Moving around

There are days that I wouldn't even know I was pregnant unless I actually look down at myself. I have not been sick at all, and she has not really been an active baby. Until now. I have discovered how to piss her off. I simply lie on my stomach and seconds later she is kicking away, saying "Hey fat girl, get all that weight off of me!" And so I do, well, after a moment or two of enjoying her kick. And then I flip over and she gives me a thank you kick and goes back to sleep. Or goes back to doing whatever it is she is doing in there.

Sometimes when I am sitting or lying still and rubbing my hands on my stomach it seems as though she is following my hands around. I love that feeling, its like she's letting me know she's out and about.

But it makes me sad that William is not yet here to enjoy it. He missed most of Saoirse moving around as he was gone from weeks 14-39. He will be home in just over a month though so he should have plenty of time with me forcing him to hold his hand on my stomach until she kicks him.

I wonder what Saoirse will think of my bigger tummy? We already suspect she will not like this baby at all, William is not allowed to hold anyone other than her. She probably won't care who or what I might be holding. Such a daddy's girl.

Can't wait to see them though. Only 4 weeks and 3 days to go.

Something else to be grateful for...

Sometime ago, my neighbour announced at a board meeting that "Hey, I'm going to be the youngest grandfather in this co-op!" Now, I'm not sure that I would be telling everyone with glee in my voice that my 17 year old daughter is pregnant and that at 35 and 36, my spouse and I would in fact be the youngest grandparents in the neighbourhood. For some strange reason, I would not want my daughter to repeat the past. I'd like to see her go to university, to travel, to own her own home and then have her children. But that's just me. Apparently, they were quite thrilled to see their daughter pregnant. And while I think it's great that they are supporting her, I was amazed that he was literally jumping for joy.

A couple of months later we are ready to kick him off the board due to the fact that he is, quite frankly, a useless tit. He didn't show up to the meeting, and was called. He came over, took great offense at us saying he has not done a thing while I am currently running two committees (due to the fact that we have another useless tit on our board.) He says "I'll leave the board for personal reasons. We have been dealing with three deaths in my family in the last few months." He proceeds to tell us that his daughter's baby, due at the end of May, has anencephaly and is expected to die shortly after birth. She was given the option of having labour induced at that point (around 5 months) or waiting until she was full term. She chose to wait.

I do not know this girl, in almost 6 years of living directly across the street from them, I have seen her a grand total of once. But, do I ever admire her decision. I could not carry a baby I knew was going to die for another 3 or 4 months. I would fall apart everytime someone asked me when the baby was due, what I was having, have you picked your names, whatever. That, at 17, she is strong enough to do so is quite amazing to me.

And it makes me grateful that my little girl is, thus far, healthy.

*Note: While I call him a useless tit, I really do like this fella, he is great with the neighbourhood kids, showing them how to do fancy soccer moves and whatnot. He was just to busy to be on our board. You know, not that the rest of us aren't. But still, a nice guy. Though I would hope he never comes across this blog!

Feeling Ashamed

I am feeling a bit ashamed of myself today for the feelings I initally had towards this pregnancy, and lately for wishing she had turned out to be a boy.

Today I read a very sad post over at Making a Life who just found out that she had had a miscarriage. I feel terrible for her. I loved reading her blog as she was so excited and I wished that I had some of that excitement. I was never unhappy to be having another child, but unhappy about the terrible timing, about the stress that it has caused.

Of course, the reality is that all I want, all most people want, is a healthy, happy baby, boy or girl. And so what if the timing is not perfect? Neither was the timing of Saoirse or Liam and, believe me, I couldn't be happier to have the pair of them as well as Taylor. All it means is an extra year of struggling financially, which to be perfectly honest, we were going to do anyway. It'll just be a bit more of a struggle is all. To be positive, it means another year home with Saoirse, as well as William. How many newborns and toddlers are lucky enough to have both their parents at home with them? And if I'm really, really lucky my EI will be as great as it was with Saoirse (more money than I earned working 6 shifts every 2 weeks!) It won't be, but one can hope.

It's very unfortunate that it takes another's loss to see that everything with yourself really is alright.

Cravings

No, not the food sort.

The sex sort. Um, that would be the gender sort, not the hop into bed and go at it like bunnies sort.

Today I saw the cutest, most adorable little boy in the entire world. And I wanted a boy sooooooooooo badly. The baby gave me a good kick as I was admiring this wee boy, probably thinking to herself "Wise up, woman, you're having a girl. Accept it or I will make your life a living hell." And she could, girls have that sort of power. I know, I have two already.

