We're halfway there

My belly popped out a couple of weeks ago.

I finally look pregnant rather than just a bit fat, although the wobbly tummy was still present from having Arlo so I think I’m just glad there is something more firm replacing it for the time being.

On the day I posted my last blog things took a horrible turn.

Johnny and I were about to go out for dinner together for the first time in ages.

His mum had come round to babysit but just as we were about to leave the house I started bleeding.

So instead of going out for dinner we ended up spending our Saturday night in A&E.

It was horrible. The doctor told me there was nothing they could do if I was having a miscarriage and that my only option was to go home and wait to see what happened.

We were given the number for the Early Pregnancy Unit which we phoned the next day after a pretty sleepless night and were told the earliest they could get me in for a scan was Wednesday.

The bleeding was light and intermittent but this didn’t stop all manner of thoughts from running through my head.

Poor Johnny was as worried as I was but was also brilliant throughout, despite having to deal with me sobbing in his arms on more than one occasion.

On the Monday evening he managed to book an appointment at a private clinic and we handed over £60 for a scan that was going to tell us what was going on.

I don’t think I have ever seen him so relieved when we saw the baby wriggling around and a strong heartbeat.

It turns out the bleeding was caused by a blood clot but I can honestly say that was one of the worst 48-hour periods of our lives.

We both work on a Monday which was no bad thing as we had wanted to take our minds off what was going on.

The following day I was stood outside a house in Saltdean waiting for the father of a man who had been killed in Syria to come outside and make a statement to the press, like the previous two days hadn’t happened.

At my 16-week appointment I got to hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time which was lovely.

I’ve also had an appointment with the obstetrician at the Royal Sussex about my care plan because of what happened to me last time.

I am now taking baby aspirin every day to reduce the risk of pre-eclampsia. I also have to have another scan at 32 weeks to monitor the baby’s growth, see the obstetrician at the hospital once a month, have extra midwife appointments and my blood pressure is being monitored every week.

Looks like I am going to be in and out of the hospital and the children’s centre a lot but it’s good to know they are monitoring me so closely as I don’t want a repeat of Arlo’s birth.

At least I know what to look out for this time which will give me a head start if I think anything is wrong.

My legs and feet were so swollen from seven months of pregnancy that I couldn’t wear any of my shoes and even though I was showing no other symptoms of pre-eclampsia that early, in hindsight I think this was probably the start of it.

Tomorrow is our 20-week scan and I’m looking forward to seeing the baby again.

Johnny wants to find out the sex but I am still undecided as to whether I want to know.

I really hope curiosity doesn’t get the better of me but I’m not so sure it won’t.

Baby number two

We are having another baby!

It took 13 months but we got there and our second little miracle is on its way.

I had almost given up hope that it was going to happen again.

We started trying when Arlo was 10 months old as I knew it might take a while, but month after month I felt that pang of disappointment when it didn’t happen.

Couple that with friends announcing that they were pregnant for a second time and it just compounded my feelings of failure.

There were times when I felt I was being selfish and ungrateful because I already have a healthy, happy, beautiful little boy.

But the urge to have another child was overwhelming; exactly as it had been before I found out I was pregnant with Arlo.

So when my period was a couple of days late towards the end of August I tried to not hold on to that tiny bit of hope that the unobtainable might actually have happened.

Three days after that I bit the bullet and decided to buy a pregnancy test.

We had been away at my dad’s for the weekend and stopped at the supermarket on the way home. 

I put two bottles of beer and a bottle of rose into my shopping basket and when I got to the till I asked the cashier for two pregnancy tests.
My unusual shopping combo got me a bit of a strange look.

When we arrived home I told Johnny that if the test was negative I would be drinking all the booze.

The test took less than a minute to tell me I was pregnant – between four and five weeks pregnant – and although I still wanted to drink all the booze to celebrate, I couldn’t.

But I didn’t care and it didn’t matter because we had formed a new little life.

