Wednesday, 28 May 2008


i don't know why... but everytime i start to write here i always have a real, serious proper reason... but i end up adding as much trivia into it as if to quench the level of seriousness. please forgive me.

the time has come for our 12th week scan. the monumental (one of zillions to come) moments during your parenthood. the 3 "all clear" scan that is supposed to unleash your imagination and your tongue. all clear - and you imagine pushing the pram up portobello road and head for a drink at electric, baby is all pinky peach or olive brown, baby skin just shines at you as you inhale again that baby smell... after the 12th week you're allowed to venture with your thoughts further than: the twelve week scan.

and the 12 week scan can unleash your tongue. in a nice way. your mobile phone bill hits the sky as you call everybody up and say "hey babes, this is going to be a quick one. i am pregnant!" - and then you talk for hours...One of my "hey, i'm preggggo" calls lasted 2 hours as i sat on the pavement by the topshop on oxford street. i felt so young and rebellious sitting next to those 15 year old gorgeous waifs, them discussing skinny jeans and clearasil, me: birth methods. "just do it the classic way, lie down and push so that he can't see your... you know... your bum thingie..." - kate continued to praise the benefits of the old school way.

as i sat by the topshop having kissed my darling husband goodbye as he sped off to work to make those bucks to pay for my "lady who lunches" maternity bonanza, I clenched my 12 week baby scan.

it was a stressful morning. a stressful week. i kept having dialogues with myself. forget monologues. i was almost applying 2 x different voices to counter attack positive against negative. everything will be ok. everything will be ok. you have a beautiful little 6cm baby inside you. healthy. bouncy. happy. no thick neck. no sign of the down syndrome - said the positive voice and continued to reassure me.

our scan was the first one of the day. i wanted to bribe the sonographer, make her smile, pay her a compliment, promise her the latest laboutin shoes in return for positive news, but she didn't seem to be that type.

the room was dark as was her severe haircut. she massaged by belly with the gel, then with the scanny joy stick (whatever you call it) , she frowned, paused her lips in "p", took a deep breath. meanwhile i kept watching the monitor and seeing a litlte bouncy human shape, jumping from one wall to another. i kept sending him " c'mon, you're adorable, healthy, you're just perfect" messages and i squeezed mark's hand tight.

few more circling my stomach with the joy stick, few most amazing cinematographic moments in my life and the verdict of "all looks perfect" ceased my silent but very deep hope, worry, concern, certainty and uncertainty...

funny thing is, i don't know why, but i decided to wear my special boudoir knickers, pretty fluffy pink cabaret number. i wanted to look good, feel good, feel positive, feel happy in PINK!

in case your imagination takes you on a trip round the world - no - i don't have a leather dungeon at home, i don't wear thongs and am actually quite a dull knicker wearer but for my 12 week scan there was no chance for marks & spencers. oh no, baby, when we're talking YOU, we're talking champagne, pink knickers, happiness!

Wednesday, 14 May 2008


how nice. i had one of those blood test, the first big blood test of the pregnancy where they test if you're had chickenbox, rubella and a few other rather significant conditions.

i am pleased to say that i have no HIV or syphilis. Not that I have been particularly active during a sexual revolution (erhhh... which one you may wonder... me too). But you know, that little morbid voice inside your head, the same one that tells you the engine's sounding funny just as you're boarding your plane on a dream honeymoon... the same voice that tells you you'll just ain't going to get that job or that if statistically 1 in 34597340598 people die of no apparent reason so you're going to be that special 34597340598-th.... the same voice was teasing with me "blimey, what if i have something nasty", pages of the catalogue of men shuffles past my eyes, i'm thinking "c'mon, it's ridiculous, i've been so responsible... oh god, have I?"....

it's all media's fault! stupid cosmopolitan which i read 10 years ago and there was an article that this lonely woman found a love of her life, they breathed the same air, they dreamed the same dreams. she was bathing in happiness, he was bathing in with her and their naked bodies danced to the symphony of the Opus called the happy ever after. as the crescendo reached its peak and the music subsided, she became pregnant. rose petals circled around her world to the sound of a light-fingered waltz and she was a woman Fulfilled.

the first scan revealed a healthy bouncy heart thumping away on the screen. he squeezed her hand, she shed a tear. their sense of being special, the chosen ones was almost arrogant.

the blood test followed and she recalled her time off school with chickenpox and sighed in relieved.

when she was flicking through a baby names book, her doctor called. Asked her to come in to his office. pleasantries were hard to notice as she gently sat on his chair. "Ann, I'm afraid to tell you, you've got AIDS"...

a one night stand 10 years earlier tippled the scale of her desination and a great trashy article was born.

equal doses of superficial "streetwiseness" and gloominess were the trademark of my 20ties. As i rocked my chair to the sound of pink floyd and devoured cosmopolitan's lessons of life, i knew i'd never forget that article about Ann, David and Tariq, one night stand man (quite non-politically correct choice of name if i may add)...

anyway, i have NOT got HIV.

i have not been a naughty girl, i have not played with fire, i am so so perfect. the statistics worked the magic... oh the contrary me.

hmmmm... this pregnancy business is quite a serious thing, init...?