Week 18

Jas mowed the lawn again. And it was a perfect job! Not a Cessna in sight.

A week’s holiday in Greece! Hurrah. It started with Jas entering McDonalds at Gatwick Airport at 5am. She had actually already had some breakfast before then, but we’ve learnt that pregnancy requires constant refuelling. And, she felt like she ‘needed’ an egg and bacon McMuffin. “Don’t do it”, I said, as though I was trying to talk her out of bungee jumping. She went in, with me hovering outside, the shit-food force field repelling me, preventing me from going near the entrance. I sidled off as Jas disappeared amongst the queues, and went to buy something edible for my breakfast. As I returned to the vicinity of the McDonalds entrance, Jas bolted out, looking very grey, paused to throw me her McMuffin and then ran to a toilet. I didn’t even get a chance to say “I told you so”. As it happened, Jas suddenly felt ill from standing in a crowded queue for too long (rather than the ambience and smell of a place that produced food with the taste and nutritional value of a week-old dog turd). She returned shortly after, a little less pallid, and downed the aforementioned muffin.

While we were away, Jas produced a personal best: one night she rose six times to piddle. Her bladder had been showing signs of becoming increasingly compressed, but this one night the seat of our Greek lavatory never had a chance to get cold. I feared that as the weeks marched on and the uterus grew to ever-fruity proportions, our bed will be resembling a beach again, and not for the biscuit crumbs...

Was I going out in sympathy? I don’t know. I prefer to think that the reason for putting my T-shirt on inside-out at the beach was due to its design – it looks pretty much the same either way. I just wanted my pocket on the inside, that’s all.  

Week 17

Jas: “Our bedroom smells of paper.”

Bedrooms odours are typically related to dirty clothes or to sheets that have been in contact with bodies for 40 hours a week. But not ours: those three harmless books sitting on my bedside table that had been unopened for several days were offensive odours factories! I was happy Jas wasn’t a librarian.

Pregnancy brain

Pregnancy brain: an excuse newly pregnant ladies use for the forgetfulness they always had? Perhaps. Jas had certainly muttered the phrase on a number of occasions recently. However, when we were walking to our second midwife appointment Jas suddenly stopped, looked at her feet, and announced that she had put on different shoes. I looked down, and she was indeed wearing two completely different styles of shoes. I stood there, trying to imagine myself picking up one of my shoes, slipping my foot in it, doing it up, and then picking up a non-matching shoe and putting it on the other foot, all with my eyes open, sober, without noticing that something was clearly amiss.

Step forward, Pregnancy Brain.

The next day, before she headed off to work, she noticed that her top was on backwards. I could see a pattern emerging. Note to self: do not let Jas anywhere near our suitcase when packing for our next holiday.

Back to the midwife appointment: a scanner was rubbed over Jas’ belly to monitor the bub’s heartbeat. After some probing, we finally heard it – hwoo, hwoo, hwoo - the whooshing sound of idling helicopter rotors. The little guy/girl had become an aeronautical engineer in the space of a few weeks. 

Week 16

Our 4 year old nephew speaks to Jas on the phone. He is well aware of a “new cousin” that is on his/her way. He recently asked: “Is it out yet?”

After so much inactivity and tiredness, Jas was moving about more, she returned to work, and enjoyed slowly increasing energy levels and getting more done. Importantly she was cooking dinner more often (hurrah!). One day I came home to a freshly mowed lawn: it took her a long while to complete cutting our little strip of green; she stopped a few times and was completely wrecked at the end of her herculean effort...and I have to say, it was the dodgiest lawn job she’d ever done! It was as though a twin-prop Cessna had done very low fly-bys over our garden. But that didn’t matter: it was a brilliant accomplishment for her after the past couple of months of illness.

Jas’ uterus was now the size of a small melon. Her belly was the size of a large one, as firm as pear and smooth as an apple. We took our basket of fruit for its first swim at local pool, where Jas could float some more.

Baby’s first book reading

My sister sent us the children’s classic: The Hungry Caterpillar. To Jas’ bare belly, I initiated our blueberry to the story (which is full of fruit, incidentally), reading and showing the pictures to the bump. Half way through reading the story Jas pulled her T-shirt over her stomach. I said: “Why did you do that? He can’t see the pictures now”. The belly started quivering with laughter. 

Week 15

Family holiday

We had a week away in Croatia. It was our first excursion beyond the hospital for quite a while. Our concern was that we wouldn’t be able to find the right food for the journey there, but we were well prepared: our on-board luggage consisted of one bag of clothes and two bags of food. 