I did the second pregnancy test four days later, just to make sure.

Pregnancy so far has been very different this time round. To start with I’ve actually known about it from the start!

I have felt so rough. I have had nausea, I’ve had sickness and I have been so incredibly tired.

Not sleep deprivation tired, that’s the sort of tired which makes you a bit mad.

Just physically feeling like I’ve got nothing left to give, which you can’t let get the better of you when you’re working three days a week and entertaining a toddler for the rest of that time.

Arlo also gave me a cold which turned into something flu-like when I was about nine weeks pregnant which put me in bed for four days.

The sickness seemed to peak at about 10/11 weeks and I had a few mornings leading up to that where I had to pull over on the A27 several times, while driving to jobs, and puke at the roadside.

Carrying a sick bag around in your car for emergencies is not particularly glamorous.

I am now just over 13 weeks pregnant and feeling better than I was.

We had our scan last week and everything was fine, which was a relief.

As daft as it sounds I was worried I’d turn up and there wouldn’t be a baby in there at all!

But there it was, a tiny human being measuring 5.1cm from crown to rump, wriggling all over the place, its little heart beating.

It’s just got a fair bit of growing to do before we meet him or her at the end of April.

When it comes to giving birth, does normal exist?

Hello!


After a hiatus of more than 18 months I've decided to pick this blog up again.
Life in general, what with a toddler, work and all the other things going on, means I have let this slide.
But I love to write and so I am going to try to be more disciplined about posting from now on.
What prompted me was a request from Milli Hill, the founder of the Positive Birth Movement, about why many women are made to feel that they have failed if they do not give birth in the "natural" way.
Here is the piece I wrote and below is the link to Milli's article which uses some of what I have written.


I think I had preconceptions of what I wanted my birth to be long before my son was born.
I carried him for nine months and I wanted to work hard to bring him into the world, so when it didn't go to plan and I had to have an emergency caesarean I felt like I had failed as a woman.
Giving birth is like a right of passage. I was so sick when my son was born that I had to have a C-section under a general anaesthetic. I don't remember much about the day he was born, I don't remember feeding him for the first time, I don't remember photos being taken even though I have seen them a thousand times since.
His birth was never going to be easy. He was a stubborn breech baby who refused to turn despite me spending hours on all fours, going to the hospital for an ECV and finally trying moxibustion in the hope it might help.
Despite this I refused to book in for a C-section and had a long chat with the head of midwives about having a natural breech birth.
Fortunately, she was extremely supportive of my decision so I knew when the time came the labour ward would be ready for me.
But it was not meant to be. The day after my 38-week appointment I started to feel poorly and when my baby stopped moving as much two days later I thought I should go to the hospital to make sure everything was ok.
This is the part I find bittersweet.
Of course I am glad I went when I did because if I hadn't neither my son or I would be here today. I was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia which turned into HELLP after he was born. I was extremely ill and almost died.
My son's oxygen levels were also borderline when he was born and I subsequently found out that if he hadn't been born when he was he would've become hypoxic and would either have been severely brain damaged or dead.
But once the initial shock of what had happened to me wore off and I was back at home following a lengthy spell in hospital I began to grieve for the birth I'd been denied, the birth I felt had been taken away from me.
Even now I tell people I've made my peace with it, but in all honesty I'm not sure I ever will.
My rational brain knows that what happened was the only thing that could have happened at the time. But the devil on my shoulder tells me I'm not a proper woman because I didn't give birth in the "natural" way.
Having spoken to other women who have undergone an emergency C-section I know I am not alone in feeling this way.
I think there is a lot of pressure on women to have a birth without any medical intervention whatsoever.
Of course this is what I would have liked but even 50 years ago a woman in my situation would most probably have died without it.
I think the pressure to give birth naturally quite often comes, unintentionally, from other women, from our mothers, from the women you see giving birth on TV, but mostly I think it comes from the high expectation we have of ourselves.
So although I am sad I did not get the birth I wanted, I am blessed because I have a beautiful son and a scar which I will always wear with pride.


http://www.bestdaily.co.uk/your-life/blog/a591011/natural-birth-plans-why-do-epidurals-and-caesareans-feel-like-a-failure.html

Baby Parfitt makes an appearance

Arlo Jonathan Parfitt was born nine days early at 11.12am on Monday September 17, weighing 5lbs 15oz and with a full head of magnificent blond hair. He was perfect.

