Now We Are 5

The letter from the local Funeral Services came last Wednesday. Out of the blue. Without warning. I think Karen and I reacted pretty much the same. Shock. An initial inability to process the information contained within.

It's been 5 years since we lost the baby.

Even now we are no wiser as to why or what happened. The post mortem could find nothing wrong at all. His death at 20 weeks was simply put down to unknown causes. It's at that point that you realize that, despite the huge advances made in medical knowledge, the biological act of bringing a child into the world is a patchwork of unknowns and unexplained. The doctors and nurses, the scientists don't have all the answers. Things happen and they are at a loss to prevent, interfere or in anyway explain them.

Life is a chancy thing.

At the time the emotional impact was something like a world destroying meteorite. Karen and I were numb. Our emotional atmosphere flattened out under the weight of this colossal rock of misery that the universe had dropped onto us. Our time in the hospital was a weird blur of camaraderie and fear.

At 20 weeks Karen had no choice but to go through an induced labour. It was both smooth and horrific. And unutterably sad.

Even now I can't go into too much detail about the process. Only that my biggest regret was not looking onto the face of my son because I was too scared about what I might see; what condition he was in. Karen felt the same. It was too much to bear. We were too scared. Our emotions already pulled too tight to cope with being loaded with another tonne of grief.

We weren't able to take in all that the nurses said. I can remember they gave us the option of sending the foetus away for post morten to try and establish the cause of death. I remember this because I still have my half of the form that I had to fill in. We agreed to it. It seemed a good idea. It was a good idea. To try and rule out any congenital problems that might cause any future miscarriages. As I said the results proved nothing either way.

They may have offered us counselling. I can't remember. All I know is there was an implication that once the lab had finished with the post mortem they would dispose of the remains respectfully. The nurses may have given us more information about this; I don't know - my mind is a blur so I'm reluctant to throw blame about here.

So Karen and I left the hospital the next day carrying only our loss. We laid some flowers in a place that is special to us and dealt with our grief. Life was kind. We conceived Tom a couple of years later and now have a very rumbustious little boy on our hands to go with an even more rumbustious 9 year old.

And then the letter from the Funeral Services arrived last week. Would we like to collect the cremated remains of our baby? Or would we like them to hang onto them for a while longer or scatter them for us? All very respectful but a bolt from the blue nonetheless.

We had no idea our son's ashes were lying in an office storeroom somewhere a mere 10 minute's car drive away. No idea at all.

Karen and I didn't have to consider a response. We picked up our son's ashes a couple of days ago. They came in a box so tiny it was obscured by the formal letter that came with it. That was something of a body shock. Even smaller still is the little bag of ash contained within the box. Tiny. So tiny. The box is all of the weight.

Karen and I have decided to buy a tree that we can keep in a beautiful pot in the garden. We shall place the ashes there and keep him with us.

It is good and right to have him home.

Ours.

Us.

Family.

Home

It's been an incredibly busy week in the Herrick-Blake household and we're all pretty shattered. However, it's lovely to have everyone home.

Karen and Tom were allowed to leave the hospital on Friday afternoon and since then we've been acclimatizing Tom to his new surroundings. He was a little freaked out at first - I guess he'd got used to his life on the hospital ward and suddenly everything was different: new sounds (a lot quieter), new smells, new sights. He was quite fractious Friday night but since then has been a lot more calm and settled.

I must admit I never thought I'd be one to go "all soppy" but quite honestly I can sit and look at him for hours and love holding him. Every facial expression is a delight and that goes for every sneeze, gurgle and poo too - the latter seeming to be very hard work for him at the moment!

Anyway, I hereby promise not to let this blog turn into a one-track paean to babyhood and baby rearing - I know such things are not everybody's cup of tea - but please do forgive me if I occasionally lapse into baby-centric rhapsody every now and then...

I'm totally in love!

One From The Ward...

...well not quite!

Baby Thomas Arthur (or Arthur Thomas as we are now vacillating over the name...) was successfully brought forth into the world at 10.41 this morning: 7lb 3.5 oz and as cute as a button.

He had a good feed and then settled down to sleep for much of the afternoon.

Karen is doing well though is incredibly sore and tired and the edge has been taken off her senses by various painkillers.

We're both, however, incredibly happy.

The whole thing happened so unbelievably quickly I still can't get over it. I won't yabber too much about it here right now as I am shattered and need to get Ben sorted out foodwise... just wanted to thank you all, my lovely blog readers, for your warm wishes and support over the last few months. Both Karen and I have really appreciated it and it has made such a huge difference.

Photos will, I promise, follow shortly...

The Day Before

And so we come down to it...

