I guess I should have actually given the details!!!

The Baby Formerly Known As BoB is now known as:

Noah Alexander James Brotherston

Estimated Due Date: 19.02.08

Actual Arrival Date: 28.02.08

Time: 3.13am

Weight: 9lb 10oz

For one week three weeks I have given a lot of thought as to how I would update this page. Would I just post a photo and the brief details? Would I post a gruesomely detailed birth story? Would I just redirect this page to one that no longer makes reference to “BoB”?

I’m still nowhere close to making a decision, so I thought I’d combine a few. Alas, with Lee at work I cannot do any redirects because.. I just don’t know how to.

The important thing, is that the waiting is over.

I will now attempt to tell the story in photos. Please be aware that there are some highly unattractive photos of myself, my baby and my food in the hospital. We’ve left out the breastfeeding photos to ensure that you do at some point want to return to check on the progress of the Baby Formerly Known As BoB.

*clears throat*

Around 1.00am GMT on 27th February 2008, Lee and I were rudely awaken from our much needed sleep by some serious vibrations and rumbles. I thought he was having a seizure (no basis for this other than that I had no idea what was going on) until I realised I could hear the deck shaking, and he thought that I was violently shaking him (perhaps there is some basis for that thought, however that is not the point) until he realised my hands were not on him. At that point he jumped out of bed and ran downstairs to answer the door. Perhaps he though King Kong was making a special delivery .. we were not all together sure of the rationale behind his moves/thoughts at that point. After ensuring that no one was trying to break in, get our attention and that the house was still standing, we were wide awake and discussing the possibilities of what it could be.

So instead of sleeping, we watched the news, surfed the net for any news, and basically wasted our last chance for a couple of hours of sleep as we settled back in after 2am and just after 3am I woke up and said “I’m just going to pee, I’ll be back”.

Famous. Last. Words.

I rolled over and realised that this was no normal pee. Whatever it was that was pressing on my bladder wasn’t something that a good old Kegel exercise could hold back. I sprinted for the toilet yelling “I think my water is about to break”. Call me Miss Cleo because before I hit the toilet seat I proved myself right.

Now.. there is something that they don’t show in movies or people forget to tell you when they are recounting their birth horror story… when your water breaks, it doesn’t just do it in one go.. it keeps on and on and on and on.

But I digress. As I sat startled on the toilet wondering a) when the baby would be here b) if we’d make it to the hospital and c) if I was in any way prepared for what was about to happen, Lee called the hospital to update them on the situation. As I was 8 days overdue and the water had broken “spontaneously” they wanted me to come in when the contractions started just to be monitored. They suggested to come in around 9am (or when we felt we should).

9am? They wanted me to go in rush hour? Had they no idea what the ride was like on the day I went for the sweep and that super slow truck was in front of us on the winding country roads?! Crazy fools!

I started getting contractions and Lee and I headed off around 6am… please note the look of complete “happy” on my face as we took the last pregnant photo before leaving for the hospital. Also note the sarcasm in what I write.

In labour 27.2.08

We got to the hospital at 6.45am and met a super nice midwife and I started to relax (in between doing relaxation techniques through the contractions)… until she went off duty and The Midwife From Hell arrived on the scene. I couldn’t have had worse luck. Well I could have, if I was at Milton Keynes General Hospital. Luckily she wanted to spend time with me as much as I wanted to spend time with her. She sent me upstairs to the maternity ward to wait for the contractions to regulate (they were coming in clusters and then stopping).

So upstairs we went and I was so excited at the prospect of having a bed so I could sleep. However, my body was not comfortable in any position. Any position that wasn’t on a toilet, that is. While we were upstairs I had another water breaking experience and unfortunately Lee was in the parking lot on the phone to my mom and I was on the wrong side of the bed to call the midwife. So I waited for someone to come out of the toilet across the hall and asked them to get someone. After we changed out of the soaked clothes and into my “delivery” outfit they decided to start monitoring me again. The contractions were still coming in clusters but they were coming fast and hard when they were coming.

