narrating kayoz

Getting back on track: writing, blogging and the Fab Fatties Challenge #2

I have been back at work for nearly a year now (I started back at the beginning of July).

In that time I have written almost nothing, submitted absolutely nothing (despite having several pieces either ready and waiting or just about ready to submit), have blogged very little, have gained about five kilos, have had one miscarriage and have not (since then) gotten pregnant.

One of the reasons I haven't been blogging much is that people at work might read it (being in a web team is quite different that way, as it turns out, to being in a communications team). Not that I mind if they do, exactly, it's just that there are things one usually doesn't talk about at work - trying to get pregnant, for instance - that one might blog about ad infinitum.

So here's my little disclaimer* for work folk:
Feel free to read. Feel free to comment. Don't talk to me (or preferably anyone else) about it at work. At least, not if it's something you think I wouldn't talk about at work. Like trying to get pregnant - not always something that's good for one's career, though it's not politically correct to say so. But I learned that the hard way last time.

Also - some notes for anyone new to the blog, eg, someone from work:

• it took me 17 cycles and one miscarriage to conceive Mikaela.
• I only have one ovary.
• my mum started going through menopause before she hit 40.
• my sister took four years to produce her beautiful son
• I am 37, Chris is nearly 41...

So just because I'm trying to get pregnant, doesn't mean I'm going on maternity leave any time in the next year. Or ever. Just so we're clear.

Now, back to the point of this post, which is not that it's seven months since my miscarriage and I'm not pregnant, despite being convinced that May was the month it would happen. Nor about the lack of blogging lately.

No, it is about the fact that I've put on about five kilos since I started back at work.

There are a few reasons for this - too much junk food at work and not enough exercise being high on the list - but the main one is that I lost my focus.

I got back down to my goal weight of 63kg early last year.** I had a health check within a month of starting work that determined that my healthiest weight range is something like 62-66kg. All good. And then I started trying to get pregnant again. And then I got pregnant again. And then I had a miscarriage. And somewhere in there I told myself I could eat whatever I liked (ie lots and lots of chocolate) because obviously I deserved it.

Yes, I have issues around food and deserving and comfort and anger and self image and shame and probably all sorts of other things. As I'm sure have blogged before,*** I took a long time to acknowledge any of this, let alone to acknowledge that I was overweight, still less that I cared. I was a feminist. And we feminists don't care what we look like, do we? Right...

Actually it was two things that snapped me out of it. It was realising (shortly after Liam was born), that I was unhealthily overweight (and I was, trust me on this, I'm not talking putting on five kilos here), and also that that was not okay now that I was a mother, and realising that however much I pretended not to notice or care, other people just had to look at me to know I was unhealthily overweight. I was fooling no-one.

Despite all this, now that I am back to an ordinary sort of weight I have largely gone back to pretending that none of that happened. That I don't have any food/weight issues. That I am, in short, too cool to care.

Well, I'm not. And that is why I am now taking back my focus and my control. It may take me another year to get pregnant (although we've given ourselves a deadline of this December, so lets hope not), or it may never happen. So to say even half consciously to myself (as I have, if I'm honest, been doing) that I can wait till after the next baby's been born to get back on track is ridiculous. It is self-delusion.

Food tracking, I've discovered, is my best defence against over-eating. So food tracking is what I will do. And to jump start myself, I am signing up for the Fab Fatties Challenge #2 - there are about five hours left to sign up, but if you do, make sure you tell them I sent you so I get me some 25 points in the challenge!****

The challenge goes for two weeks from today (May 29) and involves the following - all of which I am going to try to do every day (except the one about not drinking 'soda pop' since I don't do that anyway).

• Eat 5 servings of fruits and vegetables daily- 5 points
• Drink 8 glasses of water a day- 8 points
• Exercise- 1 point per minute
• Do a random good deed- 5 points
• Stop drinking soda pop for a day- 1 point
• Actually read someone else’s blog post and leave a comment- 1 point
• Answer [their] Fab Fatties random bonus questions about [them]- 5 points
              -Bonus questions will be posted daily on [their] blog.
• Recommend 2 fabulous friends from twitter and tell us why we should follow them- 2 points
• Eat a healthy breakfast-1 point
• Lose weight- 1 point per pound
• Keep a food journal for the day- 5 points per day
• Take a walk during you lunch break- 5 points
• Have a friend join this challenge- 25 points per friend
              -make sure your friend tells us you recruited them!

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*I've probably said this before, I'm just a little paranoid and still haven't come to terms with this weird collision of offline-personal, work, and online lives that facebook has created.

**Back down not from all the weight I gained during pregnancy - though there was some of that - but from all the weight I gained while trying and failing to become pregnant beforehand.

***But it was a loong time ago, before categories, let alone tagging, when I still did each entry by hand in dreamweaver, and I can't find it.

****And thanks to Food Food Body Body which is where I discovered the challenge.

An open letter to Nicola Roxon (Federal Health Minister)

Dear Minister

Just after I discovered I was pregnant with my first child, almost eight years ago, the insurance rug was pulled out from under Australian midwifery's feet. Midwives operating outside of hospitals were suddenly unable to find insurance in Australia.

Before I fell pregnant I had read Michel Odent's Birth Reborn, and was excited about the idea of being pregnant and of giving birth. How distressing then to discover that in Canberra my only option for midwife led care was the birth centre at the Canberra Hospital. But I was lucky - I found a place at the birth centre despite not booking in until I was seven weeks pregnant. I have friends now who have been put on the waiting list after calling the day they found out they were pregnant.

And now the situation in Australia is set to become even worse. From July 2010 midwives will not be able to practice in Australia without insurance. Private midwives will have to cease homebirth practice, move overseas to work or face prosecution. You know women will still have homebirths, but they will be more likely to be unattended by skilled support. And many other women will end up clogging the hospital system simply because they cannot find a midwife to work with them at home.

Please Minister Roxon, do something about this. All the research shows that homebirths are at least as safe as hospital births for pregnancies of normal risk. And that midwife led care leads to lower intervention and better outcomes for women than obstetrician led care. The Government supported private obstetricians with insurance - make this happen for midwives as well. Not for their sake, but for the sake of women all over Australia.

[letter ends]

I just found out about this, over at the rachel papers (thanks Rachel).
What you can do:

1. Please sign this petition.

2. Watch the "Save private midwifery" video at Homebirth Australia.

3. Write to the Health Minister, Nicola Roxon and your local Federal MP.

Kaely on a hypothetical sibling

The possibility of another baby in the family came up the other day, I can't remember why, but this was Kaely's response to the idea of being a big sister. When asked something like, would she like a little sister in the family:

Mikaela: "Yes. Tahli."
Me: "Tahli? like Tahlia?"
Mikaela: "Yes."
Me: "What if it was a little brother?"
Mikaela: "No."
Me: "But what if the baby was a boy baby?"
Mikaela (emphatically): "No."