I’m not quite at the panic attack stage yet but I’m definitely experiencing that all pervading ambience known as The Fear. Butterflies, lack of concentration, inexplicable bouts of innumeracy, language failure, lots of trips to the toilet and a general desire to be at home embellishing the nest ready for the baby’s imminent arrival

Karen is the same. Huge excitement mixed with huge anxiety. It’s like looking forward to Christmas but knowing you have to sit a difficult exam at midday. In a word: the collywobbles.

And everything feels somehow different already. The sun brighter. The sky bluer. My stock of clichés larger.

Anyway, I’m currently at work tying up the loose ends and making sure the old place doesn’t fall apart in my absence. Once I’m home this evening work life will officially cease for the duration. Our boy, Ben, is going for a “sleep over” at a friend’s house and, all being well, will join us at the hospital tomorrow afternoon. Karen and I, meanwhile, will prepare ourselves for tomorrow morning. We have to be at the hospital for 8am. I have no other details than that. It could be a very short wait or a very long one.

To re-fashion a well known saying: I could catch a 12 pound trout with my breath...

Pipped At The Post

No, not news of Tom's early arrival but something even more miraculous...

Mr CM has actually paid up! He left a voice message on my mobile phone while I was at Uni (excellent session by the way - think I'm really going to enjoy this course) to say he'd just put the cheque through my letterbox.

And sure enough when I arrived home there it was. The full amount, signed by his own (un)fair hand.

My gob is well and truly smacked. I didn't think this day would ever arrive.

I shall be rushing urgently to the bank tomorrow morning to get it paid in before it turns into a puff of pink smoke blasted from a goofy pixie's bottom pipe. Ker-ching!

Countdown

No, not a paean to twice-nightly Richard Whitely (alas – I’ll save that for another day) but a notification to all interested parties that baby Tom’s arrival is now a mere 7 days away.

The cot bed is ready. The pram is ready. Sleepover arrangements for Son No. 1 are set up and code green. Karen’s hospital bag (complete with food goodies to supplement the hospital slop) is all but zipped up and ready to go. The boy’s school has been notified. Work colleagues are primed. The family are on tenterhooks. The hospital is on permanent and ever-ready standby...

But I don’t feel prepared at all.

It’s weird. It’s not like I’m unaware of what is about to happen (hey, for a guy that’s a big thing) it’s just that I can’t seem to make it feel real. Life at the moment is carrying on much as it always has and all seems perfectly normal. I can’t imagine how things are going to look and feel next week with our family increased to 4 at all.

As this is Karen’s second I guess she has a better idea of what to expect but me – I’m blissfully ignorant. I guess it’s going to be something of an adventure... one that’s going to last a lifetime. But hey – what other kind is there?

I must admit though I’ll be glad when the hospital bit is over – to have Karen and Tom and the boy all safely home again with our feet resting on a big pile of dirty nappies, necking down a cup of tea and wondering if we’ll ever sleep through the night again. That seems a long way off at the moment.

In the interim I’m back at Uni this week – tomorrow in fact: Poetry In English Since 1945. A little bit more up my street after the interminable ravages of the 18th Century novel last term. And a countdown of a different sort is also occurring. The promised money from the untrustworthy Mr CM has until Friday to arrive. Still no sign of it.

My money’s on Tom arriving first...

Rough

Apologies for the delay in posting - for some reason Blogger has been experiencing one or two technical problems and as a result I've been unable to publish sweet FA since the weekend.

Below is the post that I've been trying to publish since Monday morning...

It’s been something of a rough few days.

Karen and I had to head over to the hospital Sunday evening as baby Tom was unusually quiet – enough to get us both quite worried. As soon as we arrived Karen was wired up to a scanning machine for 20 minutes and I’m relieved to say that all proved to be well. Not only that but there are early indications that Tom might try and pre-empt the date set for his Caesarean (9th October)...

We no sooner arrived back home than I found a telephone message from my mother reporting that my granddad had suffered a fall – a result of a high fever and an ulcerated leg – and had been admitted into the very hospital that Karen and I had just come back from! He had a comfortable night but unfortunately took a turn slightly for the worst yesterday. He's reacted against the anti-biotics they've pumped him full of and is now suffering from diarrhoea and an infection.

There was utterly no communication from Mr CM over the entire weekend. To tell you the truth it was no more than I expected and I’d had an email to him drafted up since Saturday morning informing him of my intention to take him to the Small Claims Court if I didn’t receive full payment in 7 days. I was then going to add the court costs onto the amount owing...

