Week 30

Ten weeks to go! I’m quite looking forward to meeting the little person, to look into his eyes rather than prod his head/back/butt through Jas’ straining skin. We started asking ourselves questions more regularly: What will we have? What will the baby look like? What will he grow up to be? A sportsperson? An linguist? A truck-driver? How long should we breastfeed? I mean, how long should Jas breastfeed? Should we discipline our child with the wooden spoon like our parents did?  

Jas: “What do you think about circumcision?” Ask a man what he thinks about surgically removing a portion of a penis, and he is unlikely going to be able to think clearly about the pros and cons. I crossed my legs, winced a little, and said, “Er, not much....” If we have a little man popping out, I’m going to have to provide a more eloquent answer. What are the pros and cons? Does circumcision affect the baby at all? What do people do these days? What do hospitals do with all those foreskins? And do the Peruvians bury it with the placenta? *

We liked to think that the little one was responding to his external surroundings. When I spoke near the belly, internal prodding would begin, as though he wanted to get out and find where my voice was coming from. It was the same when other familiar voices spoke nearby: there would be renewed wriggling when he heard well-known tones. One day on the train Jas and bub were quietly sitting, until a baby on the train starting screaming. Immediately, blueberry started wriggling about, as if in response to the crying baby, as if he could sense another little one near and wanted to get out and help. Or play!

*Week 24

Week 26

I’ve gone off the pregnancy reading a bit. Well, the pregnancy parts are fine, but it was just when I started reading about end of the pregnancy - the birth! - that I felt like skipping to the chapters to when the little person has left his womb without a view and everything has been cleaned up. I knew that child birth is very tough and not something you’d video and show on family film nights; I knew that the little one comes out all misshapen and covered in cheesy stuff, but there were other details I was blissfully unaware of. The physiology of it all is incredible but the fact is that it’s not just cheesy stuff and placenta that accompanies the child on its short uncomfortable journey to meet us. I won’t go into details. I think I’ll actually try and forget some of the details and leave them to the midwife when the time comes. Like many things in life, the most rewarding experiences are associated with difficult and uncomfortable moments; a bit like eating prawns, to enjoy the delicious little morsels you have the effort of shelling and of cleaning up a sticky mess.

For those expectant folk who are completely comfortable with the whole childbirth process and the by-products of it, a (very) alternative cookbook I was perusing provided a recipe for “Placenta Pate”, which included garlic and bacon. Oh, yum.

Baby smells

I wondered if I could hear our blueberry, perhaps with some swishing or hiccupping noises. Placing my ear on the bump, I heard...nothing at all. But I could smell him! Amazingly, at that point, Jas’ belly smelt like baby. He was somehow propagating that unmistakable pleasant milky odour to the outside world.

We visited friends for lunch, and Jonty – their delightful spoodle (Cocker Spaniel/poodle cross) - did something similar to me: he approached the bump, curious, and had a lingering sniff. He looked like he could definitely sense something, perhaps he smelt the baby smell, or perhaps could detect much more. (Or perhaps Jas spilt some of the delicious lunch onto her top; her belly was getting very good at catching bits that didn’t make their intended destination!) Interestingly, Jonty was very cautious, and didn’t jump up and sit on Jas’ belly and say hello as he commonly did. Respect to the bump. Jonty then moved over to me, leapt up and unceremoniously planted himself in my lap.

Week 24

Manners

In the early hyperemesis days, Jas had a bad train trip to work, where she was forced to stand when she was unwell, and then had promptly passed out. Since then I’d become more aware of pregnant passengers in search of a seat on my daily commute. One day I looked up from my book to see a young lass moving down the carriage with a cargo that looked like it would be delivered before we arrived at London Blackfriars. I stood up so quickly – without thinking - that it was as though I had just sat on something very pointy. She was grateful for the seat, and I hoped Jas would have pregnancy-aware chaps on her train, however unlikely that may be.

On another occasion I was again about to leap out of my seat at the sight of a slightly protruding undercarriage moving towards me, when I checked myself and thought, “Is she or isn’t she...pregnant?” Predicament: Do I stay seated and risk being rude and inconsiderate, or stand up with the chance of being offensive?  

Interruptions

The little mans’ movements is something amazing and entertaining for me, something I can tap into when I want to. But Jas feels it all the time - little jiggles or slides at any time of the day or night. It’s something I find hard to imagine, having something living inside you that can interrupt anything you are doing, wherever you might be doing it, without warning. The closest sensation I could think of was the day after a bad curry. It would be distracting, say, in a meeting at work, or performing something important or precise. I could imagine female laser eye surgeons being unable to work during advanced pregnancy! I heard an exclamation from our bathroom one evening: kicks during a toilet visit. I guess it could help things along.

Research

We’d started doing a lot of online searching for the growing list baby of essentials we had to buy. Well, ok, Jas had...I was just viewing the odd thing of interest, a potential bargain, that she’d found. One day she emailed me a link of an item to have a look at while I was at work. I replied: “Ok, will look at this at home. Checking out breast pump websites at work will probably raise eyebrows.”

And those breast pumps – have you seen them!? They look like something from Dr Who, not something you’d have suctioned against your tender bits. I was certainly glad I didn’t view the sites at work, with the images showing the “operational side” of the devices, and phrases like: “Change your pumping rhythm any time you wish. Relax and enjoy the experience...”

We began to learn that we had certain post-birthing practices to consider. “What shall we do with the placenta?” I asked one day. Jas looked at me as though I’d just told her I fancied having a pet lizard. I told her that different cultures have certain rituals: fathers in Peru bury the placenta in a far-off location so it doesn’t become “jealous” of the attention paid to the baby; some Philippinos bury it with a book to increase the intelligence of the child; I’d heard of some families freezing it to cook as part of a roast for a special occasion (“Afterbirth or gravy, nan?”); in the UK, most hospitals actually sell it to cosmetic companies. Jas said: “Let’s leave it to the hospital to recycle”. Those L’Oreal advertisements won’t ever look the same...