I got a call from the midwife today.
In my mind I wad expecting the call to be somehow a big turning point. I knew from a quick hunt on the internet that there wouldn't be a mad rush to get me in - not until at least 8 weeks - but I expected the idea of speaking to a midwife to make everything seem a bit more real.
And it does to some extent. The fact that I was talking to a midwife sent a tingle through me - similar to one I'd expect to get if I ever ended up in casual conversation with Johnny Depp. Excitement mixed with disbelief.
But I don't want to count my proverbial chickens, I really want to keep my news secret... So I can't even bring myself to write "midwife" in my diary. That's just too much of a step towards reality.
The midwife was fairly practical, which I respect. She sees pregnant ladies every day after all. The conversation was direct, very functional, but gave me the opportunity to ask any questions. But that's the thing: I didn't have any. Not one...
I should have had hundreds. What should I not eat? What exercise is it okay to do? Is it normal that my stomach feels like it's stuffed full of cotton wool? How big can I expect my boobs to grow (because to be bursting out of my bras at 5 weeks seems a little extreme...)?
I've always been a fairly chilled out person. As long as everything is under control I just take it in my stride... So I guess that the fact I didn't wring the poor lady for all her midwifery information is a good thing. I'm going to do my best, but what will be will be.
In my mind I wad expecting the call to be somehow a big turning point. I knew from a quick hunt on the internet that there wouldn't be a mad rush to get me in - not until at least 8 weeks - but I expected the idea of speaking to a midwife to make everything seem a bit more real.
And it does to some extent. The fact that I was talking to a midwife sent a tingle through me - similar to one I'd expect to get if I ever ended up in casual conversation with Johnny Depp. Excitement mixed with disbelief.
But I don't want to count my proverbial chickens, I really want to keep my news secret... So I can't even bring myself to write "midwife" in my diary. That's just too much of a step towards reality.
The midwife was fairly practical, which I respect. She sees pregnant ladies every day after all. The conversation was direct, very functional, but gave me the opportunity to ask any questions. But that's the thing: I didn't have any. Not one...
I should have had hundreds. What should I not eat? What exercise is it okay to do? Is it normal that my stomach feels like it's stuffed full of cotton wool? How big can I expect my boobs to grow (because to be bursting out of my bras at 5 weeks seems a little extreme...)?
I've always been a fairly chilled out person. As long as everything is under control I just take it in my stride... So I guess that the fact I didn't wring the poor lady for all her midwifery information is a good thing. I'm going to do my best, but what will be will be.
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