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Josa’s pregnancy diary weeks 10-12
I go right off alcohol and coffee immediately – avoidance is no hardship this time. At ten weeks, it’s off to the first antenatal at hospital. First I see the midwife, who takes a medical history – very dull, no sensational details for me, I am disgustingly healthy. Then the doctor. Behind her head is a tatty little typed chart pinned to the wall with risk factor for Down’s Syndrome over 35. You can’t miss it – denial is not an option. I am 41, and my risk factor is one in 42. I think I will deal with that later. The hospital is quiet and peaceful, and everyone friendly and kind. This has not always been my experience of antenatal care. Twelve years ago I felt I was on a conveyor belt of intrusive internal examinations and long pauses in cold waiting rooms.
Because I don’t know when I conceived, I ask for a dating scan. And there it is again, on the spotty monochrome screen, week 10 LMP, big head, 3cm long from crown to rump –‘rump’ is such a big heavy word for such a tiny fundament – waving its little paws and feet. Perfectly human, surprisingly active and with all its organs fully formed.
Exhaustion, sickness and – oh yes – the bra thingMy breasts have gone up a cup size or two, and I can’t tolerate wires in my bras. So I go to the cosy ladies of the John Lewis bra department like a homing pigeon, and have myself measured for sports bras; soft, comfortable and supportive.
Morning sickness tends to assail me when I am tired in the evening, and particularly in relation to whiffs from the compost bucket. My sense of smell is so acute I can detect a mouldy carrot from the other side of the kitchen.
Some days I am so exhausted I can only drag myself about, snapping at the children and weeping at the slightest setback. We have told no one and I am convinced that everyone can see my very slightly rounded belly; so I wear a huge fleece all the time. Luckily we are having a chilly summer.
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