Elastic waistband

Well I am finally starting to look like a pregnant woman.

And about time too!

I was starting to get worried people at work, watching me consume large amounts of food every two hours (at least), were simply beginning to think I was channelling Toni Collette: the Muriel’s Wedding version, not United States of Tara one.

I am eating a lot. Mostly it is good things, as we are healthy ordinarily anyway. We have a veggie garden out the front with everything from herbs and peas to broccoli and citrus (not yet fruiting, but soon).

I remember my appetite being crazy in the first trimester, and while it’s nowhere near as extreme as back then, I do feel it’s returned with about 75% vengeance now.

We went to relatives for dinner last night. There was roast chicken, approximately 345 vegetables and gravy, all followed by meringue nests with fruit salad.

On the way out, they gave us four marzipan tarts they did not like. It’s marzipan, are they nuts? I adore the stuff.

Anyway, we get home to put the little mister to bed and we have a cup of tea. I would say within less than two minutes, I had eaten three of the tarts before sheepishly asking Trace if she wanted one.

I will often get to the end of dinner, and quite a large dinner, and inexplicably drift towards the pantry to fix myself one or two bowls of cereal. It is crazy.

So, obviously, my belly is popping out, but I think (I hope) it has a decidedly pregnancy-inspired rotundness.

Initially, I made the stupid assumption that some clothes I had pre-pregnancy that were on the hipster side, and sat low on the belly anyway, would be fine to wear even as my belly grew.

I think that was back in the days when I was convinced I would be one of those Posh or Nicole Richie pregnant ladies: essentially a toothpick with an apricot belly. Fat nowhere else.

It was really hot today, spring’s first blush, and I put on shorts that fit the above category. I could just get the button done up, but they were painful and they bunched uncomfortably toward the zipper, a zipper that about 10 minutes later gave up trying to play along with my charade and eventually burst.

They were my oldest, most favourite pair of denim shorts. I had literally had them for about 15 years. And your body changes with age, a lot, in that time, but I could always count on them to fit perfectly. Old reliable.

As I tried to unzip the broken zipper, the little metal tab that had opened and shut that faithful, ingenious fastener more than a thousand times in its life, gave a last gasping snap as it came free in my hands. Broken.

I was shattered. Then I was confused and then I was scared as to how to extricate myself from already-tightly fitting shorts that had been zippered up when the zipper broke.

Somehow, I managed to peel them off, but I will leave it up to your imagination if my knickers came on or off at the same time.

Other than hilarious sartorial adventures, no movement from the baby that I can discern as yet. There have been tiny little lumpy feelings, like a pulse in my abdomen or like food moving through intestines. But who knows? That could actually be my pulse or digestion...

This week is enormous for me. This Thursday is the one-year anniversary of the day we lost the baby.

It is also the day we have our 18-week full morphology (anatomy) scan.

The coincidences continue.

Milestones and mill stones

This is going to sound riveting, but I have a whole lot of nothing to report from this past week.

Wow, what a way to entice you to keep reading, huh?

I have been trying to deal with this in limbo time until the next peace-of-mind scan by distracting myself with work and family stuff.

And I thought I was doing alright until I had a meltdown over the weekend. I am pretty sure you can put it all down to tiredness, hormonal-ness and general freaked out-ed-ness at surpassing at last the 16 weeks and four day mark of this pregnancy.

Oh, and Jay was sick. Throwing up sick. Which is never nice.

I was worried about reaching that date in the days leading up to it, but funnily enough, on the day, it wasn’t until about 2pm that I realised and remembered. And then I kind of felt nothing; a little relief, but not the huge emotional tsunami I was expecting.

A few days later though and perhaps it hit. First of all, let me say, Saturday it blew like a howling gale, all day, very destructive winds. And Saturday night was a full moon. Both of those things make people crazy – just ask the cops. Hell, our local paper on Sunday had a front-page story about a guy who randomly walked up to the scene of a car accident and threw a python at police.

That’s right, a python. Like I said, last weekend just made people go loco.

I felt disconnected from things, from happiness, and very irritable. Jay was up well before 6am both days, and he was sick. Normally I can go back and grab a few extra hours to catch up, but I could not switch my brain off from thinking dark thoughts if I tried to nap.

I was dazed, headachey and nauseous but strangely unable to really feel any of that truly. It was a really bizarre state of mind. It’s happened in varying degrees before, but pregnancy and that “milestone” exacerbated it this time.

