1/28/2008
Week 41 and a bit - So what happened next...
1/6/2008
Week 39- Diana
12/20/2007
Week 36 – Nothing Much
12/1/2007
Week 34 – Tis the season to be jolly
11/22/2007
Week 32 - You're Massive!
11/6/2007
Week 30- All Rise
10/20/2007
Week 28 – Feelin’ hot, hot, hot!
10/8/2007
Week 26- Dizzy
9/14/2007
Soda on the Rocks
9/2/2007
Week 21- Boy...oh boy!
8/17/2007
Week 19- Snap, Crackle and Pop
8/4/2007
Week 17- Herr Suit
7/21/2007
Grumbles, gripes and belly-aches- Helen
6/7/2007
Introducing Project Seahorse- Helen McNeill
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Date: 1/28/2008
Title: Week 41 and a bit - So what happened next...
Week 41 and a bit - So what happened next...
Three acupuncture sessions. One curry. Lots of walks. Swimming every day. Several friends involved in group meditation to bring on labour. Five days of pre-labour. 19 hours of full labour. Hundreds of focused breaths to Kashmir by Led Zepplin. Lavender Oil. Two stress balls (useless). Lots of hot baths. 1 attentive hubby holding shower hose on back. Frequent staring at a light on the wall. Several swear words. One epidural. One ventouse. Six big pushes. One febrile baby. One hot and tired mother. One Archie James Devon McNeill aka Seahorse. Born 8.29pm - 14th January 2008.
So that was what happened next. Several surreal days in hospital followed where we established the following:
- My son is beautiful and has a gentle nature.
- Well-intentioned advice from the nurses changed as often as their shifts and was almost always conflicting.
- My fabulous boobs may look good but they were defeated by their greatest challenge – motherhood. It seems my milkers are at best cosmetic. Not a jot of milk and very, very painful to have the baby try to encourage milk. The lactation consultant insisted I not feed baby as it was so painful – even the electronic breast pump on the lowest setting was agony – though I persisted for 6 days before throwing in the towel and deciding that a non-stressed mummy was much more beneficial to baby’s development than milk. No guilt in the decision – I did my best and am continuing to do so by being the best mum I can be. To all those who chant ‘breast is best’, I say YES I agree and ‘not stressed is best’ too.
- Nothing could ever have prepared me for this intense, overwhelming experience. The enormity of it all is still washing over us in waves of new understanding and learning. Chris and I are both shell-shocked and wondering when we’ll feel like ourselves again. Forever changed by this 54cm bundle of grunts, squeaks, belches and yes, joy. We’re discovering each other slowly and I feel blessed that he chose us. His face changes by the hour and I am savouring every expression – even the little emperor face that he favours when in his pushchair being heaved around the humid streets of Mosman. The look of apparent disdain on his face at the amateurs catering to his needs – mostly. I am certain that he chose us for a reason but even he looks like he’s unsure he made the right choice when on the hot tours of his new home.
A ‘thank you’ to all who have been with us on this journey. For our friends and family – I plan to write a blog on our personal website for those hardcore Archie fans who want to hear about his adventures and development.
Thanks to the fabulous women who run this site for giving me the opportunity to be disciplined about keeping this journal – I am sure it will be a treasure in the years to come and I hope Archie enjoys reading it one day.
Now all of you go to the shopping pages and buy something nice for the round of belly in your life.
Love
Helen, Chris and Archie ‘The Seahorse’ McNeill
Date: 1/6/2008
Title: Week 39- Diana
Week 39 – Diana
I am officially massive. Chris finds this amusing. Mostly because he has coined a new pet name for me and it finds plenty of opportunity to shoehorn it into any sentence. The name: Diana….(wait for it) Princess of Whales (sic). Hilarious. Actually it is quite funny but a smaller part of me that boasted about fitting in skinny jeans is mortified.
Christmas and New Year were very restful, alcohol free and hot. Lovely to spend some time with my husband before we become three though I’m not really buying into the “enjoy-it-whilst-you-can” logic. I mean enjoying time with my husband in my previous life would have meant at the very least being mobile. I am enjoying adjusting to this new almost catatonic pace though but am mindful not to get too horizontal lest my body get used to the new tempo.
