Hello week 12 and goodbye little world where only me Andy and baby knew of the baby’s existence!
This is it now, no going back. We’ve exposed ourselves to this world where people’s manners and social filters disappear. A world where they can feed you total exaggerated bullcrap and expect you to sit there like a little puppy dog, wide-eyed taking it all in with delight and horror in the appropriate places. Kill me now.
Everyone’s thrilled- of course- especially after what happened with Harry. They can all focus on the positives of a new baby now instead of the negatives of losing the first one. For me that’s not so easy. A tiny angry part of me often thinks people may be using my rainbow baby as a reason to push Harry under the carpet. He did exist. It did happen. I will never forget that.
Happily, I saw the little bean again this week as we went for Nuchal scan round 2! This only seemed to confirm my suspicions more that baby is a girl- as soon as we got the scan under way she rolled over so the sonographer couldn’t get to the neck (total diva-like behaviour in my opinion) which meant we had to get up, jump around, go for a walk, get a drink, go to loo- try anything that we could in 20 minutes to make her move which proved unsuccessful! Luckily the sonographer did manage to get a satisfactory look at the back of the neck to do the test and she rewarded us with a wee picture of bambino, pouting at the scanner- See? Total girl.
My symptoms cease to end and I’m still struggling to eat more than a few handfuls at a time without puking or burping for hours after. However, work are now clued up on my pregnancy so booking time off for appointments should hopefully be easier and at least they understand why I’m permanently in the toilet of an afternoon!
Baby is now common knowledge between friends and family and I’m bracing myself for the inevitable onslaught of unwelcome advice, tips and anecdotes of pregnancy, child-birth and child rearing I’m bound to receive at full force!
I just can’t wait to hear all about Aunty Carol’s 89 hour labour where she lost 7 gallons of blood and was ripped from vagina to asshole before having baby Alec pulled from her V-JJ by big medieval forceps. Yummy. Did you know after the birth she had 3 million stitches in her minky and was given 24 blood transfusions? She couldn’t walk for a month, could never have sex again and now she poo’s where she used to wee and wee’s where she used to poo! Poor cow. She was in soooo much pain during child-birth she screamed until she permanently destroyed her voice forever and begged the midwifes to just let her die, to ease her out of this never-ending world of horror.
And her husband (pah!) he didn’t have a good time either, no sir he did not! Did you know she removed her husband’s penis whilst she was in labour with only her fingernails as a punishment for impregnating her in the first place? And when the child was born and she started the slow agonizing grueling trek to recovery, did things get better for Aunty Carol? Pah! Think again! The child was unbearable! Didn’t sleep. Ever. Didn’t stop screaming for 3 months solid. Aunty Carol went insane. Her and Uncle Bob couldn’t leave their house for days- they ran out of food it was terrible. Do you know they’ve never spent a night apart from little Alec? He’s 25 now… still wets the bed… Yawn.
Ugh, puuuurrrlease! All of this begs the question why on earth would anyone have a child in the first place? If such a horror guaranteed labour is in stall for us all why would we do it? Why would do it multiple times? If the majority are to be believed the child is hardly worth it after all. What with its continuous screaming and shitty nappies- did you know babies poo by the way because I had no idea!- it’s a dead cert to ruin your life… right?
I’m not playing down the pains of labour here. Everyone knows it’s possibly the most painful thing ever and yes there are women who suffer through truly horrific births- luckily these are few and far between in the grand scheme of things. And I’m not saying babies are easy but I’m sure the majority of women and men who plan pregnancies have an understanding of what they’re getting themselves into. The way people carry on it’s like they think I’ve never been in contact with a child before and am under some sort of delusion that once I pop the baby out I can go on my merry way with the child nothing but an occasional inconvenience. I am not a moron. I often wish I could simply reply with “Don’t patronise me you prick.” Of course this would probably cause an awkward atmosphere which would make some uncomfortable…
So why, then, do we have babies in the first place? Why would we put ourselves through all that hell?!
The answer is pretty simple and very beautiful…
Stretch marks, cracked nipples and sleepless nights. Being covered in sick and having baby food in your hair. Instead of listening to your favourite CD you’re listening to crying on a loop… Instead of going out partying you’re reading the same bed time story for the eighth time in a row. Instead of smelling like Chanel you’re smelling like poo and gone off milk… But none of that matters!
For every negative there’s a better more brilliant positive.
First words. First smiles. First cuddles. Not just the “firsts” but the seconds and thirds and fourths. Seeing their tiny chests rise up and down when they’re breathing during sleep. Watching them light up when they see you walk into a room or wondering how they can be so fascinated with an empty toilet roll tube and a fridge magnet.
Not just being a baby but growing into a child, developing their own weird and wonderful personality- with a hint of mum and dad mixed in. Sports days and birthday parties, family holidays, rainy days colouring… hearing them say “I love you” or crying out for you after a nightmare or a fall because just no one else will do!
School plays, muddy puddles, bike rides… every and any event that will turn into a treasured memory that nothing can beat and you will never forget. You can even take comfort in the teenage tantrum stage- teenagers are supposed to push boundaries, rebel against the rules and scream the house down- its normal! If your child turns into a crazy dramatic teen; well done! You did your job right!
So, as far as I’m concerned, you can take your labour stories that belong in Saw Films and your child raising stories that belong in Chucky Films and you can stick them where the sun don’t shine! Because I’ve never met a parent who said it wasn’t worth it- and if one such person even exists- they didn’t do it right.
Highlight of the week? Baby’s looking happy and healthy!
Low of the week? Every time I stand up from my work chair and put my left leg forward, there’s an audible pop and a stab of pain from the back of my pelvis where it joins with my left leg- ahh the joys of sciatica!