Get ready for lift off

Week 14 snapshot

Body image: Still rubbish but I’m getting used to it now

Hunger rating: 25/10 I could eat the WORLD about now and I’ve only just had a cup of tea and a biscuit

Missing booze: 3/10 Getting the taste for it again. Need to be careful…

Missing fags: Let’s just stop talking about it now shall we?

Average number of times per night where I need to get up and go wee: 2. Question: Why is it, that when I wake up at about 4am and stumble to the loo and get back into bed (all in the dark) that I find it hard to get back to sleep, only realising 20 mins later that I need to go AGAIN? Why doesn’t my body just get rid of it all on the first stop? Seems like a design fault to me.

Well, it would appear that my mind has been playing tricks on me. I went to my Ob Gyn last week for another check up and another battery of blood tests (as an aside, whilst I do feel like a pincushion, this constant drawing of blood seems to have significantly lowered my fear of having it done. My strategy of looking in the other direction for the whole process – and I mean not even seeing what the tourniquet, let alone the needle, looks like – has started to pay off).

Anyway, I digress. What was I saying? Oh yes – my mind and its pranks. I was weighed and had my blood pressure taken before I went in to see the doctor and was informed that I have only gained 1.1 kilograms since week 9. That’s apparently acceptable (especially here in the UAE, where those in pre-natal care are weight and diabetes obsessed). Well, yes, thanks that is acceptable! So how come I feel like such a fat giantess? PD says it’s maybe a bit like ‘redistribution’ of weight and with a lack of any other evidence I’m inclined to agree with him. Especially on the boobies, which are so large now that if they were filled with helium instead of flesh could carry a small child up into the atmosphere for a scenic tour of the immediate area. 

Speaking of the ‘fun’ bags, I had to relent and buy some non-underwired bras from M&S this week. The wires were just digging in too much. When I took my bra off at night I felt an inordinate sense of relief that was akin to stepping out of a pair of very tight, very high stillettos – not the ideal comfort situation that one wants in a bra. The problem is, if there is no underwire then the design has to compensate for that lack of support by adding what seems to be layers and yards of fabric to effectively cantilever your poor bosoms into place. This makes wearing V neck tops without a vest  a difficult sartorial challenge.

In other news this week, I keep forgetting the words for things, especially nouns. I’ll be there, having a normal conversation with a non-pregnant person and suddenly be stumped for the word ‘cheese’ or perhaps, ‘apartment’ or any other word that seem so utterly obvious to the other person that they will look at me like I am slightly crazy. Which I suppose I am anyway, pregnant or not, right?

Finally, I am absolutely obsessed with avocados. I have been since about week 10. PD and I have eaten quesadillas with cheese, guacamole and salsa for lunch oh, about 20 times in the last five weeks. No wonder I was surprised I’d only put on a damn kilo!

Until next week!

Flickster. xx

P.S. If you’re wondering about the evil twin fibroid well so am I. When we had the super scan the other week the stenographer said it had shrunk – let’s hope it stays that way huh!

Mummy chunky

Week 12 snapshot

Nausea rating: Nil. I am a very lucky mare who didn’t really get sick. Ha for me

Emotional roller coaster status: Happier than I’ve been in a long time

Medical professionals rating:  Good but now clearly different to what I’d expect on the NHS or Medicare

Body image: Rubbish

Aches and pains: None

Missing booze: 1/10

Missing fags: 2/10 Mercifully, I’ve stopped thinking about them every few minutes. Except now. Oh, one WOULD be so nice right now…why remind me? What’s WRONG with you?!

Missing sleeping on my stomach:  6/10 Getting better at dealing with sleeping on either of my sides

Oh Gawd, it’s started. I don’t even know why I’m surprised about how early it’s happened, given my body type and general personal image issues. 

As delightful and exciting the concept of ’so far so good’ is – we had our 12 week scan last week (all great so far. More on that in a min) – it seems my brain has decided to become obsessed with the negative aspects of putting on pregnancy weight. I was expecting this of course, what woman doesn’t have a problem with the concept of weight gain, no matter how joyful the reason? My issue is that I have started looking really really porky, like NOW. My stomach has grown, sure, but other body parts have decided to try and keep up, too – the bum, thighs and waist being the worst offenders (Oh and the boobs too but that’s been happening since day one so they don’t count any more). Other women I know (and at the moment I know more than three girls who are up the duff, all several months ahead of me) seemed to keep their figures until around the fifth month, after which time they started to ’show’ their perfect bumps which were akin to strapping a small ball onto one’s stomach.

I, on the other hand, just look like I ate all the pies and enjoyed licking the plates too, dammit! It’s gotten to the point where I am so conscious of the extra junk in my trunk that I am almost stopping random strangers in the mall to explain breathlessly, “Oh, it’s OK, don’t worry, I’m not this fat normally, I’m pregnant, you see!” Wow, THAT’S a worry isn’t it?

