Pushing my imagination...

I have to laugh at myself sometimes.

Yesterday, while venturing upstairs to climb out of my (becoming way too) tight work trousers and into my (so deliciously, slouchily) comfy tracky bottoms, I found myself standing sideways looking at my profile in the full length mirror.

Without even thinking about it, I'd pushed out my stomach as far as I could (without risking some kind of toilet-related accident) to see what I'm going to look like in just a few short months, sporting a baby-bump.

And aside from being slightly dismayed that my current midriff is large enough to make that image look alarmingly real, I was really rather pleased (not to mentioned amused by my own antics) with what I saw!

I stopped short of padding out my hubster's jumper with a pillow and plodding downstairs, hand in the small of my back, to show hubs what he has to look forward to... but only just.

I know it's wishing time away, which I really do try not to do because time moves too frighteningly quickly on its own, but I am so excited about seeing my bump take shape and displaying it proudly in months to come...

Oh come on! Surely I'm not alone!?

Best friends forever? Forever came and went...

We were inseparable.

We met, aged 13, at high school. With lots of things in common, she was my best friend in the world before I could blink an eye.

We'd share lessons, break times and lunch times. When school was over we'd stand gossiping under the library for 15 minutes before going our separate ways home. Within two minutes of stepping in through the door I'd pick up the phone to 'catch up' with her - see what I'd missed during the long minutes of my walk home.

Saturdays were spent together, shopping and chatting, watching films and finding every excuse to be together. She shared my good times, my bad times and each and every teenage worry I had. I did the same in return.

Her family history meant that she needed more support than the average friend. She'd lost her Mum when she was young and her Dad was a tyrant who cared little for her or her sister. She stepped into the role of mother to her younger sister and fought against her biggoted grandmother to steer herself and her sister through school and life.

We were as close as two girls could be. My family accepted her into our inner sanctum and we muddled through the complicated world of being a teenager, handling puberty and discovering boys.

University came and went. We went to different cities to pursue our education but still we kept in regular touch. We called, emailed and visited as often as limited budgets and busy new student lives would allow. We still knew everything about one another.

When it came time to leave the relative comfort and security of full time education we both sought jobs around the country. Our lives took us in different directions geographically but we always remained in touch. I found a partner and we moved in together. She remained single.

As the time passed a natural wedge began to emerge between us. It was difficult to keep up with one another's lives from such a distance. Life began to take over and our visits became less and less frequent.

One thing that didn't change, however, was the fact that I would always drop everything to be by her side or on the end of the telephone should she need my help and support.

Her life was approaching the dramatic proportions of a soap opera (only with more natural acting...) and I was the person she'd call at 4am, in tears and in desperate need of talking down. Once she called me threatening to end it all. It was one of the most terrifying times of my life. Thankfully, there was a happy ending that time.

But all this left me dreading the ring of the phone. Wishing I could know (before the days of caller display) who was breaking into my serene day to shatter the calm.

The only times we spoke now were times when she needed me. She rarely asked how I was. If she ever did I could hear the bitterness and jealousy dripping from her every word as she compared her own tumultuous love life to that of my own.

I still asked her to be my bridesmaid when I married my first husband. She was, after all, my best friend and we'd been through so much together. Even on my hen weekend she managed to make the whole thing about her, throwing a toddler-style tantrum and guarding every ounce of attention jealousy as if it belonged only to her.

Over the next few years we continued to keep in touch, seeing each other as much as possible, I tried to call her regularly but dreaded the conversations. I knew the calls would consume my energy, demand my innermost efforts and leave me feeling drained.

When I told her that my first husband, after 4.5 years of marriage, left me for another woman, she was one of the first people I told. Upon receiving that news, I could hear her, even down the phone line, withdrawing from me and running away. That hurt more than anything. I thought, that after all the times I'd been there for her, she might be able to find the strength to just listen. That's all I wanted. But no.

I couldn't bring myself to forgive her for that, even though we remained in contact for a few months after I moved home. Even after all that, the last thing I expected her to do was judge me so badly for taking my wedding ring off when I found out my husband had moved in with his new woman. She judged me for 'giving up on my marriage', the very one I'd fought tooth and nail for, the one I hadn't wanted to end.

Since then I've consciously withdrawn from her. She has hurt me irreparably.