Week 39 is the week Seahorse has been instructed to make his appearance. Much meditating, writing of wish lists and just plain instructing him that this is the week should hopefully pay off. Just in case friends are texting me with pearls of induction wisdom - though my internet research has debunked many of the myths around how to induce labour. Sorry guys but curry is just more likely to give mummy a tummy, not of the round and baby-filled variety. Ditto Castor oil. Pineapple would have to be consumed in vast quantities and is more likely to produce the same effect as curry and castor oil. Sex is theoretically likely to induce labour thanks to the prostaglandins in sperm but, ---unfortunately the husbandly censor has cut what would have been the update on that---. I have high hopes for acupuncture though and have been given the all clear by my obstetrician to give it a go. Acupuncture promotes the commencement of a natural labour rather than the medically rapid alternatives offered to post week 40 ladies which sound just down right painful and I am hoping to avoid!
Just when I thought life as a whale couldn’t get more fun, I have started with what appear to be migraines…having not had them pre-pregnancy I was cautious and called the obstetrician’s office to report the visual disturbances just in case they were an indicator of pre-eclampsia. Things were about to get very disturbing however, thanks to a miscommunication between the obstetrician’s receptionist and me. Leaving a message for him to call me, she repeated back my symptoms just to make sure she had them down correctly. “So to confirm, you’re having clitoral disturbances”. Much laughter and clarification followed but it has left me wondering. What exactly are clitoral disturbances and would it help bring on labour?
Date: 12/20/2007
Title: Week 36 – Nothing Much
Week 36 – Nothing Much
An inspiring title for a blog, no? I don’t think I’d even bother to read a blog that had that title. Truth is though that nothing much is happening. My usual get things done efficiently approach means my to-do list was demolished within days of writing it:
- Finish paid employment - tick.
- Struggle with the idea of not earning own money – having been working since the age of 14 and now getting a wage from husbands salary – tick.
- Rent Civic Videos entire back catalogue in a week – tick.
- Read half of the library – tick.
- Prepare the babies bed – tick.
- Pack the labour and hospital stay bags – tick.
- Book night away with husband to a nice hotel, which is probably the sort of establishment that won’t allow babies once they’re on the outside but might just get away with sneaking him in in tummy – tick.
- Take to eating chocolate in the afternoon and then having a 30 minute nana nap – tick.
- Be generally apathetic about contact with anyone outside of the apartment whether it be e-mail, phone, text or face-to-face – tick.
- Freak out about the birth – tick.
- Get baby to move permanently onto bladder – tick.
- Go to bathroom minimum of 3 times per night – tick.
- Cry when things drop on the floor, which they seem to do all the time, because it involves bending to pick it up and that is just plain hardwork – tick.
- Be a typical Arien and not very good at this waiting lark – tick.
To Do
- Have a baby - …
Date: 12/1/2007
Title: Week 34 – Tis the season to be jolly
Week 34 – Tis the season to be jolly
Would you be a little self conscious if you were walking out of the office, belly hugged in a fire engine red top – and someone started whistling “Deck the halls with boughs of holly”? Well I was! Self-conscious and hysterical with laughter. You know you’ve got it when co-workers subconsciously think of a rotund, bearded man when looking at you. Where to from here? I dare not wear my rather fetching green tee in case I hear the strains of the Hulk theme tune from some passer-by.
I was reminded of the time I braved a short haircut for the first time since my youth. I reckoned the hairdresser had managed to achieve the look ‘de la jour’: a feathery do, longer at the back and flicking out at the sides. Perfect - if you were the singer of an early 90’s Northern English rock band. My suspicions were confirmed when I walked through the bus station to the trilling of “Bitter Sweet Symphony” by The Verve. Great! Richard Ashcroft – just the look I was going for. Santa Claus though. That’s the ace in the pack.