I suppose one of the most galling things about this is that I bought some really nice designer pregnancy jeans in about week seven (this shop in Dubai Mall buys the jeans from the designers as ‘normal’ then chops off the top and adds a belly band). They looked pretty hot five weeks ago with a longer top to hide the band and a pair of wedges. Except now, when I put them on, whilst they still kind of fit over my bum, I have two HUGE muffin tops on either side – a sure sign that your jeans are too small, ladies! And while I’m on the topic, the selection of maternity wear is a bit ‘thin’ (ha!) in Dubai. I went into Mothercare yesterday and I swear all the fat clothes in there looked like they came out of Next about ten years ago (I know, I’m a snob but my god, my body image is low enough without having to dress like Andy Pandy!). I constantly need to remind myself that just because it fits, it doesn’t make it right for me. So, it’s online I go, begging visiting friends and family from abroad and visiting friends of friends from overseas to carry a ‘few extra bits’ for me in their suitcase as a sort of levy for coming to stay.

Time for a change of subject. We had the 12 week scan last Wednesday. PD and I got to the hospital in good time, I had a blood test which seemed to take about three litres of blood, and I was then called into the ultrasound room. I was expecting the simple ‘jelly on the belly’ maneuver at this stage, only to be informed by the nurse that “…the doctor prefers to scan from “down there”" (!) Right. I asked the tiny Iranian stenographer why she felt that this was necessary, and she explained that it was better for seeing the foetus’ organs and bones. I had no choice but to capitulate at this point, as I’m starting to realise that one of the first sacrifices a mummy-to-be makes (apart from her figure of course!) is that of her comfort. 

Anyway, it turns out that scanning in this way at 12 weeks really does make a difference to how clear everything appears, and I soon forgot about the loss of dignity and became enthralled by images of the baby’s brain, kidneys, beating heart, lungs and little wee hands. It was at this point that some cultural differences with the stenographer became apparent. Whilst examining the bones in the foetus’ face, she brightly pointed out to us that we’d be pleased to know that our baby was “not a mongol”. A definite relief – but not one without a slightly politically incorrect pang. 

She also blurted out without any warning that she could see something dangling between the legs so it was “probably a boy”…wonderful news for us both but it kind of rained on PD’s parade as he’s been saying all along that he didn’t want to know. So much for that! However I should point out here that this is not necessarily definite and we shall find out for sure at the 20 week scan.

And here ‘he’ is.

Catch you next week! xx

 

Approaching the second trimester at an alarming rate

Week 11 snapshot

Nausea rating: 2/10 (only when things set me off, like the bin in the kitchen, the cat’s litter tray, a full unwashed dishwasher etc)

Emotional roller coaster status: Mad Mouse

Medical professionals rating:  Fair to good. Receptionists/appointments booking: crappy

Body image: Becoming shaky. Already.

Aches and pains: Minimal

Missing booze: 1/10

Missing fags: 4/10

Missing sleeping on my stomach:  9/10

 

Hello hello – right, I really did intend to do this week by week but I’m already slipping – gah!

Anyhoo, we went on holiday a few weeks ago to Thailand which on paper was really lovely. In reality and in hindsight, I was a complete nightmare to be around – moody, fussy, paranoid and crabby – nice person to go on your big holiday of the year with, right?? Boo! Now we’ve been back for a bit and I feel significantly better than when we were there, I realise that a great deal of my party-pooper vibe was down to missing cigarettes. How awful. I won’t go into it any further here as the worst of that’s over now and I’ve apologised profusely to my dear friends who are thankfully still my friends.  

Last week I had a mini-scan with my potential ob-gyn. I say ‘potential’ because I still haven’t decided whom to entrust with my what is sure to be an interesting (at least to me and PD) pregnancy and childbirth. Having this scan was amazing, not least because PD and I got to see the little peanut (so it really DOES exist!) and also (and this was the exciting bit) hear its little heartbeat. 160 bpm and 4cm long the prawn was the right size with a normal heart rate. Phew.