I even tried to put it all behind me and invite her to my hen weekend and wedding when I remarried in 2009. She pulled out of the weekend at the eleventh hour and didn't make it to the wedding either. She made up weak excuses to explain why she just 'couldn't' be there.

I do feel bitter about the loss of our friendship and would love to be able to make things right. I recently found out that she has had a baby. She is a single mother and had been too scared to tell me about the pregnancy because she'd left it too long. I found out on the same day I discovered I was pregnant, the day before I had my miscarriage. I was over the moon for her and spent 40 minutes on the phone catching up and asking about her child and talking about her life. The next day I tried to call to tell her about my miscarriage. She never got back to me.

I guess I just have to put that friendship down and walk calmly away.

This is my latest post for Josie's Writing Workshop at Sleep is for the Weak. I chose prompt number one: Tell me about someone from you past who you lost touch with and who you often think about.

It's such a perfect day

I've finally arrived! I've been tagged in my first ever Meme and I love it.

The following post is my response to the Meme started by the very lovely Becky at Single Mummy. So here's my idea of a 'perfect day'. *Note, this hasn't actually happened!

My perfect day...

I wake, squinting as the morning light picks its way through the curtains. Sleep slips from me slowly as I turn to find a steaming hot cup of tea beside my bed, placed there by my gorgeous husband who, I can hear, is already in the shower.

I stretch and sit up in my comforting bed to enjoy the delicious fruits of his labour.

When S finishes in the shower he pads through to our bedroom, hair ruffled and soggy towel around his waist, to find me tucking hungrily into a compelling book, one of my birthday surprises.

We get ready to face the day together, go downstairs and consume a hearty breakfast with more tea, the radio on in the background, and chat about the day ahead.

Today is no ordinary day. Today is the day we take the pregnancy test.

After the sadness of our miscarriage in December we face an agonising wait to see if this is the month that our successful pregnancy will begin. The heartache of previous months still lies close to the surface of my mind as I consider the potential of another month passing by unfertilised.

I push those thoughts to the back of my mind because today marks a full week from the date my period was due. Surely that means we've fallen this month?

The test is all ready. Sitting patiently in the bathroom cabinet, waiting to tell us our fate. We bought a double pack a few days ago in readiness for this morning. Should we wait another week to be sure? I can't, I decide, the excitement and nerves are too much.

So, the time has come.

We turn off our mobiles, lock the front door and switch on the answer machine. This is no time to be distracted by buzzing messages or annoying cold calls.

So, the test is carried out and we place it on the side in the bathroom, obeying the instructions to the letter for fear it may change the outcome if we don't.

Finally the time counts down and we look at the results. We both hold our breath, grasp each other's hand and try to think over the top of the combined noise of our beating hearts. This is it, the moment of truth.

It's positive! I'm definitely pregnant. We start to breathe again and I squeal as I jump up and wrap my arms around hubs' neck. We've done it! This is the month, we're having a baby.

This time, where terror and indecision gripped me last time, joy and relief are the overriding emotions rushing through my mind. This is it. This time it's meant to be.

The rest of the day passes in a flash as hubs and I dance with emotions, flirt with thoughts for the future and tentatively make plans for the next few days. There's so much to do. Doctors to see, families to tell, excitement to deal with.

In the meantime, hubs and I spend time together, chatting about the future, making plans and coming to terms with the reality of becoming parents.

This is the day that my life as a Mummy begins in earnest. Perfect.

*****

Now it's your turn. I've chosen three lovely bloggers to take part in this 'Perfect Day' Meme:

It's a Mummy's Life
VegemiteVix
Very Bored in Catalunya

Have fun!

Happy (Potential) Mother's Day

As most of you know, I'm not a Mummy (yet)...

But this morning I woke up to the loveliest surprise - a card and present for Potential Mummy B! How cute is that!?

This lovely little surprise came accompanied by an explanation; "If we hadn't had our miscarriage you'd be a (pre) Mummy right now. You might even be pregnant again already. Happy Mother's Day baby."

He's even put the washing on this morning!

Why can't every day be Mother's Day?

Touching a chord [Guest post]

So, having signed up for Little Mummy's guest post swap last week, I was paired with the very lovely Becky from Single Mummy. We were asked to write a guest post for each other's blogs - so that's what we did.


Without further ado, here's her post that she wrote for me. It's a lovely, touching piece describing something she's not written about before. Read and enjoy - I did.

