Daddy class II

I was late for Daddy's class last night.  When I walked in, it looked like only three of the 7 lads who attended last week had turned up, but the group had been split in two.

I joined two of them on the floor discussing a group of words which had to be placed in a diamond shape to state the most important to a father.

In no particular order, here they are:

Carer

Homemaker

Bread Winner

Nurturing

Disciplinarian

Friend

Responsible

Entertainer

Playful 

Loving

Hardworking

Trustworthy

Role Model

Dependable

Practical Carer

Good Communicator

Teacher

It was obviously more about the discussion than the order we eventually put the words in but we put Role Model at the top with Dependable and Responsible just under it.  Our logic was that if you are these things and the others below, such as playful and loving - and help to distinguish between what it is right and wrong - a father will naturally become a role model.

This theory was slightly blown out of the water when one of the lads in the other group - who didn't have a great relationship with his dad - said that as his dad wasn't a role model, nor around much for him, and our top pick didn't mean anything to him.  We tried to argue that being a role model is what he could personally strive for rather than just remembering the experience of his dad, but he wasn't having it.

The discussions throughout the night really brought home to me that our only true experience of fatherhood is from our dads.  

Glad I have a good one.

Daddy class I

'Tonight is going to be all about handling the baby,' Janice, the leader of the Expectant Father's Class at St Thomas' Hospital, told the 7 of us men who had ventured forth to learn what the heck we are supposed to do when we become dads.

My initial thoughts were brilliant, we're going to learn the 3-step-putting-kids-on-your- shoulders-manoeurve-without-pulling-your-back. Or, brilliant, we're going to learn the daddy throw (click here to see what I mean - 12 pictures down).

But...I soon realised this was not what we were going to learn as I saw a dreaded baby doll with a nappy on in one corner and another one in a baby bath tub opposite.

After the initial introduction we each explained who we were by stating our name, the name of our partner, how far into her pregnancy she was and why we had come to the lesson (Most of us had already found out while we were waiting for the class to start - we were asking all these questions, not the usual work or sport related ones). The pregnancy dates ranged from 20 weeks to 36, and the reasons were from being forced by partners to a general fear, meeting others to having read too many books which were mind blowing.

Janice cracked on with the lesson by asking who had changed a nappy. Three of us put our hands up. She continued by saying we were going to change the nappy of the baby doll in the corner and she needed a volunteer. All this was said while looking at me. I was the intended volunteer. Half way through realising this I worked out that the only time I had done this had been 18 years ago. Anyway, I got up and took the nappy off pretending there was a great smell, got a few baby-wipes, wiped, got the next nappy, put it on rather awkwardly and sat down with an amazingly sweaty brow (All of this was done with a lot of encouragement and help from the crowd).

Janice was kind in her praise and pointed out that we should talk to the baby - good for bonding - cuddle afterwards, wipe from top to bottom and showed us some holding/cuddling techniques (I'm ashamed to say we needed them).

Everyone else got their own turn and then it was over to the table next to the door for bath-time.

She took us through top and tailing, washing the baby's head - in an 'American football hold' - and a full bath. We were told that a bath is only necessary once a week unless they're really mucky and washing the face and private parts is the only thing you need to do every day.

Then it was splash time for us all.

Next week is about What Type Of Dad We Want To Be. My guess is that has to include a part when we talk about if we're going be a Scalextric-buying-dad or train set-buying-dad. But I might be wrong.

Erin and the arm wrestlers

Unfortunately we didn't take the camcorder with us on the big walk of the weekend up a mountain. It would have been great to chronicle Erin's efforts.

But here she is after Sunday's breakfast with a few extras.

Watch it

'Look, you can watch it now,' Erin has just this minute shrieked.

I hadn't got a clue what she was talking about. Then she pointed at her belly, and there it was, visible movement from her bump with little pushes here and there.

It's the first time we've seen this. We can't stop looking and giggling.

Pregmunity

Yesterday we went to a party in Cambridge but most of us there felt old. Looking around we were all grown up, or at least getting there.  And it was a little worrying.

Our friend, Chris, turned 30 at midnight and got engaged to our friend Andrea a few weeks ago. The engagement didn't seem to affect Andrea regarding age but the party did.  Knowing that there were engaged couples, married couples, expectant couples and parent couples - and their children - turning up was a worry to her.  She didn't like that we were all becoming responsible adults. I think a few glasses of wine put pay to that though. 

