I’m someone who never imagined they would write a blog. Up until this last year, I’d always felt like I was a little bit jammy, one of life’s lucky ones I suppose. Nothing particularly spectacular had happened in my life but I was happy, healthy, with a good job, a nice house, fantastic husband and two happy waggy dogs. Oh and of course, like lots of successful woman, I had a life plan!
I started writing my life plan (obviously in my head, not on paper) at 16 when I was told by teachers, parents, friends etc. that I should starting thinking about my future. It looked something like this:
- Go to college, pass A levels with good grades
- Go to university far enough away from home to feel truly independent
- Complete degree with 2.1 (or higher)
- Get fabulous job that pays well so that I can dress in amazing clothes and shoes every day
- Buy home (ideally a period property) and ‘make it my own’
- Finally get the puppy I’d asked for every Christmas since I was 5
- Meet boy who falls madly in love with me (and fall madly in love with him)
- Get promotion at work, more money, even more fab shoes
- Marry boy
- Have babies (definitely two, maybe more)
Fast forward fourteen years and 1 to 8 are pretty much in the bag. Ok my job could pay better but I enjoy it and to the untrained eye I’m sure my Office shoes and French Connection dresses could easily pass for Louboutin and Burberry. I didn’t get a puppy but my two aging rescue greyhounds are still puppies at heart and my house is from a period (if not an architecturally significant one). But the boy is fab, I have a proper sparkly ring and we’re GETTING MARRIED!
Well that was last year, 2012, the year of the London Olympics, the Diamond Jubilee, our wedding, dream Maldivian honeymoon and first Christmas (I’m a bit obsessed with Christmassy things) in our new ‘family home’. Life couldn’t get any better!
But it could get worse. Roll on January 2013, its snowy, work is busy but fun, I’m training for a half marathon (my sixth) and the boy and I are at it like bunnies in a bid to fill our house with babies. And then it finally happened… the little blue (or pink in my case) line. I was sooo excited! I’d done the test in the morning but wanted to tell the boy in person so kept my secret until he go home then surprised him by presenting him with the positive test, much to his surprise (and slight horror, “Did you actually wee on that? Ewww”).
The first week was a whirlwind of baby names, nursery colours, pram chat (the boy wants a Bugaboo, very Tunbridge Wells!) and general excitement. It might have taken us 5 months but we were pregnant and we couldn’t wait for our baby to arrive.
Lots of friends had had babies in recent years so I thought I had a pretty good idea what pregnancy was like, right? Wrong! Whilst they seemed to sail through their first trimesters with a little tiredness and occasional queasiness, I felt ROUGH. I was constantly nauseous, dizzy (no more cycling to work for me), bloated and created so much saliva I feared internal drowning. It was like having a perpetual hangover for weeks on end. But I didn’t mind too much, after all, strong pregnancy symptoms are the sign of a strong pregnancy, right?
I had never been someone who thought that I would keep my pregnancy secret for the first 12 weeks. Of course I wouldn’t announce it on Facebook or share it at work but I wouldn’t keep it from my closest friends and family, after all if I had a miscarriage I would want them to know (how very fortuitous!). So at 9 weeks we had lunch with our parents (and the boy’s grandparents) when we told them the happy news and I told a couple of close girlfriends (one of whom was also expecting). Everyone was seriously excited, trying to guess the sex and congratulating us on making a September baby (my mum and sister are both teachers and apparently September babies do particularly well at school).
Finally week 12 arrives. We’d done it. Made it through the risky first trimester. The nausea was starting to subside and my tiny tiny (but rock hard) baby bump was slowly appearing. Our scan wasn’t booked until 13 weeks but we were pleased we’d made it to the magical ‘second trimester’. Then, the day before our scan, during a routine wee break, a tiny bit of brown spotting. I was shaken (nothing like that had happened during the previous weeks) but I phoned my best friend (who just happens to be a doctor working in OB/GYN) and she reassured me it was nothing to worry out. Most likely the result of a slightly enthusiastic sex session with the boy (making the most of his nausea free wife).
The morning of the scan arrives. I’m still spotting but only a tiny bit. We nervously await our appointment and when we are finally called in to the dark scan room we cannot wait to see our baby for the first time.
As you will no doubt have worked out from the title of this blog, that didn’t happen. See my First missed miscarriage story for more details.