Touching a chord

When Little Mummy paired me up with “Potential Mummy B” for the guest blog post day, I immediately popped over to this blog and had a good mooch around to see what My Baby Adventure was all about. It is always fascinating to read a new blog and to meet someone new even if just in cyberspace.

Being a mum of 2 young children I am lucky that I have successfully given birth twice and I am therefore already where Potential Mummy B wants to be. BUT getting there was not a straightforward experience. Her miscarriage post struck a real chord with me as I’ve been there too.

It’s not something I’ve told many people, too personal I guess, but why don’t people discuss early baby loss? Is it because it often happens, like to me, and so soon after you get that little blue line that no one even knew you were pregnant? How can you tell people that something is over when they didn’t know it had begun?

For me this was my second pregnancy so I assumed that I would sail through it as easily as the first. So when the pregnancy test came up positive I immediately began planning the next 9 months. A couple of days later I started bleeding and immediately got an emergency appointment at my GP. They then sent me up to the specialist unit at my local hospital. The staff in the unit were very understanding and caring but I was on my own as my husband was at work 2 hours away. The worse thing is that once it had started there was nothing I could do to stop it. It doesn’t really help to know that 15% of pregnancies end in miscarriage for whatever reason. From one of the private side rooms came the heart-rending sobs as presumably another woman’s dream had come to an abrupt end.

A couple of months later one of my best friends announced that she was expecting a baby with a due date almost exactly the same as for the one I lost. I felt happy for her but it brought back my loss. Luckily the next month I fell pregnant again and this time it led to the safe arrival of my lovely son. I do sometimes wonder what kind of baby I would have had if the pregnancy hadn’t failed but I wouldn’t change my son for anything.

Until now I hadn’t told many people about what happened but I think we ought to talk about miscarriage more. If this blogpost touches a chord with you then check out the Miscarriage Association’s website for more information.

Dear friend...

My dear babyless friend,

You are heartbroken. You live with fear, disappointment, frustration and questions (so many questions) every day.

And I don't know how to help.

I don't even know what to say to you. The telephone, which should be a happy wonder of technology, turns into my nemesis when I think about calling you.

You see, I'm scared to call you. I'm scared of my lack of any kind of knowledge or advice or experience that might be able to ease your suffering. I'm scared to disappoint you.

And yet by keeping my distance I disappoint you anyway.

You can't have a baby naturally. You, and your lovely husband, are going through week upon week, month upon month of agony wondering whether this time's cycle will be successful.

And when it does work, as it has a couple of times in recent months, you then live in fear of losing that hope and having to start again.

I really cannot imagine how you must feel. I want to reach out to you but my words, my actions, my presence can only linger around, useless in their efforts to bolster your flagging determination. 

I despair at my short fallings as a friend. I remember the support, love and ever-present shoulder on which to cry when I split from my first husband. You dropped your life to be by my side, to scoop me up from my depths and ply me with much needed tea and sympathy.

Now you're in your own depths and I have no idea what to say to you, much less how to help.

How can I repay you for your kindness? Why can't I find the words to help you in your hours of need? What can I do to help you?

I think of you constantly and want only the best for you. I reach out as often as I can to let you know I'm here. I only wish I could do more.

If I had a grain of sand for every time you are in my thoughts we would spend the day on a beautiful beach together, just being friends.

Your friend, helplessly

PMB x

Not this time...

OK, so pass the copious amounts of chocolate, it's that time of the month again.

Those of you who have been reading my blog since January will know that I'm trying to conceive (with help from hubs, obviously) after suffering an early miscarriage on Christmas Eve.

So, post ordeal, February is really the first month that hubs and I have tried again. Only February has conspired against us. What will illness, late nights and downright tiredness I would have been surprised if this was the month for another home pregnancy test to make my dreams come true...

Dag nash it, I hate it when I'm right!

Having downloaded an application on my iPod Touch (more in a tongue-in-cheek kind of a way than in any real anticipation) I knew that D Day (or should that be P Day?) fell this Saturday. After last time I was determined not to jump the gun and get too excited if I were a little late, but simply to bide my time and see what happened.

Even that little bit of friendly self-advice was a little premature as, on Saturday afternoon, in the midst of a hormone-fuelled battle with hubs, I recognised the dreaded onset of cramps...