So I guess we're pretty clear on where her preferences lie, at least for the moment.

And as for me - well yes, this is a completely hypothetical baby, there is no pregnancy in sight, but I do quite like the name Tahlia - it's not been on my list before, but I might just add it.

On the other hand, I just googled Tahlia (Hebrew) and it means 'Dew of god' - sounds a bit like sperm, somehow, doesn't it? But Thalia (Greek) means 'to flourish', so that's definitely better...

Next: the bad news

The bad news is that as of this morning I seem to be having a miscarriage. I was five weeks today and starting to feel pretty good about it all, but apparently that wasn't warranted.

I say 'seem' and 'apparently' only because it's not absolutely 100% clear yet. But it's probably about 99.8%, so I'm not kidding myself. I"m bleeding, it's just no where near as heavy as it would be for a normal period at this point. But I think I remember it being like that last time too. And it's not just spotting either.

I've been over analysing my feelings to death, as I am want to do. I'm upset, of course. But not exactly shocked. I knew things weren't looking quite as they should. I'm sure there should be plenty of hormone there by day 32 to make a nice strong second line. When my sister first conceived Samantha there was a similar absence of sufficient hormone, and in fact the first blood test my sister had showed the hormone levels being a little below normal for that far along - and the doctor assumed she was going to have a miscarriage. The second one showed that the levels had come up, and they continued to do so and did get into the normal range, but as we later found out, everything was not right with Samantha.

So I knew, maybe this pregnancy was not going to work out. But I got my hopes up anyway, as you do.

So how am I feeling now? I'm sad, about this pregnancy not working. I'm also upset about what it likely means, which is no baby for quite some time. The last miscarriage was followed by three or four months of wacky cycles. Normally taking my temperature in the mornings gives a clear idea of when I ovulate. There would be a clear spike in the middle of the month, and it would then stay elevated until the day of or the day before my period. For the few months following the miscarriage there was not any clear spike, or even any clear pattern. I couldn't make sense of it at all, but I assumed it probably means I didn't ovulate those cycles, and that in fact my hormones didn't sort themselves out properly until the end of that time. Which seems odd, for such an early miscarriage, but I think maybe my hormonal system is simply not all it could be. I've had other problems before.

So I'm thinking, not only has this baby not made it, but there probably won't be a pregnancy this year at all. I'd gotten quite attached to the idea of having a baby only maybe eight months younger than my sister's. And my best friend is hoping to get pregnant soon-ish (though there are some complications there), and another best friend is pregnant already. Both of them had their first babies close to mine, and the former had her second baby only 7 weeks before Mikaela. So it seemed fated, almost...

Last time I had a miscarriage it took a year to get pregnant again afterwards.

I'm beset by all these comflicting thoughts though. Last time I was crying and in shock on the day I started miscarrying. I'm not saying there've been no tears today, but I feel a lot more - well, okay, I guess. Last time I made Chris stay home from the workshop he was meant to be going to. Today I went to work myself. (I'm supposed to be out at lunch with friends now, while my Mum has the kids, but I couldn't face that, so I just came home.)

That was a little surreal. I was sitting there working, talking, saying 'fine thanks' every time someone asked how I was, all the time wondering whether the bleeding's sped up yet. Whether I should go change the pad.* I remember someone else telling me she went to work while she was miscarrying, and me saying - or at least thinking - she was crazy. But what else was there to do? There's nothing physically wrong with me. And it wasn't the shock it would have been if I'd really thought everything was fine.

Back to the conflicting thoughts. I feel sort of okay, but then - not so much. I have all these thoughts about how I should feel, how I'm entitled to feel, and how I'm not entitled to feel. I have an appointment to see my GP next week (which was meant to be to get a blood test organised to see if the hormones were as they should be), so I imagine having to tell him and then I imagine sympathy and then I start to cry. That's what happens if I imagine telling anyone actually, or anyone who I think would be all sympathetic about it.

But really, I don't feel the need to cry most of the time.

And then I imagine other people, who might think I was overdoing it. Who might say (or think) - well, it's only five weeks, and you knew this might be on the cards. And then I feel cross and defensive about the fact that I am upset, that I have cried. (Of course, probably I'm the only one who would think that anyway...)

I'm so conscious of what I should feel, what I might feel, what I am, or am not entitled to feel, that I can't actually figure out what I really do feel. When I burst into tears while I was driving home, was that just me driving myself to tears (so to speak) by feeling sorry for myself, or by imagining others giving me sympathy, or was that real? When I feel okay, is that just me distancing myself and not allowing myself to really feel what I do, or is that real?

These are rhetorical questions, BTW. I know, of course, that they are both real. But at the same time, I'm not quite sure of it.

I'm also conscious that after the last miscarriage I got quite depressed for a few weeks. It was my first brush with a form of depression that was more than just being sad, or feeling down in the dumps for a day. It seemed all out of proportion to what I'd experienced, but it  nonetheless made it hard for me to get out of bed in the morning, much less do anything once I got up. When I realised it was probably largely hormonal it was like a light bulb going on. It didn't make it go away, but it helped enormously to understand it. To know that it was real, and not just something I was somehow making happen.

But, I am definitely worried about that happening again. Not to mention the nausea. Pregnancy nausea is bad enough. Un-pregnancy nausea is just unfair.

Anyway, I'm up and down and some of the time I don't even remember. Most of all I'd like to tuck myself under my covers and go to sleep, but now I need to go pick up my children, so further self-analysis will have to wait.

________________________________
*'sanitary napkin' I think is the US term

First, some ambiguous news

I wrote this (to a friend) a few days ago, but haven't gotten around to blogging about it properly, so now I'm just going to cut and paste (with a few un-noted clarifications).

But first, a note to 'IRL' readers.

It's a weird thing, now that my blog posts are imported to facebook, that a lot of people I know 'in real life' might happen across my blog posts. Until now that hasn't made any real difference to the way I blog, but this is a blog post that I write without having talked about it to people I know IRL (aside from a couple of people).

So if you are reading this and know me in the 'real' world, just don't assume because I've blogged something that I've made it 'public' in the sense of actually talking to people about it. I know, it sounds ridiculous, but there it is.

It's like this (as Tashi would say). I haven't been paying very close attention to my cycles, because I ran out of pages in the book in which I record these things. But my period was due late last week.  It would have been due on Friday for a 28 day cycle, which is the absolute longest I ever have (though they do seem to have been getting longer since I started taking iron two months ago - one 28 and then a 27 day cycle).