Obviously Erin and I are in the 3rd category (and 2nd. Oh, and have been in the first. And, er, are soon to be in the latter).  We met some great people and had some fun chats with people in all the categories, learning a lot from the 4th.  It's quite amazing really that when your wife is pregnant, conversations are very easy. People ask how things are going - alluding to the bump - and it flows from there.  If you're talking to a couple or person who has a child it's even easier, but the questions come from you rather than the other way round.  Also, nothing is out of bounds: bodily functions, body parts, anything, literally anything.  There's definitely a pregnancy community - a pregmunity?  

We were part of this at the party with instant offers of advice, books and maternity clothes.  We took up all three offers and picked up a few things before we left Cambridge this morning, very happily - thank you Zoe and Andy.

And the advice? Here's what we learned:

Women tend not to be able to think past the birth, it's easier for men to do. 

Men: Go to the loo before the labor so you don't miss anything and you may be needed. 

St. Thomas' Hospital (ours) Pregnancy Yoga on the 8th floor is great.

Women: Make sure you really know how to relax your muscles at the birth.  It'll make everything so much easier.

When the baby comes along:

You might want to be as eco-friendly using reusable nappies but forget that at the beginning. Get the disposable ones, they'll fit better for the first 6 weeks.

The first weeks are tough, not just because of lack of sleep but the lack of response from the little one.  Once you get smiled at it's heaven. 

Baby gyms are a godsend. Get a cheap travel one so they can be stored, thrown in the corner of the lounge and got at as you wish.

Breast-feeding can be difficult, and if it doesn't work out, don't get depressed about it. Plenty of children have been brought up without it.

There's a great children's drop-in centre in Kennington - just round the corner from our house.

Life goes on, you can go out to eat when the baby comes along, just do it at lunchtime.

A distant chance of naming the baby after a distant relative

Erin's dad, Bud, has just sent us an email with two name ideas for boys.

His family has a distant connection to England in the baby's great-great-grandfather who was called Orville. So he's put this name up for proposal, as well as his last name, Tyler.

Erin's brother's middle name is Tyler so we would have to ask uncle Seth if he wouldn't mind, which incidently, Erin and I have considered.  

As for Orville, who Bud did follow up saying that he should be a pilot or at least design planes. I have my concerns.  British people will know exactly what I mean when I sing - altogether now:

I wish I could fly

right upto the sky

but I can't

You can

I can't

Orville was a ventriloquist's puppet duck from a dubious comic in the 1980s. Actually, here's the song.

Tyler, maybe. But no to Orville for our child, I'm afraid.

But, I ask Bud, what about if she's a girl? 

Junior kick start*

Erin an I were in bed last night chatting about Seth's wedding when she said: 'I think I just felt the baby kick.' With a slight pause, probably to reduce my imminent over-excitement, she followed up with 'but it was probably just wind'.

She said it felt like a tiny little bubbly-air-push in the lower area of her belly. Hopefully it was a kick, maybe it was a little sucker punch. As Erin's going into her 19th week she's dues to feel something. We were only talking earlier, with a hint of worry, that she hadn't felt anything and that the pregnancy magazines and books all mention it could possibly start in week 18.

To get the baby kicking it's apparently a good idea to down a glass of cold water. We were going to do that before Erin felt it independently. I'm glad I forgot to put the water in the fridge.

*Note.  Junior kick Start was a TV favourite of young boys in the early 80s in the UK featuring a motorbike competition with lots of mud during summer holidays.

What's in a name?

In our search of names we've scoured lists and books, and our imaginations to think of something perfect for our little boy or girl.  We're still not going to tell you any of our choices, especially after our first lesson in pregnancy - scroll down to the bit about Erin's mum.  But here is a bit of inspiration to our eventually answer.

Top ten baby names in UK in 2007:

1 Jack      

2 Thomas

3 Oliver

4 Joshua

5 Harry

6 Charlie

7 Daniel

8 William

9 James

10 Alfie

1 Grace

2 Ruby

3 Olivia

4 Emily

5 Jessica

6 Sophie

7 Chloe

8 Lily

9 Ella

10 Amilia

Boring. Or our friends and family have snagged them already.

And in the US:

1 Jacob 

2 Michael

3 Joshua

4 Ethan

5 Matthew

6 Daniel

7 Christopher 

8 Andrew

9 Anthony

10 William 

1 Emily

2 Emma

3 Madison

4 Isabella

5 Ava

6 Abigail

7 Olivia

8 Hannah

9 Sophia

10 Samantha

As bad.

