Two weeks ago I discovered I was pregnant. Usual signs and markers, went to Apotheke and purchased the obligatory ClearBlue, followed the (German) instructions and hey presto!
Simon was thrilled and I was worried. What would people think? What would people say? What if it is quads? What if I have to have a caesarian? What if there is something wrong with the baby (given my her-you-je maternal age)? What were we thinking?
When Simon returned from his trip (he was away, hence the jpeg of the pregnancy test as I emailed him with the information), he joked, 'So do we have to move or just build an extension?'
This is no joking matter. At the time I was 6-7 weeks gestation and already planning Christopher's bedroom layout in the event on a septuplet birth scenario. I had paper plans and tiny cutout cots and cotbeds, it was a nightmare shuffling it all around my scale bedroom model everytime I breathed out.
But, what is done, is done and cannot be undone, and we are pleased and so Boo Sucks to the world. Or something less agressive.
No sooner had I put to rest my irrational fears, in the comfort of knowing 'it will all come out in the wash'. (Where did that expression come from, by the way, as it is patently not true, especially for banana.) Then I remembered. My fever. The 39.4 degree celsius fever that overtook me and lasted for four days. My self-medicating regime with Nurofen. Agggh. Babies, even fetuses, are not supposed to be hot. Babies in-utero are not supposed to be tanked up with ibuprofen. Agggh, again. Then I remembered the terrible strained muscle in my thigh and the heavy duty NSAIDs that I had taken for that blessing. More trouble.
Obviously, an immediate internet search was in order and in no time at all I turned up multiple papers about the dangers of NSAIDs to a developing fetus/embryo in the first few weeks of its life. Marvellous. I also found research about fevers being OK (hurrah), provided that they are not above 39 degrees (boo).
Panic set in.
I knew I had to call my obstestrician for an appointment anyhow but could not bring myself to. After about four days I plucked up courage only to hear the answerphone say they were closed for the afternoon. Managed to keep forgetting for another week.
Yesterday I drove to her office after taking the children to school. Just thought I would check out the location and the parking situation. That done, I went home and rang the office. They wanted me to come on Friday. I apologised that Friday was not a good day for me (Tumble dryer fixer man coming, at last); assumed that they would reschedule for the following week.
'What about tomorrow?' she asked, '11:45am?'
So, there it was. Apppointment booked.
Only the nausea, shortness of breath and cold fear to cope with now then.
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