While, as I said, I would have been surprised had we been pregnant this month, the arrival of those cramps left me sad, disappointed and more than a little frustrated.

But in the midst of all these feelings, hubs and I stopped our bickering and declared ourselves (the bestest of) friends again, as I brushed myself off and headed round to my sis-in-law's for an evening of chat, Cadbury's chocolate and sparkling wine - she really does know how to make me feel better (thanks bucket loads hun x).

So, onto March. Perhaps my own birthday month will herald the start of a new Baby B life?

A running commentary on life...

It was whilst visiting a local hostelry for lunch last weekend with lovely hubs and hubs' grandad that I noticed something of which I've only ever been vaguely aware before; when speaking to children, adults, whether they are the children's parents or not, seem intent on providing a real time running commentary on life.

I do it myself with my nephs and I was pleased to note that I'm not alone in this phenomenon.

When said children are of the non-speaking age, adults around them literally relate their every movement back to them in the form of words: "Mmm, you're eating that yummy chippy aren't you? Yes you are!" or "Oh dear, you've dropped your forky on the floor. Never mind, Mummy get it."

Once the little darlings are of the just speaking age it become necessary to perform a check of your understanding of each utterance:

"You've got a belly?"
"No."
"Something's smelly?"
"No!"
"You want to watch telly?"
"NO!" (accompanied by a frustrated fit of tears)
"Oh, you've dropped your welly?"
"Y, Y, YEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"

Do we, as adults, feel the need to demonstrate to the children in our care that we understand what they're saying, as if we are the ones just learning? I find myself, when helping the nephs into their coats and shoes, repeating everything they say to me even though it was clear as day: do I need to impress them with my language skills?

Simply uttering a "Yes he did!" to a delighted cry of "Santa brought me a tendo DS lite" suddenly becomes unacceptable, requiring instead a total regurgitation of the child's sentence right back at them - what's that about!?

Harping back to my school days, during which I learned the basics of child language acquisition, I realise that this is all a process of helping the children around you to maximise their vocabularly, string together more coherent sentences and indeed reinforce their understanding of words in relation to objects. It does, however, do nothing to stop me marvelling at the very subconcious nature with which most of us undertake these developmental tasks - damn we're clever!

Signing off from this mini commentary on life,

Potential Mummy B

Parents and carers seem to provide a running commentary on life...

I do it, parents do it - why?

Children influence everything - even before they're conceived!

So, after almost 17 years of waiting, I finally own my own car.

I'm massively excited and feel a sometimes overwhelming sense of liberation - a feeling I'm relishing every second!

My car is a beautiful little Kia Picanto; possibly one of the cutest cars I have ever seen. Call me weird, call me sad. I don't care. I have named my car and refer to her as 'she'. Some people understand that, others don't. For me, I'm not bothered what people think, I just love her and what she represents for me.

My choice of car was massively influenced by the fact that hubs and I are trying for our first baby. A five door (or four door with a boot as my hubs insists on calling it, citing car salesmen as fibbers by nature) was essential for me in order to avoid any back breaking potential when dealing with squirming little packages in the back seat. I also checked that the car is safe for child seats. A big tick. And it has split seats in the back: another big tick for ensuring hubs and I can purchase the pram or pushchair of our choice and not have to leave the bubs at home in order to fit it in the car!

And so I'm mobile! It's an amazing feeling; one that millions of people all around the world take for granted. But believe me, when you've been reliant on borrowing other people's cars or blagging a lift in order to get around, finally having one's own mode of transport and the freedom and independence that affords one is so, so exciting!

I hope this feeling never fades!

Mobile Potential Mummy B!

Baby showers in England?

I was invited to my first baby shower a couple of weeks ago. The invitation by text came through well in advance and I have to confess to a rather large feeling of foreboding as a result. I politely declined (or rather, made another appointment up as I had no real reason for saying 'no').

I mean, I'm english. I live in England. Baby showers are something I've only heard of from our friends across the Atlantic. One of those things one witnesses on American soap operas. Surely they don't happen in little old England?

Apparently they do.

So what is a baby shower? The picture the phrase conjures up in my mind resembles something like the image right... undoubtedly cute, and definitely inaccurate. As I've said, I've never been to one and, call me cynical, but I never really intend on going to one. There, I've said it. So now one of my closest local friends will end up getting pregnant and throwing one which I have no choice but to attend... but until that day, I'm keeping my distance.

