I got a call from the Community Midwife on Sunday evening (ooh, tricksy - making sure I was in). I thought it was the Husband calling from work so I answered it in the deranged voice I save for him. For a second she didn't say anything, then I got a frosty "May I speak to [me] please." Erk. The rest of it went like this:

Community Midwife Nazi: "I understand that you're pregnant, congratulations."
Me: "Um. Thank you."
CMN: "You're 15 weeks, yes?"
Me: "Um..."
CMN: "I will be doing your assessment, and I normally do this in your home."
Me: "My...?"
CMN: "I am available next Wednesday, or the following Wednesday, Thursday or Friday."
Me: "?"
CMN: "You are legally entitled to time off work for this."
Me: "Oh, good!"
CMN: "I will be there between 12 and 4."

So it must be like when you get a fridge delivered and they can't tell you an exact time because then you wouldn't be sat there like a moron for half a day, and where's the fun in that. At least I only have to work til 11.30.
My friend at work pointed out that the Nazi was probably coming over to see if I would be allowed to keep the evil alien spawn once I'd had it. So now I have to tidy the house and get some nice biscuits in. Although depending on what it's like when it gets here, I'm not that fussed and she can have it anyway. Another friend at work explained that this Nazi was probably going to be the one I would see for the rest of the way through this whole business. Shit, I hope I get on with her then. Although knowing my luck, it'll be mutual hate at first sight.

So, if it's 15 weeks, apparently it's now the size of a grapefruit, which is odd because I still don't look any different and am happily wearing normal clothes. You'd have thought you'd notice having something that size inside you. Last night the husband demanded to know when I was going to get fat, and complained that all the Fatty Fat-Fat, Trunky-Wanna-Bun jokes he had lined up were going to waste.

We have bought stuff for it. Maybe a bit presumptuous, but they were on sale, what can I say. When I say "we", I mean the Husband decided we were buying stuff. The first thing is a buggy/pram or whatever they're called these days. He went into car-buying mode, telling me about the differences between all the models, and comparing the pluses and minuses of them. I couldn't honestly tell them apart - essentially they're boxes to put babies in on a set of wheels, but he was very pleased with the one we've ordered. I am not very pleased with the pikey cow we've bought it from off ebay, ffs who doesn't accept Paypal on there apart from benefit-claiming tax-dodging shysters? If it doesn't turn up, I'm calling the Inland Revenue and suggesting they investigate her finances.
The other thing is a Bottle Steriliser (ooh, scientific-sounding). Which we need, so I'm told. I'm happy to be led here, because I am not doing the tit thing. End. Of. Discussion.

So I've had my last baby-free birthday. Hmmm.

All the comments in my card from work sounded like more threats ("Enjoy your last thin birthday...") I did great though, no-one bought me presents that were really presents for a baby, although Husband's Mum did give me our first baby things as well as a proper present (money towards the digital camera I'm saving up for) - some bibs with Roo from Winnie the Pooh on, and some sleepsuits. I find it really bizarre to picture something in these items, and furthermore picture me with something with these items. I put them in a box so I didn't have to look at them.

I have been reading about all the different exercises I am supposed to be doing. They basically involve squeezing in any conceivable (ha ha no pun intended) part of me that might possibly be relaxed, and not releasing it until a human being has come out of my body.

Good news though - I seem to have withstood the sickness, I knew I was stronger than the evil alien spawn. Birthday cake has helped enormously here.

Oh, the visit to Dr. Onymous went thusly:
Dr: "Did you bring a urine sample?"
Me: "No. Was I meant to?"
Dr: "Um. Didn't I ask you to?"
Me: "No."
Dr: "Oh well. Have a pot - give it to the midwife when you go and see her."
Me: "When's that?"
Dr: "Um. Didn't we arrange that?"

etc etc. Blind leading the blind.

This thing hates me. I have been throwing up, or trying to throw up, or trying not to throw up, the whole week. Chilli con carne in reverse is not right. My Mum said to me "But why are you being sick? I was never sick." So in her mind I'm already doing something wrong, colour me hugely fucking surprised there.

Everyone at work knows now, they are all very excited (or very good at pretending), and the stories/advice/threats ("You'd better have a girl") are flowing freely. Example:
Them: "You shouldn't be carrying that box of heavy stuff about you know."
Me: "I'm alright."
Them: "No, but you really shouldn't."
Me: "Well I don't see anyone else offering to carry it for me."
Them: [walking hurriedly in opposite direction]
Me: [continuing to carry box of heavy stuff]
fin

Another woman-at-work's-daughter is about a month further along than I am, so her mum is passing on to me from her all the cool weird baby stuff she's found, like baby hammocks http://www.babyhammocks.com/ and baby buckets http://www.babybathshop.co.uk/acatalog/Tummy_Tubs.html I wonder when I will actually want to buy any baby stuff? At the moment it all seems rather complicated and unnecessary and I would rather look at digital SLRs.

