Ante-natal Class

We just about make the 8pm start as there were a number of unscheduled but very necessary pee breaks. The first 40 minutes are spent advising us how to eat sensibly and which activities to avoid. As we would all appear to be in the third trimester, this well-meaning advice appears to be slightly late.


Can’t believe we’re all roughly 30 weeks or so. A couple of skinny malinks are trendily dressed in knee highboots and clingy numbers which emphasise their svelte volleyball bumps…and then there are those of us who appear genetically related to elephants or hippos. I am in awe that so many women have had the time and inclination to have applied make-up and accessorized their outfits with chokers, belts and cleverly tied scarves. I wonder if Trinny and Susannah are about to pop out behind a curtain and accuse me [with evidence] of violating fashion principles. When exactly did heavily pregnant women stop wearing sturdy sandals and oversized t-shirts?

The couples fascinate me. There are the trendies; the goody goodys, the know-alls;. I wonder how they are secretly classifying us …the scraggies? The dopes? The disorganized?

Then Eileen, our working midwife mentions ‘labour’ and the whole room awakens. It is as though she is a prophet and we are worshipping at her altar of knowledge. She produces a sock and a doll and graphically takes us through the journey down the birth canal. As she explains the concept of ‘crowning’ the doll stretches the ‘sock’ so much that I fear it will rip. I feel a shiver down my spine and I peer around the room. We are all experiencing sheer horror. Open mouths, saucer-wide eyes…or eyes wide shut and terrified. OK we had our suspicions that cabbage patch and stork stories would not stand up to scientific scrutiny… but the thought of labour is just too scary to consider. I put my fingers in my ears and sing lahlahlah to drown out the scary conversation around me.

Special bloke nudges me when Eileen gets to the drugs section. ‘Scary bits over Daisy’. He’s quite used to me hiding behind cushions during horror movies, which he thinks is very funny. First of all Eileen spends a huge amount of time trying to convince us that the pain will be a ‘good’ pain and about the power of breathing and trusting our bodies. Now I have total respect for any woman prepared to do without drugs but I am not that brave.

Eileen introduces us to a natural pain relief method using a TENS machine. Eileen gives us a quick overview and asks for questions. A very studious girl raises her hand.’ I don’t follow how a tennis machine would help’. Eileen looks bemused and says TENS not TENNIS. She asks for a volunteer to demonstrate the TENS machine. All the girls shrivel and stare intently at the floor, while the guys relax back into their chairs, grinning. Eileen pounces on an unsuspecting lad and attaches a small contraption to his arm. The girls immediately spark back to life, giggling as this poor lad’s face takes on the pallor of an embalmed veteran. I am appalled at my black enjoyment at his discomfort .He positively jumps out of his seat as Eileen increases the vibrations.

Apparently the TENS provides great relief but our poor victim seemed very relieved when it was taken off his forearm. I resolve to hire a machine for labour. Eileen is thrilled that I am so positive about a natural pain relief method. She hugs me to her chest. Her new convert. I haven’t the heart to tell her that I fully intend to use every other pain relief method simultaneously including panadol, gas and air, pethedine and epidural! I always did like a well-mixed cocktail.

Buggy procrastination

Hurrah, it’s a Mildred Free Day, so I am in early at my desk. Its high time I stopped dithering over a major bank breaking purchase. I need to get the pushchair / pram situation sorted. I have 1 day before Mildred returns. I need to research and purchase it, so that it is delivered at some point before the baby arrives.

The number of options found by the search engine stuns me. There are bewildering arrays of models, sizes, accessories, click in –click out options. After an hour of surfing, I conclude that one can buy a 1] Mary Poppins type perambulator; a 2] minimalist fold-up meccano type pushchair, a 3]3-wheel drive over rough terrain buggy or a 4]3-in-1-travel system. This is extremely irritating, as I have lost all ability to make a decision.

Each type is persuasively promoted by svelte celebrity Mums. Each comes with a whole host of benefits and must have accessories. Unfortunately, they all come with a huge price tag that only a celebrity could afford.