Eleven and half hours in I finally decided to ask if there was anything I could take to help with the pain, and I was given two paracetamol (or Tylenol). I may as well have been given two sugar pills. Actually I wish I had. After a while on the machine they decided that I needed to go back to delivery suite and rolled me back downstairs. When we got there, they told me that I was going to Delivery Room 3. We stopped outside of the door and it was a nice room. Not the pool room I was so hoping for, but it was nice. And then the voice of The Midwife From Hell was heard and it said “I’ve changed my mind, take her to Room 5”.

Of course Room 5 was the oldest and smallest of the delivery rooms, but after so many hours in I was getting excited that it would soon be over.

At least I thought it would.

The nice midwife from upstairs told TMFH that all I’d been given were two paracetamol and that it was not adequate and she left. Then TMFH said “I’ll be back” and she left too. I never saw her again.

In came Zena. I thought she was whatever England’s versions of Candy Stripers are. She looked like she was 18 and was very soft spoken. She explained that as my water had broken so long ago I now had “options”. I could wait it out a bit longer to see what happens naturally or I could be hooked up to the Syntocin to speed things along. And then she mentioned the dreaded word “epidural”.

Before going into the hospital I had prepared a lengthy and detailed birth plan. On that birth plan it states that I did not really want an epidural and only to remind me of the option at the last possible moment.

Well, at that moment she mentioned it to me, it did feel like the last possible moment and I’d heard nothing but horror stories on how harsh the contractions were with The Drip and I wasn’t sure I could survive on the now ancient paracetamol that hadn’t worked when I first took it, never mind at this stage. So when she said “I’ll give you time to think about the options”, I looked at Lee and he looked at me, nothing much was said verbally but we both knew… there was no option! Speed it up and take away the pain!!!

Well. All I can say is that I love epidurals. I love love love love love the person that invented them. Yes, I am a wimp. I don’t care who knows it! But if you were in pain for that long and hadn’t even been offered the Gas and Air, the first thing offered would be most welcome. And I was a whole new person with that little tube in my back.

I looked like the back end of a donkey, but I felt like a million dollars.

Not looking hot

As you can see, my “delivery” outfit was taken away and replaced with a “hospital use only” printed gown. Not in the most flattering colours.

Things actually start to get hazy from here because I’d now been awake way too long without a proper sleep. My Mom and Randy arrived.. to find out that I was nowhere close. Lee and my Mom were taking shifts hanging outside with Randy as I was only allowed to cheerleaders, but eventually the very nice Zena allowed him in and then the three of them took shifts sharing the two chairs by the bed. We watched Masterchef Goes Large and found out that my Mom smells like Zena’s mom and then at 9pm Zena went home…and I was still in labour.

In came Ally and Tammy. Tammy being Zena’s sister. We found that out because my Mom also smells like Tammy’s mom. Things actually livened up at this point. For everyone but me. I was struggling to stay conscious and even when I heard them talking and laughing about me and knew that they were taking unflattering photos, I couldn’t really muster up the energy to tell anyone off.

Time ticked on and things started to happen. It looked like I’d make the 4am deadline (Randy had to take a cab back to the hotel to catch another one to get to the airport to get back to St.Kitts to then be on Calleigh Watch). It didn’t feel like it, but they kept telling me that things were happening. At 1am it was announced that I was 10cm dilated finally.. but we were not going to push for another hour to let the contractions do the work themselves. And then, the contractions stopped. Through the entire labour the only time they could regulate the contractions were when they kept their eye on the IV.

Anyway, at 2am I was told to push. At 2am I was so tired that I couldn’t really be bothered. Even with the maxi pad soaked in cold water on my neck, my Mom and Lee fanning me with barf bowls and Ally pouring water on my face. I was EXHAUSTED. My mom whispered some words of encouragement in my ear and I had something to focus on. It helped a bit, but no one realised the size of The Tiny Human that I was attempting to push out.

After nearly an hour and a quarter of begrudgingly pushing, the bed was lowered, I could no longer see what was going on and then Ally reach up inside and the next thing I knew I could feel a massive emptiness inside.. like a cork being removed from a bottle of champagne. A MASSIVE cork.