So, when it hadn't started on Saturday I picked up a pack of three (cheap, but supposedly good for up to 7 days before your period is due) pregnancy tests on the way to the airport (I was on the way to visit my sister & husband and their new baby in Melbourne). I did one at the airport and it was negative at three minutes. I was in the airport toilet though, which was a bit dark, so I stuck it in my pocket (it was one of those little strips of cardboard that you dip in a cup of urine, not an in-stream test, so it fitted easily, though you might think it was a little gross). When I looked at it in the good light a few minutes later (probably within the ten minutes that counts, but possibly not) there was a very faintly detectable line, if you looked closely. But this was after it had been stuffed into my jeans pocket, not placed carefully, face-up, on a non-absorbent surface.

Now, we were trying *not* to get pregnant this month, so as not to end up with two children born on the same day (or even the same week), and also because I really was wanting to be back at work for 12 months before going on maternity leave. So even though we officially started trying in September, I wasn't planning to start really trying until November. Late November in fact. Still, I was hoping that pregnancy test would be positive.

Anyway, my period still showed no signs of coming, so I did another test the next morning. It too was negative at 3 minutes. And four minutes. I forgot to look again within the ten minutes, but at 12 minutes again there was a faintly detectable line, if it was held up to the light and squinted at just so.

At this point I started thinking maybe it was a case of the nicely termed 'blighted ovum' type situation. Or more likely blighted sperm, since the sperm would have to have been a bit old by the time I (probably) ovulated anyway. So maybe there's not enough hormone to be detectable, but there's something there to stop my period happening. So I decided that before I did the third test I'd get a better test and do them both at once. That way if the cheap one was still blank but the other one had a clear and dark second line I could be happy, or if they were both blank I could be pretty sure it wasn't happening.

So on the way home from the airport on Monday night I stopped by the chemist bought another test (which cost more than the other three put together). When I did both tests that night this is what I got: The cheap one - still blank at 4 minutes (supposed to be readable at 3). Again, a very very faint line appeared after ten minutes, but not before. The expensive one - a clear line by two minutes. But, not a  dark line. Very clear, not faint at all, but light. And that's at day 32.

So. I'm thinking - maybe I'm going to have a baby next June (due date July 3, three days before Kaely's was). Or maybe I'm going to have a miscarriage soon. Or maybe (worst case scenario) it's going to be a Samantha-type situation (Samantha was my sister's baby who was born and died at about 21 weeks last year, having not developed any kidneys). Anyway, I'm getting my hopes up, as you can imagine, and will make an appointment to see the doctor ASAP (just as soon as I get Kaely up, who is calling me now from the bedroom). I'm already booked in to the birth centre :)

That was the exciting, but ambiguous news. Unfortunately what comes next is the bad news, which is where I am now. I'm really only posting this so I can then write about that.

Befuddled and bothered by climate change and colds

I read a(nother) scary article on climate change the other day - how it's happening faster than experts were predicting, etc, and how dry continents like Australia specifically will be impacted over the next forty odd years. I must say it was sobering to realise that in forty years I'll be rather past my prime, but even more sobering to think about the world my kids will be trying to make their way in.

I wondered - if we really took this seriously, would we be trying to have another baby? Not for the reason I remember my peers spouting back when we were in our teens - that the world was just too nasty a place subject them to - but more just in terms of the added burden more people place on the planet's resources, and more specifically on our own resources.

Well, we are still going to try for a third baby, climate change (and many other practical considerations) be damned. But we're also going to sit down and plan out a bit more concretely what we should/can/will do to climate-change-proof our own lives. We already turn off things at the wall, use (mostly) energy saver lights, and will have replenished our roof insulation within the month. But bigger projects we've talked about like getting a big tank put in, a proper grey water system (as opposed to the hose out the window type), solar panels - those things we can't afford right now, but can be more seriously about planning for. And then there are other things like putting in as many fruit trees as we can fit and getting better at growing our own food.

Of course, some of these depend on whether we are really staying in this house for the long haul or not. It is west facing, on a weird shaped block which gives us little good sunny yard space and has one less bedroom than we'd like. But it's got a great view, it's in a good location for our needs, it's got some lovely things about the yard as well, and one less bedroom means a smaller carbon footprint anyway.

That is some of the sort of conversation we've been having in our house over the past few days. Interspersed with conversations about planting heirloom tomatoes, getting another Silky chook or two and why we have come down with yet another cold. But much time and many kid-focussed activities have passed since I started writing this post this morning, and additionally my brain is now anti-histamine befuddled.

Will we, won't we?

It's clear that I am better rested than I was when Liam was Mikaela's age (despite the fact that at the moment she is tending to wake up twice between 12 and 6 most nights!), because when Liam was this age I couldn't imagine wanting to be pregnant again any time soon. Whereas now, I am starting to romanticise pregnancy and think how nice it might be (at least between 20 and 30 weeks - I'm not completely delusional).

Of course, that could also be to do with the fact that we always planned to wait until Liam was three to have a second child, so I wasn't that close to trying when he was 22 months. Whereas with Mikaela, because of our ages, we only planned to wait till she was 24 months to start trying. We've put that back now by a month or two, so that I can have at least one full month back at work before getting pregnant (a little optimistic I know, but you can't start trying if you're not ready, regardless of the statistics). But at this stage, we are pretty sure we will try. Not sure how long we'll keep trying for if it doesn't happen, but we will try. I think.

what I have been thinking lately (roosters, dogs, kids and writing, for instance)

I don't seem to be doing much with this blog lately. Even the baby book entries mostly just get written in my head, and end up being simple lists of words when I finally get something out.

It's frustrating because I have things to write about.

The kids, of course. How Liam seems to have turned a corner from the (slightly difficult) five and a half year old he was, to the six year old he is now, even though the books say six is supposed to be harder. How I think school plays a part, since he's now one of the older kids in his class (which has two years together, 4-6 year olds) and he seems to be feeling the responsibility (in a good way). How Mikaela is so delightful just now, but I'm still a bit afeared about what is around the corner, because she is such a determined little thing.

About future plans too. How I had a little freak out the other week that if we had another child we might end up with a "special needs" child of some sort and be stuck in this part of our lives (the part with seriously dependent beings) forever. But how I'm moreorless over that now and feeling a bit excited about starting to try to get pregnant again in a few months time, despite the very real possibility that it will take even longer than last time (me being 36 and Chris almost 40 now) or that it won't happen at all.

And that would naturally lead into the post where I suddenly remembered the fertility specialist saying to me that I might, possibly, have an early menopause, because of only having one ovary and who knows, the other one might not be all that great either (though I secretly think it is), and me suddenly realising the other day that I don't want to go through an early menopause for more reasons than just fertility - which is what I had focussed on up to now.

And then I have these posts I want to write about sustainable living, and how Lochie squashed most of our summer vegetable garden, has broken into both chicken runs and let the chooks out, let the chooks into the winter vegetable garden (which is toast now) and eats the eggs. But we're still glad to have him (mostly), though that was all a little depressing for a while. And Chris is starting obedience training with him next Tuesday night. And how one of our two Silkies turned out to be a rooster and started terrorising his sister, so we got rid of him and now she is much happier but I still think we need another little Silkie friend for her (or two, or maybe three).