Apparently I should be considering the recline settings, suspension; fold up capability, weight, tyre settings etc; I am stunned to find that some wheels come with a pump. Presumably if you a member of the AA, you can get them to fix the puncture and pump the tyres.

I shoulder the weight of this decision alone until coffee break. Then I crack and consult my colleagues. ‘What type of car do you drive? Asks John [father of 2] ‘Because you have to make sure it’ll fit in your boot’. ‘How wide is your hallway? because they can take up a lot of space? Asks Fiona [mother of 1]
‘And how much can you afford to spend?’ asks Louise [blissfully childless] who is well aware of the special relationship I have with my credit card.

‘Listen, I have a buggy you can have’ shouts Lara across the canteen.’ Its just taking up room in the attic. Its safe, light, fits in the car and I don’t ever want to see it again. My childbearing days are definitely over. Thank goodness! No more nappies, burping; sterilizing, crying; spewing... ‘That would be great ‘ I interrupt.
Lara is one of these very ‘with it’ women, who oozes coolness and competence. If it was good enough for her sprog, then it’s good enough for peanut. I am rather taken aback however, at her evident delight at being over the ‘baby ‘ stage. I sense I am at the bottom of a very steep learning curve.

Getting bladdered at Ginny's wedding

Where the bloody hell is Ginny? We’ve been cooped up in this church for over half an hour and my bladder is going to explode. If she doesn’t march her meringue & St Tropez tan down the aisle pronto, I’m going to do a runner out the door and squat behind a plant pot.

Wonder if she’s having second thoughts? Broken down? Or just being a drama queen? Poor Tom is pacing furiously at the top of the aisle. The priest is consulting his watch anxiously [word has it, he’s refereeing a rugby match in a few hours and he’s keen to get going]. Oh come on Ginny, you selfish mare.

I feel like a big-beached whale…make that an 80’s throwback beached whale. I just couldn’t justify spending 500euros on a ‘special occasion’ dress, even if it did ‘flatter my contours’ according to the sales assistant. So, I borrowed a pal’s, elder sister’s maternity ‘dressy’ outfit. It’s basically a blue and yellow tent with big geometric shapes and shoulder pads, Joan Collins would approve of. I ‘teamed’ this becoming rig out with a pair of comfy Dr Scholl’s beige granny sandals, which just about house my expanding, foot area in this heat. Its not a particularly flattering ensemble…mind you what is at the moment? My tummy precedes me by about half a mile; my waist has taken a sabbatical and my bum has gone south [although to be fair I never had one of those pert ‘2 snooker ball in a handkerchief’ arses]

My bladder is about to explode! This is miserable. Peanut is performing a full gymnastic routine. Kick, kick, punch. My tented dress is rising and falling as Peanut shifts and plays with my internal organs. Special Bloke rubs his hands over my belly absent-mindedly. Peanut belts out a strong punch, taking Special Bloke by surprise. ‘Wow, that’s some left hook you have there Peanut’ Special Bloke beams proudly. ’Look at this Tom!’. Poor anxious Tom is dragged over to watch my large tummy wiggle up and down. Special Bloke presses down on my belly to say hello to Peanut. My poor bladder is struggling. I simply have to relieve myself…

Oh Oh music…here Ginny comes. Oh she looks beautiful. Skinny cow. Tom visibly sighs with relief. When Ginny is settling herself next to Tom, I sneak outside for my own private moment. I relieve myself behind an enormous car. Phew! That’s just so much better. I shake down my dress and turn around to pick up my bag and wrap. I do not believe it. There is a video lens focused on me. I am puce with mortification. ‘Don’t worry love, we’ll edit that bit out’ whispers the video guy. ’I was trying to get an arty shot from back here. Not to worry eh?’ I sneak back in, with my head down and tail tucked firmly between my legs.