I could see this really dark purple being at the bottom of the bed, but was still struggling to wake up and struggling to accept that I had indeed just given birth to this Not So Tiny Human.

So Lee announced “he was born at 3.13am”. That was the first I’d heard of whether it was a boy or girl. I said “oh so it IS a boy?” to which Lee replied “actually, I’m not sure”. So my mom and Lee looked over and I heard my Mom say “yep, he’s a boy!”

He wasn’t pretty whilst we waited for him to pink up. In fact, I kept looking at him and thinking of ET… Lee thought of Gollum from Lord of the Rings. But, he was here, he was healthy and he was ours.

minutes old

Minutes old again

And how could you not love this baby who looked you straight in the eye as if to let you know that “it’s all going to be okay, I’m here now”.

They took him away to be weighed and for Randy to get a chance to see him whilst I was being “repaired” and when they came back I could have passed out all over again when they told us that he weighed 9lbs 10oz!!

I knew he wasn’t small… but I also didn’t think that he was 2 months old!


My Mom and Randy left at 4am to catch that cab and to get Randy to the airport on time and Lee and I went up to my …PRIVATE ROOM… aww yeah! Lee looked rather refreshed holding his son…

Lee and Noah

And I looked… like I’d just spent minutes shy of 24 hours in labour….

mommy and noah

Within in minutes of getting set up in the room, the two boys in my life decided that they were exhausted and went to sleep. Noah on my left….

Sleepy Noah

And Lee to my right…

Sleepy Lee

Lee then went home to get changed, pick up a few things and try and rest before returning that afternoon.

And I… I ate sausage hotpot with creamed potatoes and cauliflower whilst I tried to digest that this little dude to my left was mine. Not just for an hour or two, but for the rest of our lives.

Hospital Food

All I can say is, that as scary as it is to realise the responsibility before me, it was a much nicer revelation than what the sausage hotpot actually was and tasted like.

Lee and I spent a romantic Valentine’s Day morning at the hospital.  No, we didn’t come home with a baby, but we did get one last peek at the baby that has been growing… and growing … and growing… inside of me.

Today we learnt that BoB’s belly is still large and in charge, but he or she has sneaked in under the radar and has avoided removal by c-section or induction.  At least has avoided the induction for now.   Hanging around too long may still result in an eviction notice.   The magic number they were looking for was an estimated weight of 4kg or 8.8lbs.  BoB just made it at 3.8kg or 8.4lbs.

We also found out that in order to support this blossoming belly, BoB’s got some supermodel length legs.  I really don’t know what the femur length tells you, but the sonographer, midwife and consultant were all far more blown away by that measurement than the belly size.   Apparently BoB is so tall that we’ve been told to forget the 0-3 months clothes and go for the 3-6 months.  This is just after I was coming to terms with the fact that I wasn’t going to be able to squeeze my baby into “newborn” clothes.

The bad news is that we are no closer to knowing when BoB may appear and from what I can tell, this baby is quite comfy where he or she is.  However, the good news outweighs the bad news as our big little baby is healthy and that is the most important part.  But I could have told them that already.  After all, I am the one who feels the kicks and punches all day long.

Oooh and for the first time, I think BoB may have a chance of being a Roberta.  After being convinced that BoB was a BoB and thinking that the 4D scan verified it, today’s baby with its chubby cheeks looked more like a girl.  Then again it was a 2D scan and it was a brief peek.  Mind you, once again, BoB was chewing away.  I have no idea what is in there, but this child seem to eat anything he or she can get their hands on.

Maybe he/she does take after me in some way after all 🙂

Yesterday we reached a milestone: 37 weeks!

Sure, technically BoB has 3 weeks cooking time left, but he/she has reached the mark where the medical professionals consider him/her “done”.  If BoB arrived today (not that I am wishing this), then there is no SCBU (NICU for the North Americans) needed.  Nope, BoB has served his/her sentence and now we wait until he/she decides to come out and meet us.

