12 weeks in is often the time when you let the world know you’re en route to your biggest-ever life changing event. But for us we decided to jump the gun and deliver a Mother’s Day message that the grandmothers-to-be wouldn’t forget.
So it was in week 10 that Becci wrote – in her neatest handwriting – a lovely poem in two Mothers’ Day cards that would take pride of place on their mantlepieces. We finally get to tell someone – phew!
Week 11. Halfway to work and the phone rings. “Gillon, I think I have a bleed.” Horror, sickness, the quickest yet strangely the slowest drive back home. One hour in the doctor’s waiting room. Frank conversation with the nicest doctor I’ve met – he was “bedside manner” personified. He tells us it’s 50/50. Becci needs absolute rest for one week and let’s see what Mother Nature wants to happen.
That weekend we have our first home visit from the midwife. I sit nodding, almost an outsider as the midwife goes through everything with Becci. Once the paperwork is filled out I’m invited into the conversation and all my questions about the sea of acronyms are answered. It dawns on me pregnancy is about Becci and Baby. I am there to be the support, provider of comfort, the giver of foot rubs.
The midwife arranges for an early scan. We meet our consultant. We then meet “Wiggler” for the first time – a healthy looking baby. So to save a visit the consultant decided to try and give us an early dating scan. After 15 minutes of baby-chasing he gave up. “You can tell Baby that it beat me!” Hence the nickname Wiggler.