Update on the inmate - Seahorse has listened to his daddy’s urgings, and my wish-list writing, and has turned around! With his foot resting on my ribs, I am counting the days to the birth – something I never thought I would. I’m nervous of course but as it gets harder to sleep and move and the general anticipation of seeing our baby increases – I am keen to get on with the task at hand. It’s hard too, feeling so unprepared. I have nearly everything on the ‘what you need ’ lists but really how do I prepare at a fundamental level for this life changing event? I have resigned myself to the fact that I can’t. Well most of the time. I do succumb to dark imaginings about not bringing the baby home but I think that’s my natural ‘cover all bases and be prepared’ mental approach to life. Fun, fun.
Speaking of which, I have decided to swerve the work Christmas party this year. The idea of a nightclub in Kings Cross and my considerable bulk are not a perfect marriage in my mind. My idea of fun these days it to hoist myself on to the kitchen surface and stick my feet in cold water in the sink. Oh, who am I kidding, that isn’t fun - I’d much rather be staggering out of some club at 2am singing Christmas carols (as opposed to being the object of them) but I will have to forgo this year...unless of course I could don my red top and have the revellers sit on my knee and tell me their Christmas wishes. There could be some money in this! Ho, ho, ho!
Date: 11/22/2007
Title: Week 32 - You're Massive!
Week 32 - You're Massive!
So what’s happened these past two weeks. Well, I can now add the unequalled joy of the unsolicited comment about my size, to my list of gripes. Having had the unsolicited tummy rubs it was only natural that it would progress to this but my unsolicited comment was so unexpected (well durrand so, well rude, that it took me a little by surprise.
I had come to rest at a set of traffic lights and was waiting for the little green man when a little blonde woman approached baring her teeth. I think she was smiling. “WOW, you’re massive”, she declared. Opening her mouth wide for added effect. My mouth was wide open too at the sheer rudeness of the woman but she felt she had more to give – she could better this situation – perhaps she was disappointed I hadn’t punched her yet. “I’m 15 weeks”, she confirmed (though I am pretty certain I didn’t ask her to share) and proudly patted her lithe tummy to properly emphasize the disparity between our two figures. As regular readers of this blog will know I was pretty chuffed to be fitting into my jeans at around her stage too, and was boasting as much up until around the 21 week mark but those days are far behind me now. Slighted I reassured her “You’ll catch up”, before flouncing off with my great load leading the way.
The little blonde newbie was one of a few comments this week. “Not long now” is another popular one and really is a bit of a risk given that you are boldly proclaiming that you can do what very few obstetricians can, by judging when she might go in to labour simply from looking at her.
Little Tip: Give up your seat for pregnant ladies and don’t EVER call them fat or even suggest that they are big. No woman wants to hear that, even when she is in natures intended state even in a ‘good natured’ way.
Other observations for the week:
- Sleep is broken and there doesn’t appear to be anyone who can fix it. Whether it be toilet breaks, heartburn, leg cramps or mentally packing my labour bag – I am up most nights.
- I have become allergic to my wedding ring and have had to remove it.
- I can’t turn over in bed without employing a winch or at least making some dramatic noises.
- Seahorse still likes to live in my lungs and is breach but have been having stern words and am hoping he has turned. Chris has been telling him to move too. Very cute to note that Seahorse stops whatever he is doing i.e kicking me in ribs or jumping on my bladder when Chris speaks to him. Already Daddy commands respect!
- Finally, energy levels are still good and the desire to nest has taken full hold of my brain – though we have our second lot of visitors in the baby’s room, which is denying me the fully-fledged nesting fever. I am biding my time like am massive impatient hen.
- Oh and Seahorse crashed the car. He stopped my brain working. He thought that the little pedal next to the big one was a brake too. So when he made me press it we accidentally ran into the back of another car. Naughty Seahorse. Next time we’ll take adults with us when we drive!
Only 3 more weeks of work then the waiting begins. SCARY!
Date: 11/6/2007
Title: Week 30- All Rise
Week 30 - All Rise
I am going to enter into the fine tradition of the ranting blog this week. My focus: etiquette on public transport.
Yesterday, thanks to the inhabitants of the 8.00am 247 bus to Wynyard I was given the opportunity to stand for the majority of the 25 minute journey to the city.
Once again, it was a man who finally gave me his seat and once again it was the blokes who looked on uneasily as slim, younger women checked out my shoes.
