Birth-Day

Our lovely, unhurried little boy Emmanuel finally arrived on July 31st at 1.45 a.m.

We are so excited, proud and tired (though not necessarily in that order!).

The birth was probably as smooth as they get, and for those of you who like statistics:

Weight: 3.7 kg
Length: 50 cm
Total time required to bring baby into the world: 4 hours

Just before...

Just after...

Domestic Goddess

After one morning's experimentation, I think we can safely conclude that, while I have a considerable number of highly commendable university diplomas, I have zero domestic skills.

I am incapable of cleaning windows in anything other than "streaky mode".

I have little or no capacity for concentration when it comes to housework.

I find ironing boring (for years, FH has had me believe the "soothing activity" myth about ironing...).

I just gave 5 euros to a young man who came to the door claiming to be collecting money for "the homeless". I noted his clean-cut appearance and his well-fitting clothes (that looked considerably more expensive than my own), but I was incapable of saying no.

I am on the Internet when I should be preparing yummy homemade meals to freeze for BB while I'm in hospital.

Why am I still on the Internet??

I promise: if I am still here this weekend, I will write about something other than "waiting for birth", just so you don't think I'm becoming obsessed.


Tomorrow I plan to go to the swimming pool. Will anyone notice if my waters break in the water? Will I notice??

Erratum

OK, you know what? Forget what I wrote last week. I DO want to give birth. I am more than ready. I am in the starting blocks and I am getting ever so slightly more frustrated every day 'cause no-one is blowing that damn whistle yet!

Doctors should NOT be allowed to tell you you're about to give birth if they're not absolutely, 100% certain.

That's it: I'm going to start painting the kitchen and scrubbing the floors...

Can you spot the tired, fed up, grumpy person in the above picture??
Clue: it's not the person in the foreground...

Final Call

It's amazing what the prospect of an imminent birth can do to a family.
For a man: it can shock him into an unprecedented frenzy of activity...

For a woman: it can provoke the desire to eat huge quantities of pasta and rice, straight from the bowl (no time for plates and other such niceties...)

For a future big brother: it can inspire... studied indifference.

On the other hand... I'm still here and nothing has happened yet... so maybe we should all ease up a little?!

Mind Over Matter

I was examined by my obstetrician yesterday. He told me he's sure the baby will be born next week.

"What!" I cried. "Not next week. No. no. no. Not before the 31st, please."

This is not part of my plan. I have things to do next week. I have a dentist's appointment, for heaven's sake.

My doctor just smiled smugly, all of his 40 years of medical experience packed into that one confident smile.
"We'll see..." he told me.

So now the question is simply: can the mind triumph over matter??

Bedside Manner

Today I had the most enjoyable medical appointment of my pregnancy thusfar. Possibly of my life thusfar.
And yet... I had not been looking forward to it.

It was the routine consultation with the clinic's anaesthetist, the point of which is basically to discuss the pros and cons of an epidural and get the patient to sign a form authorising said epidural (so that the clinic is covered if anything goes wrong).
The anaesthetist who gave me my epidural two years ago was a grouchy old woman who shall ever remain in my memory thanks to the immortal words I heard her spout as she plunged the needle into my back: "Putain! Elle est maigre..." ("F***, she's skinny").
Nice.
Especially when you're in the late stages of labour.

However, today the consultant's door opened and an anaesthetist stepped out to usher me in and boy, this was no grouchy old woman.

I don't watch TV hospital dramas so I can't really compare him to anyone you might know... but suffice to say, this was Sexy Doctor personified.


He was blond, slim and slightly effeminate with floppy hair and puppy dog eyes. Everything my mother would disapprove of, in short.
But gosh he was sexy.

And - I swear this is not my deluded pregnancy brain playing tricks on me - I got the distinct impression he was flirting with me!

"You are a young woman in perfect health, I see..." he cooed, gazing into my eyes as he ticked boxes on my medical questionnaire.
"Y-y-y-yes, Doctor," I stammered (I was literally glowing with good health at this point).
"And you speak French so well," he added, baby-blue eyes boring into mine.
"Oui..." I agreed bashfully, and promptly lost all notion of how to speak French. The next two sentences that stumbled out of my mouth were littered with grammatical errors, naturally.