And of course about The Compact and how that's going and how I feel about it, with a little more detail than that last post.

And then about writing, and how I am back to working on my fiction now (not the essay which I still haven't even got a draft of, or a conclusion for, despite it all being due in less than 2 months!) and am really enjoying the revision/re-writing process. I fact I *love* it. Who'd have thunk? (I always dread revision, and always love it once I get going. Weird.)

And no doubt a bunch of other things that don't come to mind right now because I can hear Kaely in the kitchen and I am wondering what she is doing, and because Liam is off sick today (just a cold with a mild fever I *think*, but there is chicken pox going around the school), but I've just remembered that I have to get everyone dressed and go into the school anyway, because I am the 'class co-ordinator' and I have to put out some pledge forms for the community hours scheme before term ends, and term ends tomorrow...

And now Liam is calling me, and I think Kaely is harrassing him, so I will go be a parent, and save thinking more about this blog for another day.

Inconceivable

I'm now reading Inconceivable (Ben Elton), and while it too has it's annoyances (seriously, are there still women who think if their partner is attracted to someone else that he (or she) is effectively being unfaithful to her? Or that enjoying a spot of "choke the monkey" (his term) on his own is somehow evidence of him not being attracted to her any more? This is the Noughties for heaven's sake!), it's only taken to page 69 to have me laughing till I cried, a very good sign for a comedy.

More on the Panayotov book

I finally finished In Vitro Fertility Goddess. By the end, it finally got me in.

I assume it’s doing fairly well (here in Oz anyway), judging by the amount of publicity it seems to have had, so I wish they’d put out a revised edition – one that’s been professionally edited. Because as Leslie Cannold said, it could be a lot more readable with some editing out of repetition, and (I say) the addition of a few more pronouns and articles.

One of Sol Stein’s “little things that damage the writer’s authority” is glitches that yank the reader out of their experience. That’s what all those missing pronouns etc were for me. Leaving out a few gives an impression. Doing it all the time got annoying (quickly), as I had to keep re-reading sentences to get the meaning.

As regards the content of the book, the only part I found really got me in was the last bit when she was finally pregnant. Despite the subchorionic hematoma that had her bleeding on and off, and therefore worrying constantly, for most of the first trimester, and the placenta previa and its accompanying complications later, it made me want to be pregnant again, or more particularly, it made me want to give birth to a tiny new baby again. Also this was the part of the book where I finally laughed. Twice, even.

I can see how this part of the book might be the most annoying part to people currently experiencing infertility though. Although she suffers miscarriages and took a long time to finally achieve a sustained pregnancy, Panayotov was quickly successful once she turned to IVF. That makes her unusual, despite the cultural image we have of IVF being the quick solution to infertility. Most of the time its not. And that’s another annoyance – that the book perpetuates that stereotype – though one can hardly fault Panayotov for not faking a few unsuccessful cycles for the sake of a counter-narrative.

I don’t know if it’s the fact that I have been pregnant, while I haven’t suffered from sustained infertility,* that makes the last part of the book more palatable to me. I suspect it might be as much to do with the fact that it lacks the over-the-top contempt towards pregnant women and mothers, and indeed women in general, that in the rest of the book becomes boringly repetitious at best and quite offensive at worst. It is the sort of comedy that depends on belittling and stereotyping – not uncommon, but not to my taste.

It also probably has to do with the fact that the reader knows from the start that Panayotov ends up with a baby. At least you do if you’ve ever heard her interviewed or just read the back of the book. And it’s pretty clear from the title just how she achieves that pregnancy. So there’s no page turning motivation early on in the book. It’s only once she safely pregnant, following an embryo transfer, that I started to be really interested in the outcome – how will the pregnancy go, what sort of birth will she end up with? Perhaps it’s also that at this point she starts treating other characters with some empathy instead of as cardboard cutouts put there to annoy her.

In any case, I did eventually come to care about Panayotov’s story, but it took a good while. The obsessive insanity aspect of the infertility narrative is probably something a lot of women can relate too, although I think they might relate more if it were toned down some. And of course the outcome – a healthy baby at the end – could be hopeful and inspiring to those setting out on a similar journey. But for those four years into IVF with no baby in sight (or even with a baby, but only after several years and as many egg collections), it could be downright galling.

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*We had only just begun serious investigation – ie going beyond what my GP could do – when I fell pregnant with Mikaela.

Infertility and /or new parenthood in fiction

There seem to be plenty of memoirs being published, not to mention other forms of life writing (blogs included), either about or incorporating narratives of infertility and new parenthood (achieved via infertility or not). For example: Child of Mine: Original Essays on Becoming a Mother, Waiting for Daisy, Mothershock, loving every (other) minute of it, A Little Pregnant, and In Vitro Fertility Goddess, among others. But I can't find much contemporary fiction covering the same areas. (By contemporary in this case I mean the last decade or less.) Why is that?

The fiction I have turned up so far includes Ben Elton's Inconceivable (which I'm in the queue to get from the library), Tick Tock, by Jane Freeman and The Woman Next Door, by Barbara Delinsky. I've read the Freeman book and from memory it didn't do a lot to challenge the normative narratives about infertility, and I haven't been able to get hold of the Delinsky book.

Edited to add: I have found a few short stories in Literary Mama: Reading for the Maternally Inclined, and on the Literary Mama site. But is this the only source of them?

Hope and realism

In the first chapter of Linda L. Layne's Motherhood Lost: A Feminist Account of Pregnancy Loss in America, entitled 'The miscarriage years' Layne writes of her second pregnancy

I am surprised now, and touched, to see that at that point, even though I was certainly by then aware and vigilant against the possibility of loss, that I could still embrace a pregnancy with such innocence and hope. (p. 5 in the Amazon online reader - I can't get this in the library, damn it!)

Even though I'm reading this for uni, I am immediately drawn to thinking about my own situation and am reminded of hopeful attitude to trying for another baby next year. I would love to leave another three-four year gap between my next two kids, but given that I will be 36 this year and Chris is already 39, and given that it took 17 cycles and one miscarriage before we conceived Mikaela, we don't want to leave it too long. But somehow I still assume that it will all be okay; next time we'll be 'normal and conceive within 6 months, or at least within a year, and no more miscarriages either.

This despite the fact that it will be four years since the last time we started trying to conceive. My expectation suddenly seems almost presumptuous.

A birth and a death

My sister gave birth today. The baby died during the labour, not unexpectedly. She was at 21.5 weeks gestation, and she had no working kidneys. Her name was Samantha.

Samantha’s story has been one I haven’t been writing, because it isn’t mine. But today I feel the need to give her some acknowledgment. I don’t know who she would have become, or even if that’s a useful question to ask. She would have been my niece, my parent’s granddaughter, Liam and Mikaela’s cousin, and most of all, a loved daughter of my sister and her husband; their first-born.

