If you read Pregnancy Week 19 then you may have come back looking for Pregnancy Week 20 and been disappointed, because it wouldn’t have been here. I had a bit of a crisis of confidence, wondering whether I really did want to record all of my thoughts for everyone to see. Not that I know whether anyone has seen them. I also thought it might be more prudent to just shift all of my pregnancy posts over onto my main website, to make it easy for all of my lovely readers who don’t want to have to skip about all over the internet looking for my words.
But no; rambles and diary entries are staying right here. Bigger, feature-length posts and anything beauty or fashion related will be over on A Model Recommends. One of the main reasons that the rambling posts are over here is this: pure laziness. If they went onto the main site, I’d have to find pretty pictures for everything, otherwise it cocks my homepage up; here, I have sneakily made it look like a newspaper so I need only use the odd black and white photo to illustrate my writing. Clever, eh? Providing photography for my main site is a whole job in itself, and, once baby arrives, I can’t imagine I’ll want to be doing it for one website let alone two!
What happened in week 20, then? Well, for one thing I sat obsessing over the fact that I hadn’t felt any baby movements yet. No flutters, no churnings, nothing. I put it down to the fact that I had an anterior placenta (placenta covering the front wall of the womb) and sometimes it takes longer to feel movement. But then, my sonographer at the 20 week scan said that my placenta had moved to the top! I was mildly comforted by seeing baby moving about on the scan screen, but he/she wasn’t ridiculously active and I did have to seek reassurance thirty, or perhaps forty times, that everything inside the Crilly Uterus was fine. It was.
I was so nervous waiting for my scan; the twelve week (I actually had it at thirteen) scan was nerve-free, because I’d paid for a private one about four days previously and knew everything was fine. (No, I’m not mad, I went for an extra one so that I could take scan pics with me for my birthday celebration weekend back in late November!) But anyway, yes, more nervous for week 20 – especially as the poor girl before me came out crying. Flat tummy, so I assumed a twelve-weeker, and looking distraught with her Mum holding her arm, so I assumed bad news. My heart went out to her – I had to look at the ceiling to put the tears back in. (My own “bad news” scan, a few years ago now, was a private one at eleven and a half weeks, but I remember it as though it were yesterday. One of the worst days of my life, I think.)
After the scan, I had promised myself a trip to Mothercare to buy the first babygro, but it still felt too early and so off we went, instead, to the bathroom shop to look at wall-hung toilets. My life is nothing if not incredibly interesting. I was hankering after a banana milkshake from McDonalds, but managed to resist, stuffing down, instead, one of those Nakd cereal bars that look like compressed turd. Fruity, but distinctly unappealing to look at.
Something to note, in week 20 (I realise I’m writing this a week late, as I’m 21+1 today, but bear with as I’m trying to remember everything): every woman who has given birth is desperate to tell you their birthing horror story. Cords round necks, split vaginas, bowels that no longer poo efficiently and labours that saw them mooing like stuck cows in a cattle grid. From a pregnant lady to all previously pregnant ladies: please do not tell me your stories. You’re messing with my zen.