The water in Croatia was incredible. I swam several times a day, paddling about and playing with the fish. Jas just wanted to go into the water to float. I realised that Jas seemed to have taken on the life of our unborn child: sleeping often, eating often, peeing often and floating about, just because she could. 

Baby dream

Knowing that the first few weeks of our newborn baby’s life would mean little time for ourselves, we’d started thinking of how we’d deal with the responsibility of a new dependent and the endless tasks of feeding and cleaning up poo and puke amongst the other day to day things we had to do. One night I had dream: I was mowing the lawn, and on top of the noisy mower was attached a baby carrier, with our son in it, so I could keep an eye on him while I carried out my garden chore. He was a few weeks old, little curls of hair, snugly installed in the heavily vibrating baby holder as I was cutting the grass. At one point in the dream I thought that this was probably not a good thing for the baby: I paused, looked down at the buzzing bub, and he smiled a contended little grin, so I continued mowing. Genius idea, eh?

Week 14

A little scare: we had to rush Jas to hospital to check that all was ok. A nurse promptly came in with a device that detected the heartbeat of the foetus...there was a tense period of total quiet as she moved it about Jas’ belly, and then suddenly a thumping little heartbeat filled the room. It was pumping so fast! It was an incredibly re-assuring sound. 

With a number of hospital trips in the last few weeks, we were getting to know the place well. We’ll be able to running guided tours of the maternity ward before long...

Jas was continually getting aches and cramps with her growing body and baby, but one day she had experienced a new, enjoyable sensation: bubbles. It was her first feeling of our little one and she was overjoyed. It was great news, though I thought: first it was two fingers at the ultrasound, now blowing raspberries.

The Second Trimester - Week 13

Jas was tired all the time: struggling with nausea, growing bigger organs, producing more blood, all in preparation for giving birth to a little person not yet the size of a mango. It gave me plenty of time to get things done...!

We had our first of many sojourns into Mothercare. We perused the imposing variety of strollers, all of them seemed to require serious engineering abilities to collapse and erect each of them. I was afraid to touch them: a number of them looked like Transformers that would re-arrange themselves and shoot me. My opinion of them all did alter slightly when I found one with a drink holder. Mmm, beer...

Week 12

The first scan! Our chance to see the little being that was causing upheaval in our lives already. Until this point Jas had spent two days in hospital, and I’d spent a whole week at home playing nurse (looking after Jas, that is, not – you know – dressing up).

After the scanning lady greased up Jas’ belly and positioned the ultrasound device, the little person suddenly came into view. It was awesome to see. I was amazed how much he/she moved! I thought it would be just floating about, immobile and unaware of the chaos outside of its bubble. But no - he didn’t stop wriggling about. I’d read that the foetus can sense the ultrasound waves; as the ultrasound device was moved around the belly, he/she did seem to be continually twisting to face away from the device, so we only saw his back no matter how much the device was repositioned. After a few minutes, he faced us (finally having enough of the noise?), and raised his hand in what seemed to be his first two-fingered salute. Just lovely: he didn’t have fully formed fingers yet, but he was already showing attitude.

Next in the check-up was a blood test. Jas nor I are fond of needles: in the blood-taking room Jas sat down and faced away from the nurse, not wanting to see the needle being used. Being her tower of strength, I stood next to her and held her hand tightly...and then sat down and faced away as well. The nurse was brilliant – Jas hardly felt the blood being taken, and neither of us fainted. Jas thanked the nurse profusely, and explained why she had to close her eyes while it was being done. The nurse laughed and said, “No problem, I had my eyes closed as well!”

Week 11

Free!

Jas left the house for the first time in several weeks. Previously, our large garden hedge had completely prevented her from venturing outdoors; not physically, of course – it hadn’t suddenly developed feet and moved closer to our door. It (apparently!) had an illness-inducing smell, one that Jas could detect even if she was sitting inside and a hedge-facing window was open.

So, during this slow first walk to the shops, Jas took her new favourite friend: a small bottle of lime essence. It was kind of like walking with someone who was slightly deranged, someone who could see things no-one else could, who was carrying a tiny bottle of gin. Jas would stop after a few steps, look, and then point at nothing in particular (a blank brick wall, for example) and announce that “it smelt”. Then the lime essence would be swiftly planted under her nostrils to mask the smell, and we would move on to a safer sniffing area. This was fine for the quiet walk in, but it did draw a few curious glances in the busy supermarket...