I have to go and see Dr. Onymous tomorrow. I can't remember why, or if he said I had to see him or go and see the midwives at the clinic (the location of which I have no idea). So neither of us are going to know what I'm doing there tomorrow. Seriously, it's the blind leading the blind...

So today was scan day...

I woke up at about half six worried what I would say when there turned out to be nothing in there, or that it'd be all dried up and hanging there like a manky grape. It said on my letter from the ultrasound department that I needed to drink a pint of water an hour before my appointment, so like a good girl that's what I did. I then nearly made us late because I couldn't find my cardigan (still can't, and haven't seen it for months come to think of it), so we were racing to the reception, I was pissed off about my cardigan, the husband and I were sniping at each other about anything and I needed a huge pee.

Didn't have to wait very long, then we went into the room and the sonographer did her stuff with the gel and the thing that looks like an epilator. The first thing she said was "Just one, no company in there," which I was a bit disappointed at because twins are interesting, if somewhat freaky, and which I was fairly surprised at, being half convinced there was nothing in there. Then she swung the monitor around so we could have a look and there it was. Swimming around on its head, waving arms and legs with gay abandon. Definitely in there; definitely not a grape.

The sonographer then said "My, your bladder is very full, isn't it," which made me want to pee even more. She tried to measure the evil alien spawn, at which point it sulkily turned its back on her and refused to co-operate, so she poked and pushed at it with the epilator (bladder control threatening to shut down) until it turned again. Apparently it was healthy and normal and it didn't matter that it was upside down and doing headspins. She also said that we had a good clear view of it because I'm "fairly slim", lovely lady. She sold us on 1 photo and made the husband go outside and put £3 in the machine, then gave us 1 in a little card wallet and one not (do you normally get 2 then, or did she just like us? Or, as the husband said, because he was the best looking husband there?). Then she made us leave. I reckon it took around 10 minutes for that bit, and 5 minutes for the wee I had to do immediately after (it wouldn't stop... I thought I'd finished, and then did another whole normal-sized wee again).










Then it was round the corner to see a midwife, who came hobbling towards us using a walking stick - not a reassuring sight? I got weighed (thank god I'd had the wee first, there was at least an extra kilo in there) and height-measured (at which point the husband coughed "borderline dwarf!" oh he thinks he is so funny) , and then she asked me if I had read the notes on tests for Down's Sydrome and what had I decided on. I hadn't realised I was going to be quizzed on those... but after a second I managed to act like I knew what she was on about and found the right page in the booklet straight away so I could tell her that yes thank you, I would have the initial test that is offered to everyone, and thank you for taking that snotty look off your face while you're about it. I was also given a big wodge of Maternity Notes that I now have to carry any where they are going to stick things in me or prod/poke me from now on. Oh and more baby stuff to read. Am going to need a bigger folder to put it all in and it's just going to make me feel sick again.

The mums are thrilled, Husband's Mum took the scan photo to mean the same as the baby-stuff-buying starter's pistol, and My Mum couldn't get over being able to see her first grandchild so soon and kept telling me how much things have changed since 1973.

By the way, my god, poor old Steve Irwin... what an absolutely unbelievable, Omen-style way to die. I'll raise a glass to you Steve, you were one of the few Australians I could stomach. I'm sure he's now telling St. Francis of Assisi not to be such a pussy and to just grab it by the neck. http://www.eonline.com/News/Items/0,1,19923,00.html

Watched an episode of Scrubs the other night, where a pregnant woman's husband had to decide whether to save his wife or his unborn child.
Afterwards I had a conversation with my husband and made him agree that if anything like that happens to me, he has to save ME, the one he's known the longest. (As it turned out, they were both OK at the end... what a cop-out).

Am now 90% convinced that there's nothing in there at all... I haven't put on any weight (apart from the cherry bakewells I ate this week) and haven't had any other symptoms. Even the sickness is going off, and I happily had a glass of milk last night so the dairy thing seems to be over. The first scan is on Monday, I just know they're going to look at me and think I'm some sort of nutter who keeps having phantom pregnancies. I've stopped reading pregnancy books because they were making me feel sick, and they kept contradicting each other, and now I feel much better.