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So you’re having a baby
Wonderful news, the line went blue on your chemist bought pregnancy
test,
all the same, the next day you take the second one from the box... and
do
it all again… YES, its blue alright, you are ‘up the duff’ you have ‘a
bun
in the oven’ you are definitely ‘with child’! Now the fun begins.
You call your partner at work and tell him… After a gasp, and a thud,
and a
period of hearing panicky voices, (you realise the poor sap fainted,
so when
you’re sure he is seated and someone is there to hold him up), you
repeat
the news, and make him SWEAR not to tell another soul until you have
retested at the docs, to be three times sure you are right. He swears
not a
soul will hear, and says he will be home as soon as he can get away.
Then you decide to tidy the house a little, and take a nice relaxing
pampering bath, you deserve it after all, what a clever girl you are.
That’s when the first call comes, his mother, “I hear congratulations
are in
order dear, is there anything i can get for you? What are you fancying?
Are
you ok? Do you feel sick?” you didn’t feel sick (But do now) and only
wanted
some quiet time to take in the news, but you assure her you are fine,
don’t
need her help till later (maybe) and end the call. Time now to escape
to the
bathroom? NOPE!
After another four hours of calls, all very much as the first one,
from your
mum, his aunt Mabel, sisters, friends, and assorted strangers... you
decide
to leave the phone off the hook and lock the door, and go up to take (by
now) a much needed de-stressing bath. Swearing as soon as he gets in
from
work, you will kill him.
Two minutes into a nice hot soapy bath, he comes in yelling your name,
you
shout that you are in the bath, and he bounds upstairs, crashes into
the
bathroom, “I tried to call you a million times... are you alright?”
Red
rag to a bull doesn’t describe your reaction adequately as you rise
from the
bubbles and try to explain how his ‘SILENCE’ has ruined everything for
you.
Then you see his face, and melt, he is holding the positive test you
left on
the side, and holding a book opened at baby pictures. How can you stay
mad
at such a soppy sod?
Two month later, and he’s all plans of names and football matches with
his
‘son’ while you have your head down the loo, and wishing you were
anywhere
except where you are. And wishing sex was on the banned list.
Then the midterm scan, everything is fine, baby is growing well, but
daddy
suddenly has to revise his plans to all the places he will take his
daughter... interspersed with who she WONT be allowed to marry! Yep,
his
‘son’ is going to be a girl.
Times passing, everything is bought for baby, and stored at mums, and
while
everyone says how ‘big, small, high, low’ your tummy is, you feel like
a
barrage balloon ready to explode, the baby kicks non stop, and dances
the
Scottish reel on your bladder, making you run for a pee every five
minutes,
Daddy has ‘wet the baby’s head’ so many times the poor little sod must
have
drowned.
Then the day you waited for, you wake with a niggling pain in the
tummy, and
know the day has arrived, you wake hubby and stop him panicking, then
grab
the bag you prepared and get in the car for the trip to the hospital.
Six hours later, face red as beetroot from pushing, you hold little
baby
Claire in your arms ‘ he named after his mom… but its ok, you can
change it
when you register the birth’ she is the sweetest child ever and she’s
yours…
both the grans are there, and daddy has planned to wet the baby’s head
later… again.
But regardless of all, you would do it all again… in about five years…
(Maybe)
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