Yesterday was one of those days in which nothing is predictable. It was a day of ups and downs, of worry and relief and emotion.
It started fairly normally, except something had happened the night before which had made me worry, and subsequently sleep badly. I woke up tired (nothing out of the ordinary) and still worried, and very reluctant to get out of bed (definitely nothing out of the ordinary), except I had to as I had to take The Baby to see the doctor for a follow-up appointment for her chicken pox, just to make sure all was OK, which it was. To be honest, no-one is totally convinced that what she had was chicken pox, but if it was it was fairly mild and the spots didn’t bother her in the slightest. While at the doctor’s, I spoke to him about the thing from the night before which he took seriously and made me an appointment for later that afternoon.
Yesterday was also a day on which neither The Boyfriend nor I were working. Quite a rarity nowadays, except this was due to the fact that The Boyfriend is currently working reduced hours due to a lack of work. Not so good. And not that we had much chance to enjoy it really. We rushed around, got food, got things sorted, tried desperately but ultimately failed to get The Baby to have a nap, took The Baby over to my mum’s where my aunty was going to look after her, and went to my appointment.
We sat in a waiting room, trying not to think of anything awful, trying not to think the worst but fearing it anyway, and listened to a family laughing as the dad told his wife, daughter and mother-in-law of how, the day before, he had driven over a cat, broken it’s back legs, watched as it tried to drag itself to the side of the road, and drove off probably leaving blood-stains all up the road, all to the hilarity of his audience. It took much of my strength not to loudly publicly name him as the moronic, disgusting, low-life bastard he clearly is. I was so relieved to get away from that vile family when my name was called, I had almost forgotten why I was there.
Then I had to give details of the thing that had happened, and other medical history, and I suddenly remembered very clearly why I was there, and what the outcome could quite easily be. I was anxious again.
Around half an hour later, back in a different room, and having not had to encounter the Viles again, there it was. We saw it for ourselves, flashing away like a tiny little satellite in a night sky. Our baby’s heartbeat. I’m seven weeks pregnant, you see, and I had had a bleed. I had thought it was a miscarriage. I had thought that because we weren’t immediately overjoyed the second we saw that little blue cross, that our first thoughts had been of not being able to afford another because of The Boyfriend’s dubious work situation and me not being in a position to come off anti-depressants again just yet, that we had made it believe we didn’t want it, and it had gone. I had thought that buying maternity tops in an online sale the night before had been too premature and had jinxed it. I had thought that my anti-depressants had killed it. But none of this was true, and there it was, Little Pea, with its amazingly fast flickering heartbeat, growing and developing and being our Little Pea.
I shed tears of relief, and later tears of hormonal joy and mothery emotion as I gathered The Baby’s clothes together and thought about how much smaller Little Pea’s clothes will be. I thought about how lucky we are to be having another baby next summer, about how much we have learned from The Baby, and I smiled and grinned and felt utter joy at being a mum of two. Because despite the traumatic birth, the sleep-deprivation and the post-natal depression, I absolutely love being The Baby’s mum. I adore it, and I really can’t wait to do it all again.