All Things Baby

Yes, I know, 0ddness has been very quiet (still) for a considerable time (still) and I'm a bad blogger (still). No excuses, no reasons for it, just... Quiet.

I have noticed a trend on Facebook when ever I've made a comment about Kellie being due in X-many weeks... People pop up and say pretty much the same thing: Ooh hasn't it gone quick!

And to these people, I have this to say: NO. No it has not.

You see, despite announcing to the world we're having a baby when Kellie was twelve weeks or so, we found waaay before then. Like, three, maybe four weeks. On top of that, we've been attending some sort of clinic or appointment on an almost weekly basis since then. Extra appointments due to Kellie having all her random medical shenanigans. Extra appointments here and there and all over the place. Scans and midwives and consultants and specialists...

It feels like we've hardly had a chance to enjoy just "being pregnant" and now we're approaching her due date (24th June) she is big enough to be uncomfortable all the time, and not sleeping, and having a head in the bladder, or a foot in the spleen, or random baby part jammed into random Kellie part.

We are going to mention early induction at the next meeting with her consultant, so hopefully can get the wee Tadpole born a bit earlier. Even a week or two.. Even though she'll be 34 weeks on Tuesday, it still feels like there is an eternity till D-Day.

So no, it is NOT going quickly at all. It's taking forever and ever.

Kellie is, in the common vernacular, a bloated beach-ball at this point. She's got the waddle down pat. She does the strange contortion of bending to pick stuff up with her legs apart, bending in various places. She's sharing her bed not with me, but with a seven foot long body pillow... No strange desires for food I'm sad to report, I WAS hoping for at least one tale of cat meat, pickle and banana sandwich to revile you with, but no. "Food" maybe, but not specific cravings.

Not having found out the sex of Tadpole seems to be throwing people into a dazed confusion too... Buying stuff has been interesting, but manageable - we've gotten various clothes and sleepy suits and what not sorted in "neutral" colours, plus we've started getting some of the necessities put away for when s/he puts in an appearance; nappies and wipes mainly.

I just want baby to arrive soon. It has gone on for far too long now, and people keep saying it's gone quick, and not long now and all sorts, but I am past impatient now. It really does feel like it's gone on forever.

A Letter

Dear Baby,

You don't know me. Not to see, anyway. You've definitely heard me, and I am one of the fools that puts my hand over you while your mummy sleeps at night, but you've not seen me. Not yet.

I've seen you, though. I saw you before you were really anything, and I've seen you when you were ever so tiny. And just a few times, I have felt you nudge against my hand while you wiggle around inside mummy.

And tomorrow, I will see you again. But this time, I am going to be very nervous. Tomorrow, we are going to see a special doctor. Part of my brain - the logical part - keeps telling me that there is no real reason to see this special doctor. That I am just worrying over nothing. That it's going to be a waste of time. But the other part of my brain - the bigger, over-powering, illogical part that makes all my decisions and sets out my thoughts...

That's the part that's winning.

You see, ten years ago, your big sister Bethany left. You will hear all about her as you grow, I promise. But because of what was wrong with her, the illogical part of my brain is now screaming and kicking and banging against its bars. And tomorrow, we are going into London for the special doctor to make sure your heart and tummy is OK.

And that, my beautiful little Tadpole, is why I will be a nervous wreck for the next 24 hours. I've never touched you, you've never seen me, and I've never heard you make a sound, but I am filled with so much love and worry for you, I am close to bursting. And that we are going to see a Fetal Cardiologist is killing me on the inside, because I am so scared of the What If that my brain is doing. It doesn't mean I will love you any less, it just means I will have to be bigger and braver than ever, and hold your hand, and your mummys hand, and know that with these special doctors, you will be in the best possible care ever.

That doesn't mean I won't be worried. Or scared. Or angry. But I will be there for you every single step of the way. And I will love you as much as it is possible to love someone, if not more.

Logically, I know that you are going to be fine. Logically, I know that the doctor will check you from head to toe tomorrow - and aside from being able to see your beautiful face on the screen, I know tomorrow will tell us nothing more than you are growing into a big strong little person.

But for the next 24 hours, please excuse your daddy, and his crazy, strange, neurotic behaviour. I might sit holding you more than normal, or drifting off to places in my head. But logically, I know that this time tomorrow, I will be laughing at how silly I am, and how I got so worked up over nothing.

Night night baby, with love,

Daddy
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