We tried our Magic 8-Ball game this morning which didn’t exactly give us much to go on.  In fact it went like this:

Lee: If we are going to meet you in a week’s time, wriggle

BoB: <no movement>

Me: <sigh of relief>

Lee: If it is going to be longer than a week, wriggle

BoB: <no movement>

Me: If you are not interested in playing along with our silly games, wriggle

BoB: <wriggle>

Okay, so we didn’t get the answer we were looking for, but being me, I’ve got to respect this baby who is all about the mind games and control.  Though now I am doubting that BoB is a boy.  He/She definitely acts like a girl.

As we continue to wait (and patiently I may add… though the excitement and fear are building), I shall keep on with my cleaning/rearranging of the whole house in preparation for BoB’s arrival.  Maybe by next week I’ll lose my phobia of touching meat and actually get back into cooking as well.  Last night I took baby steps and made bruschetta.  A few more episodes of Ready Steady Cook and Masterchef Goes Large and I’ll be ready to start cheffing it up again.   At least until BoB arrives and I spend all of my spare time trying to sneak a nap in.

BoB Update: I’m over 6lbs and almost ready to come out even though my brains and lungs are still growing. I’m 37 weeks and 1 day old, only 20 days to go!

Note: We already know that our little fatty is over 6lbs.  Last week it was over 7 and closer to 8.  I think I like the “ticker” better than the ultrasound.  Especially if BoB hangs around past his/her Womb Lease Expiry Date.

I’ve debated whether to update this today or to wait until the end of the week as I am only one out of four BoB Appointments down so far.

Today we are celebrating 36 Weeks which means one more until BoB is fully cooked and cleared for take off…or take out in this case.

Yesterday I had an appointment with the consultant (most women in the UK see a midwife the whole way through and don’t get a consultant -ob/gyn- unless required during labour) for what I thought was meant to be a “Hey everything looks great, Good Luck!” visit.  And it did start that way.  At least the 5 minutes spent with the nurse during the “You’re urine is fine and blood pressure is good” part of the visit.

As I sat waiting for my chart to be picked up, I was full of happy We’re Nearing The End thoughts.  Then, The Fist came out.  That’s right, the doctor from my brief stint in the hospital on the 28th of December.  The one who made a hand puppet out of me and had the midwife shine the World’s Largest Flashlight in places no one is meant to be looking in great detail unless awaiting the appearance of a baby’s head.  Which we weren’t at that juncture.  I tried to act as though we’d never had that “intimate” experience, but was caught out as soon as I sat down when he said “I think we know each other”.  I guess when a woman whimpers in pain whilst clenching her jaw and looking at her husband with fear in her eyes, it leaves an impression on some people.  “You were a bit tender…a bit sensitive.. last time we saw each other right?”.  Wow, you WERE paying attention!  And here I thought you were too focused on the search for gold whilst you were rooting around up there.

Anyway, he asked what I thought were normal questions about any leaks or discharge or cramps.  I explained that I’ve had a little of each but nothing that has concerned me.  He had me hop up on the table and we took a little listen to BoB’s heartbeat and my super genius baby knew who it was and was not having any of it, so every time he located the heartbeat, BoB squirmed away.  He looked at me and said “the baby keeps moving, do you notice?”.  Do I notice??!?!  That baby of which you speak happens to live within my uterus, OF COURSE I BLOODY NOTICE, YOU IDIOT.  That wasn’t actually how I responded, because The Fist is mightier than Sarcastic Cow.   He then started to tell me about the head engaging as though I’d not realise that the baby comes out head first (in most cases).  He demonstrated BoB’s level of engagement by attempting to move his/her head back and forth.  The delicate head of my unborn baby that is located in my pelvis!! Hello, I know where the head is, thanks!!!!  And then he felt all along BoB, squeezing my stomach as he gave BoB a physical from the outside.  I hopped off of the table and before I could sit back in the chair he said “I think I should do an internal.  There is a blanket there, I am just going to get the sister (nurse)”.

Oh great, return of the fist.

