Pregnancy Joys... or maybe not
So I am officially 23 weeks pregnant! According to one pregnancy manual the Miniature is about the size of a box of sugar or a bag of coffee beans. Now I’m damned if I know whether the authors are referring to a small 250g box of sugar cubes or a 5kg sack of coffee beans. So basically I’m still in the dark as to how big the miniature actually should be. Referring to another manual she is apparently about 20cm long, now that makes more sense. But is that from head to toe or crown to rump? If I “Google” it I’ll get another answer or rather another thousand or so answers if I choose to read them all. So I settle on she is somewhere between the length of a box of sugar cubes and a thousand answers on “Goggle.” With no fat layers under the skin yet she looks like a thin wrinkled new born, she has fully formed but colourless eyes and “tooth buds” in her gums.
I am, apparently gaining weight steadily as baby grows, may experience backache, water retention and a myriad of other undignified consequences of pregnancy. Let’s not forget that curse known as “porridge” brain or “nappy” brain according to my midwife. Not only do I find myself having to write everything down that has to be done for the day, I also lose track of what I’m saying midway through a sentence. Add to that the frequency of getting tongue tied on simple every day words and you’ve got yourself a really bizaar conversation. I don’t even understand myself when I talk to myself these days either. Then there is the endless heartburn and the ineffective tablets available at World’s End. From the beginning I have suffered from heartburn almost every day, the Mauritian went back and forth to pharmacy and supermarket for remedy after remedy and nothing helped, I would’ve killed for a “Rennies” or a “Tums.” Fortunately that wish was granted when the Mauritian arrived back at the end of the world bearing gifts of “Tums.” Sheer bliss!
Unlike when pregnant with the Butterfly I have also experienced those annoying cravings. Having not experienced them the first time round I was convinced it is a state of mind or a fallacy made up as an excuse to eat for the sake of eating. I was to be proved incorrect in this conviction. I have not had odd cravings like sardines and syrup on cabbage or a desire to eat grass but I have annoyingly had cravings for dessert pastries. Why, when one of the things that gives me violent heartburn is pastry, is far beyond my comprehension. The threat of heartburn and the fact that these cravings attack late in the evening has enabled me to resist them, but damn it’s not easy. The Mauritian, bless him, has said over and over that he will go out and get me something if it helps. But how can I allow him to do that when he is in his pj's, relaxing on the sofa with a cup of coffee listening to music? It just doesn’t seem right to expect that of him, beside I’ll just end up chewing a handful of “Tums” afterwards. I was complaining to my neighbour about the cravings and not knowing what to do about it. She laughed at me, which was rather perplexing until she reminded me of the tip I gave her when she had the same complaint; to kill a craving spread some peanut butter on a slice of apple and eat. Quit squinting at the computer like that, and wipe that look of disbelief off your face! It’s true and it works, I don’t know why or how but it does! Needless to say if we do run out of apples or peanut butter I will send the Mauritian out to buy some regardless of the late hour. What a wicked cow I am!
Going back to those pregnancy manuals, I should at this stage be feeling “some” light movement. Are you kidding me? Where do the words “light” and “some” apply to a miniature the approximate size of a coffee bean bag? This is not just movement this is a well aimed kick in the rib cage, a game of soccer with that organ called the bladder which doubles as an awesome pillow in times of rest. This is not just movement it’s a skip-a-thon using the umbilical cord, a gymnastic dance from one end of the uterus to the other and hey let’s see what happens when I jump maybe I can touch a lung. Just last week I was telling the Mauritian how much more gentle and calm the Miniature’s movements are compared to what I remember the Butterfly’s being. She made me eat my words this week, punctuation and all! But despite all the discomfort it causes it is the most fascinating sensation especially when it seems like she is responding to her family’s voices or when I press on my belly.
There is much speculation about whether or not a baby in utero can hear and later recognise certain voices and sounds, specifically music. There are still those that steadfastly believe it’s impossible. I am not one of those people. I am certain beyond any doubt that while in utero the Butterfly responded to both mine and her Papa’s voice. I say this because whenever she had been still for a while, if I pushed on my belly she always pushed back as if she was letting me know she was okay and when she was moving around a lot if the Mauritian spoke she would suddenly keep very still like she was listening. Then when he stopped talking she started moving again. There are certain pieces of classical music and songs that she still responds to today that I played over and over while pregnant with her. But the most convincing thing for me was when she was a screaming, colicky new born at the sound of her Papa’s voice she would stop screaming and lift her head looking for him. The pregnancy manuals say that a new born will only recognise the father from around 4 weeks or so, the Butterfly knew her father from birth because she recognised him by his voice. There is no mistaking the Mauritians rich deep textured voice and she knew it beyond any doubt.