Did I say already that the thought of having two girls less than two years apart frightens the living bejesus out of me? If I didn't, I am telling you now and if I did, then I am simply repeating myself for effect.

I will tell you why it scares me:
1) My cousin Jane and her sister Suzanne are a few years apart. Suzanne was somewhat cruel to Jane growing up and even today Jane still bitches about how she is treated. As an adult.

2) When I was little I had a friend called Margaret. Margaret's sister Lisa was about 2 years older than her. Lisa used to beat Margaret up all the time. Margaret is a stripper today. I am sure frequent childhood torture contributed to her choice of career. Though I hear it pays fantastically.

3) When I was little I had a friend called Janine. Janine's sister Roseanne was about 3 years older than her. Roseanne used to beat Janine up. It was so bad, that when Janine and I were 14 and her parents were going to Montreal or England (it was a long time ago, my memory has faded a bit), Janine had to come stay with us for 3 weeks as they were worried Roseanne would physically injure her to such an extent that police involvement would be necessary.

Plus Roseanne was really, really, really mean to me.

4) When Taylor was in 4 year old playschool and Liam was in 3 year old, they were both in a class with 2 sisters, Carrie and Sarah. Carrie, the elder sister, was so emotionally and mentally lagging behind Sarah that it was almost frightening. It was actually. And I used to think that I was so glad Liam was a boy because one day those girls would be hell to deal with as Carrie would probably be very jealous of Sarah, who would (and will) obviously do everything so much better than her sister.

I don't know why that particular one is a worry to me. I was always glad that I could use the excuse "ah well, he's a boy" if my brother was better at something that I was (say, math) and in much the same way girlfriends talk about who was the first one to french kiss a boy, I have to imagine that sisteres do as well. Wouldn't know myself, never having had one. I always wondered how terrible the older sister would feel if her sister was kissed first. Strange, I know.

Maybe I will luck out and they will get on great. Sure, they can't get on as badly as Taylor and Liam. But that's a post for another day, in the other blog. (Just let me say that both my children were satan's spawn this afternoon and spawn #1 hit spawn #2 on the back with a shovel.)

Honestly, it can't get worse.

The Name Game

I think we have come up with a first name and I am deciding on middle names.

Sophie. What do you think?

I still am not totally sure about it. It's much too English I think. Well, it's actually Greek. It means "Wisdom", which I rather like. I really did want an Irish name, but there was just no agreeing. I am sure that in the end I would have gotten my way and the baby would be Mairead or Caoimhe or whatever else I may have wanted. After all those hours of labour with Saoirse, he did say "You can have her baptised if you want!" So I am sure he would say I could use my choice of name.

The thing is I have taken to calling her Sophie and I think I might like it. I will play around with it a bit more and make sure it flows. I do like saying 'Saoirse and Sophie'. Though I don't like that I will have a second daughter with the initals SS. People might start thinking that we are some sort of Nazi fans. Not, for your information.

The middle names I currently like are Niamh and Lilian. Lilian was my Nan's middle name, she passed away in December and I would like to honour her in some way.

Sophie Niamh Lilian. See what happens when you're on your third girl and you had a boys name picked out?

The least active baby ever

Apparently I am over my 8 pound weight gain and have decided to add to the growing total as in the last three days I have had 2 bags of licorice allsorts as well as a bag (not the small size either) of salt and vinegar chips. They were delicious and I won't regret it.

Not until the next doctor's appointment anyway.

I am concerned about the lack of movement on this wee girl's part. I poke and prod and nothing. When I bugged Saoirse she let me know it. This one seems not to move at all. At my ultrasound the tech did say that she was actually kicking the placenta and that's why I wasn't feeling it, but I still worry.

I try and look at the positive...Liam was pretty quiet in utero (except for the hiccups) also and was probably my most pleasant baby. Taylor and Saoirse were active and tend to be my troublemakers. At least I suspect Saoirse will be if her first 16 months have been any indication.

So perhaps I should be grateful for how quiet this one is. It could be a good sign.

Doctor's appointment #2

EIGHT POUNDS!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have gained 8 lbs. in one month. Let me try and put that in perspective. I gained 18 lbs in 9 months with Liam (biggest baby at 9lbs 9oz), 14 with Saoirse (8lbs 15 oz) and 13 with Taylor (7lbs 15oz). So what is the problem here? Am I just getting hugely fat (and believe me I can hardly afford an extra pound or two, let alone 8) or is this going to be a hugely gigantic baby? I am 19 weeks pregnant and measure 24.