Now what makes me laugh most is that I was wearing a smock so huge that it would make Homer Simpson's fat cape look like a scarf and herein lay the issue according to colleagues. Apparently it's just too hard to tell if I am or not! I am 30 weeks pregnant. Believe me I am.
Young women/pre-child are THE worst offenders. So I think it is time that I laid out some interesting facts for the initiated.
Most important fact: Being pregnant is not just being a little bit fatter (or a lot if you're 30 weeks pregnant). If it was just a little extra weight to contend with believe me most pregnant women would be very grateful. Here is brief summary of what also comes with the increased girth:
- A pregnant woman's blood is diluted massively
- Her heart is pumping harder to supply the new life – putting strain on all major organs. The baby is the priority and if the blood has to go anywhere it's to the baby.
- All ligaments are stretched and relaxed due to increased progesterone – this can be very uncomfortable.
- She might have a little persons foot kicking delightfully on her bladder as you stare resolutely forward imagining that your iPod has made you invisible.
- If she has pelvic floor issues this could result in a smelly little puddle at your feet!
- Finally, (you'll like this one) - Pregnant women are prone to fainting. What this means for you, lovely commuters, is that you'll get to sit in your precious seat for much, much longer when an ambulance is required to aid the recently collapsed mother-to-be.
So think on. Yes, I could ask for the seat but really. Should I have to?!
Date: 10/20/2007
Title: Week 28 – Feelin’ hot, hot, hot!
We’ve been treated to some freakishly hot weather in NSW these past few weeks – a couple of 30 degree plus days have pushed the metal and have doubled my walk to the bus station. Given the recent dizzies I am taking it super easy on my travels now and am quite enjoying the new pace. Smiling as I amble. Not a care in the world. Must be the third trimester hormones kicking in.
In spite of their good intentions, one thing that does not appear to be helping in the heat is the smartly delivered wisdom that I should be grateful I am not having the baby in February or March (through the antipodean summer). Oddly these words have so far failed to cool me! Abstract comparisons to other people’s situation are usually so helpful (not). As a child the thickly delivered reminder of starving children in Africa failed to transform meat dishes into the ambrosia my mother promised. Often, much to her disappointment and mine, I sat at the table prodding and pushing the food in the hope that it would disappear and knowing that the only real way that that would happen was if I ingested it. This might explain why, with the exception of occasional chicken and fish, my diet is largely fruit and veg-based as an adult.
On this and other matters - I’ve been pondering my mother’s parenting skills as the time draws close for me to learn my own. A certain amount of trepidation has entered my psyche and as remedy (and on recommendation), I chewed my way through Robin Barkers Baby Love and was horrified to learn of all the things that can go wrong with breast feeding. Friends have echoed that breastfeeding isn’t the earth mother experience they thought it would be. So at least I am prepared with a healthy dose of realism to temper any false starts. But fingers crossed that the Seahorse takes to the breast like a seahorse would to bobbing-around-near-coral and that he eats his greens when the time is right – safe in the knowledge that I won’t be repeating the marathon food-offs of my childhood.
Helen, Chris and the Seahorse
Date: 10/8/2007
Title: Week 26- Dizzy
Dizzy
Week 26 - Dizzy
Last Sunday I was quietly working away with my little old ladies at my Sunday aqua-aerobics class when I started to feel a bit dizzy. Breathing through it didn’t seem to work so I swam to the steps and hauled my bulk out on to the side. Just in time it seems - as the next thing I was aware of was being stroked on the leg by my water bound colleagues as I flailed about. I had fainted.
Being a public place they had to call an ambulance – so I was wheeled out of the centre on a trolley – bathers on and hair plastered to my head. Thankfully we live just around the corner so my husband was called and duly arrived shaking his head and smiling. It was the second time that week that I’d fainted. The first being in the reception on the first day of my new job! Great first impression.
