Scan by Scan: part 1

Funny how a few months, a few moments even, can change a life. I thought it might be interesting to look back at our scan history.

8-week scan
This was an unexpected event due to spotting. I couldn't be there and the first I heard about it was through a thoroughly well-crafted e-mail from W that allayed all fears, even if W was probably worrying herself silly. One very good result was that W got hear a heartbeat and we gained a picture of... a blob.

12-week scan
Bladder full, W is on the bed and the sonographer starts rubbing gel over W's tummy. I feel like a spare part.

Sonographer: (wielding the echo transducer - that's the wandy thingy that looks like an elongated roll-on deodorant) Let's see what we can see. Have you been to the toilet in the past hour?
W: No, I'm holding it in.
Sonographer: Lovely.

She pushes the skin, hardly even a bump, from side to side with the scan wand, all the time looking up and across at the monitor. I know that my own mouth is hanging open in wonder at the glimpses of first a clear spine - a distinct, curved white shaft that emerges from the darkness - then a hand, a foot, a head, a heart... 

Sonographer: A clear picture, you certainly have been holding it in.
W: (proudly) I like to do things correctly.
Sonographer: Best one we've had all day. Sometimes people can't do it and go to the loo before they get in here.
W: What's the point of that?
Sonographer: Exactly. I have to make them come back.
Me: Yay! We're the best! (to my credit, I do not go any further and say somehting like 'Three gold stars to us')

We spend more time looking at the foetus, from the side and also in cross sections through the body from head to toe (I didn't know they could do that). Side on, he/she/it is now less clear.

Sonographer: ...keeps turning away...
W: Recalcitrant little person...
Me: I guess he doesn't want to be seen.
W: He?

I wonder where this slip comes from. In my own mind, I believe it's going to be a girl but I still try to defend my statement.

Me: You know, he's (I do it again), well, er.... got a big head. I had a big head when I was born.
W: All babies look like they have a big head in proportion to their bodies. That doesn't mean anything.

The sonographer nods in agreement and smiles.

Me: Something just made me want to say 'he'...

We are mesmerised for a few more minutes as the sonographer does the nuchal fold test. It's hard to pin down the foetus, due to movement, but eventually the nurse gets the readings she needs. 

Sonographer: Thank you. You can go to the loo now.
W: Relief. (giving me a look) He?!


Afterwards, we decide that Blob should now be called Flaily, in honour of its performance today. Welcome Flaily.

Sick Bag

We're on a pleasant trip to a country house in Hampshire. When we get there, W is feeling ill. A combination of winding roads, a large breakfast and a residual morning sickness do not bode well. Mother-in-Law (MiL) has already gone ahead at this point.

Me: How are you doing?
W: Not good.

Pause

W: Have you got something I can use?
Me: Use? Oh, I see. (searching around, I find a M&S bag in my pocket).
W: Why've you got that?
Me: Shopping, I always carry one. They make you pay 5p for that.

A veritable torrent later and we discover the bag has a few holes.

W: Great! New jeans as well.
Me: Oh dear. It seems to have caught most of it.
W: Lucky you had it.
Me: This isn't just any bag, it's an M&S bag.

I spend the next few minutes wandering around a National Trust car park with a bag of sick. There is no bin. Fortunately, closer to the stately home visitor centre, I find a small receptacle. Lifting the bag is not easy and a small dribble runs down the side of the bin. At least no one has seen me. I'm pretty chuffed that I'm relatively unperturbed. I feel this is good preparation for the baby mess ahead.

Carrying Time

The Mother-in-Law (MiL) is on holiday with us and we've been having a few (nice) conversations about future responsibilities. For example, we were on a walk and W was getting very tired...

W: I'm carrying extra weight now. Phew.
Me: You OK?
W: Yeah, I'll be fine.

Pause, we stop walking.

W: Nine months I'll be carrying this around.
Me: I know. I'll do my bit. I'll do all the carrying when it's born.
MiL: Sounds good.
Me: I reckon til about 18 months should do it.
MiL: Yes, but you've got to remember that she's doing it continuously, day and night.
Me: Oh, alright then. About... 3 years?
W: Yeah but when you carry, you're probably not going to be doing it for more than an hour at a time.
MiL: If it's going to be even, then about 8 years total should do it.
Me: Crikey!
W: (smiles)
Me: I can see why you're tired.
W: I've racked up about 4 years so far
Me: Mind you, 4 years and it'll be walking....
W: There'll be plenty of other things for you to do...
Me: I'm sure.

How Can I Help You?

We're in a large department store, looking at an expensive pushchair.