If you want to check out when names have been popular, click on this. It's very entertaining. Hours, if not more than a century, of fun, in fact. 

Here's something else from the same author, she also wrote this.  Can you think of any more names that would be great if they weren't words already?  I have a theory - and this is not for the faint of heart - that some STIs and diseases would make great posh English names if they weren't STIs or diseases.  Try shouting Clamydia or Diarrhea in a British home counties accent. It works perfectly.  And they could be shortened to Clammy and Dee, or possibly Rea.

You can also find out the meaning of names to help with inspiration.  

I'm getting carried away, I was just about to write our top ten list of names.  But Erin says no. So I won't.

Made in China

Technically the baby wasn't made in China but like most goods these days it might as well contain the country's kite mark.

For those who don't know, Erin and I met in the middle kingdom and it has had quite an effect on our relationship and friendships.

One of these friendships we hold dear to us is with Joy (Zhang Jun) our Chinese language teacher in Cardiff.  Our lessons would usually turn from getting the correct stroke order of the characters to discussions about life (mainly in English), and since we left we've kept in touch as much as we can.  

When we called Joy to tell her that we're pregnant she said she would think of a Chinese name for the child.

She must have been excited about our news as when she got off the phone she put all her attention into the task.  When we visited her the other weekend she gave us a piece of paper with a few ideas on it.  She put our Chinese names together and came up with... Ai Jie. 

It means love and understanding. Erin's part is the love and mine the understanding.  I actually didn't know my name meant understanding, which doesn't bode well does it?  That said, we love it.  It's also gender neutral.  Pity we can't find a western name.

Erin throws a few out every now and again.  But we still haven't found a solid favourite.  So we might be using the Chinese one for the first few months.  Thank you, Chinese Godmother, Joy.

Buggawhat?

I've been building up a bit of a reputation - mainly between Erin and I - for being able to spot the brand of a pushchair.  It may be sad but I know the difference between a Bugaboo Bee, Cameleon, and Gecko.

Easy.

And why people would go for a Mamas and Papas Joolz,  Skate or Ziko Herbie.

Sometimes I think a Quinny Buzz 3 is a Bugaboo Bee. But more often than not I get it right.

So I apologise to the parents in London who have been stared at while you're rushing through Oxford Street, having lunch in Barkingside or lazing around on a Sunday in Battersea Park.  It was me trying to figure out what makes each brand unique. 

And Erin now stops me when I start banging on about prams and each ones merit if we're in company so I don't bore them half to death. 

But yesterday at our farmer's market breakfast we saw two - one ofter the other - Phil and Ted's Sports Buggies.  This is the first time I'd noticed them.  After this though, everyone seemed to have them, especially if they had two children.  The youngest was usually in the underneath section asleep.

Anyway, when we came back from our afternoon stroll we stopped off to visit Mamas and Papas and Erin joined me in the hunt for the right buggy.  She doesn't like my early frontrunner .  She thinks they are too big.  I did originally think it was a little heavy when I checked it out but still liked the look and feel of it - like many Americans do with SUVs, I suppose.  After she was prammed-out and we were looking at baby clothes we saw a mother pushing her newborn in a Bugaboo Bee. I'd dismissed these as a kind of Porsche of prams - looks good but overpriced. But up close it seemed all the compact-pushy-thing you'd want for urban living, with attachments for off-roading.  So if we spot one on ebay we may well get one.

Which brings me to yesterday evening when we got home. Erin hopped on the internet to see what prams were in cyberspace.  She saw a black Quinny which had hardly been used going for 400 pounds less than in the shops with three minutes to go on the countdown.  It took us a minute to decide if it would be good for us, making sure it could fit a car seat - Maxi Cosi do Quinnys'.  And a carry cot? Yes. So, we decided to go for it.  Unfortunately we entered the wrong Paypal account - you can't use an American one in the UK.  So we missed out but at least we know the strollers, prams and buggies which are on the streets and in the stores can be bought at a reasonable price if you shop around.

And I know I haven't mentioned Silver Cross.  Or Maclaren yet.  There are too many.

And don't get me started on the running ones.

Boy or girl - part 1

I got into work this morning and Michelle, an administrator who works in the next office to me, asked how Erin was. When I told her all was well and she hadn't had any morning sickness at all she instantly turned to me and said 'it's going to be a boy'.

No hesitation. It's amazing how people know, or think they do, isn't it?

How much?

Erin's mum went to garage sales for us before we went to the States.  We also went around a few places on the first saturday when we were over there too.  This is what we've brought back. All for £5. (Sorry if I don't get the right term for all of them, I'm only just getting used to all of this.)