Four hours of waiting and tests revealed I am pregnant. Shock horror! Blood pressure and sugar is all fine and I am not anaemic, pregnancy is the catch-all cause. It happens apparently to some women so in response, I’ve bought myself a pack of Rescue Remedy pastilles, carry a canister of water with me at all times and have now adopted a manana approach to my amblings. In case of any doubt when I cruise onto the hot, hot bus my brother has sent me some badges – in the hope that they will secure me a seat. One declaring ‘I am not fat, I am pregnant’, the other ‘I am not pregnant, I am fat’. Very funny but appear not work their magic on the commuters of Sydney. I had one girl check out my dress and badge AND still not give me a seat. There was a flurry of activity shortly after however when 3 men stood up to gallantly offer their perches. Blokes, even Aussie blokes, who notoriously barge through doors and out of lifts before women (very shocking for a Brit!) are winning in the politeness stakes. Younger women are the worst. Their time will come.
Other than trying to stave off the dizzies – I have now added rib pain to my ills - it’s been plaguing me over the last few days when I have to sit down for prolonged periods – like a stitch that just doesn’t ease. The stuff they don’t tell you has started now as I approach the third trimester. I get nods and smiles from seasoned professionals when I reveal my latest ills. ‘oh, yea, just you wait’...a terrifying promise of more to come. AArrrgggghhhh – the mind boggles!
Summer previewed itself in Sydney this week with 34 degrees days...note to self...next time we have a ‘little accident’ make sure it’s at Christmas so that I don’t carry through summer!
Helen, Chris and the Seahorse
Date: 9/14/2007
Title: Soda on the Rocks
Remember the days - sunset strolls hand in hand, early nights after glasses of wine and late morning breakfasts, rising only when the guilt creeps in of days 'wasted' - it's the memory of these days that Chris and I are chasing on our last holiday on our own. We've chosen New Zealand, the activity capital of the World as our destination. Given that I have more than 25% more blood in my same size frame than a few months ago, my body seems to have forgotten to grow an extra lung to help! In fact, if anything with the space so cramped in there, I have even less chance of oxygenating myself adequately. As a result, I have been grunting and wheezing, like the latest victim on the Biggest Loser, around the South Island - my gasps often the only thing to be heard above the deafening quiet of NZ tourist spots in the off-season.
Compounding my ills is my craving for chocolate raisins and bananas - which seem to be precisely the foodstuffs to have me clutching my chest with a pained look, thanks to that most heinous of side effects...acidic, torturous heartburn! The Ghost of Christmas (indulgence) Past visits me on a daily basis. I have taken to midnight inspections of my ectopagus to check that it hasn't been eroded clean away during my rather charming bouts of 'wakefulness'. The books warned me about both heartburn and wakefulness and I laughingly dismissed the severity of both. 'Wakefulness', I mean hardly the most daunting of possible ailments. Other 'ness' ending words don't exactly elicit fear do they!?!...’Cheerfulness, 'playfulness', 'happiness', 'wakefulness'...see, it sits easily with the others but it is an innocuous enemy. It is the evil little brother of insomnia. The trainee. For the past five nights, I have noted every half an hour from midnight to 4am in bright green digits in the various lodgings we have sheltered in. The fact that older folk cheerfully inform me that 'it’s natures way of getting you used to the sleepless nights', just adds to my chagrin. Well Nature isn't very smart then is she! That's like getting me to run 5k before I see the huge, salivating lion. Better that I preserve my energy for the real race surely, Mrs Nature!? See, now I'm all upset and an attack of the flaming heartburns has come on! Quick pass me the bicarb Chris. I love nothing more than a glass of fizzing fish rot, especially when I am in the heart of the Marlborough wine region. Wish you were here!
Helen, Chris and Seahorse
Date: 9/2/2007
Title: Week 21- Boy...oh boy!
Well it has been almost two weeks now since we found out the sex of our firstborn. It was a nervous time, waiting for the 19 (or 20) week scan. Chris and I sat patiently, him reading a boating magazine and dreaming of what we couldn’t afford before and definitely can’t now, and me chewing nails (my own), smiling at other rotund ladies and generally contemplating the ‘Sliding Doors’ moment we were about to face. I must admit I don’t always find it easy to get as excited about our imminent arrival as other people. Not that I don’t want to see and be with our child, just that I want exactly that and am mindful that anything can happen - at any stage - even once they are on the outside, life is so precious and fragile. Anyway, happy thoughts...