Rest in peace, little one.

Thirty-five

This is my birthday week, and I'm turning 35.

People don't seem to take this seriously as an Important Milestone. They think a number has to end in 0 to count. Even my mother-in-law, who just turned 75, says a '5' year doesn't count (then again, maybe you don't want to celebrate milestones at that age). But to me it does count.

It's partly that 35 is the beginning of the steep decline of fertility for women. We still don't know whether or not we'll be trying for another child, but if we do the fact that we took nearly 18 months to conceive Mikaela will definitely play into our decisions around timing.

So far I have to say I really like the four-year age gap and wouldn't mind going that way again. But since that would put me at 38+ as a best case scenario, and Chris over forty, we'd probably start trying before that. Especially since my mother's menopause started before she hit forty and my sister (only two years my senior) is about to start IVF. Not a terribly good family history for planning a quick conception in one's late thirties.

But it's more than just the fertility connection. It's also that 35 is half way to three score years and ten. Half way! And it's also that when Chris turned 35 Liam had just been born and I was already in the middle of a mortality-feeling crisis (mine and especially my parents'), so him turning 35 seemed like a big deal to me. I do know that the average life-span is longer than seventy years these days, but thinking about how old my parents would be at crucial milestones in Liam's life was I think the first time their mortality was really brought home to me. And I guess my unconscious tied all those feelings in with Chris turning 35, than added the issue of declining fertility in on top of that when we had trouble concieving Mikaela.

All this, I realise, seems pretty negative, so you might think that I wouldn't want to celebrate this milestone, but you'd be wrong. Because celebrating birthdays is first and foremost about celebrating life. Celebrating the fact that you were born at all. And I am very happy to have been born, and to have lived the 35 years I've had so far. And of course I'm also lucky, because whether or not we decide to try for another child in a year or (more likely) two, we have Liam and Mikaela, and I haven't even turned 35 yet.

So yeah, I'm celebrating this milestone. Even though there is a part of me that is feeling my fertility take a nose dive this week, I am affirming life at the same time. Hell, maybe I'll even have a party.

Mikaela's birth story Part 2

To recap: my waters broke at about 1:30am followed by contractions - but of inconsistent intensity and frequency - for the rest of the night. At about 9am I called my mum and the midwife, Debbie, to tell them what was happening, but told them I was not yet in 'established labour', defined as 'strong, regular contractions' generally of no more than about five minutes apart.

Debbie said that if things hadn't gotten established by around lunch time she'd want me to come into the birth centre for a check, since my waters had broken. My mum said she'd be there in about an hour to collect Liam. All good. Somewhere in there we also called our doula, Vickie.

But then, things started hotting up. I was having more trouble focusing and relaxing through the contractions, especially with Liam popping in and out. Actually that's an understatement. It just wasn't happening. However I was still breathing rather than yelling at this point. Chris was mostly off trying to get Liam ready to go to my Mum's, but he'd left the watch in the room with me. So - since they were definitely getting a lot more intense - I started timing contractions. By the time my mother arrived at around 10am I had been having five minute apart contractions for at least half an hour. Mum took one look at me and said she didn't think, if she were me, that she'd be waiting till lunch time. In fact she would suggest that we head to the birth centre as soon as she left. Sage advice, as it turned out.

At that point I hadn't been thinking in terms of heading straight in, but her words prompted just that decision. As soon as she left with Liam, I had Chris call Debbie who arranged to meet us at the birth centre in half an hour. Of course, at that point we realised all the things 'we' (Chris) had to do before we left - change the sheets on Liam's bed, for one, since he'd wet the bed the night before, and change the sheets on our own bed in case my mum ended up sleeping there that night (I was still expecting to be home that night, but just in case...) - in retrospect I see that this was possibly not as urgent as I thought at the time. (And anyway I'll wake Chris up earlier next time!)

So, it was after 10:30 by the time we managed to leave the house - Debbie's notes said that we arrived at the birth centre at 11:00. On the way in I had a contraction at exactly the same spot as I remember having one on the way to give birth to Liam. That spot on Sulwood Drive will always harbour labour memories for me now. When we got there Debbie took us into our room - the same room Liam was born in - and took my blood pressure, listened to the baby's heartbeat, checked my pulse and whatnot. While she was doing that I had a couple more contractions but was able to sit on the edge of the bed and breathe through them.

Debbie said the bath (a large corner bath) was already filled, since Chris had told her on the phone that I wanted to come in to get in the bath, but that I might want to walk around a bit before getting in as the water could slow things down. I joked that that wouldn't be entirely unwelcome, but I was only half joking. I remembered how relaxing the bath was in my labour with Liam, how it helped me get right into the hypnobirthing/calmbirthing zone, and that was what I was counting on happening again.

Ha!

Debbie left us to get settled in, and I stripped off in record time and got in the water (not before having another contraction however, standing up, which really is not a good position for me during labour). Ahh, lovely. But what's this? Another contraction already? And, and - It was not easy to breathe through. In fact by this time my contractions were all accompanied by a sort of deep groaning breath, not just quiet breathing -  that seemed to help somehow. A couple more contractions in quick succession and I was just about ready for drugs, and wondering how I'd get through. I was praying (literally, and I don't do that all that often) that this was transition - even though I'd been expecting several more hours before we got to that point - otherwise I did not know how I was going to get through.

I remember Chris wondering aloud whether he should go and get the midwife - or maybe he was talking to Vickie, who'd arrived shortly after I'd entered the bath. I was thinking the same thing, wanting Debbie to come in so that she could tell me it would shortly all be over. Please God! The next thing I knew Debbie was in there, and telling Chris that she could hear the change in my voice during contractions. Yes, I was no longer even remotely quiet. I was still using the calmbirthing though, and relaxing as much as I could.

The next thing I knew I was right in the middle of a normal contraction, when suddenly it became a push. I believe I said "Oh god, oh god, she's coming." I know, it sounds like a soap opera, but that's what I said. I don't remember having anything like this level of awareness of switching gears during my labour with Liam, but this time it was clear as bells. Debbie's notes say that this, the start of second stage, happened at 11:50, about 1/2 hour after I got into the water.

Now, I have to say that this was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I don't remember any sense of voluntary pushing - my body was just doing its thing - so I suppose the hard part was in letting it. I know I was very anxious not to tear (again) so there was a part of me that was wanting to hold back. Chris was right there reminding me to use my breath to breathe the baby down (not just to screech). Remarkably, this was actually helpful. I was freaking out a bit, and his reminders  - and Debbie's - helped me to calm down and not hyperventilate!

I remember Debbie saying 'just one more push' and me saying 'really? is she really coming?' by which I really meant 'is it really about to be over?' Which of course it wasn't - one more push was to crowning, not birth.

