Ten weeks

I booked in with the midwives today and met my entourage, Amanda and Charlotte. They are lovely and made me feel a bit like a minor celebrity. The midwife in the birthing centre, Jo, who is fierce anyway, didn't seem impressed but warmed up after a while. Good news; I was completely wrong about my blood group and I'm O positive, not O negative, hurrah! So rhesus incompatibility isn't going to be a problem, although ABO incompatibility is still a potential.

The belly is growing but I haven't gained any weight since I fell pregnant, which is mysterious. I look a good 5kg heavier, really, it's quite noticable that my boobs and belly are more than woman shaped, they are pregnant looking. I lie in the bath and my belly is an island where it used to be under the water with the rest of me. There are some clothes that I just can't wear because I look so enormous in them and I think I'll have to move into maternity gear soon. But I don't feel fat, so much as womanly, sexy even.

I have four people coming to look at the spare room tomorrow, so I should be hoovering now...they all sound nice and aren't bothered by the pregnancy, which bodes well. Or maybe the rental market really is just desperate? Still no sign of my house selling. I may be here for some time. And it's bloody freezing. I could so do with living somewhere with a heated towel rail in the bathroom. It's arctic in there.

Heartbeat

There's a heartbeat! There's a heartbeat! There's a heartbeat! I saw my baby. He looks like a prawn. A prawn with a heartbeat. I'd had some cramping and some spotting, [OK a spot], so I panicked and went to see the midwives and after six hours in the waiting room, [arguing with myself for wanting to peer at him], they did a scan. They want to repeat it on Wednesday, but we'll see. I can't keep invading his privacy just cos I worry. But it was so good to see him. He's organised himself a heartbeat, he's so clever. It's amazing. Happy, happy, happy, happy.

Mood swings

Apparently the hormone levels experienced during pregnancy are hundreds of times higher than the contraceptive pill, which explains a lot. Take yesterday, for example. It's the long weekend, so I've been generally lazing around with a murder mystery, [The Broken Shore by Peter Temple - very vivid], and having a few too many trips to the local cafes for afternoon tea. I'm still feeling really good, so good in fact that when I spent an entire day without morning sickness I then spent the entire evening worrying that my pregnancy symptoms had disappeared too soon and I was about to miscarry. Today my breakfast out was ruined by waves and waves of blueberry muffin related nausea. And I'm happy about that. I feel so pregnant I allowed myself a hour of making baby name lists. I really hope it's a boy, [Patrick, Eamon, Finn, Declan, so many nice Irish names], girl names are all hideous, [Siobhan, Orlaith, Niamh, Grainne...shudder]. Family names don't help, my paternal grandmother was Matilda, [um, no], and my maternal grandmother, and aunt, who were both variations of Ellen, committed suicide. And my short surname is just difficult.

One of my closest friends is off on honeymoon this week, which is great because it means she will start TTC when she gets back. It would be so lovely if she were just a few months behind me; I could pass on all my maternity gear and tiny baby clothes and her husband could be a much needed heterosexual male influence for my baby. He's a super achieving karate chopping biochemist and I already have him booked into taking my kid with his kid to karate, [Fridays nights to myself - yay]. Then there's Auskick, so two hours on a Saturday to myself, [hmm, or do I have to cheer?]. Shame I'm not Italian or there could be language school too. Maybe just being European would be enough? Or I could convert and sent him to the temple to learn Hebrew. OK, so this sounds harsh, but I know single mums; they have no life. They definitely have no sex life, which is why they are all so universally narky and bitch about their ex's new girlfriends so much - lack of sex. And happy mums make for happy kids. Seeing as it's the nice husband's job to make the wife happy, and I skipped that, I'll just have to orchestrate an alternative.