Though to give him credit, there was no fist.  He took a look up, confirmed that there was stuff up there and that there was a leak (how he could tell is beyond me and I was too busy waiting for it to end), took a swab and that was that. I got dressed thinking that finally I could be on my way, but no.  He asked the woman for a calculator (still not sure what kind) and then was spinning the wheel about (not the due date calculator, we’d already played with that) and started to fill out an ultrasound request card.  Now I know that BoB is still squirming away in there, I can feel him/her.  I know that his/her heart is beating fine.  I was wondering if perhaps he’d seen my placenta or a hand sticking out and waving… to be honest I just had no idea what was going on.

He told me that he wanted to send me for an ultrasound because he thinks that BoB may is too big and the ultrasound would confirm whether I need to be induced before  gets TOO big.  I started to panic and he rubbed my knee and said it would be alright. I suggested that perhaps people at work were right and that there was A LOT of fluid and BoB was really only going to be 6 pounds. He laughed and said “no”, which he followed up with “your baby is already a very healthy size”.  I’m learning that “healthy” in baby terms in the UK means “big”.  So far three people in this process have felt BoB and described him/her as “healthy”.

So I went around to the ultrasound department with my “urgent” ultrasound request card, only to be told that they were too busy.  I looked around and saw 4 couples and 1 family of 4.  Unless everyone was getting one, it didn’t seem any busier than when I’ve had to sit and wait before.  She went and asked a sonographer who confirmed that they were indeed too busy to do an ultrasound.  So I said “okay” and stood there. She looked at me and said “what do you want to do?”.  WHAT?!  Umm, let’s see.. I’ve just been told that I may have to be induced because my baby may be too big when he/she gets to full term, was told to come around for my urgent scan and you’ve said you’re too busy… what do I want to do?! Oh I don’t know, perhaps a little swimming or salsa dancing?  So I suggested that perhaps we find a time when they are not busy.  She offered me 2pm today, but as I had to deal with immigration in Solihull I explained that I couldn’t guarantee I’d be back in time.  So she offered me 12.50pm today.  Right, because if I can’t make it for 2pm, I’m sure to make it for 12.50pm!!!!!!!!!!!!  At that point I just wanted to give up.   I said “umm, how about Wednesday?” to which I got the reply “oh, okay. I’ll see what is available” as though she was doing me a favour.  Hey, lady, this is your job!!!

So we booked me in for a lunch time ultrasound. HOORAY! We’ve accomplished something!  And as my mood started to pick up again I made the mistake of asking if I needed to drink anything for the scan and as a reply, she started to laugh and said “umm, don’t think so. You’re big enough already”.

Wow, thanks.  That really helped put me at ease.

So that is our update.

Today BoB’s been as active as usual and we had some lovely Braxton Hicks awaiting the opening of the Immigration Office and then again during my wait for approval.  I think BoB was just letting us all know that he/she will decide when he/she is ready and no doctor or immigration official is going to be telling them otherwise.

That’s right… this is totally my child in here.  He/She may have started out all calm and reserved like Lee, but after 8+ months of constant me-ness, I am birthing my mini-me.  Or maybe my mini-me with a penis. We’ll see…. soon!

With only one month to go, the question on everyone’s my mind is …. will I ever stop growing?  Let’s be honest, BoB’s not been living in the smallest of homes.  Especially of late as The House seems to grow every day in order to contain The Feet.  But there is lots of space in there that is not being used.  There doesn’t need to be any more, surely.  Not that I really mind, but it’s starting to get a bit ridiculous.  I can barely bend to put on socks, Lee has to do up my shoes if they are not slip on, and heaven help me if I need to get off of the sofa and Lee’s not home.  My balance is still off, but luckily I only stumble around like a drunk from time to time and don’t actually fall over (thanks to my “healthy bum” helping balance me out).  Oh, and it’s getting more embarrassing when we go out to eat and I have to sit so far away from the table because BoB likes me to respect his/her personal space (read: BoB starts to throw a tantrum that is visible from the outside).

