Dream a little dream of you...

I dream. A lot. Vivid, colourful, beautiful and sometimes disturbing dreams. Before I found out I was pregnant, I'd often dream that I was looking after or holding a baby. Freud, if he were still alive, would tell me it was because babies were constantly sitting in my subconscious mind. He'd be right. Obviously. He's Freud!

In my dreams these babies never ever felt like mine. I adopted the role of a babysitter more than anything else. Since falling pregnant I've not had one dream that featured a baby; mine or otherwise. 

Until last night. 

It was a short dream. Which means that it came to me in the early hours this morning which is usually when the Little One stirs. Or stomps on my bladder. And this morning awakening from my dream was the very last thing I wanted to do. 

I was clearly holding our Little One. I know he was ours because my heart ached and swelled at the same time. And I didn't want to put him down. Not for a second. A sense of complete and utter calm that I'd not known before, embraced me from the pit of my stomach. I was trying to figure out how to feed him the way nature intended. And bless him he really tried but we just couldn't do it. I was starting to worry because I knew I had to get to work and this was taking ages to get right. And then I remembered I didn't have to go to work, I had all the time in the world and we'd work this out together. Flash forward to an unknown pharmacy in an unknown town, baby nestled in my chest and my husband by my side, who was successfully navigating his way through the array of baby formulas and plastic bottles on the shelves...with a little help from a friendly midwife behind the counter. Others stopped to peak at Little One and comment on how gorgeous he is. With a little dusting of fine dark hair and a perfect little face. Flash back to our bedroom, minus a crib, we try to position him amongst  a nest of pillows and cushions and he starts making little sounds and shaping his mouth into a perfect 'o'. He's clearly comfortable and drifts off to sleep and I just want to cuddle him more and never put him down. 

It's 06:12 and time to get up and I'm so sad to have to leave him behind but reality awaits. 

It's all I could talk about today and bumping into another pregnant friend at the office, who is due a week before me, I recall my dream for her and she leaves me with...

..."That's the best type of dream because you know that it's going to come true." ...

Be careful what you wish for..

For months we've been complaining about the weather. There seemed to be no end to Autumn/Winter and the same can be said to our Autumn/Winter collection of clothes; coats and jackets kept close at hand "just in case". When I found out I was pregnant I was delighted that I'd be "getting bigger in the Summer"...

Then Summer hit us in the face like a hot sweaty armpit on the tube and I really want a do-over of the wish I made back in March.

It's hot. It've very hot and the last two weeks have been the hotest in the UK for the last 7yrs.

Now being from South Africa my pregnant body should be able to handle this current heat weave. But alas, I lefts it's shores 8yrs ago. I do remember the heatwave of 2006 in the UK, it was my second year here and I wondered what the fuss was all about. I was totally acclimatized back then. But something has happened and I'm struggling.

I no longer have ankles or legs...I've developed cankles and kegs. I'm able to have a good 30min kip on the way to and from work during my commute; it's either that or contending with a soggy Metro newspaper as my brow leaks onto the page. It's best that my head remain upright. I drink from my water bottle only to keep from fainting as I know if I drink it all I will need the loo half-way through my journey as my bladder is now the size of a plum. 

I'm very lucky though. I work with some amazing people who have nick-named Little One, Team Baby and they're always looking out for our welfare. I was able to leave earlier and wrap up my day at home. It was still as hot as the Karoo this afternoon but we managed to get home without any tears or napping. I even dared to finish all my water on-route. And there isn't a cankle or keg in sight.

I'm 23 weeks today and Little One has now discovered that not only can he kick my stomach but he's within perfect proximity to my lower intestine and rib cage and gives each a little nudge to let my internal organs know that he's boss...as if my body didn't know that...my plum sized bladder got with the program by week 8!

We're also missing Ryan, he's up North with his Mom and Dad discovering everything he can about his family roots. The only thing I'm enjoying is having the bed and four pillows all to myself.