Anyway, I feel much better now, although I have had a headache for two days, but it’s dissipating. But I think I know why I felt nothing. Because even though it is great that I held onto this pregnancy for longer than the last one, so far, there is no great woot-woot celebration that comes with that.

This is a completely different pregnancy and a completely different baby inside. It is unfair to compare and hopefully I can stop now.

Well, I have never experienced a pregnancy this far in as yet...so I might as well try and enjoy, rather than curse, the changes in my body and feeling the baby kick for the first time (nothing yet).

Trace and I also agreed on a new girl’s name after I panicked and realised the one we had chosen was really not suitable for a girl beyond the age of five. But we are keeping this new name a secret, although we will tell people the gender when we find out next week.

Next week! Eeek.

Hmm, I did have stuff to report after all. Put it down to the scrambled eggs currently disguising themselves as my brain matter right now.

Coincidence much?

I remember being really struck by a particular book when I was in my teens.

Sure, there was Shakespeare and George Orwell and Harper Lee, but one of the most memorable was a bizarre little paperback with a light blue cover all about coincidence.

It was a dog-eared collection of anecdotes from around the world about the unexplained phenomenon. Some called it fate, the book’s intro said, others thought it more mystical than that, but the stories of coincidence it contained proved that whatever it was, it was real and quite jaw-dropping.

I think I found it for 50 cents in a second-hand shop somewhere random. The ominous lightning strike on its cover appealed to my teenage mind. Back then, I probably thought it was edgy and hoped mum would think I was into the occult.

There were all sorts of stories of a long-lost family heirloom that is suddenly found after a relative’s favourite flower grows in the exact spot where it’s buried; or the twin feeling the other twin’s pain at the same moment, on the other side of the world; or of certain meaningful things happening on key dates, centuries later, auspicious and freaky.

In the years since, I do pay particular attention to those moments that happen in life...like someone popping into your thoughts minutes before they ring you on the phone, dreaming about something a few days before it happens and things like that.

With this pregnancy – see, there is a link in here somewhere – I know how real coincidence is in my life, but I am not sure of its meaning. Or even if it has one.

By some random eventuality, the embryo that is now the baby I am carrying was implanted in me on the very same date as our little boy’s was in Tracey, four years ago.

To the day.

There is no way we could have orchestrated that or manipulated that if we tried by lining up cycles and doctor’s visits and hospital theatre schedules and chance.

I am due on my partner’s birthday.

I found out today that our OBGYN is taking a week off right around my due date. The number three came up a lot early in my pregnancy. I was in theatre three, we sat at table three the night we had our embryo transfer to celebrate with dinner out and our little boy is three. It prompted T to surmise that I would probably go past my due date and give birth on the 3rd of the 3rd.

Our OBGYN is due back from his leave on the 3rd of the 3rd.

Over the weekend, we realised another freaky coincidence.

Our 18-week scan – the one we are counting down to so desperately – is on September 22. They day we lost our baby last year.

Tracey said to me “Do you think it’s trying to tell us something, that everything will be ok this time?”

I don't know what in tarnation "it" is, but sweet lord, I hope that's what it's saying!

15 weeks today

We are in countdown mode until our 18-week scan and we don’t see our OB-GYN until the week after that and I am not too sure what to feel until then.

I try not to place too much weight on that scan, but it really will be momentous for us. For me anyway. I think of it like the final locked door that we can either open to happiness and surety, or leave painted shut to yet more sadness and fear. A bit dramatic, but when all you can do is wait, the imagination unfortunately has ample time to manipulate intuition.

That’s when we will get a detailed scan of our baby’s anatomy. That’s when we will get the most comprehensive indication so far that all is well, some is well, or none is well at all.

In the meantime, I feel in limbo a little. I have started thought-talking to my little baby at night, just telling it that we love it and hope it is safe and warm and happy in there. I put my hand on my lower belly and repeat the mantra: stay safe, healthy and strong, all through the pregnancy and beyond.

But always, always, a thought slams my reverie and reminds me to be careful. Don’t form a bond, don’t get too close. Just in case.

I am also thinking a lot not only about the one-year anniversary of the day my last pregnancy was induced, but also surpassing the term I reached last time. 16 weeks and four days.

By some strange coincidence, the two dates fall within about a fortnight of each other. I have felt weightier with the same sadness we experienced back then...or maybe it’s all that water retention? I guess I am flashing back to all the horrific emotions we felt last September. And wondering if we will have to endure them again this time.