My hairdresser, such a nice boy, was telling me that he was an accident. His mum had a one night stand and never saw the bloke again but decided to keep Daniel. His fatherlessness doesn't seem to have affected him, [well, he's a screamingly camp hairdresser, but I'm not sure that's related], and his opinion was that it was great that I decided to keep the baby. Which was nice, as I'm getting a few comments about how sad it is that my baby won't have a father and how hard it will be. My general take on it is that it isn't the baby who'll miss out, he'll be surrounded by people who love him and I'm going to make sure he has a fantastically happy childhood. I'll be a bit sad to have no partner to share it with, but I'll have this amazing experience, this amazing new person to get to know and I know family life will make me happy in ways I can't even imagine. I genuinely believe raising children should be a group enterprise, so it would be good for the baby to have family in Australia and it's a shame they will miss out. I sometimes mull over going home to be nearer my family for the baby's sake, but then I remember why I'm in Australia! So my baby's family will be an assortment of gay men, some nurses and midwives, an ex-girlfriend of mine and her husband and my crazy mother via the internet. It'll be interesting.

Nine Weeks

Maybe it's the holiday weekend, maybe it's the cooler weather, maybe it's the morning sickness easing off slightly, but today I'm a different woman. I feel happier than I have done in weeks and more like me. I feel pretty, as the song goes. I still felt a few waves of nausea after lunch, [Japanese - apparently the baby doesn't like Age Dashi Tofu, the little philistine still just wants KFC], but mainly I'm full of energy and generally chirpy. This being Good Friday there's nothing going on, all my mates are working extra shifts for the double pay, the shops are closed and I'm too chipper for housework, so I took the bump to see Horton Hears a Who. It's my favorite Dr Seuss, it's that line about a person being a person no matter how small, and I've always kept a copy at work to read to the small people. They like being read to, especially stories with rhyme and rhythm, and it goes down well with parents. And the film wasn't a disappointment, it was great, actually quite moving at times, [hey, I'm pregnant; I can be moved to tears by ads on TV]. I think I might even like it better than Finding Nemo, but it hasn't knocked The Aristocats from top of my favorite animated films list. A-rat-a-tat-a-tat.

I'm missing the small people a bit, although the featherbrained students are quite amusing too. Generation Y is certainly a different species. They are so much less independent and creative, they are constantly seeking instructions and guidance. I suppose their lives have been much more orchestrated than my generation. Gen X was out of the house in the moring, playing out by ourselves in packs until we were hungry or it was growing dark. Gen Y seems to have been in front of a TV or computer, in organised after school clubs and under constant surveillance. They aren't very critical or inquisitive, just accepting whatever they are told. Which is quite fun, as they are easy to provoke. I gave a fab class this week on airway management; it rocked. I made them do some actual thinking in groups and they responded really well to it. Another reason to be cheerful.

Further good news. I now have a pregnancy entourage. The Queen of the Midwives, [or Course Leader of the Post Grad Dip as she is also known], has granted me a boon of not one but two student follow-through midwives. My own students. It's like having free doulas. They are Charlotte and Amanda and will be coming to my appointments with me and to my birth and for a while afterwards. I'll probably also have the midwife next door as she's a special high risk midwife and makes me feel very safe, and Susan and maybe the Queen herself, as I reckon the more the merrier. A sort of labour party. I'm planning on staying at home for as long as possible, til 8cm maybe then only going into the Family Birthing Centre for the actual delivery then having a six hour discharge. So, sort of like a home birth with a detour. Most Aussies think this is crazy, as they are used to lounging in hospital for days, but in Europe we take our babies home and retire to our own sofas and frozen meals and the community midwives come to us and drink tea and eat chocolates and everybody is much happier. Oh and champagne. I am so looking forward to that glass of champagne. I knew I was pregnant so early I've been deprived for six weeks now. I think you're not supposed to fancy wine, but I would happily kill for a chilled glass of white wine. I'm not even that much of a drinker, I think it's just the sheer deprivation of the Island of No. And the boredom of 3 litres of tap water a day, [yes, it was me, I am single handedly responsible for the drought in Victoria].

Unlucky fried kitten

I have been, mainly, vegetarian since I was twelve. Chicken was the first thing to go, during a school trip to Italy. Then fish, pork, beef, I just didn't want to eat it anymore. It's never really been a moral thing. When I was travelling fish came back on the menu, but I haven't eaten meat in 22 years. So having a craving for KFC has come of somewhat of a surprise. I haven't given in yet. It's not even just when I see the adverts, it's all the time and especially in the evenings. But not just any chicken, not the chicken panini at work, they are just as ick as ever, no, it's just KFC. Why does the baby want KFC?! He doesn't get it from me...