As it was, I received a telephone call from him yesterday at the 11th hour - a much more polite and "hey buddy" type of call than Friday's frosty dialogue - and he appeared to completely capitulate. He's asked me to divide the invoice into two separate ones and send a copy of one to himself and the other to his business partner (they're splitting the cost 50/50) and they'll see that I'm paid within the next 7 days.

Hmm. I'm not getting my hopes up too much but my instincts are that my strong stance on Friday may have moved the mountain... I'll wait and see. I've kept a copy of the draft email just in case. It may yet get an airing!

Talking of ignorant and annoying people – I never did hear anything more from the hack from the London Standard so can only assume that the piece I wrote about Nigella was either never used or was used but they couldn’t be arsed to tell me or send me a copy. Either way I’m pretty cheesed off though more disappointed with the lack of manners than the lack of publishing credit.

But as I’ve been feeling as rough as a badger’s arse for the last two days anyway I’ve consoled myself with a couple of sick days off work and have been recuperating by reading, watching TV and generally bumbling around the house in a warm and comfortable fugue… It’s actually been quite blissful.

Doctor Yes Mister No

I’ve had the day off work today to accompany Karen to the hospital for a final scan of baby Thomas. I’m pleased to report that both mother and baby are progressing well and all is on target for Tom’s emergence on October 9th via caesarean section. If it’s good enough for an emperor of Rome it’s good enough for us…

The two-week limit I set my non-paying web client is now up and Mr Chauffeur Man still hasn’t coughed up the dough he owes me. Cue a short but civil email to him this morning that can best be described as “tart”.

Unless his business account is lodged with Northern Rock I’ve requested that the invoice be settled by Friday…

After that the gloves are off.

Sleeplessness

The baby’s not even born yet and I’m suffering sleepless nights!

For well over a fortnight now I’ve been waking up around 5am and just lying there, absolutely exhausted but nevertheless wide-eyed and awake and as far from sleep as it’s possible to get. The cumulative effect is that I am now practically a zombie (though hopefully with less offensive BO) and have the ability to fudge up the most basic of physical actions. Weirdly my thought processes don’t seem to be diminished one iota but then, if you’re already at rock bottom, there is no where else left to fall.

Anyway there are number of external factors which are no doubt exacerbating this state of sleeplessness: my neighbour is a postman and leaves the house around 5.30am every morning and seems unable to do so without stomping down his stairs and slamming the door like Marsha’s enigmatic daughter from Spaced. I’m not yet in a position to confirm or deny that he wears the same stripy stockings as well. My boy is also waking up pre-5.30am and as quiet as he tries to be there’s a vast difference between a 6 year old’s idea of quiet and quiet per se. Anyone with kids will know what I mean.

But in all honesty I think I’m just waking up early due to internal factors. When Karen and I lost the baby last year the experience was pretty horrific and although it turned out that Karen was perfectly safe I nevertheless went through the classic “pacing of the hospital corridors at 4.0am” while Karen was carted off to the operating theatre and for 90 minutes I had no idea what the hell was going on. Since then my love of hospitals and all things medical – always pretty ropey at the best of times – has waned rather drastically to the point I get hives at the mere thought of us having to undergo yet another hospital experience.

And of course, now that the date for the caesarean has been set the clock is ticking and so are my facial muscles.

I know, I know, it’ll all be fine.

But I worry.

Set Dates And Done Deals

Karen saw the hospital consultant this morning and – fingers and toes crossed – we’ve been given a date for the caesarean that Karen has requested to bring young Thomas Arthur into the world.

October 9th has been booked into the diaries of all concerned – about 5 days before the official due so hopefully Karen won’t pop early (her words) and ruin the best laid plans of mice and men.

We have to go for a final scan on September 17th and then it’s just a case of waiting and trying to arrange the logistics so that practical matters run smoothly. It’ll be a first if they do!

Other news: Ben starts his new school tomorrow and in about 45 minutes time Karen and I are off to see our bank manager to reschedule a loan which should free up enough cash to render our current mortgage worries unnecessary...

Like I said: fingers and toes...

Grasping The Nettles

I’ve made a last ditch attempt to get the money I’m owed from Mr Chauffeur Man. His web site has been live for nearly two months now and I still haven’t seen a penny of the £500 that I invoiced him for. On the advice of my friend, Tris, I’ve kept things nice and polite and given him 2 weeks to settle. More than reasonable I think.

However, given that I only ever hear from him when he’s got a complaint or a gripe and then have to put up with an arsey and offensive tone of voice for the duration of the call it’s taken a surprising amount of willpower for me to open up this one line of communication. If truth be known I want this person out of my life ASAP and then never to hear from them again.