In my opinion (and I apologise if my opinion, lowly as it is, offends anyone) but surely a baby shower is just an excuse to invite people to buy you and your baby presents in the same way an engagement party forces friends who would normally merely congratulate you and share in your happiness to actually fork out for a present, perhaps against their will. I don't believe in that kind of materialism. If I did have a close friend who's having a baby I'd buy her something as and when I wanted to, not because the reason and timing is dictated to me by a 'shower' (ridiculous name!).

Anyway, I'm (half) interested. What's the point? What are they for? Why should I ever go to one?

Rant over.

Potential Mummy B

You shall not pass...

In between Christmas and New Year, the week following our early miscarriage we had, through our extremely diminutive doctor at the Accident and Emergency, made an appointment with the gynaecological department at our local hospital. Fresh from the upset of our loss and still reeling from the general furore that is Christmas chez nous, another trip to the hospital was pretty far down on my 'things I'd like to do today' list.

But a trip to the hospital was necessary so off we went, nerves a-jangling and anxiety in tow. I had no idea what to expect. All I'd been told was that Dr D had spoken to the gynae department on Christmas Eve and they'd advised me to go along.

Thankfully we didn't have to wait around too long. The waiting room was, in any case, warm and welcoming after the skatey, slippy fest we'd just witnessed outside the front door. Our first port of call was a consultation room, within which waited two ladies in hospital uniforms.

To say the atmosphere in this room was a little different from the waiting area would be an understatement. The talky lady (for the other uttered not one word) called me in. Hubby and I obediently stood and made our way into the room. At least we would have done if 'Talky' hadn't blocked my husband's path in the style of a miniature and slightly rotund Gandalf in the Fellowship of the Rings (picture the 'You shall not pass' moment and you're just about there!).

"And you are?" she growled up at him from a level roughly around his waistline. She may have been small but she was remarkably frightening nonetheless.

"Oh, er... sorry, this is my husband," I offered, trying to diffuse the situation. She huffed and gruffed a little as if the sight of a supportive husband wishing to accompany his wife into the unknown was offensive to her. Not a good start.

After being seated and looking on as Talky and Sitty appeared to conduct a full blown conversations in looks, paper shuffling and weird gutteral noises, I wondered what the hell we'd walked into. Talky began to ask questions, pen poised over the aforementioned paperwork to note down my answers. Each of the questions, although benign in their nature, were spat at me in such a manner as to catch me off-guard like a volley of flying hobbit daggers. I didn't expect the Spanish inquisition (cue a torrent of Monty Python quotations!).

It turned out that Talky and Sitty had no idea why we were there and how we had come to have an appointment. Unable to provide a suitable answer I merely gabbled on about Christmas Eve and the fact that the hospital doctor had sent us... perhaps just to check all was well?

With that, and a distinct lack of ceremony we were kicked out of the consulting room and back into the waiting area. Thankful to be alive and with all our limbs we sank back into the seats to await our next test.

After a scan and a very nice 'talking to' by another nurse with the smallest voice in the world we were sent home with miscarriage literature and the reassurance that none of this was our fault. Talky had turned out to be human after all, once she realised that we weren't just there wasting her time, and had talked to us softly and delicately about any questions we may have and to reiterate that we weren't at fault. This was my body's way of telling us it wasn't meant to be this time.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: the human body is the most amazing thing. Sometimes it hurts and goes against our very dreams and desires... but there is always a very good reason for everything, at least in my experience so far.

Until the next time,

Potential Mummy B

The news sinks in...

Yesterday's blog was a toughy to write.

Today's is going to be just as difficult... but my view? This is a cathartic exercise for me. For those who might stumble across my humble blog, it may strike up a glimmer of recognition of feelings past or present. Or it may just act as (I hope) an interesting read. 

Whatever the outcome, my early miscarriage happened over a month ago and, although the feelings are still hot and painful if I think too hard or if something reminds me of them, I do not regard this as being the end of my world and I am certainly trying not to feel sorry for myself. I realise that people all over the world go through much, much worse than an early miscarriage (I know a few personally) but stuff like this hurts like hell on a purely personal basis.

Since I came home from the hospital, hand in hand with my precious husband, I have experienced a whole host of emotions (some driven by crazy hormones, some merely a spiritual reaction to our loss).