It's funny how the mind works in amidst everything else. While all this was going on I was lying - or more like floating - on my side in the water, and once second stage got underway Debbie said it would help to have my legs open up a bit, so I asked Vickie to help support my upper leg. So when Debbie said it was almost over, while part of me was thinking 'thank God' and 'I am never doing this again' another part of me was thinking 'Just was well, because Vickie's arms must be getting awfully tired.'

Mikaela's head crowned - which means it not only was visible but stopped retracting between contractions - at 12:02am. And that's another thing, I remember the feeling of her moving back in after the end of the contractions and desperately not wanting it too, since that meant I'd have to just push her back again! I don't remember having that level of awareness of what was happening during Liam's birth. Of course, second stage with him was a lot longer, so I guess it might be all more of a blur - plus I'd been going at it all night (in established labour) so I was pretty tired by the time it came to pushing him out.

Then I think there was a bit of a break between her crowning and her head popping all the way out (with the cord around her neck, same as Liam - something I always used to think was a big deal, but found out when Liam was born that it is actually very common and not much of an issue - the midwife just unloops it). Or maybe the break was between her head and the rest of her. I remember once her head came out Debbie asked if the contraction was still there, to which I murmured a vague assent, and so she said I might be able to push the shoulder (and therefore the rest of her) out before it finished. Even as she was speaking I knew the contraction was pretty much done, but I tried anyway, so keen was I to be finished. So when there was that break between contractions at around this point, while it was something of a relief, it was mostly an annoyance, with the finish line in sight, so to speak.

Chris was up near my head providing a hand for me to keep a death grip on (actually more important than it sounds, since it was also helping me maintain my balance in the water), but Vickie was down the other end and able to see Mikaela's face when she came out. She wrote "From my position I had a clear view of the baby's face, it was absolutely serene with a Mona Lisa smile." Of course she also said " Kirsten laboured with focused and well measured breathing, her face was beautifully soft, her mouth slightly opened, her eyes closed." This was referring to the transition period, which is not precisely how I remember it at all. Then again she said Chris was stoking my hair, which I thought was something she imagined, but Chris told me it was true. So I guess my record may not be completely accurate!

Anyway, at 12:10pm on June 24, less than 3 hours after labour had established, Mikaela came out into the world and straight up onto my chest in the water. They brought  warm blankets to put over the exposed parts of us and I just held her.

She was amazing. And slippery. And at that stage we still didn't know she was a she (although I'd been referring to her that way the whole labour). The cord was in the way of our view as she came up, so no-one had seen. After a few minutes Debbie asked if it would be okay with me to let the water out, as it was hard to keep us warm - the blankets kept wicking up the water and needing to be changed - while we waited for the third stage to initiate (more contractions to expel the placenta). I said fine, but first I lifted her up to check if she was indeed Mikeala, or was some as yet unnamed boy. Mikaela she was (though I did almost drop her back into the water in the process, which I could almost swear happened with Liam too - slippery, like I said).

Of course, once the water was out of the bath and with it my lovely buoyancy, the bath had a hard bottom and was not all that comfortable. So after a couple of minutes I asked for and received help to get out - Mikaela never leaving my arms - and was deposited onto the (double) bed. There Mikaela nuzzled at my breast, though without latching on, and after a while the contractions started up again and out came the placenta. Those contractions were more like the ones from earlier in the labour though, thank goodness: easy to relax and breath through.

Once the placenta was out Mikaela did latch on and spent the next hour-and-a-half sucking away happily.

All in all this labour seemed harder - and much shorter - than Liam's, but I felt somehow more in control. I think it seemed harder mostly because I never had a chance to get into the calmbirthing 'zone' which I spent hours in during Liam's labour. And I felt more in control - more aware of what was happening - partly because I'd done it all before, maybe partly because I wasn't so tired by the end, and partly because I knew the midwife and connected with her. She was truly wonderful. Will I do it again? Well we'll have to wait and see. If we do go back for another turn, then yes, I would do it the same way. Except next time I will wake Chris earlier and go into the birth centre quite a bit earlier (after all, it went from 12 hours established labour with Liam to 3 with Mikaela - what will the next one be?)!

And thus endeth part 2. Part three, in which we find out whether I did tear again, and how the rest of the day went, will have to wait until another time. And probably won't be called Part 3, since it really won't be Mikaela's birth story anymore will it?

Mikaela's birth story (or my labour story, with Mik's birth at the end - almost)

Mikaela was four weeks old yesterday, will be one month old tomorrow, and I still haven't written her birth story. So here it is:

Part 1: pre-labour (the boring bit, but for the record...)

Believe it or not, the night before Mikaela was born, I said to Chris that I was ready, that I'd be quite happy for her to come that night. Of course, I'd been saying I was ready for weeks, so that's nothing new really. And then I changed my mind anyway - that was Friday night, Chris didn't have to go back to work until Wednesday (although he had some Rolfing clients on Monday and Tuesday who he ended up having to cancel), so I figured Tuesday night would be better - giving us the four day weekend to rest up first.

I'd been having contractions on and off all week at that point, which never happened with Liam, so I'd been in a moreorless constant state of readiness, wondering if each day if that would be the day. With Liam I'd had a hind water leak the night before I went into labour, which at the time I thought was the membranes rupturing properly, so I thought I 'knew' that labour would be commencing shortly*. That was nice. So, I said to Chris on this Friday night, it would be nice in some ways if my waters broke, letting us know that this was indeed 'it'. But that of course I didn't really want that to happen, since that would make the labour quicker and more intense (for me and the baby) and, without the water cushioning her head, also made the possibility of the baby becoming distressed more likely, and therefore likewise medical interventions. Then off I went to bed.

At about 1:30 in the morning, or slightly before, I woke up. Something made me check for moisture - I'm not sure what, I don't remember feeling wet - and moisture there was. I sat up and the moisture became a little gush, so I grabbed a convenient towel (and managed not to get the bed wet) and went to the loo. Where it became entirely obvious that my waters had, indeed, broken. This time, for real. The membrane beneath Liam's head didn't rupture until right before he came out, so I hadn't experienced this before, but there was a lot of fluid. Oh, and there was a bit of a mucus plug but it was yellow, not red - ie not a 'bloody show' - was this the so-called bloody show, I wondered, or not? I sat on the toilet for a while, then got out a night time pad ('sanitary napkin') and headed back to the bedroom. I went through three of those in fairly quick succession, but then it slowed down to a trickle.

Meanwhile I spent ten minutes or so looking for some clothes to pack in the 'labour bag' to wear home from the birth centre, then realised I'd probably want to wear those ones to the birth centre, did some tiding up in my bedroom in case things got going quickly and my Mum ended up coming over and sleeping in there for the rest of the night. Then I decided I needed to sit down and make some notes about what was happening (everything in life must be written down. It is a rule!). Here are some of them:

1:39 sit down to make notes [noted down most of the above, but more briefly!)