But like my pregnancy, which was a massive surprise to both of us, Arlo’s birth did definitely not go the way we had planned.

On Thursday September 14, 13 days before my due date, I went to the doctor for my 38 week appointment. He took my blood pressure, tested my urine for protein – the usual drill – and everything was fine.

Off I went hoping that I wouldn’t have to see the midwife for my 40 week appointment as I was hoping the baby would arrive before then. Little did I know he would be arriving sooner than we realised.

On the Friday I started to feel a bit peculiar. I had a pain in the top right hand side of my abdomen which was more uncomfortable than anything else and made me feel queasy. I met a friend for lunch in a pub down the road but could barely eat what I had ordered as my appetite was gone.

I remember telling her I felt odd and said that maybe it was my body gearing up for labour.

By the Saturday the pain had worsened and I felt really crap so I spent most of the day on the sofa, apart from having a bath to try and relieve the discomfort, and ended up watching X Factor with a hot water bottle underneath my back.

The baby was still moving around so I wasn’t worried and went to bed. At about 1am on Sunday I woke up absolutely saturated with sweat. It was like I had had a bath in bed, everything was soaking, and I felt like I had a fever.

It is probably at this point that we should have gone to hospital but I decided that I would try and get back to sleep and hopefully I would feel better in the morning.

I woke up on Sunday and felt much better but by lunch time I was worried as I couldn’t feel the baby moving as much. Johnny had gone round to his mum and dad’s for a cup of coffee in the morning and when he got back we decided to call the hospital.

At this point I would like to say that the labour ward at the Royal Sussex County Hospital is amazing and the midwives were always supportive whenever we called with any worries (which we did a couple of times).

They said to come up at about 3.30pm and that they would monitor the baby’s heartbeat.

We decided we would leave the hospital bag I had packed at home as we would only be there for a couple of hours. How wrong we were.

It turned out that Arlo was absolutely fine, however, I wasn’t very well at all, although I didn’t know it at the time.

My blood pressure had been normal throughout pregnancy but on this occasion it was high. The midwife took my blood and this also came back with abnormal results, which included a low blood platelet count.

Within two hours of arriving in hospital they had put a band around my wrist and told me I would not be leaving hospital until my baby had been born.

Johnny went home and got the overnight bag and while he was gone I remember sitting on the gym ball in the room, looking out of the window, watching the flashing lights of the Palace Pier and thinking, ‘I am probably going to meet my baby tomorrow’. It was the most bizarre feeling.

We decided that Johnny should go home and get some sleep that night as Monday was likely to be a long day. Arlo was still breech but I was hoping I could still have the natural birth I wanted.

The night was long and I was extremely uncomfortable. I got up god knows how many times to go to the loo and then at 4.45am I felt something tickling the inside of my thigh, then wetness.

At first I thought I had wet myself but I soon realised that my waters must have broken. It wasn’t a huge gush, just a steady trickle.

I got up and told one of the midwives but it was another hour before anyone came to check on me.

I was pleased my contractions had started on their own because it meant that this baby was ready to be born and he wasn’t going to be brought into the world before he should be. The contractions weren’t too bad, just like having bad period cramps so no need for pain relief, and they were about nine minutes apart.

The midwife examined me and said I was only half a centimetre dilated but that hopefully I would be able to have the natural birth I wanted. She said the midwives on duty were getting excited because they didn’t get to see a natural breech birth very often and they all wanted to be involved.

At about 6.30am I called Johnny. More precisely, between 6.30am and 7am I called Johnny about 20 times until he woke up and answered the phone.

