PINK KNICKERS

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!