1:41 I had a painless contraction.

1:45 decide to try a calm birthing relaxation [from CD]

1:46 realise I need to lie down on towel or soak bed - all that moving around creates more gushing.

1:47 change pad

1:51 try lying down again. mildly nauseous.

1:56 another contraction - lying down so more intense and uncomfortable.

2:04 contraction. ditto.

2:11 contraction. as above.

2:18 contraction. as above.

2:29.contraction. sitting up cross legged in bed - more intense but shortish.

2:32 Try lying back down. Any chance of sleep? Wish I could go email a friend, but Chris is sleeping in the study.

2:36 contraction.

2:42 contraction

2:49 still mildly nauseous - or is that hunger?

2:50 contraction.  a heat pack on my back could be really nice.

2:59 contraction.

3:01 I'm getting up, I'm starving. Can't sleep. Sure I'd be more comfortable having these in a chair.

3:02 Except it's so nice to be lying down between times.

[here endeth the notes]

So I went out to the kitchen, think I had something to eat (can't even remember now) and heated up a wheat cushion. Chris - who was sleeping in the study, right off the family room & kitchen - didn't stir. I kept telling myself I'd wake him after the next contraction.

I continued having contractions roughly 8 minutes apart - they were uncomfortable enough for me to stop and breath through them, using the calm birthing techniques, but not too bad and not consistently intense. Around 4am I found a position of sort of semi-reclining sideways on the couch which didn't make them worse (as lying down did) and which allowed me to nap in between contractions - and then they slowed down. Not sure exactly, but I'd say that for the next two hours they came at 10-20 minute intervals. At about six I got up - can't remember why, maybe I got uncomfortable. I think the contractions had sped up again, but walking around seemed to slow them down. Which was a pain, since I figured if I wasn't sleeping, things should get a move on.

Finally at about 7:45 I woke Chris (and where was Liam, you might ask? He was sleeping in! Weird, but good) and told him we were going to have a baby that day. initially he looked unimpressed with being woken, but that made him change his tune!

Between 8 and 9 I sat backwards on the toilet in the ensuite, sitting on a pillow and leaning on another one - I figured this could be a good posi to allow me to be relaxed and nap in between times (our doula had suggested it), but actually I think the contractions would have been less intense if I just sat up right, hands dangling between my legs, in a dining chair. At least, they got less intense when I did that. Anyway, so I was sitting backwards on the toilet and Chris (when he was there) pressed my hips together from the sides (does that make sense?) during contractions, which helped quite a bit (another suggestion from our doula). Liam came in at some point and swapped places with Chris to give me a back rub (in between contractions) which was very sweet. He was in and out all the time between eight and tenish, and was lovely the whole time, but did make it hard for me to get into the calm birthing 'zone'. I got Chris to time the contractions for me for that hour between eight and nine and they were mostly around eight-ten minutes apart, but still inconsistent in intensity (some very intense, others mild) and with the occasional longer gap.

At nine I called the midwife to let her know what was happening - that my waters had broken, that I'd been having contractions since then, but that labour had yet to establish, according to the convention of consistent 'strong, regular contractions'. I also called my mother, who was supposed to be coming around for morning tea, and asked her to come get Liam instead. Again I said things weren't established yet, so when she said she'd just got out of the shower and would getting there by ten be okay, I said fine.

But from that point on, things got more intense fairly quickly.

Part 2, in which labour establishes and Mikaela is born, will have to wait though.

*Of course, I now know this to be wrong, even though I was right. Hind water leaks don't really mean much of anything, and often seal themselves up - as this one probably did, since I had no more leaking - without further effect.

Food

There are so many foods on the 'off' list when you are pregnant, and as I was just saying the other day, I was particularly strict about them.

Well, last night I had sushi for dinner, with fresh, raw oysters and King Island Brie with crackers as entres. I do love my husband. (And my food.)

Introducing Mikaela Estelle

Have neither time nor energy to write much of anything right now, so will just duplicate my announcement email...

Mikaela Estelle was born at 12:10pm on Saturday 24 June after a short, intense labour, at the Birth Centre. Everything went perfectly. [And by short I mean we got to the birth centre at 11am, I got straight in the water expecting that would make everything easier like last time - ha! straight into transition instead! an hour later there she was. Amazing. And fucking hard work.]

The all important details: she was 47 cm long, 3.415kg (about 7lbs, 8oz), with a head circ of 34. She nursed for an hour and a half shortly after birth, and has fed lots more since then - making her quite a contrast to her brother (though with very similar measurements).

Liam is delighted with his baby sister, as are we all.

Now I'm off to try to get some sleep while Chris and Liam are at the Library and M. is asleep.

Contractions (38 weeks today)

I've been having pre-labour contractions on and off for days now. In fact I had two hours of regular, ten-minute-apart ones on Tuesday night, though not much since then. They weren't all that intense - too uncomfortable to lie down through (of course they started as soon as I lay down to go to sleep), but okay if I got into a good sitting position.

Part of me wants to go into labour tonight - get the waiting over, get to say 'forget it' about any uncompleted tasks, get to have that fabulous endorphin rush that is what I am in this whole thing for anyway. Another part would like to wait until I can breath properly through my nose again, since I am still getting over my cold. And still another part thinks it would be great to hold off for a couple more weeks and appreciate our time as a one child family while it lasts.

I didn't have any of this 'waiting' stuff going on before Liam's birth. I sort of expected he'd be early rather than late, but not two weeks early. This time, given that Liam was two weeks early, 38 weeks (which is today) is kind of my equivalent of 40 weeks last time - that is, I'm thinking it could be any time now, though I know it may not be for another two weeks (or more), so each day I wonder if it will be today. Or tonight. Also with Liam I didn't have any contractions at all until labour-day - at least, none that I was aware of. Not even painless Braxton-Hicks contractions.

Like Chris said to me yesterday, having that two hours of regular contractions on Tuesday night really drove home the (potential) immediacy of it. I didn't really think anything was going to happen then - although I had no good reason for that, as they felt pretty much like the ones I was having in the afternoon before Liam's birth, ie in the few hours leading up to established labour - but it could have.

So, if it happens tonight I'll be thrilled (although it would be nice to get over my cold, though at least the baby will have my antibodies), but if not... I've got lunch plans and playdate plans for next week. And hey, if we make it to July 1st the government's maternity payment will be $1000 more, which will more than pay for the fitted cloth nappies we plan to purchase once we decide what sort we like.* I'm not counting on that but it would definitely balance out any frustration over having to wait that long. (Of course, I do realise that we may be waiting way longer than that - anytime up to July 20 would still be considered 'normal' - but frankly, that just doesn't bear thinking of!)

Ahh, Liam's 'woken' from his 'nap'. Better go be a parent....