Breasts

I've always been quite happy with my breasts. Even when I was very thin and they were small I thought they were a nice shape. One of the reasons I didn't panic about putting on a few migration kilos was that my boobs were bigger and I was enjoying having cleavage. My pregnancy is most evident in my boobs, which have been astonishingly sore, throbbing and sensitive for weeks now. They are a bit bigger, but it's the density that is more noticably different; they are firmer. My nipples being extremely sensitive, almost painful, was one of the first things I noticed, and then they started becoming darker. They are still pink, but now a deeper colour, and I think it's making them more beautiful. It's a shame there's nobody to appreciate their added glamour! My nipples are also more pronounced and I think the milk ducts are becoming more evident. I've been looking at maternity bras. Hot milk does some really pretty ones and I think I'll need pretty to stop me feeling fat and Jersey cowish. But size is a mystery to me, I've no idea how big I'll get.

Eight Weeks

One of the nice things about being pregnant is having something to celebrate every Thursday. Wednesdays are pretty good too, because it's nearly Thursday and Fridays are great because it's nearly the weekend and another milestone has passed. Eight weeks is a big one; now the baby is much more likely to stick. All his organs should be fairly well formed and he should have the beginnings of fingers; he'll be begining to make little movements. Some of the girls I talk to online are having their twelve week scans now and talking about how their babies are wriggling on the screens. I can't wait to see my baby and know there is somebody in there but I'm going to have to wait another three or four weeks.

Today has been a bad food day, sushi and sate. Oops. Raw salmon and peanuts, but after four weeks of being good I thought it was OK to treat myself, there's so little I feel like eating. It was 38 today and will be 40 tomorrow. I'm still having trouble sleeping. I don't think it's the heat, as the house is pretty cool, but my mind racing. 02.30 this morning I was wide awake for a couple of hours, full of bright ideas. I'm so pleased the clocks are going back soon. I'll be able to get up a little half and hour earlier and catch the early tram, be guaranteed a seat, and actually gain half and hour in bed.

I'm looking forward to having somebody to cuddle in seven months. My bed feels very big and empty.

Bump

I have now had three midwives and four nurses tell me I'm showing. I have a bump. I can't hold it in. I'm only eight weeks pregnant and I look twelve. I'm going to be the size of a house...

Bloody miserable

I'm so tired and so nauseous and experiencing a kind of lonliness I've never felt before. I hate being single, I hate sleeping alone. I'm in this incredibly strange, new place and I'm all alone. I just keep thinking how beautiful this could be, if I wasn't alone. It's the intimacy of it all, sharing my body, the changes I'm going through, that's what is so hard to do alone. I'm so lucky with the friends I have and I am lucky to be in a position to have this baby. My boss today encouraged me to go for the promotion despite being pregnant, she's a star. Really it's all good, but it's not easy.

I think about all the things that now won't be possible;
I won't be having a perfect, uncomplicated family with a nice husband.
I can only afford to stay at home for a few months, not the couple of years that I'd like.
Which means having to put my tiny baby into childcare and give him bottles so I can work.
And taking a baby on the tram to Bundoora will be tricky.
I'm going to have to have a lodger to help pay my mortgage.
If I do have a nice husband he will not be the father of my baby.
If I want my baby to not be an only child I won't be able to have a matching pair.
If my husband wants babies he will feel differently about this baby.

And I have to decide on names and schools and circumscision and all those sorts of thing by myself, and I'll have nobody to share the blame when my resentful teenager complains about it!

I know the baby feels what I feel, so I'm trying to be calm and happy, but somedays it is just not that easy.

Breathless

In the first six weeks of pregnancy circulating blood volume nearly doubles. Hormones relax smooth muscle, veins and arteries to accomodate the extra volume and this results is a drop in blood pressure, hence those dizzy spells. The extra volume causes strain on the heart and respiratory system, causing breathlessness, that 'glow' and increased heart rate. So, pump class has become a thing of the past; the breathlessness is just disheartening. I have a swiss ball at home instead.

