Tag Archives: 20 weeks pregnant

Half Way

20 weeks and I’m finally starting to feel legitimately pregnant, well I’m inching towards it anyway. I still mostly still feel fat because I seem to be piling on weight at a phenomenal rate. I’m actually gaining it much faster than I did with Little A. I can’t seem to get my eating under control at all. I know I’ve been very stressed out lately and that’s been a part of it but seriously I need someone to smack me. I haven’t weighed myself in a few weeks but I suspect I’m probably sitting at the weight I was when Little A was born. I think I’ve gained 30lbs or more. Horrifying.

I am starting to feel a lot more movement now. Flutters have given way to kicks. There’s no set pattern to them, they move all around. I imagine baby has plenty of room in there so spinning isn’t a problem. Right now I’m just waiting on my anomaly scan which isn’t for another two weeks, then it will be time to start getting properly organised and buy in the few things we need. I did buy a little set of sleep suits the other week so I’ve started gathering up my little pile of newborn clothes. My next task will be to drag vacuum storage bags of baby clothes down from the attic and start sorting them out.

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Having a wobble

I have my fetal anomaly scan in just under two hours. I vowed at the beginning of this that I wasn’t going to ask the sex of the baby, but now I’m not so sure.

I keep dreaming that it’s a little girl (possibly because I am just SO in love with the girl’s name we have chosen). It’s crazy but I feel like I’ve bonded with this little dream baby. I worry that come the day if the baby pops out and it’s a boy I might feel a certain sense of disappointment…. that probably sounds like an awful thing to say. I mean deep down I really don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl so long as it is healthy. I wouldn’t be devastated by having a boy at all, boys rock, my son is so amazing, he’s my sun and stars, but I don’t want that sort of… “oh” feeling if they said “it’s a boy!”

So I’m debating just asking today if they can see the pertinent parts.

Of course I could get up there and the baby could be lying in a strange position (they practically had to stand me on my head to do the anomaly scan with Squish and they still couldn’t get a clear picture), or I might have a sonographer who isn’t keen on telling me the sex. In fact I don’t think any of them are too keen on discussing the sex. I found out with my eldest from a doctor at a much later scan, with the boy we paid for a private 4D scan and with Squish she flashed her bits on screen at a later scan so I didn’t need anyone to tell me.

Ah I don’t know what to do.

I’m too damn nosey.

Halfway there

I laugh when I look back on the optimism I had when I started ttc. I was going to cherish every moment of this pregnancy, I was going to be an earth mother, I was going to dress well, I was going to GLOW.

Ha.

Half way there and I’ve spent most of this pregnancy demented, audibly flatulent (I am an expert at “crop dusting” now, essential in public places), plagued with horrible dry skin/spot outbreaks, panicking about weight gain, living on ranitidine, trying to make my existing clothes work and freaking out at the prospect of having to give birth again. I’m starting to question whether or not I want to home birth this time, all because I made the mistake of reading some of that evil harridan Dr Amy’s blog where she states all babies born at home burst into flames immediately upon delivery or something. I KNOW it’s not true, I KNOW I’m not facing the same issues as American women with regards to my midwife’s qualification, experience and fitness to practise, I’ve done it safely twice before, but all it takes is catching that one episode of One Born Every Minute where the baby had shoulder dystocia and I go into a mental, hormonal flap.

I had a horrible experience giving birth to my eldest in hospital, and two amazing experiences at home, so why am I even contemplating it????

I suppose part of it comes down to this. When I found out I was pregnant with my eldest I went out and bought a couple of pregnancy magazines. We’re going back ten years here so bear with me. The very first one I picked up had an article about water births. I’ve never heard of such a thing, I thought “how amazing! I’d love to do that!” It made sense to me. Fast forward to my booking appointment and I discovered the only way to have a waterbirth would be if the city sank halfway through your labour.

By the time I was pregnant with the boy I bought my own birth pool and was very optimistic it would happen. It seemed like every other women in the UK could have a home waterbirth no problem. I was naive, I thought I would too, but I was told that only one community midwife in the whole the city was trained in waterbirth so I could labour in the pool but I had to get out to push. When he was actually born that was just what happened, the midwives told me they were trained in waterbirth but weren’t signed off on it yet.

In between the boy’s birth and the squishy one coming along, the local hospital opened up there very own fancy dan midwifery unit complete with TWO birthing pools (though only one of them was unusable because whoever designed the place didn’t make the door on one of them wide enough to admit a gurney). Hopefully by now the situation would have changed, right? Well if it hadn’t I intended to sit in the pool no matter what. As it happened, the pool was less than half full when Squishy came shooting out like a human cannonball, so I never found out.

So what do I do this time? Do I risk going to the hospital where they can fill a pool quickly and the staff have all been rubber stamped? Or do I stay at home where I may not get it filled in time or have to argue to stay in it? of course with the hospital there is always the risk that the pools will be occupied or out of order or they’ll decide I’m not a suitable candidate, and there’s the loss of autonomy and the risk of interventions (but I’ll be honest, the loss of autonomy scares me more). I just can’t make up my mind. Luckily I have twenty more weeks to do so.

And twenty more weeks to get a decent wardrobe together, organise a hair cut (see picture below), find a good moisturiser/cleanser and work on not eating everything I can lay my hands on.

I’m sure it’ll fly.