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*So far we have two each of Babybeehinds' one size hemp & organic nappies and Motherease one size organic cotton nappies, plus one Nature's Child all-in-one (ie doesn't need a cover) organic cotton size 1 nappy. We'll try them out - interspersed with disposables and normal square terry toweling nappies and then make a decision on buying a bunch in bulk. Good for the environment, should save us $2-3000 over the period of nappy wearing for this child, and (I'm assuming) waaaay easier to use than regular cloth nappies.

I am MAD

I should be in bed now - 10:40 at night, and my best friend who is also a Bradley Childbirth instructor likes to tell her students that by this point they should *both* (pregnant woman and partner) act as though every day might be the day before labour. ie Not stay up late writing bitchy blog entries. But, I can't sleep anyway because I am too full of righteous anger.

Usually I don't bitch about people I know in here, because I work on the premise that anyone I write about will probably read it eventually. This time I don't care. My father-in-law and I don't see eye-to-eye on many matters, but in general I guess we get on okay. He has a great relationship with Liam, and for that I will tolerate much, and, I suppose, so will he. Every now and then I snap at him about something, but usually that's as far as it goes. But today he pissed me off royally.

Actually at the time I was only mildly pissed, and moreorless let it pass. In fact it's really partly Chris's fault I am so mad, since I waited till tonight to debrief with him, and while he agreed that it wasn't the most appropriate comment or way that his father made the comment... well, you can hear the 'but' there, can't you?

Now I've built it up to be something major, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. You have to understand the context, and particularly the context of my life over the past two years or so, to really get it. What he said was that I should not be driving anymore - you know, at this point in pregnancy. I was risking two lives now, he said. Because of the steering wheel don't you know, should I have an accident. Not that I've ever had an accident. Ever. (Unlike him.)

Now, part of this is that I am just sick of being told what I should and shouldn't do - 'One drink won't hurt you' 'oh my god are you drinking tea while pregnant?' 'Isn't avoiding pre-prepared salads a bit extreme? I ate whatever I liked in my pregnancies - even sushi - with no problem' etc. But it's also more than that.

I am not a risk taker. Ask my husband. Ask anyone. I am one of those parents who has to be careful not to over protect - Chris will let Liam take way more risks at, say, the playground than I would, for instance. This is something I am conscious of having to manage, if I don't want to instill too much fear and caution into my children (but of course, I also want them to be safe - it's a hard balance to find).

Further, I do my research and I take it seriously. When I was trying to get pregnant this time I read that listeria can have up to about an 8 week incubation period (can't remember the exact time now) - so in other words, you can eat something well before you get pregnant and not show any symptoms of listeria until you miscarry weeks later. Presumably this isn't that common, because when you hear of listeria outbreaks (and people do die of it every year) people tend to all get it within a relatively short space of time, or so it seems. Nonetheless, since that time, I have been rigorous about not eating anything remotely suspect.

That means that for two years now I've been avoiding all the obvious things: soft cheeses, raw fish, deli meats... but also the less obvious things, that not everyone bothers about: cold left overs, pre-prepared salads, including anything from a sandwich bar, anything that I'm not completely sure has been cooked, thoroughly, just now - so that means pretty much everything from a food court (except hot chips or uncut fruit), anything like a BBQ chicken or hotdog, any salad served with my food food in a restaurant, even vegetarian 'sushi' rolls. People mock - bad enough that I haven't been drinking alcohol or caffiene (and Chris and I both moreorless gave those up about 3 months before we started trying to get pregnant, though we haven't been as strict as we were with Liam's pre-conception and pregnancy) - and this means that I also have to turn down food people offer me in their homes that I'm not sure of, or that was prepared earlier. But like I said, I'm not a risk taker. I had one miscarriage, I don't want another one. Let alone a still birth, or for the baby to die after birth because of something I ate beforehand (and yes, that is a risk with listeria).

People mock, and I'm pretty sure my father-in-law has been among them, although not as badly as some, and probably he learned his lesson after I snapped at him once when we were still trying to get pregnant (or maybe it was even after we got pregnant?) and he commented that just relaxing might help/have helped. I believe I told him that was about the most offensive thing he could say to someone suffering from fertility problems. (And I think I made myself clear on that score here in this entry). So for him now to turn around and say I shouldn't be driving... it's not just offensive because it's telling me what to do, what risks to take, and that basically in his view I am an irresponsible mother if I do what virtually every other pregnant women does and keep driving right till the end of the pregnancy. It's not just because he has been dismissive of our other efforts to keep this baby safe, that I am mad.

It's because, I am not a risk taker. Do you know why? Because I constantly imagine tragedy & drama. I strap Liam in the car and then walk across the road to return the shopping trolley, but I never close his door, just in case - because as I walk across the road I am imagining a scenario where I get hit by a car and taken away in an ambulance, and he is left alone in the car. I take a shower when Liam and Chris are out and imagine someone breaking in and stabbing me, and trying to get to a phone in time to call an ambulance to maybe be able to save the baby (though probably not me) - I imagine out this whole scenario, and almost have myself in tears. I do this countless times a day. Whole conversations get played out in my head.* You wouldn't guess it, probably, because I am basically an optomist. In fact, I'm as much of an optomist as anyone I know. But I'm not a risk taker.

Well, now someone has told me not to drive. What happens now if I do get in an accident? If something does happen to the baby? It will no longer be a freak chance, but my fault. Never mind that the bus I'm travelling on could have an accident. Or I could get hit by a car crossing the street. Now if I drive, I am going to have to feel guilty. You probably think I jest, but I don't. I am so angry at this man for making this become my fault.

And just in case you are wondering... driving in third trimester pregnancy is considered such a non-issue that I could find almost nothing about it on the web. Babycenter talks about seat belts and airbags, but doesn't even consider that you might be worried about driving in general. The Durham Council County website in the UK has a page entitled 'Driving and Pregnancy' but all they talk about is the best way to wear a seatbelt. All I could find on the Essential Baby site was that you should try to take breaks and move around regularly on long trips. Finally I found sofeminine.co.uk where someone had actually written in to 'ask the experts' about driving in the third trimester. The answer was plain: " Driving always carries the risk of having an accident, whether the driver is pregnant or not, it is up to you to weigh up that risk. As long as it is comfortable, you can get in a car right up until the end of your pregnancy. I would certainly rather you drive than walk everywhere!"**

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*I tell myself that this is a good sign for a writer, even if it does make me sound completely neurotic.

**BTW, Chris's 'but' was, he claims, that although he didn't agree with his father and wasn't trying to justify him in anyway, he probably was right that the steering wheel imposes a greater risk on the baby in an accident than not - than, in otherwords, being in an accident in the passenger seat. He wasn't saying that meant I shouldn't drive, just that technically his Dad was probably right about that. Whatever. A but is still a but.