But then I remind myself that this is now and that was then. The past. Hopefully we have a new and happier future in store.

Otherwise, I wore my first maternity top last week. It was actually to hide a regular pair of pants I put on to go to work. Oops, I noticed as I pulled them up, can’t quite get those top buttons done up. Cue the safety pin and a mental note to buy one of those belly belt things, and before you could say baby bump, I had an enormous random flap of fabric sticking out the front of my stomach that would stand out like a redhead in China if I tried to hide it with a regular top. I needed to hide it, so reached for the pile of maternity gear a lovely friend had given to me just weeks before.

It felt a bit tenty, but it was a relief to actually place pieces of clothing on my person that didn’t cling as tightly as everything else seems to.

I really must start researching safe exercises and yoga for pregnancy!

Almost time for tea

I went back to work last week after a fortnight off.

It was a blissful two weeks featuring a visit from my mum from interstate, lots of eating holiday food, shopping, movies and afternoon naps almost daily. My ideal life and the one I would readily subscribe to if I didn’t need to work!

I sensed a real change in my state of being pregnancy-wise this week.

I don’t know if it’s psychological because I know the consensus is that most women leave the worst of the nausea/morning sickness behind them in the second trimester, but I do feel well. Better than I have in months. Almost like my old self again.

The smell of my partner’s coffee in the evening still makes my stomach turn, but generally throughout the day, I am not feeling that constant “I could vomit at any time” sensation.

A big step of progress came just a few days ago.

My ultimate favourite thing to do in winter is consume enormous and bountiful cups of tea...English Breakfast is my poison, or Irish Breakfast if I am that way inclined. I might be tempted by an Earl Grey, a green or a chai on the odd occasion as well.

But not this winter. All because my tastebuds have been hijacked by my pregnancy. For some bizarre reason I will never understand, my most favourite hot beverage has been relegated in my mind to the same place where sardines, tripe, runny eggs, blue steaks, hot chips without sauce and offal go: the revolting pile.

I have not been able to stomach the thought of a cup of tea these past three months. It’s been terrible – and quite surreal.

Part of the old me is on one shoulder going “ooh, it’s a bit grey outside, perfect weather for a nice hot cup of tea – or seven”; but the new me is on the other saying “if you even so much as move to switch on the kettle, that bile you feel rising in your throat will quadruple in size and come up spewing, projectile style”.

But recently, it has been very grey, and cold and rainy and perfect tea weather. Add the fact that I am feeling a bit better about matters digestive and I thought, to hell with it, give it a go.

I have to say it was nice. It warmed me up and tasted ok, but funnily enough, was not overly enjoyable.

I’m sure it will return in time.

Other than that, my partner and I have been talking a lot this week about what it will be like having another baby in the house again, three years after we were up to our necks in bottles and nappies with our son.

God, it will be weird. I was holding a friend’s baby at soccer yesterday and while I was certainly being careful, I noticed I was a little bit rougher in the tickle play, only because just moments before I had been wrestling with Jay. You sort of get used to a certain level of physicality with your kids at that particular age...and it affects the way you deal with all other kids. It’s like dog people going up to a cat and patting it by way of a friendly whack on the back, just as they would with their much bigger, more robust canines at home. Meanwhile, poor pussy slinks off disdainfully to the feline chiropractor.

The other thing that will take some adjustment is looking after a little being who cannot talk for so many months. Again, with Jay, we are used to having conversations with him. Is he hungry, does he need to go to the toilet, does he want a drink of water? We don’t need to guess – he tells us.

Whatever happens, I think it will be fascinating to see how the whole “second child” thing plays out in our house, especially as while this baby will be our second, it will be my first.

Good early news

Ok, this will be quick as I am about to race out the door.

But I wanted to let you know that my results are good, very good.

Our nuchal scan plus bloods revealed a one in 1482 chance of having a baby with Downs.

To put that into perspective, my number last time was one in 29 and anything above 300 is considered good.

Our ob-gyn said that figure was a very good result and the number he would see in a 20 year old woman (discounting my history).

Happy with that!

Of course we could still have an amnio for 100% peace of mind, but there is a one in 200 risk of miscarriage there. So, weighing up the numbers and despite the fact that maths was never my strong point, I think it's ok if we hang on and avoid an amnio.

We can have an advanced anatomy scan at a special place (not the ordinary ultrasound places) where they can search for Downs features at 18 weeks.