So prostrate again we began our investigations. I had already said that we were keen to know the sex of the little ‘un if that was possible. This was “No problem,” for our skilled technician who commenced the genital hunt. It wasn’t long before she had something in her sights and along with much hurried movement, she began shouting excitedly “look it’s a boy...look, look at his turtle”. All the action being captured on DVD for the family back home, modesty kicked in and I wanted to reach for some little pre-born trousers to protect my little boy and his noodle. I mean he’s not even out and women other than his mother are giving his noodle a pet name. Most disturbing.
Scan results all fine, friends, family and our hairdresser were pleased with the news. Our hairdresser now has an unbroken record for predicting the sex of his clients’ children. I just hope he doesn’t cut the hair of my friend who is booked in for her Caesarean on Monday (because of placenta previa). She was told she was having a little boy too. The baby shower was a celebration in blue and I even bought hard backed copy of the ‘The Little Prince’ for her new boy. However it seems that first scan had revealed the wrong side of the coin...and the latest findings bring news of a little girl, who hopefully has an early appreciation of French literature. A cautionary tale!
It’s a very personal decision, whether to find our your child’s sex, that and just about every other decision you will make about your child but I will say that knowing the sex of our little Seahorse has made me feel much closer to him. I mean surely the day of infinitely stretching privates will be surprise enough already!? But I’m not even thinking about that yet!
Before I go, I must share my first ‘stranger spontaneously touching me’ moment! I was at a concert and having moved out of the touchers way to allow her to more freely express the movements I think she would have called ‘dancing’, she hunched down low and grabbed for my tummy before commencing a big hearty rub. Suffice to say her hand was ejected rather swiftly and had I not been in this most ladylike state I might have given her short shrift on why her behaviour really was an invasion of privacy. I mean people I know touching, if they ask!, is fine but a strange drunk woman. Not on my belly Nelly!
Until next time,
Helen, Chris and The Seahorse
Date: 8/17/2007
Title: Week 19- Snap, Crackle and Pop
It is a running joke in the McNeill household that Chris' standard response to the question "what do we need from the supermarket?" is ALWAYS: "sugar, coffee and Krispies". Even at the grand old age of 32, my beloved starts his day in the manner of a 5-year-old King and displays a childlike lack of concern about the ingredients for any of our other meals.
My breakfast tends to be more of the muesli, yoghurt and fruit variety. That is until the 'incident'…
Chris was preparing his morning coffee and had left his bowl of Krispies on the side. The 'snap, crackle and pop' caught my attention first – the surface, an inch thick in sugar cracked and moaned like a swiftly moving ice sheet and the Krispies churned noisily underneath. It was in that moment that I wistfully remembered the delights of sugar. Whether it was loaded thick on cereal, heaped into cups of tea or mixed with butter and eaten from the spoon (I honestly did that) as a child I loved sugar with everything and now I was craving it!
Before my health conscious brain could control me, the spoon was heading to my mouth and the popping, milky sugar rush was mine. I felt the surge of fulfilment prickle up my spine and greedily chased after that initial sensation – wolfing down the entire bowl in seconds, much to Chris' dismay. I think it's safe to say that I had had my first genuine craving that morning.
I have since been released from my sugary master but the memory lingers and the sound of 'snap, crackle and pop', still makes me twitch. Speaking of pop! I have popped! Seahorse has finally come out of it's underwater cave and can be seen to the outside world. It enjoys bulging down my right hand side but as Seahorse seems to be having a merry old time bouncing around it there, the bulge is up and down like a baby's dummy.
I have my 19 week scan on Monday and we're going to find out the sex…friends tell me that ALL male partners smile proudly when they see their child's 'assets' for the first time. Even if moments later the doctor announces the imminent arrival of a little girl! All will be revealed in the next blog!