5 Hats (1 deer stalker)

1 Green cardigan

1 Pair of Engineer Blue stripey Dungarees.

5 Full length baby suits  

4 Full length sleeping suits 

21 Play suits - 3-6 mths (1 with a caterpillar crawling over it with matching bib - cute)

10 Play Suits - 0-3 mths (1 which says it doesn't come with instructions, not the suit but the baby, which they don't.  Shame)

4 long legged elasticated suits 

2 Long sleeve shirts

1 Short sleeve shirt

1 Camouflage Hoodie (Just for David Cameron)

5 bibs (1 denim designer label, not sure why)

4 socks

4 Bath Towels

6 Blankets

1 Rattle

Most of these look absolutely brand new.  And again, it all cost a fiver.

Bellyache

Today, Erin experienced what many pregnant women have uttered either on blogs or in person happen. She had her belly patted.  Some friends of ours saw this happening and seemed stunned, reacting: 'Is he allowed to do that?'

I wasn't sure and neither was Erin but three different people did it independently - admittedly, all are pretty close friends. It was a bit of a surprise as neither Erin nor I have been this excited while seeing other pregnant friends or family.

While chatting, after we left the party, Erin said she generally doesn't feel like she looks pregnant and that she has just put a little weight on and when her belly is touched she gets quite self-conscious. She's not showing too much and nobody seems to notice that she's pregnant unless we or others in the group talk about it. But when people see her for the first time since they've found out they get very excited.  I guess that's how people want to show their affection, instead of a usual hug.

Erin's also become conscious that people are talking to her as if she's now a pregnancy expert and other topics of conversations are difficult to get into even though she's the same intelligent, arty, politically minded, interesting person as before.

On another note, apparently pregnancy can lead not only to a loss of teeth but loss of brain cells.  Is this for the father too?  Erin hasn't demonstrated too much difference in her thinking and levels of concentration but I seem to be losing it for two.  

I've forgotten my Oyster Card twice this week.  The second time was after making sure Erin had hers.  I went back for mine, got it, then dropped it as it was supposed to go in my pocket, I carried on to the bus stop where Erin was waiting and then had to trace my steps right back home to eventually find it.  

If I can't look after a little card how am I suppose to bring up a child?  At the party people were telling me I'll be a great dad.  I really do hope so.

Text your name

I got a text on Thursday from Fred saying: 'Another name for you to consider. Paul.  Think about it.'

I don't think so.

Later on that evening Chris sent one saying: 'Off The Waller? or Berlin Waller?'

Random but brought a smile.  And nice to know that conversations can continue long after they started.

I don't think there are any more puns on my name.  And Fred seems to think Off The Waller was mentioned last Saturday. If there are any more we don't mind hearing them if you don't mind not being taken very seriously.

Elevating hearts - the first scan

We set off to the hospital for the 12 week scan with around 3/4 hour to spare. We decided to go by bus rather than bike as it was threatening to rain. Two buses came which weren't ours, then the 77 arrived but looked very full. We squeezed on and then the bus squeezed it's way through the traffic to St Thomas' Hospital, very slowly.

Surprisingly we made it with a few minutes to spare. All we had to do was to get to the North Wing and to floor 8. It wasn't difficult to find, and neither were the elevators where we waited for one to come.

But this was a bit of a rigmarole.

There were 7 elevators but they were either going the wrong way, full, or had flashing signs saying Emergency Use Only, Out of Order, or - unnervingly - Crash Test to Follow. After 10 minutes, a few curses of the NHS, and a shove here and there we managed to get one. All we then had to do was manually shove the doors closed - in the 21st century? - and off we were, stopping at every floor before we got to the 8th.

I had suggested the stairs, twice, but Erin played the pregnancy card and claimed she was suddenly tired.

I guess waiting rooms are named this for a reason. We went to reception, were told to sit down and, along with a three other couples, and two women on their own, we sat down and, er, waited.

Eventually we were called and the fun began.

I was really nervous that there would be something wrong with the baby, something wrong with Erin, or all we would see on the scan would be Erin's breakfast. But apart from a constant niggle in the back of my mind about the Nuchal Fold test these worries soon went away.

The nurse put us both at ease and spoke to us as if we'd known her for a while. She covered Erin's belly in gel and told us look at the screen. At first it was a slimy blur but then something appeared which was truly amazing. The first thing that struck me was seeing the outline of a head shape. He* appeared to turn to us and look straight at us. It was unbelievable. There was also something which was bouncing in the middle of the screen. Of course it was the heart, but it didn't sink in for ages because of the speed and apparent out of body experience it seemed to, literally, be having.