I told him my waters had broken and that I was having contractions. So he showered, had breakfast and made his way up to the hospital.

The midwife had taken more blood at 6am, my blood pressure was still high, and when the doctor came round at about 9am he told me that my platelet count was dangerously low and that I would have to have an emergency caesarean as this was safest for me and the baby. It turns out I was suffering from pre-eclampsia although I didn’t know it at the time.

It had probably started when I started to feel ill on Friday, which just goes to show how quickly you can go from being perfectly healthy to not very well at all.

More blood was taken and an hour later another doctor came in and told me I would have to have a caesarean under general anaesthetic. He said my low platelet count would affect the way my blood was clotting and that it was too risky for me to be awake during the procedure as if I was to have a heavy bleed they wouldn’t be able to put me under in time to save my life, and I would most likely bleed to death.

I’d never had an operation under a GA before and I was frightened. Within three quarters of an hour of being given this news I had been bumped up to the top of the list and was being taken to theatre.

Johnny was given scrubs to wear and although staff came in to wheel me to the operating theatre I asked if I could walk there as I knew I would be bed bound for a while afterwards.

I climbed on to the operating table and Johnny gave me a kiss and told me he loved me before being taken into the room next door. He wasn’t allowed to stay there while I was under a GA.

Another midwife called Cindy, who had started her shift that morning and was really lovely, asked me if I was ok and kept me calm. I think she could see how scared I was and I was desperately trying not to cry.

All I could think was that I was going to go to sleep in a minute and there was a chance I might never wake up, I might never meet my baby and I might never see Johnny again.

Poor Johnny on the other hand was sat in the recovery room on his own worried sick about the both of us.

The anaesthetist, who was also a lovely chap, talked me through what was happening and I remember talking about our honeymoon as I went under. I also remember trying to fight it as I really didn’t want to go to sleep.

About 20 minutes after the operation had begun, a doctor brought our son through to Johnny. He then had to wait another 50 minutes before I came out.

He said he could hear the couple who had been in the operating theatre before me, who were behind another curtain in the recovery room, cooing over their baby, but other than that he doesn’t remember much else apart from the anaesthetist coming in to tell him I was fine.

On the one hand he had his newborn son in his arms, but on the other his wife was still in the operating theatre undergoing major surgery.

I came into recovery at about midday. Johnny said the first thing I did was ask if Arlo was ok, then I asked if he was ok.

Sadly, I was so groggy from anaesthetic and morphine I don’t remember much about the day Arlo was born. There are pictures but I don’t remember them being taken.

The hospital notes said I breastfed him at 12.20pm (my son was an hour old before I met him for the first time) but I don’t remember doing this at all.

What I do remember is having a very sore throat and asking Johnny how much he weighed over and over again. I kept asking the nurse the same question about the drugs I was being given as I couldn’t remember the answer to anything.

 

I do remember telling me that Arlo had a squashed nose from where he'd been squidged up inside me but that it would right itself in a couple of days.

Johnny rang his family and mine to tell them the news, I also texted friends to let them know Arlo had been born, but I don’t remember doing that either.

I also felt like I couldn’t breathe, which was down to the morphine, so I was given oxygen. I was offered liquid morphine as pain relief if I wanted it after that but refused as it had made me feel so crap.

Fortunately I have a high pain threshold so just stuck to codeine and paracetamol in the days after my op.

We were taken back up to labour ward and the staff had put another bed in the room so Johnny could stay with me. They don’t normally do this but I was so ill I couldn’t do anything for Arlo apart from hold him. He was three days old before I changed his nappy for the first time, or dressed him. Johnny had to do it all.

I also struggled to feed him so he was cup fed with formula so that he got something until I was strong enough to get him to latch on properly.

This meant it took longer for my milk to come in and I subsequently spent every three hours in the breastfeeding room on the postnatal ward, for two days, attached to a breast pump expressing as much as possible to get my milk to come in.