Helen McNeill
Date: 8/4/2007
Title: Week 17- Herr Suit
A few months ago, in the early days of seahorse, I flicked onto a documentary about childbirth. They were catching up with some water babies to see whether they could talk and function on the land – or more likely to promote water births as a viable alternative to a non aquatic environ. In spite of the lovely calming effect of the water there was still blood, screaming, spine-chilling accusative stares and anguished cries (and that was just the father). On a subconscious level it did what it was supposed to do to a very new mother-to-be and opened a new file in my brain marking it for future reference ‘Ultimate Pain’ however on a more conscious level I was distracted. As the action took place elsewhere on the screen I couldn’t help but stare at one particular aspect of the grunting mother-to-be – no, not as you might think her expanding tuppence - I was fixated by at least 10 thick black hairs on her belly – proud as you like.
I should explain that I am dark-haired and whilst my olive European skin turns a lovely shade in the summer months, I have shaved my legs since the age of 12 and have to be ready armed with the hair removal cream in order to not challenge my husband’s five o’clock shadow - only now, it seems my hormones have taken this battle to a whole new level. I was expecting the lustrous shiny locks ON MY HEAD and the fact that I look like of one of the Queens own Beefeaters is only slightly alarming but now not only do I have the makings of several thick black hairs on my belly - last night a cursory post shower inspection revealed a thick, spiky hair on my bum cheek! Worse still I found another on my shoulder this morning! My shoulder I ask you - what is happening?! And how on earth does that help with motherhood? Do I attach the vomit blanket to it? What’s the need for this shoulder hair?
Of course it is just the almighty Mrs God giving me a reality check - where once I judged my hirsute sister, I will judge no more. I imagine the odd hair will be the least of my worries, as the full majesty of the birthing process puts all concern to the back of my mind – or at least just to my back, where I can’t see them.
As for other things at week 17 - still no real belly to speak of but I am being reassured by friends who didn’t have a belly until at least 5 and 1/2 months that all is well. Still I am sort of apologising to women who were bigger at my stage though. Maybe I should show them my hairs; perhaps they’d rub their large smooth bellies and feel a little better?
Helen McNeill
Date: 7/21/2007
Title: Grumbles, gripes and belly-aches- Helen
My blog this week concerns things south of the navel, the squeamish or male should proceed with caution.
For some time I have been reading about my ever expanding uterus in terms of its relation to fruit (the fruit of my loins has taken on a whole new visual image for me as a result). When my avocado became a grapefruit (around the beginning of week 14) I was not prepared for the presence of low and constant period-type pain. I tolerated this for perhaps 3 days before giving in to my internet-fuelled neurosis and consulting a pregnancy forum to see if this was ‘normal’. As is often the case with user generated information resources I sat bewildered, clinging only to the advice to consult a doctor if symptoms persisted. The absence of any blood was my only obvious comforter.
Later that day I called my obstetrician’s out-of-hours service, where it was suggested that I was probably just constipated. I know the ‘very experienced and totally over-speaking with the umpteenth neurotic first time mum today’ lady was trying to be helpful. However her insistence that my bowel movements were inadequate was just galling. “I may not be au fait with the business of growing a child but I can assure you I have grown one or two of the ‘others’ in my time madam”, I said to myself internally, whilst I lied and congratulated her on making me feel better, thanking her for her wise words. Of course, my belly is not one to be accused of faking it and put on a midnight show of severe cramping just to pooh-pooh the naysayer.
The next day I picked up the phone to the very lovely and concerned receptionist at my obstetrician and gave her my symptoms. She umm’d and ahh’d in reassuring tones before hitting me with ‘ohh, that doesn’t sound good, dear. You’d best come in right away’. As luck would have it, the obstetrician wasn’t available for the rest of the day – so Chris was greeted with a tear-stained Helen on his return from work as I’d spent the rest of the afternoon plagued with visions of procedures to deal with my terrible situation.
Finally my appointment came and of course the obstetrician reassured me that pregnancy is an uncomfortable business before slapping the ultrasound to my tummy and showing the Seahorse face down/bum up - it’s little heart beating steadily.
Relief does not adequately describe how I felt, despite having lost my Mother Earth-esque cool, nor does not it adequately describe how I felt just the next day...