The nurse showed us several different angles of him - from the top of the head, the back, the front, the spine, so the legs were the focus, and the arms - luckily two of each - but in every frame there was always this bouncing 158 beat per second ball of a heart fluttering away. Erin and I both said we could have watched it all day.

The baby was great. He performed as any parent would wish, crossing legs, stretching, turning around, turning his head towards us, touching his face, seemingly preening himself and generally having a jolly good show off. Good for him.

We have three scanned photos but they really don't do our baby justice.

The nurse told us the results of the Nuchal Fold test were very low risk and added that we currently have a very healthy baby.

I couldn't stop smiling all day.

When Erin and I left the hospital and crossed the road, she told me that I shouldn't rush her as she is now crossing for two. She then linked my arm and said that now she really feels pregnant.

Me too.

* I simply couldn't call him or her and with all the humanity s/he was showing I chose he as it was easier to write - only two letters.

Scan

We're off to the hospital for the 12 week scan.  Exciting. And Scary.

Names, names, and more names

On Saturday night we went out for our Friend Fred's birthday.

We met up with Fred and Caroline to go to the Royal College of Surgeons before we ate. Now, I know I'm trying to lose a bit of weight but there was no need to completely put me off my food. The College museum basically houses a collection, mainly put together by John Hunter in the 1700s.  It contains exhibits from a star fish to all sorts of human organs and the tools needed to get them out.  Once I'd been through the smallpox area and seen 10 seconds of brain surgery I'd kind of had enough.  Fred must have seen this in my face as he swiftly dragged Erin and I through a section he thought - as did I - a father and mother-to-be shouldn't ever see. 

After half an hour in there we walked through central London for a while to erase the memories etched on our minds and met up with Chris, Bla and Ben before we went for Korean B-B-Q.

If you ever need a protein boost go to Ko bar just off Oxford Street.  Highly Recommended.

Later we sat in a pub and discussed life, all it throws at us and baby names.   

I'm not sure who brought it up but it wasn't Erin or I.  Caroline spoke about Father's day as we left the restaurant, we had a little moment when we realised I'd get a card next year. But the names wasn't our fault.

Anyway, Fred thinks he or she should be called Brick.  As in Brick, er, Wall-er.

Other people chimed in. Rhianan, Rhian?  That was from the Welsh boy.

Then Builder was mentioned - Fred

Rudi Waller was mooted.  For those who don't know about German football it was a nod to a striking great. And before anyone thinks about extending the name to Rudolph Waller, it's already been crossed off the list as we don't want a child to sound - even remotely - like a war criminal.  

Then Dry Stone Waller was uttered.  He wouldn't give up.  Heaven help his publication if that's the best pun he can do.

We mentioned that we'd had a early front runner for a girl with the name Imogen.  This was greeted in a more positive manner than when we mentioned it to Erin's mum.  It's an absolute no go now.  She didn't really like Imogen when she first heard it and  couldn't get it into her head.  So much so when Erin spoke to her the following Sunday she said she 'didn't like the name Imogina'. And that wasn't pronounced I-MO-GEEN-A.

Another-brick-in-the Waller anyone?  Guess who thought of that.

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.

Shove it in...

Erin and I went shopping yesterday.  We're going to the States later this Summer for her youngest brother's wedding.  Obviously a dress is needed. 

Erin feels as though she's grown a little recently and wondered how much she would grow in a month's time.  She eventually went to the dressing room in Monsoon armed with 5 dresses all in her usual size.  They all seemed to fit well but we both wondered what they would look like a month's time.  I ran to the other end of the shop to get the favourite dress in the next size up and then she tried it on.  This was all causing a little fuss with the attendant until we explained that Erin was pregnant and we didn't know how much room was needed for growth - I said room for improvement at the time but thinking about it after Erin laughed and looked at me weirdly, I meant growth.  

The dress went on and looked the best of the bunch.  But Erin wasn't sure how much give there was in it so in one full-swing-perpetual-motion she leant down, grabbed the skirt she had come to the shop wearing, folded it, puffed it a little, and shoved it up the dress she was trying on to she how much of bump she could get away with.  I usually give an opinion of whether something looks good or not at this stage but I just had to walk away with a smile that quickly turned into a giggle.  It was genius. 5 minutes later we walked out of the shop having bought the dress.