I've found myself longing to be pregnant again. Even though I only found out I was pregnant three days before it ceased to be, my sense of loss, as well as that of my husband, is shockingly profound. While my 'baby' was merely a clump of cells, to me it was a child, my child. An image of me and my husband. A beautiful life in waiting.

Floods of tears have engulfed me (and hubby if he were standing too close at the time) on countless occasions in recent weeks and one of the most over-riding feelings of all has been one of pure stupidity. How could I have got so excited at such an early stage and spilled the beans to our nearest and dearest only to have to retract that news again so soon? I felt I had ruined everyone's Christmas. Disappointed everyone and let them down. What was to be the most special gift we could give to our families on Christmas morning had instead turned out to be a bitter blow to all concerned.

Christmas came and went and a lovely time was had by all. The subject of our pregnancy was skated around with diplomacy (a fact for which I was eternally grateful) and quality time was spent with our families. I immersed myself in the affection and comfort of those I love the most and the world span on.

While I'm coping absolutely fine, side by side with my husband, and moving on with things in my life (writing has been a huge boon and a pastime that has helped me through a lot of sticky moments in the past) I have to admit that I do still stop dead in my tracks on occasion. Something will catch my eye or sneak its sneaky little way into my subconscious and poke, teasingly at those emotions I mentioned early. I know that time is a healer *puts down the cliché and backs away slowly* and I have faith in my own powers of 'bounce back' but I know I'll never forget potential bump number one as we move on and try again.

To those ladies who have been through similar and probably much worse experiences than mine: I doff my imaginary hat to you and hope you have drawn the (very difficult to find but no doubt existent) positives from a horrible situation. Personally I am proud to have called myself a pregnant lady (albeit in the confines of my own four walls!) for just a few days.

This time obviously wasn't meant to be (the human body is a remarkable thing) but I will be a mummy... Oh yes!

Potential Mummy B

Giveth with one hand... taketh away with the other

When you know you want to, why hang around right? After all, we had no way of knowing how long it would take us to fall pregnant. I know a number of couples who have had to have help of one kind or another to conceive. I also know others who still need that help and have yet to see any results. For them the dream of a natural family seems to be fading with every passing cycle; heartbreaking.

So why wait? Especially, as my husband keeps offering, 'at my age'. He is just a little younger than I and takes great pleasure in reminding me of the fact at every available juncture. Oh how I laugh...

Here's the exciting bit.

When we fell pregnant within the first six weeks of trying our emotions were almost too enormous to contain. I refrain from referring to those emotions purely as positive ones because, undoubtedly, mixed in amongst the undeniable excitement and joy was a rather striking crimson shade of terror. While my husband's reaction was mostly restricted to the joyful side of the spectrum, mine swung like an over enthusiastic bungy jumper swinging over a river valley from overwhelming happiness to white hot terror and back again within minutes.

But pregnant I undoutedly was! And off to the doctors we trotted at a rate of knots to make sure we hadn't got it wrong. I don't know what I was expecting the doctor to do for us but I guess I'd expected him to double check our self-diagnosis. No need apparently. The pregnancy tests one buys over the counter are every bit as accurate as those available to NHS staff so he merely congratulated us and calculated our due date. I was officially five weeks pregnant.

Off we skipped, reminiscent of a pair of 11 year olds racing off to the sweet shop, to tell both sets of parents our happy news. We couldn't contain our delight and our beaming faces gave us away as soon as we stepped through the door. But both sets of parents stood by their duties to wait to be told the news before bursting with excitement and squeals.

Our world was a happy place.

All this happened on 21 December 2009.

Over the next few days I tried to come to terms with the fact that I had a life beginning to grow inside of me. At that time is was a mere cluster of cells but it was my cluster of cells and I loved it for the potential baby it was to become. Hubby and I raced out to the nearest book store to buy some guide books on pregnancy and parenthood. We even stopped by Mothercare for a pregnancy journal which I began to fill in as soon as I got home.

I learned straight off that doubts and worries are commonplace, especially in a first pregnancy which, while doing nothing to alleviate those doubts and worries, made me more comfortable in experiencing them: a strange kind of equilibrium.

I started a journal to record my thoughts, feelings, doubts, anxieties. I began to spot a little the day after we did the test but a second test confirmed our initial hopes so all was well with the world.

