It occurred to me on my way to an Alpha meeting last night that I should go all domestic goddess and make cakes for Laurence’s office today. It’s his birthday. So I bought all the ingredients and was ready to get it sorted at 10.45pm when we finally got home.
Nipped to the loo and nature had another plan – to completely freak me out. I’d been bleeding. Not a whole lot but enough to worry a woman late into her second trimester. So I calmly told Laurence I needed to call NHS direct. I ended up speaking to the midwife on call at my delivery suite out in the road because our house has rubbish reception. So she must have been wondering why I was speaking in hushed tones and shivering.
I was trying to be as reasonable as I could manage, not allowing myself to openly worry just yet. She asked if I’d felt the baby move. Uh. I’d been out and about and moving ever since so no. So she advised me to sit for an hour, eat and drink something and feel for movements. Pretty standard advice. So of course, I was then so concentrated on feeling the movements that I was stressed out that there didn’t seem to be as many as usual. How many where there usually? But because there were some and the bleeding had stopped and had been so little to begin with, she reckoned there was no problem.
Even this morning when I woke up I was paranoid about whether the baby was moving as much usual. But I’m sitting here and she’s happily kicking away, completely unaware of that the world around us went spinning last night and that her daddy will be off buying Krispy Kreme Donuts instead of presenting lovingly handcrafted chocolate cake to celebrate turning 30. Not that I think he minds.
Image: Will Clayton