Some time has passed since my last post. There’s nothing particularly special in that – I’m a sporadic blogger at best – but this recent bout of tardiness is less to do with laziness and everything to do with me being ever so slightly pregnant.
I would apologise for the reference to the John-Hurt-chest-ripping sequence from Alien in the post title, but after the joy of the first trimester and a recent bout of flu thanks to a depressed preggo immune system, the metaphor seems more than apt. Don’t get me wrong, my being pregnant is entirely intentional (looks meaningfully at camera), but I hadn’t fully appreciated just how aggressive the takeover of your bodily functions really is! It may have taken four months, but I am finally starting to feel more like myself.
So right now I’m twenty one weeks along (over halfway, how did that happen?), sporting a definite bump that no longer looks like an over-enthusiastic Christmas, and still completely in love with the insistent and charming wriggling of tiny feet within. I’ve been able to feel our little one moving for about three weeks now, and in the build up to our second scan (which happened last week) both Chris and I were super impatient to get another look at our little wriggler.
Scans naturally come with an element of stress. Before our first scan at twelve weeks I was so nervous and miserable that when the sonographer plonked the transducer on my stomach and said, “there’s baby”, I almost passed out with relief. As if to help my nerves our little bub decided to be very wriggly throughout, which made the sonographer’s job really awkward, but made the strung-out parents very happy indeed.
As the twenty week scan approached we were both half excited and half fretful. We so badly wanted to see our little one healthy and thriving. And they obliged again by being super wriggly, yawning (the cuteness killed me), and waving their minute fists around. Up until the scan all I knew about our baby was that it was there, and stubbornly parked on top of my bladder. Now they’re a beautifully complex and infinitely intriguing little human that I can’t wait to meet at the end of July.
Slowly but surely, I’m getting used to the physical changes that come with being up the duff. And the life changes. Apart from the whole becoming a parent bit, that notion is still terrifying. I’ve begun handing over to my maternity cover at work, which requires an ego of steel; it’s very disconcerting the reminded of just how replaceable you actually are, however well-prepared you thought you were for the transition. I’ve chosen to start my maternity leave pretty early – at the start of the third trimester – and while I’m looking forward to that, all that time off falls squarely into the ‘yet more big changes that I have to get used to’ box. But I am looking forward to getting back to more regular blogging, as my day job starts to wind down in preparation for maternity leave. And more regular making, gardening, home renovating, all the things that tend to get neglected when the evenings are long and dark and mixed up with morning sickness.
According to my pregnancy app my little one should be getting more responsive to sounds outside the womb over the coming weeks, so naturally I am using this precious time to teach them just how much their mother loves Metallica.
Y’know, standard parenting stuff.