So with this conviction I have made sure that the Butterfly speaks to her baby sister every day and at bed time she sings to her, because when the Miniature is born the moment she hears her big sister sing she will know exactly who she is. It is a moment I look forward too.
I am, apparently gaining weight steadily as baby grows, may experience backache, water retention and a myriad of other undignified consequences of pregnancy. Let’s not forget that curse known as “porridge” brain or “nappy” brain according to my midwife. Not only do I find myself having to write everything down that has to be done for the day, I also lose track of what I’m saying midway through a sentence. Add to that the frequency of getting tongue tied on simple every day words and you’ve got yourself a really bizaar conversation. I don’t even understand myself when I talk to myself these days either. Then there is the endless heartburn and the ineffective tablets available at World’s End. From the beginning I have suffered from heartburn almost every day, the Mauritian went back and forth to pharmacy and supermarket for remedy after remedy and nothing helped, I would’ve killed for a “Rennies” or a “Tums.” Fortunately that wish was granted when the Mauritian arrived back at the end of the world bearing gifts of “Tums.” Sheer bliss!
Unlike when pregnant with the Butterfly I have also experienced those annoying cravings. Having not experienced them the first time round I was convinced it is a state of mind or a fallacy made up as an excuse to eat for the sake of eating. I was to be proved incorrect in this conviction. I have not had odd cravings like sardines and syrup on cabbage or a desire to eat grass but I have annoyingly had cravings for dessert pastries. Why, when one of the things that gives me violent heartburn is pastry, is far beyond my comprehension. The threat of heartburn and the fact that these cravings attack late in the evening has enabled me to resist them, but damn it’s not easy. The Mauritian, bless him, has said over and over that he will go out and get me something if it helps. But how can I allow him to do that when he is in his pj's, relaxing on the sofa with a cup of coffee listening to music? It just doesn’t seem right to expect that of him, beside I’ll just end up chewing a handful of “Tums” afterwards. I was complaining to my neighbour about the cravings and not knowing what to do about it. She laughed at me, which was rather perplexing until she reminded me of the tip I gave her when she had the same complaint; to kill a craving spread some peanut butter on a slice of apple and eat. Quit squinting at the computer like that, and wipe that look of disbelief off your face! It’s true and it works, I don’t know why or how but it does! Needless to say if we do run out of apples or peanut butter I will send the Mauritian out to buy some regardless of the late hour. What a wicked cow I am!
Going back to those pregnancy manuals, I should at this stage be feeling “some” light movement. Are you kidding me? Where do the words “light” and “some” apply to a miniature the approximate size of a coffee bean bag? This is not just movement this is a well aimed kick in the rib cage, a game of soccer with that organ called the bladder which doubles as an awesome pillow in times of rest. This is not just movement it’s a skip-a-thon using the umbilical cord, a gymnastic dance from one end of the uterus to the other and hey let’s see what happens when I jump maybe I can touch a lung. Just last week I was telling the Mauritian how much more gentle and calm the Miniature’s movements are compared to what I remember the Butterfly’s being. She made me eat my words this week, punctuation and all! But despite all the discomfort it causes it is the most fascinating sensation especially when it seems like she is responding to her family’s voices or when I press on my belly.
There is much speculation about whether or not a baby in utero can hear and later recognise certain voices and sounds, specifically music. There are still those that steadfastly believe it’s impossible. I am not one of those people. I am certain beyond any doubt that while in utero the Butterfly responded to both mine and her Papa’s voice. I say this because whenever she had been still for a while, if I pushed on my belly she always pushed back as if she was letting me know she was okay and when she was moving around a lot if the Mauritian spoke she would suddenly keep very still like she was listening. Then when he stopped talking she started moving again. There are certain pieces of classical music and songs that she still responds to today that I played over and over while pregnant with her. But the most convincing thing for me was when she was a screaming, colicky new born at the sound of her Papa’s voice she would stop screaming and lift her head looking for him. The pregnancy manuals say that a new born will only recognise the father from around 4 weeks or so, the Butterfly knew her father from birth because she recognised him by his voice. There is no mistaking the Mauritians rich deep textured voice and she knew it beyond any doubt.
So with this conviction I have made sure that the Butterfly speaks to her baby sister every day and at bed time she sings to her, because when the Miniature is born the moment she hears her big sister sing she will know exactly who she is. It is a moment I look forward too.
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