111 weeks (or it feels like it!)

I feel a bit bad for not using blogger more. To be honest, I've got to the point that I'm really worried about jinxing things, and I only talk about the pregnancy with my husband and one or two others who I know are going to be ok, now with one exception (see below). Developments have been:

Scan - I had an 11 week scan today, a private one. It just seemed like the wait between the clinic scan at 8 week and the NHS one at 13 was way too long, and I had a particular panic at around 9.5 weeks, which was when my last pregnancy ended, although I didn't know it at the time.

The good thing was, the scan was fine. All looked good, measured up well, no cause for concern.

The bad thing was, I was so wound up I burst into tears as soon as I got into the scan room. This was partly because there seemed to be a large number of people in the room before us, who got out and started loudly congratulating each other on the baby's gender, and could they start texting their other relatives, and so on.

On reflection, I get a bit overwhelmed with the idea that people might do scans for fun, more or less, and actually enjoy this pregnancy business. Rather than bad luck conditioning them to expect the worse.

The ugly - the sonographer was nice and very calming. The external scan didn't work (the external scans NEVER work out), so I had to have a dildocam. Afterwards when I was sitting in the car I felt a bit weird down below, like I had a bit of tissue in a sensitive place. After a bit of investigation it turned out the condom cover of the dildocam had come off. My husband nearly crashed the car laughing...


After, the scan, I thought it was time to bite the bullet and tell my Mum. To be honest I argued with my husband about this first as I would, in many ways, have felt happier telling her when any new baby was, like, 10.

My mum likes to fuss, is quite hyperactive and in your face, and last time tried to gatecrash the hospital when I was in theatre, after we'd dutifully kept her updated of my long, ultimately failed induction and labour.

She did not in any way take it on board at all when I said later on that I did not want her turning up when I was on the operating table, and that she should have waited until we'd told her we were ready.

I discovered later that she'd been speculating to my sister about whether or not I'd have another IVF round, because IVF was "very dangerous". This will be something she read in one of her middle market, right wing, woman hating tabloids.

I told her just before we got to her house to pick up the Boy, and warned her not to let the Boy know. She started asking about the pregnancy when the Boy was out the room, and I answered briefly but changed the subject.

After a couple of minutes she demanded to know "When's your due date?".

I could, thankfully, truthfully say I didn't know. I've been too worried to look it up and delibarately asked the midwife not to tell me.

She looked slightly taken aback and then I got her onto something else. Until we left.

"Drive very very carefully!" she told my husband, "40 miles an hour, that's the speed! Well done!"

I'm not sure why she was congratulating my husband as his main contribution, apart from emotional support and hard cash, was having a wank in a jar over 2 years ago. Ho hum.

Anyway, I'm still not feeling entirely relaxed about the pregnancy - I don't think I'll ever get to that point. But it does feel as if we've gotten over some hurdles today.

Hopefully, eventually, I will unclench enough to be able to plan beyond my next scan.