But first though I want to be paid! Karen starts her maternity leave on Friday and our belts are going to be cinched damn tight. I just can’t afford to write off £500!

If he doesn’t pay then for the first time ever I think I’m going to have to play hardball and threaten to pull his site. I’ve joked about doing such things in the past (on this here blog) but to really do it feels quite scary. Crossing the Rubicon, I guess. Once I do that then things will get nasty and possibly end up at the small claims court. I’d much rather things were concluded with a modicum of goodwill on both sides.

Onto other matters... and a nettle of a different sort...

What do you do when you discover that one of your regular clients (effectively your bread and butter earner) is plagiarizing other web sites left, right and centre to add content to their own? I’ve had my suspicions for a while but now a little bit of internet research has provided proof... news items nicked word for word from other web sites; technical queries and advice lifted verbatim from an on-line technical advice forum and then pasted as coming from the mouth of one of their own “leading technical experts”... (a man who has trouble with a hot water kettle), fictional awards presented by themselves to themselves in a desperate bid to look legitimate...

It would be almost laughable if it wasn’t so horribly crass.

Thankfully most of this content bypasses me and goes straight into their on-line web magazine which is hosted and engineered by another company but I’m sure this company would not be happy to learn that they are a party, no matter how unwittingly, to intellectual theft.

The question is: what do I do? Do I broach the subject with my clients? Inform this other third party company of what is going on?

I’d effectively be putting my clients out of business.

Or do I just continue to keep my head down and my nose clean as much as I can?

War Of The Roses

Kenilworth Castle

With immaculate timing Karen and I both came down with a 24 hour stomach bug over the Bank Holiday weekend but despite this set-back determinedly set about enjoying ourselves. Karen is now heavily pregnant – 33/34 weeks – and our options for getting out and about are becoming more and more limited so it’s a case of doing what we can when we can.

As Kenilworth Castle was holding a mini War Of The Roses re-enactment event we decided to mooch along and have a gander. We all love Kenilworth – more so than Warwick though the latter is certainly one of the grandest castles in the UK. The trouble with Warwick, I find, is that Tussauds’ have eviscerated the entire place of atmosphere and have stuffed in its stead a money-spinning circus of hi-tech mechanics and theme park quackery. Kenilworth for the most part is a well-preserved ruin and as such retains so much romance and atmosphere that it’s a joy to walk around its walls and battlements just as they are and to let your mind drift back to what once might have occurred there. The boy certainly loves it and always takes a sword along to fight imaginary foes.

Yesterday however the foes were very real. Whatever re-enactment society were performing the honours (I know, I should have endeavoured to find out) certainly threw themselves into their respective roles with gusto and we had fantastic views as the Lancastrians and the Yorkists laid into each other with pike, sword and bill. Volleys of blunt tipped arrows also added to the overall melee though the boy seemed quite disappointed that we weren’t seeing any real bloodshed. However, his usual testosterone fuelled lust for fighting soon quailed when we suggested that he was welcome to engage some of the fully armoured warriors down on the battle field...!

Wise decision. They were an impressive bunch. The women were all magnificently buxom and the men were all mightily bearded.

In fact, Karen and I were consistently mistaken for being two of their number...

"Who spilt my mead?!"

The newly restored Gate House.

Planet Steve

I feel a little bit calmer after the histrionics of the weekend though the whole thing has left a bad taste in my mouth. I’m not sure why it got to me so much. Usually I snarl back and then let it go; move on... but I felt quite poisoned by ‘Saturday’s event’.

I’m sure a lot of it is due to high stress levels at the moment – Karen’s pregnancy is totally exhausting her, I’m under extra pressure at work due to the extended clean-up operation after the flood, I’m still receiving hassles but no money from my horrible web site clients, a shedload of money/mortgage worries, broken sleep... gah! All of it has conspired to make me hyper sensitive and all too easily knocked off my feet by the slightest motion. Planet Steve feels in danger of shattering like a cut glass goblet at any moment. One high C and crash tinkle tinkle smash.

I guess I need to focus on the positive though. Karen is beginning her maternity leave at the end of August – so barely 2 weeks to go and she can rest properly. Her bosses have also been very understanding and supportive which has been a great help. I’ll be a lot happier knowing that she’s resting at home next month I must admit rather than flogging herself at work to the point of collapse. Work and pregnancy are plainly not a great combination for her!

As for my horrible client. Well... it’s been a steep upward curve. It’s taught me a lot about what not to do and who not to work for. Most of all it’s taught me to never ever doubt my gut instincts. Most of all it’s taught me that money should never be the deciding factor in anything. There’s very little I can do now to the site – the last hurdle is just getting the money out of the client and then I can shut my doors on the whole situation for good. I can’t effing wait.