W: It's quite simple. You just press the buttons, here and here, and it releases.

I fumble for a few seconds but am surprised how quickly I get the hang of it.

Me: Cool, like a Dyson.... hey, perhaps they interlock.
W: Only if you're planning a streetcleaning service when you're pushing junior around.

Another couple approach and point at us and the pushchair we're inspecting.

Woman: How much is this?
W: Around... (mumbles)
Woman: Sorry...?
W: Five hundred pounds.
Woman: Oh... that's quite a lot.

The woman thinks for a moment. Her husband doesn't want to be in this situation.

Woman: And does this cot come with it? (she points to a cot on the floor, which is not even the same style or colour )
W: No.
Woman: What about this one?
W: No, not that one either.
Woman: And are there many in stock?
W: (pointedly) We don't work here you know.

The woman, surprised, walks away with her husband. I check my shirt for a name badge.

Swords

W and myself visit a local nursery with a view to a place for next year. We're getting in very early as most of the staff seem to think the child has already made an appearance. It's a very nice place and mid way through the visit Jan, the nursery supervisor, starts telling us about the play room we've just entered.

Jan: In this room they can learn different types of skill and fulfil several different criteria: communication, language and literacy; knowledge and understanding of the world; and personal and emotional development.
Me: It's where they play?
Jan: Yes, they learn play here.
W: 'Learn play'?
Me: Can't they just, you know, play?
Jan: Within certain boundaries and, of course, their own development.

She decides not to explain further.

Jan: And the table over there with the numbers, develops problem solving, reasoning and numeracy skills.
W: They learn to count?
Jan: We provide the resources that support one-to-one correspondences, for example, giving each teddy two cups.
Me: Very handy skill. Child! Make mine without sugar.

Everyone stares at me in my early attempt to develop 'Dad humour'.

Jan: There's also a messy play area.

We stare at a young girl gleefully spreading shaving foam across the surface of a table with the help of a nursery assistant. I start to think that growing a beard, at least until the kid is 18, might be a good idea.

Jan: Lots of the kids, bless them, make the areas their own. One little boy wanted a Roman amphitheatre - think he must have been watching Gladiator or something - so we helped make one out of an old box from the supermarket.
Me: Sounds nice.
Jan: It was. He even advised on the decoration. Then, of course, he wanted a sword.

Jan notes our shared glance of 'and you didn't see that one coming?'

Jan: Cardboard only of course. Mind you, we still had to do a risk assessment. It's important they know what they can do with it.
W: We wouldn't want a massacre.
Jan: No! (laughs) So whenever he gets it out we say 'have you done your risk assessment ? You know how to hold it?' And he says 'Yes, I've done the risk assessment'.
Me: Articulate kid.
Jan: It's important that everyone shares the rationale of consistent boundaries and maintains reasonable limits.

That's me told me then.  

We're on the waiting list.

The Eyes Have It

 We're having an idle evening on the couch. 

W: You know I'm going to get much bigger right?
Me: I'm not stupid. Of course. You're pregnant.
W: My boobs have already got a lot bigger.... all my insides are gonna get smushed up
Me: Yeah...
W: Are you listening?
Me: Yeah...
W: Concentrate
Me: I was concentrating... something gets smushed. Boobs? 

W shakes her head, opens up the laptop and starts surfing. 

W: I don't think you really appreciate what's going to happen.

W shows me this animation:

Me: Whoa!
W: Exactly.
Me: Where does it all go?
W: It just gets pushed out of the way. More trips to the toilet. More heartburn.
Me: (the words are not coming...)
W: And that's nothing compared to your eyes...
Me: Eyes?
W: Yeah, they change shape.
Me: Now you're justing having me on.
W: Look it up.
Me: I will.

An hour's surfing later in which I discover that a pregnant woman's sight can change considerably, possibly forever. Contact lense prescriptions have to change... it's a big deal...

Me: I am in awe...

Maternity Tights

We're walking to work.

W: Don't walk so fast.
Me: I'm not. This is my normal pace.
W: Well I can't catch up with you any more. The tights I bought are too big. They keep falling down.

We walk slower.

Me: You could have bought smaller ones.
W: They're special maternity tights.
Me: Really? I thought the usual ones just expanded? That's why they use them in bank robberies.
W: (A look of incredulity) What are you talking about?

We walk a bit slower.

W: I suppose I could just put my pants on over my tights like I used to do at school sometimes.
Me: Did you?
W: Like superman.
Me: Heh! Now that's funny.
W: With a skirt over the top.
Me: I know! Superman. Heh!

I giggle to myself.