Perhaps it sounds like I am over reacting, and okay, I am not as huge as some pregnant women, but from my view I actually find I look small and when I see photos, reality slaps me across the face and I start to realise why my coworkers have commented on my resemblance to an elephant.

I have a feeling that I better get everything done that needs doing this week, because regardless if BoB puts on the brakes and delays arrival until the 29th of Feb, I’m not sure that if Lee leaves for work in the morning with me still in bed, that I’ll be able to get out without the help of Geraldo and his trusty Fat Person Removal Crane.

Here is my evidence:

BoB’s House at 8 months in…

8 months?!

35w4d - BoB's house..in the middle of my belly

8 months - this ain't no 6lb baby!

There best be LOADS of fluid in there or else I’m going to have to learn to love exercise…or become a wet nurse.

Today we made our third IKEA outing in a week.  I’m starting to think that hearing us say all of the product names may turn BoB into a bilingual baby.  Infant Swedish is a hot thing these days.  BoB actually seems to like IKEA because he (or she) starts to wriggle every time we are there.  Not the mad baby in a mosh pit movements I get when I am trying to fall asleep, but nice little wriggles that seem to say “it’s nice here”.  Either that or he or (she) knows the smell of IKEA means soft serve ice cream cones!  And who wouldn’t get excited about 35 p cones of dairy goodness?! (or 65p if you opt for a sugar cone).  I know I do.  In fact I almost wish that I measured the window wrong again and we had to go back to IKEA tomorrow to exchange them.   I’ll have to think of something else.  The “this rug is small, maybe we should buy a second one” excuse didn’t go over too well, and even though the lamp shade doesn’t fit snuggly, apparently the bit we need to correct that is found at Homebase, which is a good store too, but it doesn’t have soft serve ice cream.

We’ve continued work on the nursery (my bum pain went away) and changed the door from left opening to right opening, only to realise that the light switch is on the left side of the door.  Now I’ve got to figure a way to work around that. BoB might be able to handle the dark, but I’m not certain that I won’t wipe out as I try and tip toe into a pitch black room.  We’ll think of something whether we put in a nightlight for me or try and fix a lamp somewhere in there that is easier to get to.  In the meantime we’ll be hanging up the blind and curtains, ordering the glider and then just chilling out awaiting BoB’s arrival (at least in regards to the nursery. I still have the same million other things to do!).

Speaking of BoB’s arrival, I am debating on whether I think this baby is coming early or late.  Deep inside I still think late, but I’ve been trying to convince myself that BoB will be early so when I am caught off guard I am semi-prepared.  If that doesn’t make sense to you, it’s alright… a lot of what I think would only make sense to me and a goldfish.   Right now Lee is guessing early – a girl – and bang on 8lbs.  I’m still going with boy even though Nicole Richie has thrown my by having a girl, and I am still going with at least 9lbs.  Three people at work are convinced I am housing a 6lb baby.  Does this look like the house of a 6 lb baby!?

BoB’s house at 34weeks 4 days:

(please mind the ashy elbows)

The Huckabee (or right) wing of the house…

The Right Wing

A close-up look at the Hillary (or left) Wing

The Hillary Wing

And finally the Alanis One Hand In The Pocket Wing

The left side 34w4d

There’s got to be more than 6 pounds of BoB in there!

This pregnancy has, at some point or another, resulted in me experiencing every emotion known to man.  I’ve been elated, depressed, excited, despondent, angry, wistful, grateful, crushed, etc.

For a while there I was actually afraid that I was going to be forever lost in the negative emotions as they seemed to take over.  Having never imagined having a baby without my Dad there beside me to tell me what I was doing wrong, it has been extremely difficult actually living that out.  When my Dad died, a huge part of my heart died.  With the help of my family (Lee is in line for sainthood) I fought hard to try and find the Kirsten I was before and managed to recover someone who pretty much resembled her.  Not quite the same person, but was as close as it appeared I’d get.

And then I got pregnant… and lost her again.