I'm developing a little routine of yoga, belly-dancing style gyrations to the radio and swiss ball exercises. Long walks have replaced cycling and I have some little hand weights to combat those bingo wings. After twelve weeks I can sign up for preggibellies classes and maybe some water aerobics. I had this plan. I was going to deal with my emigration kilos, get fitter, then find that nice husband and have babies, once I'd been in my job for a year and qualified for maternity leave. Hmm. Well, I'm not going to be getting any thinner in 2008, but at least I can be fitter.

My boss asked me to apply for a promotion, I'm undecided about it. It's a job I don't really want, minding international students, but 16k more a year and better benefits. I'd be on a permanent contract, but only able to do it for six months before sodding off for a year. I suppose if nobody else applies I might as well go for it. But if I'm teaching cultural studies, [well I am international, I suppose I must know something about it?], I'm worried I might have to give up child health, which would be annoying. Or do both, and be eight months pregnant...

Porridge

The nausea/unable to cook problem has been making me somewhat miserable, but I think I've found a solution. I bought a rice cooker, some frozen veg, some little bits of salmon and a bottle of teriyaki sauce. Voila, no effort, minimal smell cooking. Then this morning, bonus, I've discovered it also cooks great porridge. OK, so it's goin to be 35 today, but right now this house is chilly and I'm in a jumper on the sofa watching video hits. Porridge and maple syrup and some juice and I'm a happy girl.

Seven Weeks

Ah, the emotional roundabout that is early pregnancy. Yesterday I was nearly in tears because I felt so shockingly grim. I hadn't slept; it was too hot and my boobs were too sore and the waves of nausea were disgusting; I had to give a two hour lab stood up and could barely function; and I looked like an extra from Dawn of the Dead. Today I'm feeling loads better; I slept well, the nausea is barely noticable, I have a bit of a glow and it's a long weekend. Obviously the ebb and flow of nausea is nerve-wracking, when it eases up I worry there's been a drop in the hormones, but when it's on the rise it's hard to feel cheerful about it.

At seven weeks the small person should be looking a bit more like a person and less like a prawn. The might be limb buds, dents where the eyes will be and the beginnings of a circulatory system. The tail will begin to shrink and the brain to form this week. The heart cells, which should be beating, form a tube and then twist and fold in a complex dance over the next four weeks. The throat and windpipe start out as one tube and divide into two, the stomach forms separately and somehow grows up to join into the throat. The gut begins as a solid tube and hollows out to a pipe. All this happens in the next three weeks. I really must eat my greens and reds and oranges.

Lovely, beautiful, fabulous Susan has volunteered to come to my scans with me. I would rather have another NICU nurse with me, somebody with the same knowledge base. If it's good or bad news, at least I won't have to explain stuff to her or worry that she'll freak out about something. And Susan is eternally cheerful and smiley, so she'll be good to celebrate with, if there really is a small person in there.

This weekend is three days. I need the extra time to catch up on my housework and shop. Work is OK, I'm managing, but with nodody to help out I'm struggling to keep everything else together at home. I think I'll buy a rice cooker/steamer. I reckon I can sling a bit of fish and veg and rice in one of those and it would be less vile than cooking, which is simply out of the question at the moment. This evening I had frozen pasta, [the nice kind] with sauce from a jar. But there were brussel sprouts in my lunch and lemon cake. Lemons have vitamins, right..?

The Small Island of No

I have been exhiled to the small Island of No. No tea, no coffee, no sushi, no smoked salmon, no hollandaise, no soft-boiled eggs, no pre-packed salad, no deli olives, no brie, no soft-serve ice cream, no deep sea fish, no mussels, no wine, no massage oil, no cycling, no worrying, no highlights and, apparently, no sex either because the only one I want has run for the hills and anyone else would be unseemly. Although my mother informs me that pregnant women on Neighbours still date I suspect it's not the Australian norm. I reckon pregnant women don't date and, most likely, breast-feeding women don't date either. Write me off til 2010 and rename me Rachel.