You are now a technical expert

Becoming a technical expert
OK, it’s getting weird now. A brown line has developed from my belly button down to my ahem, nether region. It looks like a tea-bag stain [Don’t get me started about special bloke being too lazy to put the damn tea-bag in the bin instead of leaving it on the sideboard awaiting the arrival of the tea-bag fairy].

My pregnancy library of books tells me it is called the ‘linea Nigra’ but they don’t explain why it has taken up residence on my tummy. Is it kind of like strip lighting in an airplane…to guide you to the exit doors in case of emergency? Pardon me, Mother Nature, but surely a Doctor/midwife who has studied their craft for oodles of years should be familiar with the location of bab’s expected exit door.
Even my two and a half year old niece very confidently {and very loudly on the bus journey home} advised me that the baby is going to ‘come out of there’ as she disappeared up my skirt and pinched me firmly between the legs. ‘Ouch, thank you, get out of there, Now! What are you all looking at? Shows over’.

Finding your inner child

‘Its really important that you make time to focus on this womanly transition you are going through. Breathe in through your nose, hold for ten and out through the mouth. Focus and see that little baby in your womb. Caress it with each breath. This is your time to relax and be at one with your baby. Blah, blah’ Marsha drones on in a monotonous hum.

‘Now for the last time ladies, clench your toes and then relax them. Open your eyes, come back into the room and in your own time, pull yourself into a kneeling position and slowly stand up. Take your time. Well done ladies, see you next week’.

‘Um Daisy, open your eyes’ Marsha breathes over me. ‘Daisy will you wake up!

I groggily focus on her.’ That was the best sleep I’ve had in a long time. I really feel like I’m getting to know this baby. You know its just kind of dawning on me that there is actually a baby in here’, I stroke my belly. ‘ Isn’t that just amazing! Ah, that really was a great sleep. I haven’t been able to sleep for ages and…
‘Daisy, this yoga for bumps class is over. You need to get up! Now!’ Marsha shrieks. ‘My child minder will freak if I’m late’.
‘I’m going to get up in another minute or two.’ I whine

‘Come on, the bridge club are starting to move in their card tables. We have to be out of here in five minutes flat.’ She orders switching off the whale music cd, muttering crossly under her breath.
‘Daisy I am going to count to three!

Oh oh think Marsha’s discovered her inner sergeant major.

No sleep

‘Apparently its natures way of training you to survive without sleep’ Fiona tells me. ‘But believe me when the baby arrives you will look back at this time wistfully’

‘I don’t think you realize how little sleep I’m getting. I have to pee every few hours. I have to pull myself out of bed in a complicated procedure, then do a waddle sprint to the loo, usually stubbing my toe on the door; go in to the toilet and then a tiny trickle of pee stutters out. Then I go back to bed. Within seconds, I swear I need to go again.’

‘Oh you should try the rock’n’roll method. You sit on the loo and kind of rotate your hips, taking the weight off one side of the bladder and then the other,’
Fiona demonstrates while I giggle.

‘I’ve heard it all. What kind of experimentation were you up to when you discovered that? Actually don’t tell me. Pee-ing aside, then there’s the kicking and jabbing. I reckon it’s going to be a prizefighter…. a nocturnal prizefighter!

Although I have discovered a great chat room for us preggie types. I am now an official birth club Mum-to-be member. At least we can bore the pants off each other at 4am in the morning, discussing piles, diabetes, husbands, lovers, dishing the dirt on the medics’ bedside manners and where to buy all the baby kit. You know stuff; no one else can put up listening to, ’I chuckle.

Fiona’s eyes have glazed over with boredom.

Happy hormones kick in

The fog of tiredness has finally lifted and I feel full of life. So full of life that I hardly flinch when Mildred announces at our weekly meeting that I will be making the presentation pitch along with her to win a new account with a large pharmaceutical. Somehow nothing fazes me and nothing seems insurmountable. Usually I would be a nervous wreck just thinking about presenting but I just can’t get excited about such trivial matters these days.