If, worst case and for some horrific reason, it looks like we have another Downs baby, we can still have an amnio.

If that comes back positive, the process of termination is much the same at 16 weeks as it is at 19 weeks.

But I honestly do not feel we will have to go down that path. I am so encouraged by that initial number. Of course, all the docs are hedging their bets and cannot tell me anything for certain. But we can breathe a tiny bit easier now.

Hooray. Maybe my stressed shoulders can drop a little as the tension eases.

And so, we meet again, 12 weeks

Almost 12 weeks. Yeep, do I dare get excited? Well certainly not until we cross this bloody monumental nuchal scan barrier. I have it tomorrow, and we find out the results Wednesday.

Here, by way of a recap, is the first entry of my journal over at StorkNet. Give it a few days before I am loaded on there, allowing for time difference and all. Back to regular programming later this week. In the meantime, good vibes welcome from you all!


TWELVE WEEKS WAS ALWAYSthe standard mark most pregnant women waited for before they announced the news publicly, right? The “safe” point after which all would be well? First trimester over = happy days!

We thought so too, until last year. Until our 12-week scan revealed Down Syndrome and a serious heart defect...that ultimately resulted in us losing the baby. Our hearts broke as we made the call to terminate at 16 weeks and four days – not a decision everyone would agree with, but one that thankfully my partner Tracey and I were in unison about. It was partly that we knew we weren’t strong enough to cope and partly that we were worried about the strain it would place on our family, but mostly we felt paralysed with grief at the thought of knowingly bringing a new little life into the world that would be burdened with such a poor quality of life.

My pregnancy was too far advanced for a hospital procedure that would have mercifully knocked me out with a general anaesthetic, so I was induced. I won’t go into any details about those 26 hours...funny, I think I have blocked many of them out anyway (even though they are here on this blog...one entry I have real trouble re-visiting). But even though I have erased them from my mind, they aren’t permanently deleted like you can do with emails and trash in your computer recycle bin.

The memories are like the lead pencil impressions left carved on paper even after you try so hard to rub and rub them out. Just like this is something we won’t get over, that is something we will never truly forget.

I am sorry to dwell on such maudlin matters in this, my first entry. But I need you to know some of the back story, because unfortunately – while I wish it wouldn’t – it indelibly taints every second of this pregnancy. Whether that is through pretty regular bouts of uncertainty, anxiety and stressful moments that take my breath away, or through seemingly unstoppable tears at 2.30am while I lie awake, unable to sleep, thinking. “What if it happens again?”

I try and think of the baby growing inside me and remember I have to protect it and nurture it with love and positivity, but sometimes the damn worry wins.

So, that’s where we find ourselves at this very moment. Tomorrow I will have a 12-week scan. The same procedure that last time sparked such a catastrophic crumbling of our world. The same scan that triggered such tragedy last August.

I am petrified. What if it happens again?

I saw our OBGYN, the same one we had last time, last week. It was our first appointment back, as we had been to another IVF doctor in Brisbane to this point. I was shocked to hear what he had to say. As I sat down he, knowing my history, asked me if I was thinking about going straight for an amnio. I admitted that thought had not crossed my mind at all. He said in his experience, women who had had a similar experience just wanted that peace of mind and immediately by-passed the nuchal, which is purely indicative and educated guesswork really, whereas the amnio is 100% clear.

Instantly I felt unprepared and silly for not considering this. But then I said that I actually did want to do the nuchal. Firstly, it is less intrusive and less risky. And why have an amnio if you don’t need it?

Then he shocked me for a second time. He said that because of my history, the ratio used to calculate the likelihood of me having another Downs baby was reduced. So instead of a woman my age starting at a point of one in 400, I start at one in 100.

Holy shit. I was gobsmacked.

To this point, we had been convinced that Downs was a genetic anomaly. It is not hereditary and even if both sides of the tree have zero family history with the syndrome, for some random reason, it can strike. It is inexplicable and impossible to trace/predict. Even our IVF doctor said we would be bloody unlucky for this terrible lightning to strike in the same place twice. And yet, the possibility now seemed to be opening up.

So, with this in mind, I am now readying myself for what I believe to be an almost-certain amnio. Especially given my numbers are going to be so drastically skewed downwards. But, on the other hand, we won’t know until we know. And even then we won't know for certain - the nuchal result is just a guide. I just hope my number is high, and there is no room for doubt over whether or not we need an amnio.

Roll on Wednesday, that's when we can get the results.