I woke on Christmas Eve 2009 with joy in my heart, a developing foetus in my womb and a lifetime of plans doing the rounds in my brain. 'This is the last Christmas we'll have as a childless couple', 'next year I'll be buying 'baby's first Christmas' gifts', 'this has to be the best Christmas present ever'... However, as the day progressed the spotting I'd experienced the day before became more insistent and I developed a nagging, incessant ache in the pit of my stomach. Deep in my heart I knew something was wrong but, like the ostrich, I buried my head, hoping it would pass on by, hastened by the spirit of the season, and leave us good folk to enjoy our pregnant Christmas.

By late afternoon however, I could no longer ignore the pain. I called NHS direct and was told by an out of hours doctor to get myself to the hospital as soon as possible. Before we left, my husband and I agreed, without words, to prepare ourselves for the worst. With a heavy heart and the best game-face I could muster we headed out in the snow and ice.

Four and a half hours later we arrived home again, exhausted, drained of energy, emotion and a little blood. But most of all, we arrived back home without our pregnancy.

It was confirmed. We had suffered an early miscarriage.

Apparently almost one in four pregnancies end that way in the early stages; a fact that did nothing to ease the sense of loss I already felt after only three days of knowing I was with child.

My heart broke just a little that day.

Babies to the left of me, pregnancies to the right...

Isn't it funny that when you start focusing on a particular something, you start to notice that that 'something' crops up all over the place? Like for instance when a friend buys a new car that you haven't seen around before. All of a sudden you notice them all over the place. I have experienced something similar with babies.

Not, you understand, that I haven't really noticed babies and children before; I would surely have to walk around with my eyes closed in order to miss them (or trip over them, one of the two!). It's just that babies seem to be the topic of choice wherever I go; toddlers dart out in front of me in the supermarket, as if trying to draw my attention away from baked bean shopping; babies gleam their adorable gurgly little smiles at me as I fill the car with diesel; I've received the news that many of my friends have become pregnant in recent months or have recently had children; those of my friends and acquaintances who don't have children seem to make reference to them with ever increasing frequency; every time I turn the television on there is a baby or baby-related issue being talked about somewhere; and since my fairly recent marriage, babies seem to be the staple diet in terms of conversation whenever I meet family friends in the street. They are, in short, everywhere! Maybe it's just an age thing. Not only has my baby radar become more sensitive as I approach that stage in life, but that of my friends has also gone into overdrive, propelling those with the means (and some without) to beat me down the terrifying yet compulsive road that is children.

Just recently, since I've been trying to get pregnant (obviously with the help of my willing husband), friends have quite literally beaten me to the punch. Not that I begrudge them their excitement - no, not at all. It's just that I want to be able to discuss my exciting journey too but have made a pledge with my husband (as well as with myself) that we'll reach at least the 12 week mark of pregnancy before we start clambering up to the rooftops to make our announcement to the world.

Anyway, from me, an anonymous congratulations to all you pregnant ladies out there. I hope to join you in the ever glowing, ever growing stakes very soon!

Potential Mummy B

To prepare or not to prepare?

I didn't take much advice when my husband and I decided to try for a baby. Looking back I probably should have done.

I went to the doctors to get my contraceptive of choice removed and mentioned that we wanted to start trying for a baby in the coming months. Much to my husband's consternation the doctor told us we should not be 'joining' every day as this would deplete our sperm count. Instead we should be aiming for once every three days or so to give the little 'fellas' a chance to regroup!

After what was rather a brief chat about pregnancy and being bundled out of the door with a scrappy pile of print-offs relating to pregnancy and alcohol and pregnancy and diet, we left the doctor's surgery and headed for home to cogitate.

Following on from that we decided to float about on the internet for a while to see what we could stumble across. Unfortunately my rather disorganised approach to pregnancy research resulted in a big, fat blank as far as information was concerned. I'm sure there's oodles of site out there with information for prospective mums and dads to wade around in, immersing themselves in the whole experience of trying for a baby; I was damned if I could find it!

So what about blagging it? Probably not a wise move but how many women fall pregnant by accident and just find their way through without harm to them or the baby? Besides, I have the wisdom of my Mum, my mother in law, my sisters in law who have both fairly recently had children of their own. Plus I have my fabulous husband to run around for me if I so wish! What more could a woman need... a support network within five minutes of her own front door.

I am blessed.

