I do a lot of interwebbing around the subject of pregnancy- finding out whether my baby has finger buds or proper fingers that move, etc. At first the information was slightly disheartening. For so many weeks it seemed to be a little question mark (in more ways than one), with a tail, and no face. The last few weeks, of course, have been packed full of thrilling information. It has all its bits! It’s hiccuping and peeing! It’s basically a tiny tiny little actual baby. Hurrah!
However. The general consensus on information sites seems to be that the second trimester is the “glowy” one. The bit of delicious smug jam in the middle of gnarly discomfort sandwich. Your sickness has disappeared, I read. You feel so much better! You’re full of energy.
I am not glowing. At 15+ weeks in, I have had a UTI for three weeks (tears hair out) which three courses of antibiotics haven’t shifted, I’m plagued by dreadful migraines, and yesterday only lunch remained in my stomach . At least I can complain about it loudly and publicly now, though, instead of greenly mumbling something about “something I ate, probably” at work, before dashing loowards once again.
None of this is bad enough to make me me lose sight of the basic wonderfulness at the heart of all this discomfort. Today I’m off to the midwife, and hoping to hear Bean’s heartbeat (but promising self not to become paralysed with panic if the midwife can’t find it). And at least it’s forced me to take a look at my working patterns and, well, chill them the heck out.
And on another positive side, I’m finally starting to grow a very small, but very round and definitely there, bump. My jeans won’t do up and even leggings dig in uncomfortably . I’m holding myself back from dashing to Topshop Maternity (once I can drag myself from my sickbed/sofa, that is), as I’m more too-much-Christmas-dinner size than there’s-a-lumping-great-baby-in-there size, and there are many inches to be gained before I spend my hard earned cash on fashionable parachutes/tents, however darling they may be.
***Edited to add: I heard the heartbeat. Happiness. But also, another bit of false advertising: it does not sound like galloping horses. It sounds like a heartbeat. A very fast baby heartbeat. With the odd “doof!” when the little one kicks. Why the thing about galloping horses? An uneccesary simile, if you ask me. Spade/spade, and all that. ***