The story so far: Anastasia and her husband, Nick, have been married for 3 years and are expecting their first baby. Anastasia is a freelance writer who lives in London, but home is America. Now read on…

Amazing rhythm

The night before Nick and I were about to leave to visit my parents in Nevada, I came across that First Sounds device which is meant to allow you to hear the sounds of your unborn baby. This machine had fooled Nick and I before – digestive sounds are indistinguishable from baby sounds (unless Nick is pregnant, too). Anyway, it actually fell out of my bedside cabinet into my hands, so I thought I’d take that as a sign and give it another try. Nick was already asleep as I fumbled with the little monitor and earphones. Within a minute, I heard it: a very clear rhythmic drumbeat, loud and fast and non-stop. I was hearing my baby’s heartbeat. This was more amazing to me than the ultrasound scan. This was just between me and my baby – no technicians, no fuzzy black and white screens, just boom boom boom. I woke Nick and he was amazed too (not quite as excited as I, but excited nonetheless). I fell asleep, feeling happy and reassured, and decided to pack the device in my suitcase to give my parents a chance to listen.

Up, up and away

Since the flight to Nevada would take 12 hours, I had a false hope that a sympathetic airline agent would recognise my ‘delicate condition’ and give me a good seat (preferably First Class). I should have realised that people didn’t even give me a seat on the bus, let alone a prime seat on a 747. When Nick and I got to the gate, I asked if this was an aisle seat and sort of stuck my tummy out, while giving the agent a knowing look, hoping she would understand and relent. She looked at me blankly, till I was forced to say, ‘See, I’m nearly 5 months pregnant and a little uncomfortable at times…’ Her expression was motionless as she handed my ticket back to me and said, coldly, ‘77C.’ Not looking pregnant doesn’t help. I just look like I lack discipline and have eaten too many chunky Kit Kats (which I have). So off we went to the back of the plane for a 12-hour marathon.

The flight was painful but no more so than when I wasn’t pregnant. I was so looking forward to guaranteed Nevada sunshine, loads of doting parental attention, and some fun nights out in Las Vegas. Nick is wonderful – he actually loves my parents (or so he says) and he was looking forward to the break too. The seven books he carried with him were a clue to how social he was feeling. Fine with me. I had tons to daydream about.

I tried to look suitably pregnant for my parents when they picked me up at the airport, but the loose top I was wearing didn’t do my mini-bump any justice. Despite lacking firm evidence, my mum and dad were beside themselves with excitement (I’m their only daughter) and indulged me in baby talk from moment one.

Embracing the inevitable

The first thing I did when we arrived at my parents’ house was put on a fashion show of all of the Gap maternity clothing I’d ordered on-line and had shipped to their address. Most of it, barring the ‘suit jacket’ which made me look like a prison matron, was great. The problem was, the trousers all had these daunting elasticated panels in the front and my pathetic little bump didn’t hold them up. A small pillow helped complete the vision and it was actually fun to imagine myself with a proper bump, in real maternity clothes. Everyone ooh-ed and aah-ed as I sashayed through the house in my new oversized gear. Of course, if my tummy ever got as big as it was with the pillow, no doubt my bum, arms and face would follow suit and I might not look quite so cute.

I could live like this – 85F and a cloudless blue sky. Every single day, for ten days. I swam every morning, in the Olympic sized outdoor pool in my parents’ housing complex, and read magazines and baby books the rest of the day. My only interruption was shopping trips for indulgent cosmetic-type things like tons of lovely Origins bath stuff and a miracle product (we hope) called Mother’s Oil, designed to prevent stretch marks. It made me smell like a chocolate bar. Nick loved the weather and embraced his latent affinity for gambling. He won $250 and I convinced him the money would be better spent on our nursery than on another roulette table.

Obsession

Meanwhile I had a new addiction to contend with. The heartbeat-hearing device became permanently attached to my ear. I couldn’t go 6 hours without checking out the little sprout’s rhythm. My lovely family indulged me (there must be absolute silence in the room for the vague noise to be heard) and listened with interest to the sound of the tiny drum. If I couldn’t find the sound, I’d become anxious for the rest of the day, until I could hear it again and breathe a sigh of relief. A phone call to my sister-in-law in Chicago put me at ease. She said her obstetrician told her that, the First Sounds device was responsible for more unnecessary doctor visits than anything else and he wished it didn’t exist. Apparently the baby’s position can make it impossible to hear the heartbeat, and worried mothers-to-be often panic and rush to the doctor or midwife unnecessarily. I vowed to be more relaxed about it. But my obsession continues…and speaking of obsessions, why is it that one of my books tells me I should be able to feel the baby move by now and I can’t? Sometimes I think that too much information can be crippling. Nonetheless, I must look up ‘foetal movement’ in one of my many books.