Tricky days and pretty girls.

     Wednesday should of been a piece of piss. I had a 28 week midwife appointment in the morning, then I had to wait in for a gas man in the afternoon. A day off work and everything. The midwife appointment started not so well as it was two new women who I'd never met before one of which although qualified hadn't done any anti natal care for years. After the usual chit chat, blood pressure check, check my pee - which was 'lovely and clear' in case you were wondering I was asked 'have you been getting lots of movement?' to which I replied 'usually yes, but last night and this morning not so much' 'oh well, I'm sure everything's fine, but just pop up on the bed and we'll have a listen' And listen they did. First Mrs Out of Practice had a go, and she did get a heartbeat but every few beats it would miss one so Mrs Proper Midwife had a go and got the same thing. 'I'm sure everything is fine and that he's just moving about a lot (er, did no one hear me when I said I haven't felt him move?) which is why we're not getting a continuous heartbeat, but we'll just arrange a scan to be on the safe side'
    I should of known better to expect Wednesday to be so easy. My plan for lounging/snoozing all afternoon was shot. I had to be at the hospital for two o clock and arrange for the boy to be picked up from school in case I wasn't back in time. (Thank you gobby neighbour for stepping in to the breach.) But firstly I had to phone the other half and in my head this is how the conversation went:
     'Hi honey, nothing to worry about, just come from the midwife's appointment and everything's fine but they are just a little bit worried because he's not moving so much and when they monitored his heartbeat he skipped a couple of beats.'
     Apparently, what I actually said was:
     'Hi, I've got to go for a scan at two o clock because he's not moving very much.
     'YOU WHAT?'
     'Oh, they got a heartbeat, but he kept missing one every now and again, the scan's just to make sure everything's okay.'
     'THEY GOT A HEARTBEAT? YOU COULD OF MENTIONED THAT FIRST WOMAN, MY ARSE WAS PROPERLY NIPPING.'
     'Did I not mention it first? I'm sure I said there was nothing to worry about.'
        'NO. NO YOU DIDN'T. YOU ARE TERRIBLE AT GIVING IMPORTANT NEWS*'
    *tiny voice* 'Sorry.'

     I get off the phone feeling awful for being shit at giving any kind of news and worried because I still haven't felt a good wiggle from bump. And in a crisis you turn to your friends right? Off I waddle to my good friends at the local beauty salon.
    
     Now I don't know about you, but when I was at school girls were divided into very definite cliques. at the top of the popularity pile were the pretty girls. You know the ones I mean, they always had the most fashionable take on a uniform, super short skirts, blouses indecently unbuttoned and ties with a fat knot and worn loose. They were always caked in make up and were good at sports. They walked around with their poodle perms and their pulled up socks like they owned the school. I was not one of those girls. I was the girl in braces, glasses and Doc Martins with band names scrawled across my exercise books getting bullied by those girls. This has left me with a very tainted world view of pretty girls which goes along the lines of that they all think far too much of themselves and generally look down at normal folk in much the same way I look at dog shit on the pavement.

      Back to the local beauty salon. Sian and Clare who work there have become my very good friends over the course of the last three years. Sian did our wedding photos and a rather fantastic job she did too. She has seen me in some very compromising positions - well how else do you get waxed in your private down below bits - and we've shared nights out and nights in together. Last year when I was going slightly mad working in an office by myself I visited them on a daily basis and they kept me sane. And they are both beautiful. Not just in the conventional pretty girl way but inside and out beautiful. They are not bitches like the girls at school and they are female friends like I've never had before. I went to see them on Wednesday and they were as always fantastic and when I was worrying myself sick about the scan, they reassured me that everything would be fine. We chatted for a long while until I remembered I should be at home waiting for the gas man.
      
     There was no sign of having missed the gas man visit when I got home, I was fully expecting one of their snotty notes through the door 'We tried to call at a pre arranged time for your annual service, but you weren't home. YOU CHEEKY BITCH. HOW DARE YOU NOT BE IN WHEN I CALL AT SOME POINT BETWEEN 12 AND 5**'

     I did get to lounge for about ten minutes before the dog reminded me he needed a walk. He does this by pacing up and down then sticking his face in yours and whining so you can smell his hideous stinky fish breath. One waddle around the field later and it was time for the scan. I still hadn't felt any good wiggles from the bump so by now I was properly, properly concerned and with the mantra 'sometimes bad things happen' rolling around in my head like the most fuck awful ear worm ever it was with some trepidation that we set off. The other half had managed to get out of work and as we drove to the hospital he reminded me yet again of my terrible news giving skills. YES, I KNOW. I GET THE MESSAGE, I'M SHIT AT GIVING NEWS. Is what I was thinking, but I just sat clutching my anti natal notes, eyes wide with fear and eventually he realised I was more concerned about the impending scan than my information passing skills.

     The fact that I am writing about this a mere four days after the event means you all know that there is a happy ending. The scan was fine, more than fine. Junior is safe and well and just being a bit lazy like his dad. It has left me with an occasional 'sometimes bad things happen' running through my head. But relief is a fantastic sensation.


* I told my other half that I was pregnant whilst cooking tea one night. There was no preamble, no gentle build up, no sitting on the sofa with a stiff drink at the ready. We were stood by the cooker and while I stirred some chilli I said 'I'm pregnant'. This has NEVER been forgiven.

** I made that last bit up.

Oh, we made it back in time for the gas man so no dying of carbon monoxide poisoning for us.