The part I am dreading the most is driving the two-hour trip with Mildred to the pharmaceutical. Although I have worked with Mildew for the best part of five years, I have never spent this amount of time alone with her before.

I needn’t have worried. Mildew drives like a maniac. She hardly has time to draw breath with her anxiety about winning this new account. I am ordered to pay particular attention to a Mr. Derek Bryson who is the ‘key stakeholder’. I am to keep the ‘pink and fluffy’ internal marketing team on side but to make sure that Bryson is convinced. I have never seen Mildred so wound up. She must have a hefty bonus tied up in this. I glance out the window and am momentarily distracted by a trendy mum pushing a really cute buggy. It looks just the job. I strain my neck to try and catch sight of the make. Mildred realizes that I am not paying attention and she nearly crashes the car with despair. ‘Oh for goodness sake Daisy! Will you at least try and feign interest in this account?’

We are ushered into the walnut boardroom with a very intimidating long table. The clients are already seated. They observe us setting up the LCD projector and laptop. I wish they would chat to each other or take a break. But no, they simply stare icily at us. Mildred is nervous. Her neck is red and blotchy. I cannot believe how cool I am. Its like I’m having an out of body experience and am taking perverse pleasure at seeing the driven, achievement oriented Mildred’s nerves taking over.

I cruise through the power point presentation with ease. Derek Bryson gives nothing away facially. He is mildly interested but you get the impression he has to sit through hundreds of these. Still he smiles briefly when I crack a lame joke about their competitor’s brand. Mildred is watching his reaction to everything. I have about another six slides to go when I start to feel a bit odd. Something is wrong. I bolt out the door hollering ‘Perhaps Mildred you’d go through the figures. Excuse me folks for a moment’. Mildred looks horrified and I can hear her choking as I run for the ladies.

I examine my underwear. I am bleeding. This is not good. My pregnancy manuals are at home but I know I need to get help. First I need to clean up a bit. Damn! There’s no toilet roll in the cubicle. Sighing, I shuffle out of one cubicle and into another, praying no one comes in to observe my kickers around my ankles. I just about manage to close the door when Mildred arrives in. ‘Daisy, what the hell has got into you? Are you ok?’ she barks with her nose to the door. ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’ I respond automatically. ‘Ok then I’ll get back to the others. I’ve called a coffee break, so you can finish up your talk when we resume’. I try to stay calm but I know that bleeding is not good, not good at all.

‘Are you alright?’ asks a kind voice as I join the others. It’s Mr. Bryson. ‘I’m not sure. I’m pregnant and I’ve just had a bleed. I think I’ll need to get medical help soon’ I confide. ‘You poor girl. I’ll phone the site nurse. Don’t worry dear I’m sure everything will work out fine’. Mildred nearly has heart failure as she listens to this exchange. Within minutes a nurse interviews me in the ‘med room’. ‘Hmm, its probably nothing but you will need to see the local GP.We have an arrangement with him, so we’ll whisk you over by taxi. There’s a good chance you will need to go to hospital for a scan and possibly stay overnight for observation. We will get the driver to wait for you and if necessary to take you home. Don’t worry; it’s all just to make sure that your little one is ok. There are lots of reasons for bleeds and lots of women have them and go onto have perfectly normal babies.’

The GP lets me listen to the heartbeat. He reckons that everything is fine but wants me to have a scan to be sure. I’m whisked by taxi to the hospital and wait for the scan. While I’m waiting they take blood and urine samples. I phone Special Bloke to update him. ‘I don’t want to worry you hon, but I’m in waaa waaa hospital waaa waa’ I blubber uncontrollably down the phone. ‘Oh Jesus Daisy, which hospital? What’s happened? Is the baby ok?’ I can hear the panic in his voice. I try to reassure him that it’s no big deal. That actually I’m quite looking forward to the scan..another opportunity to say hello to Peanut. But all that comes out are great big gushing tears. Eventually I calm down to explain the situation and promise to call him back when I’ve had the scan. I pray Mildred doesn’t call!