The next day, I was outside in the garden reading on the lawn in the sunshine. Inside, Jas had awoken and gingerly came down the steps, and waved at me from the doorway, Where It Was Safe. She then slowly poked her head outside, and sniffed the air. I felt like I was watching a clown fish wondering if there was any evil lurking in the unprotected open. She then cautiously stepped outside, staying close to the safety of the door, looking and sniffing about, wary of unsuspecting wafts of offending odours.

We’d started thinking of names, but not really coming up with any good ones: good ones that were not already used by friends and family; good ones that didn’t remind us of a kid at school who was a bit of a knob, like the guy at high school who ran into a classroom wall to see if he could put a hole in it with his head. For inspiration, we even started scanning film credits for ideas: “Rupert”, “Shakira”, “Berlin”...Oh, that’s where the film was made. Still, Paris & Siena have become popular, but nothing had grabbed us yet.

Week 10

Despair

Baked beans had become my safe haven: when Jas had no idea what would satisfy her stomach and I had little time to provide a meal, beans on toast were it. It was quick, I couldn’t stuff it up and was always edible amid the nausea.

One day Jas was having a particularly tough day and for lunch - in bed - I cooked her beans on toast. After a few minutes I looked in on her...the beans were untouched and she was crying, tears falling on the plate. I was shattered: I’d either messed it up somehow, or I’d just lost my meal-time lifeline. Or both. And Jas would still be hungry. As it happened, she didn’t have the energy to cut the toast. My despair turned to enormous relief: it wasn’t a good thing that Jas was so ill and listless and depressed, but toast cutting I could do! And all those tins of Heinz I’d lugged home and were filling the cupboard wouldn’t end up gathering dust.

We were watching a documentary on dinosaurs (Friday nights get wild during pregnancy) and we were amazed that the T. Rex had olfactory senses so powerful that it could triangulate the location of a rotting brontosaurus carcass 5 km away with pinpoint accuracy, AND know how long it had been dead. I thought, wow; imagine an animal with that sense of smell and was pregnant! It would be able to detect a frog's fart at 500 km.

Our little blueberry was now the size of a fig in a uterus the size of a grapefruit. Not quite sure why all of the baby literature compare pregnancy to fruit. I foresee a watermelon simile on the horizon.

Now, a fig is generally much smaller than a grapefruit. Why does he need all that space already? Was he doing a starfish in there? Perhaps it was a sign of things to come. Is he going to demand our bedroom once he is installed in the smaller spare room?

Jas had become a saliva factory. I’d never seen Jas expectorate before, but through necessity she quickly became an expert at it.  Chewing gum became a must-buy on the shopping list.

Things are looking up

Nausea, cramps, tiredness, saliva generation...none of them pleasant. But the boobs are bigger. Things are suddenly looking up. Well, for me, anyway. But...they are too tender to touch. Someone might as well give me a Ferrari without the keys.

Jas: “When is dinner?”

Me: “10 minutes.”

Jas: “I need it now.”

Week 9

The Smells Get Worse

"Have you been to the pool?" was a question I received after my daily supermarket reconnoitre. 

"No, these bags of food in my hands came from the supermarket...." 

"Hmm, ok. You smell of chlorine". Well, that's better than body odour, considering I wasn't able to use soap or deodorant. Maybe Jas could smell the water I'd used in the shower earlier...!? 

Jas' sense of smell had become even more freakily acute. She had a bionic nose. "Your magazine smells". My magazine smells!? Of paper, I guess? My page flicking had to be stopped in order to prevent the offending paper-smell wafting in her direction. Jas must have insight into what a dog experiences. The only way we become aware of the local bitch being on heat is when we hear the pained, faint howling of Henry the cocker spaniel downstairs howls. I felt that the sniffer dogs at the airport were at risk of losing their jobs to the local ladies in their first trimester.

Jas spent much of her time sleeping. What was the little blueberry doing? The little chap was only the size of a peanut, yet had demolished any ability of Jas to do anything. I began to get the feeling that this was all post-birth practice for me: spending the day preparing small meals during the day -  in between Jas' naps - and cleaning up puke.

One night Jas dreamt of pikelets...so I had to make them.

Housework. It was all down to me, hurrah. Moving a vacuum cleaner around the house and loading a smelly dishwasher became no-go zones for the hyperemesis inflicted.

Finally It Happened

"You smell rancid". No deodorant, no soap...it was inevitable. I couldn’t go near Jas. I wasn’t really surprised; I only hoped it was a view not shared by fellow passengers on my morning commute.

Week 8

The Most Frustrating Shopping Experience. Ever.