This is terrible, just awful. If I keep at that rate for the next 4 and a bit months, I will have gained 40 lbs. How long do you think it will take me to lose that, when I am still trying to lose the weight gained after Liam's birth? Yes, I said after. The pregnancy wasn't a problem, the 10 months of breastfeeding killed me. Lose weight, my arse. Make that lose weight, my fat arse.

Everything else is fine. Blood pressure good (suprising, for the whale that I am becoming), ultrasound results fine (a 3 vessel cord- yea!) and we will talk about delivery methods when we have a better idea of baby's size.

I received an email from my aunt and uncle in England who said the following:
Emma!
Hi!
No point hiding the truth. It's all round the planet (except for Ray's bit)... Pauline's having a fourth grandchild. Congratulations to you both/all.
Thom says... "Emma, bless her, has filled Ma's grandchild quotient of 4, taking away from me any pressure to fill the void."

Ray would be my grandfather, who does not yet know about this imminent arrival due to a)his general grouchiness in regards to unwed parents, or
b)his hatred of all things Irish (baby's da in case you didn't know), or
c)he is still mourning the recent loss of his very lovely wife, or
d)he is just a curmedgeonly old man
It could be any one of the above or a mixture of all four.

Pauline would be my mother, the slightly unhappy future nan of four.

Thom would be my brother. When I had my first, my mum decreed that we were each allowed two children, giving her a nice number at four. Still affordable enough to enjoy shopping for them. Neither one of us listens very well.

At least some of my family members were pleasant about it!

Telling Me Ma

I've done it. I've told my mother I'm pregnant. It was a terrible, horrible moment- one I hope never in this lifetime to repeat. She said do I not know what happens during sex, especially when protection is not used? I said of course I do. I may be foolish, but I am not a fool. She thinks we should have waited until William was allowed into the country permanantly and is allowed to work. Wouldn't that be ideal? It would, there is no denying it, but life does not always work the way we plan it. I heard about it everytime I talked to her over the next few days. My friend Shelley popped into my mum's office to ask her how she was doing. Was she over the shock of the announcement I guess. Does she feel an ulcer coming on perhaps? Shelley said to me that my mum said she hasn't even congragulated me yet. Which she hadn't. But did when I was talking to her later that night. I think this was day 4. She said "I do congratulate you, Emma, I just think you should have waited." She also told me that she had said to Shelley that I don't know how to keep my legs closed! Shelley apparently was to polite to repeat this, but my mother, proud Brummie that she is, had no such hesitation.

So she knows. It was a weight off my shoulders to finally tell her. And while she may not be thrilled right now, one day she will say the same thing about this wee girl that she does about Saoirse - "I'd never send her back."

Though she does say that this one had better have a decent name. "Two bloody Irish names are enough!"

17 weeks and 5 days

So I am not as far along as my doctor had, but I'm a further on than I had thought. The baby is due August 6, appeas to be healthy and is a girl.

We had a boy's name sorted. The disagreement over a girl's name will be ongoing. The poor thing mightn't have a name when she arrives.

I was supposed to have my ultrasound on Monday, but I had spoken to one of the techs at work and asked if she would do it. She said yes and even gave me a picture for free. Oddly enough, the hospital charges for them, but the clinics do not. Strange that. I was feeling a little worried that other than that one kick I had not felt a thing, and really since it's only 17 weeks old that's not that unusual. Turns out though the the placenta is post posterior so that's what the baby's kicking. Extra cushioning. It's sitting right on my bladder, which explains why I ought to be sitting on the toilet while I have a cup of tea. I have never peed so much in my life as I have with this wee miss. So all is well. I still have to tell William, who expects a girl (after all he is the only boy in a family of five.) It is Saturday in Australia and he has taken Saoirse to the zoo. I am going to ask him to ask her if she would like a baby sister. Bet she says no.

The first kick

I had the strangest dream last night. I was dreaming that Taylor and I were on a hike, on our own, while she was at a Guide camp. There were tons of bears, everywhere. Sleeping in trees, wandering around. Odd enough, since I don't actually believe there are bears anywhere near the camp they go to, only an hour outside the city. Perhaps we were in Jasper or Banff, still somewhat odd as for all the times I have been to the Rockies I have yet to see an actual bear.

We were walking along singing at the top of our voices "Bears, bears, bears..." when what do we see by a baby cat. By cat I mean the sort of the large variety, not your average housecat. I couldn't tell you what it was but it was spotted and I am not sure that cats of a spotted variety are found in Alberta. I could look it up, but that would include a wee bit of research on my part and I can't quite be arsed.

