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.
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