I didn't have much to get: coconut milk; swiss rolls; hot dogs; japanese rice crackers; soap that doesn't smell. Just a few regular things, obviously. I just had to nip down to the shops and return in time to feed Jas' impatiently random hunger.

Trying to do it quickly was not a good idea; starting with the most difficult item on the list certainly did not help things: "Soap that doesn't smell". This was needed because obviously, I did smell. My search encompassed three chemists and hundreds of scented soaps, all with names and labels that evoked tropical spa-like calmness. Madagaskar Sunset. Marrakech Sunrise. As much as I enjoyed our recent holiday to Marrakech, mint and donkey dung is not something I'd like to share in my shower. Shea butter and lavender. What the hell is shea butter?! Refreshing Aloe. That'd be "Retching Aloe" if Jas came near it. Ginseng and Guano. Isn't guano bat crap? As I searched in vain for a scent-less soap, I started making up my own: Bergamo & Bat Shit. Cucumber & Monkey Spunk  (mmm, creamy). Sage & Slug Slime. All you needed was an evocative name with a picture of the sea.

Soap search abandoned. Next the supermarket. Normally this was a brief affair, spent mostly picking regular items from the fresh fruit and vege section. Not now. Walking briskly past the bananas & broccoli, I went to where I would have thought the rice crackers would logically be. But do British supermarket planners have any concept of logical grouping? No. Were the rice crackers near the rice? No. Well, were they by the crackers...? Of course not, silly knob. Naturally it resides in the "World Food" section.

The First Trimester - Week 7

Nothing Is Normal

We were overjoyed at the news, of course. We had a light dizziness at the realisation that our family plans were starting to happen, that a little "us" was quickly forming and would slip into the world early next year and change our lives. We started reading about what was happening, how it was happening, what Jas should (and shouldn't!) be eating, birthing options...so much to absorb!

Our blueberry-sized bub actually started changing things for us pretty much immediately. Our joyful dizziness was promptly converted into nausea - "morning-sickness" - for Jas, nausea that was triggered by any movement and most smells. And to make it worse, Jas' sense of smell had suddenly become incredible. I thought this new ability was kind of cool - "Ooh, someone is cooking chips, yum!" But not Jas – especially when she picked up a disagreeable scent in within a mile's radius. She could detect so much...I couldn't smell a thing. "This place smells of tomatoes, it's making me sick".

Jas’ taste became as fickle as a spoilt cat. Preparing food became a kind of Russian roulette for me: would dinner induce dry-retching? I couldn’t anticipate the reaction. One day eggs were marvellous. The next: bleah. She wanted milk with breakfast every day...until she wanted apple juice instead. Our fridge quickly filled with stuff that was no longer tasty. Goodbye logic. My ability to provide a satisfying (i.e. digestible) meal was in the lap of the Hormone Gods.

Supermarket shopping: normally a structured affair of working to a pre-prepared list, aisle by aisle, selecting organic/healthy option/low fat items wherever possible. Much time was spent carefully checking ingredients on the back of curry jars. From our recent reading we had a list of healthy-pregnant-eating options:

YES - peaches, corn pasta, apples; NO - mangoes, sugar, red meat.

Morning sickness changed all this; eat what can be eaten:

VOMIT - Brown bread, vegetables, ginger; DIGEST - Icy pops, apples, cake. 

Our structured, almost anal, approach to supermarket shopping became something like shopping with someone who was excitably drunk; Jas was randomly dashing from aisle to aisle: "Ooh, Innocent fruit tube, what is that?", "Blueberry muffins, let's get those, I feel like those!"

Nothing was normal.

Jas’ hyper-sensitive smell was starting to mould my actions. 
"Are you wearing deodorant?!" 
"Why yes, it's the one you like". 'Hugo Boss Energise: When Hugo Attitude Meets Energy.' The Hugo Attitude had now met Jas' new hormone-powered whiffing ability. 
"Don't wear it, it makes me sick!" My saucy scent was now a sickening stench. 

So I spent a little more time cleaning the old armpits after that. But lo: 
“Did you just use the Nivea body wash?” 
“Er, yes, I just had a shower...” 
“Don’t please, it makes me sick!” 
Oh boy.

And then the nausea got worse. Much worse. Jas was house bound, needing help to do the simplest things, like making a sandwich. It had a name – hyperemesis. If normal morning sickness was like a cool winter breeze, hyperemesis was akin to a Carribean Hurricane.

Breakfast in bed was a necessity – she couldn’t get up without eating first: crackers and cornflakes were a must.  I started having dreams of lying on a beach...and would awake with crumbs in the bed!