Anyway, since we've seen a kitten and a few bear cubs, surely somewhere there must be a few mamas. And a mama who's baby is near humans surely must think that we are up to no good. Of course, I woke up right as mama cat came into the picture. That always happens. But I wonder what it meant? Obviously that mother is going to protect her baby, and obviously I am going to do my best to protect mine. Some strange nesting instinct coming out in me perhaps? I wonder.

Well, the whole point of writing out the dream, aside from questioning its possible maternal meaning is that the bloody dream, along with Liam, who had joined me in bed, was that I was now wide awake at 4.30 am. And while Liam kept kicking me, so did his wee brother or sister.

For the first time. And while you may look below and see that I may quite possibly be 20 weeks along, and should have been feeling movement for a good 5 or 6 weeks now, I would defend myself by saying that I had no idea I was so far along and was not feeling for movement. Any movement felt would have been put down to a lack of food or some such thing. Plus there's the fact that I am nowhere near as thin as I was when I was pregnant with the first two. Therefore there a quite a few more layers for this baby to kick his way past. Poor wee bugger.

The first appointment

I had my doctor's appointment today.

I was not long getting in at all, it was very quiet. A change, as it is usually madly busy.

I had to do all the prenatal stuff...how long were the previous pregnancies, family history and so on.

"Do you smoke?" the girls says.

"No." Never have, wee angel I am.

"Have you drank during this pregnancy?"

"No."

"Any drug use?"

"Mmmmm..."

What must this girl be thinking of me?

"...oh wait, I did have a few drinks on Christmas day, and I'm quite sure I was pregnant then. And no, no drugs."

That's another truth. I was always afraid of looking the eejit around my slightly more street wise friends.

"Ah good, I was sort of wondering there."

I'm sure she was, and probably thinks I am some mad addict.

We go into the room and she takes my blood pressure, not half bad at 118 over 68. Well, the 68's a bit low, but who worries about that one? I wait for the doctor.

Dreading it.

And it wasn't too bad, she looked at my stomach, briefly felt it and said "20 weeks." "What?????" I practically yelled. "No, no that must just be fat."

She wasn't buying it. She did say something about multiple pregnancies increase the chance of twins.

God forbid.

But she only heard one heartbeat. This baby is just like it's big sister. She told it to stop moving away from her, which is exactly what Saoirse used to do. Taylor and Liam could be found right away.

She says "You've had forceps, vaccum and a section...how do you think this one is going to go?"

"Probably a section." Honestly, I am not so sure I could go through 17 hours of labour again, just to have them tell me that the baby is not progressing. I'm not a fan of sections at all, so I'll have to do alot of thinking on this one.

"If it is a section do you want your tubes tied?"

Yes." Not a moment's hesitation from me. I don't think it's what William wants, though he said it was up to me but that he most certainly wouldn't be doing anything to his body. But four kids. That's enough for anyone I think. I'm not that good a Catholic.

She figures my due date is early July, I have it as early September. Someone is very very wrong. I have an ultrasound scheduled for March 6 so we won't know until then. And I think I'll find out the sex. It looks like we will not be agreeing on names, so we might as well eliminate some of the battle.

Finally...the first doctor's appointment

No, I've not been yet but I finally made an appointment to see my doctor. I think that's a step in the right direction.

Got a bit of attitude from the receptionist. God, I hate that girl. She made me feel very small for not calling sooner. Well, sorry but if your line wasn't constantly busy, I'd have been through ages ago. I think she just takes the phone off the hook when the doctor is at a delivery. Which seems to be quite often as I constantly see her at the hospital. And if memory serves correctly, I once had a two hour wait for her.

Ah the joys of pregnancy.

Avoiding reality

I do not know how far along I am. 8 weeks? 12? No clue. Normally I know such things, but somehow managed to lose track around Halloween.

I have not yet made an appointment with my doctor. I am slightly afraid to go see her, as I did not go back for my 6 week appointment after Saoirse and due to the fact that my scar is quite horrid to look at I know that she will not be pleased with me. She will also comment on the thousands of pounds I have gained since Saoirse arrived.

I was going to do it this week, but with the news of William having to leave and the running around we had to do it sort of got put on the backburner.

I think that I also tend to almost forget about it. It doesn't seem real at all and I don't feel the least bit pregnant. With Saoirse I knew right away. I did the test 2 days before I was due because I was that sure. With this one I feel slightly detached, if that's the right word.

I know that once I go to the doctor and hear the heartbeat I will feel better about all this. It's just that right now, things don't seem right.

Well.

Well.

That really says it all.

I'm a bit shocked at the moment.

I'm up the stick.

Good friggin' God.