Hello Uttersons. Gosh, it has been a while since you’ve had a proper update from me, hasn’t it? Paris and Jennie have been holding the fort for me marvellously and I hope you’re enjoying their wedding stories thus far.
Life in the south-east London/north-west Kent suburbs is good. If you really must know the ins and outs of my private life, Paul has spent his easter holidays slaving away in the garden in preparation for a new fence going in in a couple of weeks. This has involved an insane amount of work, including taking a sledgehammer to a small, dilapidated concrete building at the back of the garden, felling trees, clearing weeds, roots and ugly bushes, and chopping up a ridiculous amount of wood. I’ve taken a sledgehammer to one brick and made many cups of tea for my little trooper. Fairs fair.
What else? Well, wedding season is nearly upon us. It’s 6 weeks to my first Utterly Wow wedding of the year and I’m about to get very busy indeed. I’ve got some fantastic weddings and absolutely delightful clients this year, so I can’t wait to share the fruits of our labour once the season kicks off. One of my bridesmaids gets married next weekend, for which I’m returning the bridesmaid favour and I know it’s going to be an absolute corker of a day. And my little sister had a baby girl a couple of weeks ago, who is going to be one of the most beautiful creatures on the planet, I think.
But I’m beating around the bush. I do have other, more personally momentous news to share, you see.
I’m very, very, very thrilled to reveal that I am growing a teeny tiny being in my uterus. Yes, in my uterus, as opposed to my fallopian tube, which those of you who have been following the blog for a while will know is a wonderful, wonderful thing.
So, facts and figures. I’m just over 15 weeks pregnant, due 30th September allegedly, although I was put forward at my dating scan so I’m pretty sure it will be an October baby. Apparently it’s the size of a pear at the moment, which is just bizarre to get my head around seeing as my body hasn’t really started to change yet. I feel a vast array of things; disbelief that it’s actually happening, denial that it’s actually happening, fear that it won’t continue to happen, guilt that it’s happened. But of course the overwhelming feeling is happiness. Both Paul and I are very, very
I may well expand on these various points at some point, but for now, some notes. Have you got a cup of tea? This is going to be a long ting…
Whilst I’m more than happy to share the ins and outs of my sex life with my closest friends (some would say too happy), I am aware that the majority of us are strangers and that this is a public space, so I’ll try and skirt delicately around the outside. Trying to conceive (or TTC as anyone who’s been on a pregnancy forum will know) wasn’t particularly fun. The first time it was quick. Like, stupidly quick. First-time lucky quick, if you know what I mean. After the ectopic I took comfort from the many, well-meaning people who said “well at least you know you can conceive”. We had to wait three months after surgery before starting again and so in May (handily coinciding with our one-year anniversary) I went straight in with the ovulation sticks, thinking if I could just get the timing right it would happen fairly quickly.
It took nine months in the end, which I know for many people is no time at all, but for us, or particularly for me, it felt like an incredibly long time. It was frustrating. Upsetting. Confusing. In October, and with no whiff of a positive, I started acupuncture in the hope I could force the egg to release from my left ovary, seeing as it’s my left fallopian tube that remains intact. In January of this year I made an appointment with my Doctor to get the ball rolling for endometriosis tests. Since the ectopic I’d been spotting before my period for anything from 1-6 days and my acupuncturist had suggested I should perhaps have some further tests. My doctor was very understanding and agreed to book me in for an ultrasound, saying as he handed over the booking form, “…and if you’re pregnant already, you can use this scan to see the baby instead”. We both laughed politely and then a week later I took a test on the day my period was due and finally got the words I was hoping for: Pregnant. 2-3 weeks.
We didn’t do anything particularly different in January, the month we conceived. It was the same month we’d conceived last year, so I had a particular date in mind that I felt we should… you know… for old times sake. So what if it was a week before I was supposed to ovulate? We continued doing what we needed to do that month and lo and behold, the science finally worked. Whilst I’ve no idea when the actual magic happened, the fact that the teeny tiny being inside me is measuring a week ahead of what my dates suggest does make me think that that particular date I’d had in mind was meant to be.