And so, when it comes to planning, researching and preparing, I'm sure there is a lot to be said, if that's the way you want to do it. Me? I'm more of a 'fly by the seat of my pants' kind of girl. While never putting me or my unconceived child at risk, I have taken the decision to roll with the punches, as it were. I'm relatively fit and healthy. I've had a blood test recently, which came back with a clean bill of health. What more can I do?

Perhaps a quick trip to the local bookshop for some pregnancy help books might be in order, just in case...

My baby adventure begins - the big decision

I want a baby.

No, hang on, let's not be too hasty. Do I want a baby? Yes. No, wait...

Argh!

Is this such a big decision for everyone? I mean, deep down I've always known (since I was knee high to that proverbial grasshopper) that eventually, some day when I was 'growed up', I would want a family of my own. My dream has always been to have two: a boy and a girl... in that order. My husband thinks he might want three but I'm yet to decide whether to let him have a say!

A few months ago, when my husband and I were making the decision to actually start trying for a baby the conversations were reasonably short. They went something like: "When do we start trying?" asked he. "November? December? January?" replied I. "How about now?" asked he. "OK then, why not?" replied I. Could it be much simpler?

Well surely I'm not the only prospective mummy-to-be to have secret, internal struggles with this decision, even after the decision has been made? No, I can't be. After all, it is just a slightly large step to take..?

Now, I'm a thirty-something (never ask a lady!), I'm married with a very loving and supportive husband and our own home. Since we first got together we've been in complete and zen-like harmony on the issue of children (that is aside from the aforementioned number of said offspring).

So there we have it. The decision was made (at least externally!) to start actually making some progress. But don't worry, I'm really not going to go into the... *thinks carefully how to phrase this... ups and downs (NO)... ins and outs (absolutely not)* trials and tribulations of actually making the baby - that's for some other kind of blog which, I'm almost completely certain, will already exist somewhere on this inter-hyper-global-mega interweb thingy!

Anyway, I digress. My husband and I are trying for a baby and, I'm sure I'm not alone in these feelings, I am on a constant pendulum swing between pure, unadulterated excitement at the idea of becoming a mum and absolute, white-hot, earth-shattering terror at the enormity of it all. And while my husband is incredibly supportive of all of my (sometimes terrifyingly random) changes of mood, he fails to comprehend the enormity of my slightly less than positive feelings.

I mean, I'm used to having a very busy and enjoyable life. A baby will change all that to an unbelievable level. I'm not sure my husband understands that. He isn't the one whose body will change beyond recognition, whose career will have to be put on hold (at least for a while), whose drinking habits will have to be repressed and locked away until a later date, at which point I'll have to start all my training again from scratch! He gets the 'fun' part then gets to sit back for nine months!

But then I think about having a perfect little being, a combination of me and my gorgeous man, to love and cherish and introduce to the world. To teach to read and write or ride a bike. A future generation of my fantastic family; a grandchild for my amazing parents and in laws. The pride is already starting to build, even as I type.

OK, so it's a massive decision and one that can't be taken lightly... and believe me it hasn't been. I'm still terrified at the prospect of actually putting my body through pregnancy. But millions and millions of women have done it before me so I'm sure I'll cope somehow! So the decision is made. My husband and I are definitely going to have a baby. And soon I hope!

Now, where did I put my folic acid?

An introduction

Hi! I'm a first-time blogger so I'm a bit nervous but I'll press on regardless.

This is my blog. I hope to maintain an interesting, occasionally humourous and sometimes helpful record of my big adventure - having a baby.

I'm not actually pregnant yet but that doesn't deter me from pursuing this particular path. You see I'm a writer and I love to document things. I usually write under other people's names and for the purpose of other people's companies but now I'm turning the tables and writing from my own point of view, about my own experiences.

Without a doubt having a baby is going to be the most exciting yet terrifying adventure of my life so far and I've decided to keep a record of it. Even if no-one else reads this I'll always have my own personal story to recount to whoever wants to listen when the time comes.

While I'm not actually starting from scratch (all will become slightly clearer later) I'll be providing a chronological account of the twists and turns of decision making, potential pregnancy and early parenting right here on this blog.

So, from a complete blogging virgin, thank you for passing by and I hope you'll be back should this blog catch your eye, tweak your interest or just help you pass the time!

Yours with a hop, skip and a jump (while I still can!),

Potential Mummy B