Thankfully, I am still enjoying my 6k walk to work in the mornings to the office and am attributing the walk to the fact that when I hopped on the scales at the obstetrician’s this week I was once again greeted by the digits no-one wants to see: 66.6kg. It’s not an Omen, it’s not! Anyway, back to the tale...So on this particular morning I partook of a cup of sweet tea before embarking on a particularly chilly morning walk. About halfway through the walk I became aware of a mild need to pee and sensibly packed away my water bottle not wanting to worsen my situation. Alas my actions were too late. Two-thirds of the way into the walk I began weighing up the option of detouring via a local shopping centre. I was aware that I had begun startling passers-by with my grimace and erratic, fast steps but each foot forward made the Seahorse bounce atop my bladder – which I felt sure would be visible to the already startled passers-by at any moment now.
Deciding against the detour, I added a soothing hum to my walk and counted my steps to maintain calm, breaking only to mutter obscenities as the traffic lights insisted on lengthening my plight.
Time took on an almost Matrix-like quality and the last few hundred metres to the office were something of a blur. I remember muttering hello to a colleague who rather wisely got out of my way as I headed straight from the lifts to the bathroom. The wrestle with my undergarments had me laughing manically before the final, sweet release was mine. I had one of those divine toilet moments that are the stuff of long car journeys with impatient male drivers and was just getting onto thanking my second deity when the ablutions ended with a trickle. To say I was surprised underplays it a little. From the minute pains I had been suffering with every step, I had expected a critically distended bladder and roaring gush to be the remedy but no - a slowly wending stream was all I got for my efforts. Not very impressive at all. This pregnancy lark really is very puzzling – what ever next? Until then...
Helen, Chris and The Seahorse
Date: 6/7/2007
Title: Introducing Project Seahorse- Helen McNeill
I am Helen and seven or so weeks ago Sunday became Monday, as it has many times before, only this time the idea of going to work was just not an option. An overwhelming and total tiredness had descended, ironing me firmly into the mattress - I groaned at my husband and waved a dismissive hand as he urged me into the shower. Not that day my friend, that day Helen would sleep. At around 11am I felt able to raise my head from the pillow and venture from my cocoon. Shuffling to the bathroom there was still no sign of my period which had been nagging at me but not arriving for the previous 2 weeks. Swollen boobs, backache, stomach cramps, cranky, oh and insanely tired - sound familiar? If you’re reading this then it probably does.
We hadn't been trying for a baby, so I snorted with derision when a friend suggested that I take a pregnancy test. In fact I chortled all the way to the chemist and back. The chortling didn’t stop there - my laughter grew to hysterics in direct proportion to the increasing second blue line.
I called Chris, my husband, at work to whisper the news to him....at 31 I hadn’t felt this immature since the day we got engaged and giggled down the phone to our parents. ‘I’m the KID’ screamed my head but the line screamed back that I wasn’t the only one, there were two of us now!
Not a great deal has changed in the past seven weeks. My tummy still fits in my size ten jeans but not after midday which I now refer to as the pumpkin hour for it is after this hour that the top button is undone and I balloon. Most food seems to bloat me in fact and my house is now filled with scented candles to cope with the aftershocks of the ‘bloating’. I truly am a charm to be with:
- I have been spared the worst of morning sickness – at most I suffered a touch of nausea which was cured by the brisk 6k walk to work with a clear mint on my tongue. I have my mother to thank for this piece of genetic good luck.
- I have been gifted with a sense of smell which could open up careers with Customs – if only I could wear a collar.
- The dreams are vivid, even more nonsensical than normal and occasionally downright terrifying. I could put Spike Lee to shame.
- My mood, as a fully paid-up horn-toting Arien, has always been, shall we say, colourful but even I struggle to keep up now. Rage is often replaced by giggling which is either uncontrollable or downright painful thanks to my ever stretching ligaments.
Apart from the niggles, at week 13 all is well. Over the months you will no doubt learn much more about me, my bodily functions and of course more of my Seahorse - the term of endearment for our ickle baby - since it bobbed to the surface with its Seahorse features during my first scan. I texted my mother to say she might need to knit a bonnet unless the baby’s face improves vastly. We are all quietly hopeful...
Helen, Chris and The Seahorse
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