And in other news; The Duchess of Cambridge went into labour at around 6:30am. William and Kate have a lot in common with Ryan and I; we got married the same year, are having our first born in the same year too and we have just made that a hat-trick as their little boy arrived at 4:24pm weighing just over 8oz! It's just breaking news while I was typing my last sentence! Delighted for them both! Congratulations!!

Waiting with baited breath to see what his name is going to be!!!!

Our Bean is a Boy!

I honestly believe that God listens to you. When I first found out I was pregnant, in my heart I really hoped it was a boy. I don't know why, but I think deep down I'd manage a little boy easier than a little girl...first time round that is! Obviously if Little One was to be a girl we'd still keep her! And perhaps one day God will bless us again so we get to have one of each and the best of both worlds.

Now, we had a little plan last week when we found out if IT was a he or she. It was actually something I'd seen on a show called 'Pregnant in Heels' and I thought "awww sweeeeet". You get the sonographer to write down the sex of your baby in a little card and you and your better half open it when the moment is right for you. So this was our big plan! Ryan was on board! Sadly the restaurant where we had our first date was not...it had closed two years ago. So we agreed to head up to Wimbledon Common with said card a small bottle of champagne and would have a nice romantic meal afterwards.

Well you know what 'they' say about best laid plans...

We head off to our appointment last week (running late!) with the little card, a little pen and before I could paint our little romantic picture for our sonographer she's out with "yes, yes, write the sex of the baby in the card, I do that all the time..."

'Pregnant in Heels' is a popular show!

Anyway, I get up on the bed. Ryan and I hold our breath and each others hands. As soon as she starts the process...BAAM! There they are...little 'berries' that are undeniably clear. It's a boy! I stop breathing. I don't want to give the game away because Ryan has not seen said 'berries' yet (we both need help, on occasion, to actually see our baby never mind his berries).

The sonographer carries on with measuring our Little One and everything appears normal. She then turns to us and before I can shove my fist in her mouth she says "and it's a boy". Well my husband doesn't give the death stare very often but she got one. She was very apologetic "I don't know what happened, I'm so so sorry, it never just pops out like that". Really? Are you sure lady? Because you kinda seemed hell bent on being a little snide about our little card and our little pen ten minutes ago saying you did this all THE time.

We got over it pretty quickly though! How could we not. We got what we ordered.

We didn't make it up to Wimbledon Common that evening but we did go out for a lovely Thai meal and have an awesome story to share with Little One one day.

Our Little One was lying in the exact same position as I was during the scan, arm above head...that or he's flexing his little muscles already!

The Story of Dudley & George

I'm a sap. I still have my childhood teddybear. He sits under the bed in our bedroom and it's the only real childhood toy I've managed to hold onto. I also had a monkey once, that had a 'Planet of the Apes' type rubber face and a soft body. It almost stood as tall as me when I was 4 / 5yrs old. He must've ended up being re-homed as I only have photographic evidence of him in old family albums. My Mom liked us to 'share' our toys with various charities while we were growing up so I've not held onto anything, except for my teddybear. 

Anyway - over this past Easter weekend when we told Kerry and Mornay I was pregnant. We found him in a little shop in a little village called Rye. I plucked him from a basket and he came to live with us. He also matches our bedroom colour scheme nicely. My intention was that he'd become Little Ones first stuffed animal. Ryan named him Dudley. Not sure why? We always thought that we'd get a cat one day and call him Dudley. But alas; baby trumps cat and no child of mine will be named Dudley!

Dudley is a bunny. 

Then we had dinner this week with one of my oldest and dearest friends who is also one of Little Ones Godparents. Rich has cottoned on rather quickly to the duties of being a Godparent (only joking!) as he came bearing gifts. A little friend for Dudley...after much deliberation around the dinner table we named him George and he hails from a little shop in Cambridge. 

George is a monkey. 

They make an odd couple 'ol Dudley and George. But they will be friends for life. 

