Midwife - First meeting

On Thursday afternoon we had our first meeting with our midwife.  Well, we would have if our midwife wouldn't have been sick but we had a meeting with a midwife.  

She checked Erin's blood pressure then proceeded by taking most of it out of her right arm for three tubes full to be sent for a slew of tests.  These, however, don't include whether s/he will get a first from St Johns College, Oxford; will become the 2032 Olympic 100m gold medallist, get a tattoo behind her parents' back, or if  she'll have her father's eyebrows. 

Shame.

Erin then produced a full vial of urine and plonked it on the midwife's table - don't worry, she was asked for this.  More tests.

After this, we were given a Pregnancy Medical Records Book.  This will list all the history of our pregnancy.  Erin asked if she could personalise it with stickers, doodles and collages. The midwife then looked at her and said: 'You can.  But this will be kept on NHS records for the next 25 years.' Erin then realised it wasn't a scrapbook, even though there is an envelope inside the front cover for baby keepsakes.

The book's first few pages are full of the usual name, age and job questions then it goes on to all the family medical history questions.  We seemed to do well at these and ended up with the comment, Low Risk Pregnancy.  I think that's at least a B+.  (Erin's just read this and complained about my low expectations.  She thinks it should be and A.  Maybe this is a sign of things to come for our child's first report card.)

The midwife asked if we had any questions. We Had.  A whole list.  Erin started on hers, then I on mine.  We asked about flying, cycling, painkillers, sore tail bones, scans, appointments, classes, yoga, free stuff and dentists.  Finally we asked if we had forgotten anything and what most people worry about.  She then rolled her eyes and said that a lot of parents are over anxious and worry about things that don't matter at this stage.  She gave us a knowing look then said we'd be fine.

We left smiling.

Miss communication or boys will be boys

On Friday, Erin went to our friend Caroline's for a girls' slumber party and I organised to go out with a few boys to eat Thai and watch comedy in Balham. We arranged the night a few months ago long before we knew Erin was pregnant but we decided to tell those who were with us about what's going on.

JB arrived at mine just as I got home from work, and Michael and Dewi, who had come from Wales, arrived at mine a few minutes later than when we wanted to leave, so we got to the restaurant a little late. This was noted by Fred, Chris and David who were sat down having a drink.

The conversation ran from the Three Peaks Climb to the London Marathon to how many units of alcohol there are in a pint - 2, thanks PC Foster, what one of Britain's leading broadcasters is like to work with and the usual thread which is a constant to most of our conversations, music. I was sitting next Chris who likes to ask controversial questions in a very understated way. He asked if work was OK, if Erin was OK, then if Erin is pregnant. And, oh boy, was he not ready for the answer.

I answered as matter as factly as I could, affirming that she is. Fred was also listening opposite us, as was David, who I told a few days before at work.

'Really?' Said Fred.

I nodded 'Yes.'

Chris looked at me.

I looked at David.

David smiled.

Chris didn't. He didn't seem to believe me and looked a little stunned.

I looked over to David and said that I'd told him a few days earlier and he nodded.

It was now Chris's turn to say 'really?' and I said that Erin was 10 weeks gone.

Fred congratulated me.

Chris finally came round from his daze and congratulated me too.

The boys on the opposite side of the table had sussed that something was going and I announced it officially. There were a lot of 'wows' and 'congratulations'.

On the other side of the city Erin was in her PJs eating pizza, vanilla custard, and strawberries - for nutrients - dipped in chocolate. When she got home and we talked about the evening she said that there were a few times when she thought about telling the girls but nothing seemed the right time.

When she arrived she was asked if she wanted wine, she thought that was the opportune time to say something but wanted to get her feet in the door before she said anything. There were also times while they were chomping through their pizza and watching Sex And The City DVDs, but she didn't say anything.

Chris - you know the one - sent a text to his girlfriend, Blathnaid, asking if there was much squealing at Caroline's tonight. Blathnaid hadn't got a clue what that meant. Then she asked the girls, and Erin knew it was the right time to tell them.

Well done Chris - I think - for getting both the north and south of London talking.