granny Ina is happy
So baby is happy
Daddy also set about telling some of his close friends today.
Uncle Reinier and thus Aunty Alta apparently have visions of spoiling my rug-rat rotten
Uncle Louis must be clairvoyant because he guessed it and spoilt Eugenes Fun
Uncle Tommy said that it’s awesome (DUH) and I’m sure Aunty Adelle will agree
I also told Uncle Chris and Uncle Neil who are highly chuffed with themselves and their new titles
They do the high five thing a lot now.
Oh and Aunty Drizel has already started to answer your mommies dumb questions
All of this is starting to become real to me now as our news becomes public knowledge.
I’m starting to feel the first niggling sensations of happiness and excitement or maybe that’s morning sickness
Granny-gram
When the phone started ringing I considered just putting it down twice, I momentarily scolded myself for being such a yellow bellied heffer but was interrupted half way through my private monolog when my mom answered the phone.
She seemed happy
She was at home
So I asked her not to get angry but…at this point I started crying and my efforts of trying to hide the matter only made me sound like an asthmatic vacuum cleaner.
How my mother made out the rambled and rushed “I’m pregnant” that followed I will never know but she did.
I suspect at this point the vain in her neck ruptured and impeded her ability to keep an even tone of voice somewhat, as she asked me how this happened and was I quite aware that this is horrible timing and so on and so forth.
Mom then went on to tell me to see a doctor, kak me out about my weight, lament about the fact that I had to stop smoking and impress upon me the urgency of getting myself of the medical aid waiting period.
I kept asking if she was cross she kept replying that she wasn’t in that raised tone of voice that I seem to remember preceded a the mother of all hidings.
So one can forgive me for being slightly skeptical.
After telling me that I was over weight once or twice more and kaking on me about other random shit she said she loved me and said good bye.
I was sure that she would accept it sooner or later but the fact that it wasn’t now drove me to tears AGAIN.
It only drove me to tears up to Marlboro of ramp when I decided to call my other pillar and rock, my little sister.
Crystal also found herself unable to control her tone of voice and spent five excruciated minutes squealing squeaking and screaming in my ear.
I have the sneaky suspicion that she is ecstatic about the matter and so asked her to call mom and find out if she was really okay with this.
She made glass shattering noises for another five minutes, then left me to wonder what would become of my child if left in that perpetual noise for nine months.
Latter I received an sms from my mom that said:
“This was as much a shock for me as it was for you. The excitement and happiness will still come. Give me time to get used to the idea.
I must in and colour my hair.
Love you both, sorry three. Hopefully not four”
So all things considered it turned out okay I think she still loves me.
Baby must be happ .
Mommy Mommy
All first time Mommies to be are scared.
All fist time Mommies are bound to have lots of questions.
Yes I get it.
What these statements fail to illustrate is the magnitude of fear and questions this first time mommy has.
Unlike other woman I do not even have the basic knowledge most woman accrue during their lives by looking after siblings and babies in the family, by watching friends pregnancies and generally by spending time with woman and babies.
I lack this basic fundament knowledge that most woman are equipped with from the very beginning, because throughout my life there has been a serious lack of babies to experiment on, I have unintentionally (and sometimes intentionally) avoided woman, especially the moody hormonal types and the fact that I am the model “Tom- boy” has ensured a total disregard of all maters that puts me in the most remote danger of sounding like a chick.
This beings said and qualified I find myself in a predicament that I am completely unaccustomed to one that requires me to say stuff like “I don’t know”, “I have no idea” and “please help me”. And while I choke on the bile of each of these sentences I find myself thanking the powers that be for less personal forms of communication such as texting that allows me to ask dumb questions of my good friend Zena (who herself recently gave birth to her own unexpected bundle of joy) without the certain embarrassment that comes with admitting that, yes, contrary to popular believe I don’t know everything about everything.
I also find myself agonizing over the fact that I cant ask my mom. Because she does know everything. I need my mommy but I’m too chicken shit to tell her.
I am not alone in this matter either Eugene, while having built a great bond with my mother in their shared interest in gardening, is quite convinced that once the cats out of the bag my mother will jump on her broom an come to castrate him with a sharp rock..
While I realize that I’m 24 years old and have not been dependant on my mother for the last 6 years. That mom will love my rugrat endlessly and will never disown me over this or ask me to be rid of it. Her approval means the world to me and I don’t think I can bare her being angry at me.
I am considering telling her today but I’m scared to death.
Hold thumbs
Two Pink Lines
On Sunday afternoon two little pink lines signaled that life as we know it is about to come to a screeching halt.
We had expected that the only significant change that would occur in out lives this year would be transition from tenant to homeowner.
However the universe seemed convinced that no matter how long it took us to drag all our furniture in. No matter how many scatter pillows, Pictures, gee- go’s and ornaments adorned these rooms our home is lacking.
Today I sit here and wait for the encasing sense of limbo to evaporate and leave behind some sense of reality.
Perhaps writing this would be easier if it didn’t feel like this is happening to someone ells.
The truth though is that no matter how surreal this feels it is happening to me.
Ladies and Gentlemen I am pregnant… hang on scrap that…. Eugene and I are pregnant (I read that the father should be actively involved in the process, make him feel relevant).
While the sheer state of sock that surrounds the matter has kept me from reacting to the matter in any way other that “this feels weird” I am convinced that pretty soon I will join the proud daddy to be in his unshakable belief that “this is great and we are going to be okay”.
In the mean time though I have a hurdle to cross in that I need to tell my own mommy and I am shitting myself.
My mom is of the belief that my involvement in pro-creation should only be considered after my 27th birthday. The fact that my career will suffer and we have just moved into a new house is not making this look any better.
I can only hope that mommy dearest will surprise me….
Prettie prettie please