The climax (so to speak) was when he asked to see my blood group card. After studying it carefully for a few seconds, he looked up, flashed me a heart-melting smile and declared softly "C'est absolument parfait."
Was it? How exactly can a blood group be described as "perfect", I wondered briefly, before deciding that this was by the by: my lovely doctor thought it was perfect: therefore it was.

As I left and we shook hands (as is customary here), I stuttered: "Hope to see you soon..."
Is this an appropriate way to take leave of a doctor??
I fear not, but I can tell you something: this whole giving birth lark is suddenly starting to look a whole lot more enticing... ;-)

The Final Hurdle

I'm pretty sure Anita already posted on the same subject at one point, so I apologise in advance for being unoriginal.
But there's no way around it, I need to get it off my chest (stomach).
I am ever so slightly fed up of being pregnant.

I want to be thin.
I want to run my hands over my flat, taut, tanned stomach and feel lithe and light.
I want to walk in an elegant way.
I want to break into a spontaneous run if the urge takes me (this is a theoretical "want" at the moment, given that we're still in the throes of a heatwave...)
I want to have ENERGY (instead of feeling panicky if I miss my afternoon nap)
I want to drink rosé wine and eat a big plate of sushi.
I want to be able to see my feet when I stand up (and - sorry if this is too much information for male readers - I want to be able to shave my legs in a way that doesn't involve an excrutiating and futile yoga-type move)
I want to be free of doctors and clinics and needles and blood tests and paperwork and prodding and measuring...

And most of all

MOST OF ALL

I want to be able to sleep on my stomach!

Be warned: you really don't know how wonderful it is to sleep on your stomach until you're deprived of the option...

And yet, despite this long and whiny list of complaints... I have to agree whole-heartedly with this little sentence that appears in my (one and only) pregnany book in the entry for "What to expect at week 36":
You're sick of being pregnant, but you're not ready to give birth.

Well, exactly.

It's a Boy!

All the essential information is in the title!
We are delighted at the prospect of having not one but TWO BBs! Though I don't much like the idea of calling new baby "BB2", so I think both boys may have to stop being anonymous soon and reveal their true identities...

And no, I am not in the slightest bit disappointed that new baby is not a girl...
I have long suspected that it is my destiny in life to be surrounded by adoring men, and this trend seems to be confirmed ;-)

My ONLY regret is that I will have to continue keeping my eyes to the ground when faced with rows and rows of beautiful baby girl clothes...
Let's face it: there's some great stuff out there for girls, whereas boys seem to be stuck in the grey / beige / brown zone...


Ah well. As the only female in the family, it seems I am condemned to hog 75% of the total family clothes budget for myself...

I will rise to the occasion.

Teaser

So, this morning we had the 5-month scan.
And all appears to be well: perfect, in fact!
Baby is measuring big for dates and apparently weighs nearly 500 grams already. Gulp. Almost made me wince in anticipation...

Oh... and we also found out the sex.
Anyone want to know?

(I think this is what's known in the trade as a... "cliffhanger"!).
(Forgive me, all's fair in love, war and blogging...).

Introducing The Bump

In response to popular demand (well, Ingrid and Anita), here are the first exclusive shots of... The Bump...







And, especially for Pascale (I seem to recall that you're a fan?), the last shot also offers a tantalizing view of the latest Kate Atkinson novel...

So there's something for everyone today on the blog!

First Flutterings

Those first delicate flutterings, the first real sign that somebody – the start of a new life – is moving around in there…
For the past week I have been feeling the tiny movements of Baby no.2, as gentle as the flapping of a sparrow’s wings: it is both such a small thing and such a miraculous thing.
It is a mother’s little reward for all those mornings spent head-down over the sink, heaving and cursing and wondering what’s it all for?
Suddenly, you smile secretly to yourself and you know what it’s all for.
These are the private moments between the two of us that nobody else can share. It is the only time in our lives that we will share this exclusive, secretive bond, this private communication line.
It’s the reason why pregnant women sometimes smile enigmatically as they are walking along (or typing at their desk), or lying on the sofa, thinking… imagining.
I didn’t expect it to be so, but the miracle of life is every bit as fascinating second time round.