On Tuesday morning the drugs line was taken out of my arm and my catheter was removed so I could get up and have a shower.

I stood under the water and although I was sore I felt really weak and just not right at all. I got dressed and then when I stood up my hearing went and everything sounded like I was under water. I also had spots in front of my eyes and thought I was going to faint.

I told Flo, the midwife looking after me that day, and she went to check on my blood which had been taken that morning. Five minutes later there was a hive of activity in the room.

I was told I would have to have the catheter reinserted and another line put in as I needed to be on a magnesium drip for 24 hours.

I had developed a life-threatening complication, a variant of pre-eclampsia, called HELLP Syndrome. Although it is dangerous, women who get it don’t usually feel that ill and although I felt unwell, I didn’t feel horrific.

It’s a good job I’m not afraid of needles because it took the doctor five attempts to get a line into me. She tried the backs of both hands (one of them twice), just above my wrist and then inside my arm where the elbow joint is before getting it in properly.

Meanwhile, there were several people setting up equipment and prodding and poking me to check how I was reacting to certain things.

I was told I would have to have a big dose of magnesium over five minutes before the drip went in. This was to stop me from having convulsions that would’ve put me into a coma and resulted in death.

Flo said I would feel like I was having hot flashes but I can honestly say it was the worst sensation I have ever felt in my life.

The only way I can describe it, is it was like being on fire but from the inside. I felt like if I’d opened my mouth I would have been able to breathe out roaring hot flames.

The only way I got through it was by describing what I could feel to Johnny and telling him I felt peculiar over and over again. It was awful.

The next 24 hours were spent attached to the drip, which tissued during the early hours of the morning, causing a huge lump in my arm where the magnesium had gone into the tissue under the skin rather than into my vein, so it had to be reinserted.

I was also on hourly observations for 24 hours which involved my blood pressure being taken, my urine being tested and my reflexes had also been affected by the HELLP Syndrome (this meant someone coming in and hitting various parts of my body with a rubber hammer every hour, and it usually took several attempts for them to get a reaction).

During the day I decided to look up HELLP Syndrome on the internet as I didn’t really understand what was wrong with me. It probably wasn’t the best idea as the first thing I read was that it had a 25% mortality rate. I remember turning to Johnny and telling him that I was actually more poorly than we had both realised.

Once again, Johnny had to do everything for Arlo because I could do nothing but hold him and try to feed him.

If I ever needed proof that my husband loved me this was it. He saw me at my very worst and he didn’t leave my side. I do not know what I would’ve done without him.

We eventually moved down to postnatal ward on Wednesday evening. Johnny wasn’t allowed to stay there and when he had to go at 9pm every day I hated it.

Arlo, who I thought was looking a bit yellow, was checked over by the paediatrician on the Thursday and found to have jaundice, so had to spend 36 hours having phototherapy which involved him lying on a small blue sunbed type contraption in his cot.

Although the staff are amazing and you get as much help as you need, postnatal ward is not a fun place to be. There are four women per room, which means babies are crying at all times of the day and night and you get no sleep.

Everyone in my room had had a caesarean. The woman next to me called the midwives at all times of the day and night, refusing to do anything for her own child, and a woman opposite me spent most of the time screaming about how much pain she was in. I’m probably going to sound terrible now, but my tolerance for people who’d had caesareans had diminished somewhat by this point considering what I had been through.

Yes, it is painful. Yes, you are sore and uncomfortable. But, in my opinion, it is by no means excruciating. I have always been of the mindset that if you dwell on pain and think that it is going to hurt then you make things so much worse for yourself. I tend to just get on with things and deal with it as I find it’s the best way of coping.

I couldn’t change what had, or was happening to me, so I went with it as I knew it wouldn’t last forever.

By Friday, not being able to go home was really getting to me and I ended up having a bit of a cry on Johnny and then on the phone to my mum. Not only that, you know that when the best choice on the hospital food menu that day is turkey lasagne (two words that should never be put together), it is time to go home.