It is not that I didn’t want to be pregnant.  In fact, I’ve wanted it so badly for a long time.  It’s just that I never realised how hard it would be without my Daddy.  The grief flooded back and wholly consumed me.  Some days I was so upset at myself because no matter how hard I tried to force myself to be excited about the little dude growing in me, I just couldn’t do it.  I could see the bump growing, feel the baby kicking and yet there were times when I would look in the mirror and be shocked to see that I was pregnant.  It was definitely a scary feeling.

But for one of the very few times in my life, and much to the shock of my mother, I was proactive about it.  I knew that I didn’t want to experience such a wonderful time in my life in the way that I was.  You only get to have your first child once.  I know that seems obvious, but it took me a while to get there.  Sure, if Lee and I are lucky enough to give BoB a sister or brother, I’ll experience most of it all over again, but the “firsts” will be gone and we’ll have someone else who keeps us occupied all day, and we won’t have the opportunity to sit there for an hour and try and figure out how to make things work or what the best way is to make the bump dance.  So, I went to my GP and asked for help.  The first one I saw was crap. He told me some complete mumbo jumbo about climbing a mountain one step at a time.  I think my Mom gave him the heads up that I was coming.  I then went to see my midwife who agreed that it was a bunch of crap and referred me to the same drop in place that we send the offenders.  This was out of the question.

So one day I returned to the doctor’s office and actually got to meet the man who is my registered GP.  He actually listened to what I was saying, asked me some questions and said that he would do what he could to get me some proper help before the baby arrived.  I didn’t hold out much hope, but within two weeks I was actually getting the help and was so relieved!  It had taken over a month from the start of my crying until that point, but part of me knew that there was light at the end of the tunnel, even if I couldn’t see it then.

Fast forward just over a month and a half, and I’ve been officially discharged.  Not in the Britney Leaves Cedars-Sinai way, but because I am actually happy again.  Something happened to me when I was in Toronto and although I didn’t feel it then, and I definitely didn’t feel it on the flight back, but once we landed something tripped a switch.  I became more focused, more in control  and started to love every moment of this pregnancy thing.  Okay, not every moment, but does anyone really love Braxton Hicks and a baby’s head in your pelvis whilst you’re on all fours and vomiting?  I didn’t think so.

The main point is that somewhere on that trip, I realised that yes, this sucks not having my Dad around and I will most likely never fully recover the Kirsty I was when he was here, but I have to be strong for me, for Lee and for this baby who has no idea what he or she is in for having a mother like me.  I know that if my Dad was here, he’d love BoB almost as much as Lee and I do (he’d definitely love BoB more than he’d love me!), but since he can’t be here I need to love BoB for him.  A few weeks ago I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to love BoB as much as I should as a mother, never mind loving him or her for someone else.  Now though, with the due date rapidly approaching, I am only afraid that I might love BoB too much.

Some of you know that I wrote my Dad a birthday card this year and actually posted it.  In it I gave him shit like I usually would have, and also asked him for something … and I’m getting him/her very soon.  Now I wasn’t going to push my luck and ask for anything else and definitely didn’t ask my Dad for this GP, but if you could meet him you’d think my Dad handpicked him for me.  He’s so an Astaphan in disguise.  Not many doctor’s would crack a joke with their finger up your bum.  My Dad would though .. and so did my GP.

Anyway, this was meant to be a short post to say that I’m back on track, loving this pregnancy… every nauseous, dizzy, gutwrenching moment…and cannot wait to meet BoB.

Well I can wait… a little longer.  At least until the house is spotless.

As for BoB, we had the midwife today and BoB was all measured up: My belly is measuring 36 weeks and BoB’s engaged!  Our fast little mover!   Oh and apparently BoB has a “healthy bum”.  I am not really sure what that means, but the student midwife that was working with my midwife today was feeling all around my belly and then grabbed the bum and said “there’s a healthy bum”!.   Poor child, from what we’ve seen so far, all BoB has inherited from me are my feet and my backside.  No wonder he/she is getting ready to come out… apparently they think it is my turn to get the shit that I’ve been giving my parents for years.

He/she might be right, but at least I have a while until they can actually put it in words and tell me.