On the first 12 weeks…
Or you could say, the longest 12 weeks of your life. I don’t quite know how we’re in April now and summer is in the not-so-distant future. In February I thought it was going to be February FOR EVER. Because of the ectopic the EPU had told me to skip the doctor and come straight back to them when I did fall pregnant again. I called the day I found out and got booked in for a scan three weeks later. THREE WEEKS LATER?! I spent those weeks anxiously waiting/checking for blood and when none came we made our way to the hospital on our allocated date, walking the green mile down to the Early Pregnancy Unit that had become so familiar last year.
The first time round there had been agonising silence whilst she searched my uterus, tubes and ovaries for anything resembling a yolk sac, prodding my belly over and over again and asking if anything hurt. This time she’d barely inserted the probe (sorry, there’s no nice way to put that) before turning the screen to face me and pointing out what half resembled a Bassett’s jelly baby floating happily in my womb.
Of course, the elation only lasted 24 hours before I started thinking of everything that could go wrong next. Paul would get quite upset with me for being so negative, actually, but I couldn’t help but scour the internet for statistics and tales of missed miscarriages. It didn’t help that I was and continue to be virtually symptom-free. I feel so grateful to have had no sickness what so ever, not even a dry heave. My boobs felt no more tender than they normally would if I gave them a hard squeeze. I wasn’t particularly tired. Bar the occasional ‘toilet issue’ and bleeding gum, I have felt completely and utterly normal, and whilst I can look back now and think how lucky I’ve been, at the time you can’t help but feel you’ve made the whole thing up.
I was nervous at the dating scan but had a bit of a ‘what will be, will be’ attitude by this point. Fortunately our being was still there, considerably bigger by this point and looking more human-like. There were no tears, just silence and awe as we lay in that darkened room, watching this thing that was supposedly inside me, convulsing away and moving it’s tiny limbs. It was a very, very special moment… and then I had to go to work and attempt to concentrate on other things. I hadn’t quite thought that through. Definitely wouldn’t recommend that.
On telling the world…
We had already let a few close friends and family members in on the secret during those first 12 weeks. I am a) too open for my own good, and b) known for being a total lush, so there were certain people it was just too impossible to hide it from. It felt good to have a small circle of people to talk about it with though- and these were all people that would have been told straight away if there had been bad news, so I wasn’t too concerned.
It’s been really lovely sharing the news with our wider circles over the last couple of weeks though. I’ve tried a variety of ways. ‘We’re having a baby” to the family. “I’m up the duff” to some friends. Or my personal favourite, “I’m with child”, said in mock-seriousness. To the majority of people though, it’s been the bog standard, “So…. (pause for effect)… I’m pregnant.” Cue whoops and hugs.
On what we want…
A baby? Just a healthy baby. Boy, girl, I really don’t mind. I’m more excited at the prospect of buying clothes and decorating the ‘nursery’ (I hate that word) for a girl, but boys are so damn cool and I do like the thought of a little man who at the age of 3, 16, 31 or 58 will think of me as the most brilliant/beautiful woman in the world. Well, you’d hope anyway. We’re not going to find out the sex.
Most days I still don’t actually believe it’s going to happen or fear that something will go wrong. I joined a forum fairly early on (which has it’s positives and negatives) and there are ladies out there who have already ordered buggies, bought 32 baby grows and have the moses basket by the bed ready and waiting. I don’t want to buy anything until I’ve had the 20-week scan, but we’ll see. Perhaps when my tummy starts to grow or I begin feeling movements I’ll feel compelled to buy the odd thing, but for now it’s window shopping only and business as usual. I have seven weddings to get through first!
So there we go. Some happy news and a half-decent explanation of why I haven’t been around so much the last couple of months. I would like to blog more about the pregnancy and the- touch wood- future baby if you’ll allow… But of course if you couldn’t give a hoot about babies or the like, Paris and Jennie will be on hand to talk all things wedding.
Have a lovely weekend all.