The doctor examines the scan and announces that I have a low-lying placenta, which may have caused the bleed. He wants me to stay overnight for observation and the consultant will check me over in the morning. I text Mildred with the news. She texts back ‘V unfortnt. Clients happy. Had to return 2 base. C u soon’. I can relax. I really couldn’t have coped with her perched on the end of my bed doing a postmortem on the presentation. I spend the evening chatting to another pregnant in-mate who has high blood pressure and has been confined to her hospital bed for the past fortnight.

Special Bloke arrives armed with fruit, magazines, chocolates and a massive teddy bear. He is relieved to see me chatting away and heads off a few hours later with a bit more colour in his cheeks. ‘I’m staying in a B & B across the road, so just call me if you need anything or you just want to chat. It’ll be ok Daisy. You’re doing great!’. I could get used to this!



‘That is NOT a low-lying placenta you idiot!’ scolds the consultant’. That is a perfectly normal place for the placenta to be at this stage of the pregnancy. Even if it were a low-lying pregnancy, it would not be a problem until the third trimester. There was no reason to keep this healthy woman in a sought after bed for the night at the taxpayers expense. What do they teach you in medical school these days? He muttered walking out of the ward with the young doctor following in his wake. I am rather disappointed to cut short my stay after so much special attention from Special Bloke.

I call him with the good news and he whisks me off for a luxury breakfast. He calls Mildred and tells her that I have been released from hospital but that I have to take it easy and I won’t be in until the day after tomorrow. I sincerely hope she couldn’t hear me muffling my giggles in the background.

Baby moves

My pregnancy manual advises that I should feel little flutterings in my tummy by now. Disappointingly, I cannot feel anything. Zip, nada, nowt. I hope Peanut is ok in there. Has he inherited my sleep gene and is simply hibernating? Perhaps he’s in there all tucked up in a duvet pleading for just another five minutes before he has to get up and flutter.

Then one day, I was vegging out on the sofa watching a fly on the wall documentary on adoption. It followed five adults all-searching for their mothers. It was very moving. It was fascinating that even at the age of fifty-five, an adopted London taxi driver was still haunted by the fact he didn’t know his mother. One lady made contact successfully with her mum and established a warm relationship with her newly found half brothers and sisters. One young man found his mum and she refused to see him. She told him through a window that she had rejected him once and she was doing it again. She had her own life and she couldn’t cope with him upsetting everyone and everything at this stage of her life. I watched the programme wincing; smiling with tears stinging my eyes.

It dawned on me that even if I abandoned Peanut on day one, the chances were he would look for me. Even if I were the worst mum on the planet, we would always have a very special relationship. This scares and reassures me and makes me more than a little tearful.

Just at that moment, I felt Peanut move. It’s like a little fish swishing up and down. I rub my belly and grin like a cartoon character. It’s the most incredible sensation and I can’t stop smiling.

Telling the boss

Everyone in the office knows that I’m expecting…. everyone except Mildred. I have been trying to psyche myself to tell her for a while now. ‘You have to tell the Dreaded Mildew sometime’ quips Louise ‘ and you are starting to show.’ I know but I am feeling too fragile to deal with one of her tantrums. But you’re right I’ll do it …now!’

I take a deep breath and poke my head around her office door.

‘Aah Daisy! I wanted to talk to you about the Butler account. We need someone to do the spec and see it right the way through to next year. It will mean you’ll have to train Peter to …’Mildred drones without looking up from her spreadsheet.

‘Ehm Mildred, I need to talk to you about something ….er personal’ I venture.

Mildred eyeballs me coldly. ’Go on’ she says witheringly ‘Spit it out’

‘I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby. ’I splutter

‘Yes, I know what it means. When is your due date?’ She glares.

‘Well according to my dates its Nov 28th but the scan date predicts the 15th and I’m usually quite….