Fortunately, both Arlo and I were well enough to leave by the Saturday and a week after arriving in hospital we both went home.

Arlo is now 12 weeks old exactly and so much has happened in that time.

I have written several blogs, including this one, in my head so many times but finding the time to get it all down is so hard. I started this one two weeks ago and have only just got around to finishing it.

I want to be able to write about all his little milestones before I forget. Like the fact that over the past week he has discovered his arms and hands are attached to him and we frequently catch him just staring at them. You can almost see his little brain working it all out. It’s lovely to watch.

But I am going to try and put the last 12 weeks into another blog which I hope won’t take me another 12 weeks to post.

I can honestly say that being a mother is the hardest thing I have ever done, but also the best, and I cannot imagine my life without my beautiful little boy.Hospital

Waiting for the unknown...

It feels like we’re in a weird sort of limbo at the moment.

I am almost 38 weeks pregnant and am now on maternity leave. We’ve been clearing out all of our crap from the flat to make way for our little boy.

I’ve washed most of his clothes, bought nappies and all the other bits we need, packed my hospital bag, the moses basket is set up next to my side of the bed waiting for this little person to sleep in it, and now we just wait.

Both of us know that our life together as we know it is about to be turned upside down in the most amazing way possible, but we have no idea what it’s going to be like.

So, for the moment we are just Ruth and Johnny, aged 32 and 33 respectively, carrying on with our lives while waiting for this little person to come along and change it forever.

We are both excited and can’t wait to meet the little chap, and terrified at the same time. Neither of us knows how to be a parent. There is no manual, and the fact that we are going to be entirely responsible for this tiny, helpless little human being that we have made is overwhelming at times.

I have sat for hours wondering which bits of me and which bits of Johnny he will have, what he will be like, whether he’s got any hair, and what he will smell like. I’m looking forward to giving him a cuddle and a big sniff.

I wonder how it will feel the first time I see him and he’s put into my arms. I worry that I won’t get that huge rush of love people talk about despite the fact that he is more wanted by the both of us than he could ever know.

It’s made me understand how it must have been for my parents before I was born. It’s made me look at them in a different light – as the people they were before I came along rather than my mum and dad. And I’ve realised that they would have felt exactly the same as I do now.

Johnny thinks he is going to arrive at the weekend, which would be ten days before our due date. I’m not so sure.

We know his name. In fact, we have known his name since before we knew he was inside me. We tell people that he may be called something different if he doesn’t look like the name we have decided to give him but I think it highly unlikely as I cannot imagine calling our little boy anything else now. So, hopefully, by September 26 we will have introduced Arlo Jonathan Parfitt to the world.

The other thing I need to sort out is my birth plan. I really should have written it by now but we have had all sorts of appointments as he’s still breech and refusing to turn round.

Last week I went for an External Cephalic Version (ECV) to try and turn him but his bum is still stuck in my pelvis and he seems perfectly happy that way round.

I have still opted for a natural birth although him being breech makes it a bit more dangerous and complicated – most women book in for a caesarean.

In the mean time I have tried all sorts of things to turn him including moxibustion, spending a lot of time on all fours with my bum in the air and bouncing around on my birthing ball. I’m hoping he’ll still turn on his own although he seems to like wedging his head right up under my ribs at the moment which is incredibly painful.

Yesterday I took me and the bump for a lovely but very cold swim in the sea near to the West Pier on Brighton beach. It was great floating around and taking the weight off as even walking into town tires me out now. It also takes me bloody ages to walk anywhere as he’s getting really heavy and my hips and pelvis are really starting to feel it.

I do wonder what it will be like when he’s no longer inside me and I know I will miss feeling him move and kick. But the thought of his daddy being able to have a cuddle with him is the best thing in the world and I can’t wait to see them together.

So, we are just back to waiting now. I have stuff planned for most days but it’s quite weird seeing friends who, when it comes to saying bye to them, could be seeing me for the last time without the little one in tow.