Better late than never..

So we now know what we're having! We've shared this with a couple of close people but until we've managed to tell Ryan's parents in person (only next week) we won't be doing any big revels or anything. 

Thank-you so much for all the kind comments and for following our journey. Ryan knew I was keeping a blog but he only got to see it with everyone else on Tuesday. And he approves. I love writing so now that this is 'out in the open', I will write some more...

We'll share if Little One is a wee girl or boy next week. But yesterday will be forever etched in my memory because it taught me that, nothing goes according to plan! You just have to "roll with it". 

Let me share with you the story of my last scan...the 12 week one that we had on 15 May. It was very important to me that my sister be apart of our journey too as my best friend and elder of us three. This is the the first of two scans offered by the NHS and this confirms that there is actually a baby in your belly. As if all the flatulence, 2am visits to the loo, going from a 34B to a 38C bra is considered 'normal'. 

We planned it all. I'd work from home the day of my scan, Kez would go into the office. We both work for the same consultancy co. in London so our paths cross almost weekly which is great as she and her husband are living proof of "Country Life" so I don't get a chance to see her very much. Ryan went to work as normal. My appointment was at 15:00. 

Now when you have what is known as your 'Booking Appointment' you are given an NHS file. This file is "your responsibility and you HAVE to bring to EVERY appointment, if you don't we WILL not see you". This was drilled into me by the Midwife during my first visit at 9 weeks. So much so I have nightmares about my damn file at least a week before my appointment. I dreamt last week that I'd left it at home for yesterdays appointment and Ryan had to race back home to get it! The NHS file haunts me.

Step back to the day in question. The NHS file was on the counter ALL day in the kitchen. I was prepared. My trusty water bottle in the fridge (you have to have a full bladder for these appointments) and my snack were ready (I just like the idea of carrying a snack). 

It wasn't until 10min before Ryan got home that I actually opened my NHS file. Something deep inside of me said "just double check you have everything". It was then that I re-read the time of our appointment. It wasn't at 15:00. It was at 14:40. It was now 14:20. And we live 15/20min from the hospital. And my sister was somewhere on the London underground. Without phone signal. Well. I just about gave up right then. 

And this is why I know I married the right man. Rather than have a go at me or give me a lesson on how to actually TELL time, Ryan set about grabbing what we needed and bundling me into the car.  We had to find my sister. We'd arranged a place to meet in Southfields, which made it very easier to pick her up on-route. This plan was now out the window! I had to wait for her right at the station. I tried calling her. No luck. It was now 14:30. 

In preparation for my appointment, I've consumed what felt like 5L of water and this was now pressing against the wall of my bladder. I have to wee. Badly! Please God, whatever happens...don't...let...me...sneeze. As it would be game over and we did not have time for me to go home to change if I did end up soiling my knickers!

 

It was now 14:35. The tube comes into the station and I can make out my sisters form coming down the platform. I mouth something like "hurry the (your choice of word here) up" and she gets the message. I explain through floating teeth and crossed legs, that I screwed up the time. We are now officially late as it's 14:36. It's my fault entirely, apparently with pregnancy comes the inability to tell time.

To take my mind off the urge to wee and waiting for Kez. I'd managed to call the hospital to explain the situation and they were very very helpful. We still drove like little bats out of hell and got there at 15:00. Murphys Law. 

So yesterday you'd think we'd learnt our lesson from the last time. Nah. This time I made sure I'd brushed up on how to tell time. Our appointment was for 15:50 (I have no idea why they don't make it on the hour or 15min past the hour for Pete's sake). I'd burned the time on my brain. Checked and double checked. 

I took yesterday off work and spent it with one of my three oldest and dearest friends, Richard, who is out visiting from Oz. We grew up together in SA and we'd not seen eachother for about 6yrs. So there was a lot to catch-up on! More about this another time. 