‘Spare me the details’ She bellows holding up her hand like a traffic cop. ‘So its utterly pointless you taking on the Butler account then. I presume you will be taking minimum maternity leave?,’ She challenges.

‘I uh hadn’t really given it much thought really. I mean I want to breast feed so the baby gets the colostrum and …’.

Mildred looks ill. She regards me closely.’ I didn’t have you down as one of those’. Close the door on your way out Daisy’, she orders disdainfully.

‘How did it go?’ enquires Louise hesitantly.

‘Pretty well actually!’ I beam stroking my little bump.

Weird dreams

I wake in a sweat, pyjamas stuck to my back. I’ve just had the most vivid dream of my life. For some reason I went to a fantastic party in a remote country village. Everyone was dolled up and looking sensational. In addition to being the belle of the ball, I was being twirled around the dance floor by a drop dead gorgeous man. Then the clock struck twelve and I had to run all the way home with a plastic bag full of nappies. When I got home I realized I’d left my baby behind a grey stonewall somewhere in the country. The police are incredulous that I can’t remember which wall! Thank God it was just a dream.

Wee is the new accessory

Nurse Villain the Vile has left a strong impression on me. I should get a gold star for my urine samples. First thing on those mornings when a check-up is due, I pee into the sterile vial. Then I put the liquid gold into a plastic bag and pop it into my handbag. It has become second nature to me …keys, coins for car park; credit card for emergency shopping moments [ahem!] lippie and a sample of pee.

I breeze past the receptionist and smile at nurse Villain the Vile confident that I cannot be in trouble. I have my sample of wee and my check-up card. Nurse V examines the vial and winces. Then she regards my bump critically. ‘Hmmm I don’t like the look of that. You’re quite big aren’t you?’ she queries rhetorically.
‘Any history of diabetes?’ she enquires dipping a strip of blotting paper into the vial. ‘You’re going to have to do a glucose test for us. Right, drink this, hang about for 2 hours and we’ll test again.’ I down the sickly, sugary concoction down in one go.

I phone Mildred and leave a message, apologizing that I’ve been delayed at the clinic. I am of course delighted to have some extra time away from the office, with nothing to do but drink tea, read 'Hello' magazines and chat to other women in the waiting room. I would pay good money to join this club! Ooh that’s my phone.’Hello Mildred, yes I’m delayed. …Complications…. well, er could be diabetic…. er, no I didn’t know I was either. I really don’t think that’s fair. My generation does not just slump around, eating biscuits and complaining. It’s not my fault I might have gestational diabetes! ’The old bat hung up.

‘Some people!’, I complain, biting into another digestive, to my new best pal in the waiting room.’ My boss thinks I’ve got diabetes just to get out of doing more work, honestly’. My new best pal looks concerned. ‘Is it serious?’ she asks. ‘Ehm I don’t think so’ I respond, less than confidently. ‘Does it affect the baby? She asks again. ‘Ehm, I don’t know’. ‘Will you have to take drugs and will you have it for life? Do you mind giving yourself injections?’

‘Daisy’ hollers Nurse V. I have never been so glad to see the woman. She hands me a new vial and sends me on my way to the ladies. I am red faced, very worried and my heart is palpitating. My poor baby could be in danger .I somehow manage to completely miss aim and most of the midstream jet of urine ricochets off in every direction. A measly couple of drops have collected in the vial. I want to cry. I want to lie down on my back and kick and scream like a hyperactive sugar addled toddler. ‘Its ok baby’ I whisper ‘Your mother is just having a mini crisis. It’s not your fault, little one. Hang in there and keep smiling.’ I splash water on my tear stained face and return to Nurse V’s lair with trepidation.

Is that all you could manage?’ Nurse V sniffs huffily. ‘Well it’ll have to do.’ She dips in the testing indicator. ‘That’s ok.’ she murmurs. ‘So ehm, I don’t have diabetes then? And my baby is ok? And I don’t need to inject myself?’ ‘No, you just need to drink lots of water and give those biscuits a rest.’ she dismisses me.