Most sentences include the phrase, “we’ll be there, if he hasn’t been born by then”. It’s strange yet exhilarating at the same time and I cannot wait for the next chapter in our lives to begin.

Six weeks to go

I have found that my spelling and grammar has actually got worse the more pregnant I become.

I reckon it’s because little Parfitt is using up all my useful brain cells for growing. I do find I have to concentrate a lot harder at the moment, although that’s probably down to tiredness more than anything else.

After being told that they wanted to check his growth I went back to the hospital for another scan only to be told I’d been booked in too early and that they wouldn’t be able to tell anything from the results.

I ended up going back a week ago on Friday and seeing the sonographer again (my sixth scan) to be told the doctor had worried us unnecessarily and that baby is growing well and is absolutely fine.

He weighed about 3lbs 6ozs then so I’m hoping that means he’ll be between 7lbs and 8lbs when he’s born. I don’t fancy squeezing out anything bigger than that!

I also had a full glucose tolerance test after my gestational diabetes test came back with raised levels.

Fortunately, the test was fine and I haven’t developed diabetes, so I can carry on stuffing the doughnuts into my gob.

Actually, I need to stop doing that. I have developed a really sweet tooth and have been craving a lot of chocolate and sugar, which is not something that bothered me before I knew I was expecting him.

We also started NCT classes a few of weeks ago. There are six couples, including us, and it’s been really nice to meet people who are due to have babies around the same time and to talk about the stuff that’s worrying us all.

Everyone in the class is lovely and we’ve learned a lot of interesting and useful stuff. To anyone who is in two minds about doing NCT classes I would say it’s well worth the £160 we forked out for it.

It’s also made me address the fact that I’ve actually got to give birth.

I know it sounds daft but I hadn’t really equated the fact that the bump I am sporting is a person that’s got to come out of me.

Although he is moving so much now and I quite often see bits of him poking out all over the place which makes it more real. There are also really hard bits although I have no idea whether I’m touching his back, arm, head or leg when I prod it.

He’s probably getting really annoyed with being poked. He’s not a massive fan of scans and will kick out when he can feel something pressing down on him. I don’t blame him really, I’m not sure I’d appreciate being poked all the time.

Anyway, despite being told he’s growing well we have to go back for another scan at 36 weeks, which seems really pointless. But that’s what they’ve recommended so that’s what we’ll do.

This morning I had my 34-week appointment with the midwife. She can’t tell whether he’s still in the breech position or not, but his heartbeat was down towards my pelvis so hopefully that means he’s turning.

The midwife also commented on my massive swollen feet. A month ago they swelled up to three times their normal size and despite me sleeping with my legs raised every night and trying to put my feet up when I can, within five minutes of me walking around they are massive again.

It can be a sign of pre-eclampsia but I have normal blood pressure and no protein in my urine, plus no other symptoms, and baby’s fine, so it’s just one of those things.

I now only have two pairs of shoes that fit my feet – my Birkenstocks and a pair of black pumps – and I have resigned myself to the fact that my feet will not be back to their pre-pregnancy size until after he’s born.

Big feet I can cope with but they throb a lot and can be painful. My movement is also restricted by the swelling which is making it harder to get around. Long periods of driving makes them worse too.

I’ve started getting pins and needles in my fingers, which are also swollen. My wedding and engagement rings won’t budge. I should probably try and get them off before I have to have them cut off.

My tummy has also started itching like mad, particularly at night. I think it must be the skin stretching but it drives me insane at times. No stretch marks yet though, let’s hope it stays that way!

So now I only have six weeks and two days to go until my due date. We are so unprepared.

If you walked into our flat you would have no clue that we are having a baby unless you looked at the pile of stuff we have in the corner of our bedroom.

I am counting down the days to maternity leave as physically it is getting a lot harder to do my job when I have to travel around. I can’t walk up a hill without sounding like some sort of perv heavy breathing down a phone line.