With my bladder still recovering from the last scan, I was not going to be late for this one. Neither was my husband. And this was our final scan so we were just going on our own. Ryan and I meet on the platform at Embankment station. Rich in tow as he was going in the same direction and we'd spent a lovely afternoon on the river gassing over what the last 20yrs had brought us each.

The journey from Embankment to Southfields takes around 28min but in getting on the tube we must've also climbed in and discovered one of those worm holes Steven Hawkins goes on about because by the time we'd popped out the tunnel near home it was 15:24. We still needed to get the bus home to get the car to get to the hospital. And between our last scan and yesterdays one, we'd failed to discover time travel or "travel by map" like the bleedin' Muppets. And I needed the loo. Flash back to May and standing around with a full bladder isn't half as fun as trying to jog up the hill from the bus stop in the same condition plus around 3kgs heavier with a baby bump.

We managed. With being very focused and sticking to the speed limit, to get there just 5min late this time. And we are so not like the couple that never rocks up on time. We are the couple that likes to arrive early. 

Ah the memories of yesterday. Needless to say by 21:00 I was in our bed. Emotionally spent from an emotionally charged day. The 10th July will be in my memory forever.

Getting to know you better...

Tomorrow we have our 20 week scan. It's the big scan. The one where they can tell that our Little One is growing normally and everything is working as it should be. Ryan and I are both a little anxious about tomorrow. 

It's also the day we can find out if we're having a boy or a girl. As my Mom says "You have 50/50 chance of getting one or the other" (thanks for that Mom). 

For years I knew that I'd never want to find out believing that there really are no more surprises in life. And this is the one time that we'd be truly surprised when our Little One pops out. "It's a boy!" the doctors would say before placing a bloodied crying lump on my chest. Or "Congratulations it's a girl!" before placing a bloodied crying lump on my chest. Yes, this is how I pictured it. I didn't want to know. I felt the same about having Ryan in the delivery room with me (more about this another time). 

I was lucky enough to be in the room the day my surrogate little sister (aka Penny) found out what she was being blessed with. The nurse said "I see pink in your future" and I truly melted as Pen shed a couple of tears. I promptly bought a pair of little pink pumps to celebrate. It was an amazing day. I still didn't think I'd find out when my turn rolled around.

Then I actually fell pregnant. 

And all the opinions I had about 'stuff' seemed to change. I now want to know. Not because it will make it easier to decide on the right paint pallet for the nursery, which seems to be THE common response when you tell people you want to know. And not because I'm a complete control freak (I am but not about this). It's so that we can get our heads completely in the game of parenthood. 

If it's a boy. He will go to Grey, the same school his Daddy and Uncle went to. He will also look a little like his Dad, with dusty blonde hair and baby blue eyes and a dusting of freckles on his nose. He will be strong, gentle and kind. He will have a sense of humour like his Daddy and be able to cook like his Mommy. He will be a great catch one day and make someone very happy as he'll be solid and committed. 

If it's a girl. She will be outspoken and full of life. She will have curly hair and God willing, dimples. She may have webbed toes (much to Daddy's horror!). She will be creative, loving and kind. Daddies sense of humour outdoes mine so no doubt she will inherit this from him. She will be ambitious and driven and will hopefully stick to Mommy's rule of not getting married until she's at least 30yrs old.

I know we can't plan everything and most is left up to God anyway. But we can dream. Hope. Believe that our Little One will one day change the world. 

My mother-in-law has made it known, on quite a few occasions I might add, that she thinks we're a little crazy finding out. "It's what gets you through labour"...what's going to get me through labour, Mil, is the copious amounts of drugs I will be taking if my birth plan is approved. That and the fact I'll be able to eat Sushi and feta cheese again. 

So, tomorrow we will know and tonight our heads will be filled with dreams of him or her. 

Tomorrow can't come soon enough Little One. Mommy and Daddy are looking forward to seeing you again (you're kicking me right now in anticipation which must mean you're excited too...make sure to give us a wave will you.)