Less exciting and more anxiety-inducing was the fact that the doctor thinks I have a ‘fibroid’ – a hideous name for a yukky (non-cancerous, thank the goddess) cyst thing sharing living space with the peanut. It’s also the same size as the prawn at 4cm wide so I’ve taken to calling it ‘evil twin’. The doctor says we can only watch it and make sure it doesn’t get too big. If it does then it may affect the baby being able to come out, necessitating a caesarian. Lets not get ahead of ourselves here though – I’m intending to devote an entire post to the whole natural birth versus caesarian debate later on – lucky you! More shall be revealed on the prawn and its evil twin this time next week when I have my proper 12-week scan and commence my battery of tests. Did you know that in the UAE not only do they do the usual NT scan, or ‘neucal scan’ – the one that checks for the liklihood of Down’s Syndrome and birth defects – they also test for HIV, AIDS, Toxoplasmosis and a load of others I can’t remember because I don’t have the sheet with me here in the coffee shop (where I’m drinking hot chocolate, thanks for asking). Suffice to say that I will feel like a pincushion by the time these over-prescribing, overly-cautious medical professionals with their eyes on the $ are done with me. I may be cynical already but I think it’s a symptom of bearing children in a country with no free medical care.

In other news, I am already starting to show a bit of a belly – seven weeks earlier than I should darn it – it’s the presence of the evil twin, not my recent fondness for mango frozen yoghurt and extra helpings of avocados in all forms, thank you very much! The byproducts of this are that I cannot bear wearing anything tight around my waist, and it is now no longer comfortable to sleep on my stomach. I’ll also add here that my boobies are conspiring with my belly by already being too big and tender for this preferred sleeping position – for several weeks I had been cleverly tucking them into my armpits but it appears that I have now been rumbled!!

Right, that’s enough from me – more next week, but in the meantime, I’ll leave you with a picture of the foetus. And don’t worry of you can’t really make it out because, let’s face it,  it’s a blob!

x

 

The second image is the heart rate measurement - 160 bpm - just like a little mouse!

Week 6: Let the games begin

Week 6 snapshot

Nausea rating: 8/10

Emotional roller coaster status: Space Mountain

Medical professionals rating: OK to fair

Body image: Stable

Aches and pains: Minimal

Missing booze: 4/10

Missing fags: 7/10

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

I need to rewind here a bit to bring you up to speed to where I am now, in my sixth week. There’s lots to say, so forgive me now if I go off on some tangents!

I found out I was preggers just over a week ago, though I did have some suspicions, namely, a late period when I’m normally clockwork, sore boobies and occasionally wanting to vomit (especially, weirdly, when brushing my teeth). Anyway, I was putting off pissing on the stick because at the time I was back in Australia with my family helping to arrange and attending the funeral of my dear grandma (known to me and my sis as “Gargie”). It was a really emotional time and although I suspected something was up, I thought I needed my fags ‘n booze too much that week to even consider checking. Plus, I wanted to be in the same country or even the same room as my husband PD when we found out (he was stuck at home in Dubai working).

This, however, was not to be. I had mentioned this in passing to my friend, S, who immediately became as excited as as an ADD afflicted kid who had drunk too much red cordial. When I turned up to her house for a visit two days before I was due to leave for Dubai, she shoved a pregnancy test in my hands and insisted I take it, NOW.So I did, and the result was positive. REALLY positive:

 

The line on the left in the middle indicates the presence of HCG, the pregnancy hormone

I have to admit to quite mixed feelings when I saw that line appear. Yes, we had been trying but we weren’t at the point where we were completely desperate or considering investigating problems or anything. (Note here – it could have gotten that far, we just weren’t at that point. I count us as being very lucky we didn’t have to go through the hell to conceive that some couples go through.) Ultimately, rather than being unhappy, I was excited and now I’ve had just over a week to get used to the idea, I am happy. I’m also pooing my pants over the thought of giving birth…

Anyway, because I was in Australia and PD in the UAE, as soon as I confirmed the test, I had to call him immediately. It was a Friday (a weekend day in Dubai) and the poor darling was having a lie-in when the phone rang and I reported what we had suspected all along. He was delighted, if a little shocked. In fact, his reaction mirrored mine almost exactly. Later on that evening when we spoke on Skype we were both a lot happier after having had time to digest it all and it was lovely to speculate together on what colour eyes we thought the baby would have, and exactly how curly its hair was going to be (poor mite – mine’s frizzy and his is just plain out of control, when its longer than 2mm- the little one will definitely be cursed with the kink!).

We have decided to tell a few people – that is, our families and some close friends. We know that the ‘done thing’ these days is to wait until the 12 week mark, but as a couple of my very wise girlfriends have put it, why not tell the ones you love? After all, if things do go wrong then you will be devastated and no one will be able to support you through it. 

So now, on the cusp of my seventh week, we’re going on holiday to Thailand with some friends. Not the backpacking, barefoot hostel sleeping kind of trip though – it will be at a resort at least. I just need to be careful regardless, since I’m in the first trimester ‘danger zone’. According to my GP, that means opening my own bottled water, eating plain food like rice (I hate rice), no seafood and making sure everything is cooked through. At this stage though I feel so damn sick that I just need to make sure I bring enough ginger tea bags to last me the week.