My last working day is September 6 by which time I will be two and half weeks away from my due date. I can’t wait.

It's a boy!

It’s been a while since I last blogged as after getting married we went straight back to work and then to Thailand for our honeymoon for two weeks.

I had intended to write a blog last week but we got back late on Tuesday night and then my legs swelled up like balloons so I spent most of the following day on the sofa with them raised to try and get them to go down.

Thursday was spent catching up with everything we needed to and then I went back to work on Friday and was working in London at the weekend so it’s all been a bit hectic.

Baby Parfitt is as wriggly as ever, although that wasn’t the case so much while we were away, which led to a trip to the hospital in Koh Samui and also to us inadvertently finding out the sex of our little one.

It turns out that Baby Parfitt is a boy, which is a good job really because we were struggling with girls’ names and have been referring to it as he most of the time anyway.

I don’t know why but as soon as I found out I was expecting I had a feeling it was a boy. Neither of us minded what we had but Johnny has started referring to the bump as “my boy” and is already working out when he can buy him his first Brighton and Hove Albion shirt and take him to his first match at The Amex.

Our honeymoon was lovely and relaxing. We were in Bangkok for the first four days and met up with our friends Liza and Dave who have been travelling around Asia since September last year. It was so lovely to see them and as they had been to Thailand before they took us to places they had been to which they loved.

The discomfort with baby started on our third day there. It felt like he’d wedged his head under my ribs and my right side was really tight and uncomfortable.

It got to the point where we had to go back to the hotel on a night out so I could lie down and I was really uncomfortable for about a day before it calmed down.

We flew to Samui for the rest of our honeymoon but five days after we arrived we decided we had better visit the hospital as I hadn’t really felt him move for a couple of days and I was getting really worried.

The taxi journey there was awful. We both sat in silence holding hands while I cried quietly all the way there.

The staff at the hospital were lovely and despite the language barrier were brilliant at explaining everything. I was taken in for a scan almost immediately and they turned the sound on so we could hear is heartbeat straight away.

I cannot describe the relief we both felt as soon as we heard his heart. I’m not a religious person but the first thing I said was “thank you god” before bursting into tears. The thought of anything having happened to him was absolutely horrific.

He’s not even here yet and we both love him so much already.

However, the doctor then said she could feel me having a contraction, which scared the crap out of us both.

We asked her if they were going to get any worse and she said they could be down to a Strep B infection or they might disappear if I started walking around.

Thankfully, an infection was ruled out and it turns out the contractions she was talking about were Braxton Hicks.

I now realise this is what I had experienced in Bangkok. In fact, as I type this my right side has been tightening up. Now I know what they are I am not worried as I know they will go away.

There is also the relief of being back at home and knowing I’m not far from a hospital should I need to go to one.

Baby Parfitt now weighs just over two pounds and my bump is steadily growing outwards. Sleep is becoming increasingly difficult and I spend much of my time while I am in bed feeling pretty uncomfortable.

On my return from honeymoon I had an appointment with the midwife for my 28-week gestational diabetes test and she gave me a pretty strong lecture about breastfeeding.

Of course it is something I want to do but I also know that not all women can if the milk doesn’t come, or they find it very difficult. She was almost militant about it which made me feel like I’d be failing my son if I couldn’t provide for him.

We also saw the obstetrician at the hospital on Monday to discuss getting the baby tested for coeliac’s disease as Johnny is a coeliac and it is a hereditary condition which runs in his family.

We should be able to get him tested once he’s been born and then if he is a coeliac we will be able to manage it properly through diet.

While we were there they gave me another scan just to check everything was ok and it turns out his tummy is further on in growth than his bones by two weeks.

They didn’t seem too worried but we have to go back for another scan a week on Monday to check his growth and then to the antenatal clinic the next day to discuss the results. I’m hoping everything will be fine but it is a bit worrying. But we’ll just have to wait and see.