The comments of Mr Anonymous have had one positive effect: they’ve made me review the work I produce and made me decide to be a lot more careful about how I pitch it and who I pitch it to in future. I can’t compete with the big boys and I think it’s important I acknowledge that to myself and to future clients. The people I want to deal with want something modest and affordable – not huge, corporate looking, data collecting web site behemoths. There’s a niche in the market for what I can offer and as long as my clients are happy with what I produce I don’t see that anybody else need throw their opinion into the mix.

Mortgage worries.... Geez. Don’t we all have them? After a good discussion about it all with Karen over the weekend I’m going to shop around and speak to a few banks. See if I can reschedule some loan repayments to free up some income – enough to ensure we have a decent safety margin should interest rates leap up another notch (which seems likely). Where to start is beyond me though. I find the world of finance and banking something of a turn-off and as a consequence my knowledge of such things is minimal.

So, things might still be a bit overcast on Planet Steve but I’m going to do my damnedest to encourage clear, blue skies and green horizons... if I can’t do that then I shall at the very least invest in some decent wellies.

Grumbles

I’m feeling very out of sorts today. Too much stress and pressure being the major contributors.

I seem to have landed myself and my web design business with a couple of real a-hole clients. I won’t go into detail other than to say they are some of the most ignorant, feckless, arrogant, down-right rude people I have ever had to deal with.

I’m now at the stage where I’ve decided that the extra money their work generates just isn’t worth the hassle and trauma that inevitably comes with it. The whole idea of working for myself was to get away from working for idiots.

Anyway, though I could potentially be committing financial suicide (well, not quite – I still have my day job) I’ve decided to give these troublesome clients 2 month’s notice before I withdraw my services. I need and want to spend more time with my family – especially Karen who’s undergoing a very exhausting pregnancy.

The loss of earnings will be painful. But already I feel so much happier in myself, it’s unbelievable.

I’m counting down the days already.

Odds Bodkins

Forgive the lack of cohesion on this post today but it amply reflects how my mind is not working. Mid-week fatigue. Ah. Dontcha just love it.

So to catch up and round down:

The pregnancy continues well in itself though it’s triggering Karen’s latent IBS. This means she’s in pain when she eats, in pain if she doesn’t and can’t ever guarantee a good night’s sleep... hence she’s permanently exhausted. Thankfully her bosses have agreed to let her reduce her hours: she no longer has to work Friday’s. This has made the working week a lot more manageable for her.

The novel continues apace: I shall post another excerpt soon. I’m sure you can all contain yourselves in the meantime.

And lastly, I was sent a link to the Simpson’s movie site (http://www.simpsonsmovie.com/main.html). It’s great – you can make your own Simpson’s cartoon character/avatar. Mine is above. Apart from a few minor discrepancies it looks a lot like me. On a bad day. Or even a good one. He’ll be the one miserably reading a poetry book and sipping a double whisky at the back of Moe’s Bar.

Hey dudes, eat my short.

Tatered

After an extremely busy weekend I feel absolutely done-in. So apologies to anyone expecting a post sparkling with my usual wit and bonhomie. At the moment my eyes are gummed up with fatigue and my brain powered down with the same.

Not a pretty sight. But then I’m not much cop on a good day either.

An eventful day off on Friday saw Karen and I lunching together at a lovely Thai restaurant in Stratford, watching our boy perform in his school assembly and then hotfooting it to the cinema to see Spiderman 3... which I actually enjoyed. I used to get the Spiderman comic as a kid so Spidey always has appeal – Kirsten Dunst is just an added bonus. Mind you I wasn’t sure about her “jazz club singing” in this particular outing. Still easy on the eye often means deaf to the ear...

Saturday was taken over by a phenomenal bout of pregnancy related toothache that afflicted Karen from the outset. Cue various phone calls to NHS Direct, cue endless waiting for unsympathetic doctors to call back and refer us on somewhere else and then somewhere else and then somewhere else that referred us back to the original number. It was like some kind of tortuous dance. Once we’d jumped through enough hoops we were finally allowed to see a doctor at the hospital (by which time Karen was screaming in agony) to get some industrial strength painkillers which could dull the pain and not harm the baby.

God I love the NHS.

Sunday saw us trying to catch up on all we’d missed on Saturday – house chores, gardening chores, shopping chores and in between I did some work on a web site I’ve been commissioned to build for a local chauffeur company. Once it’s completed I will no doubt post a link to it on this ‘ere blog.

And now here I am at work on Monday wondering where the hell the weekend went.

Work is great fun today. All the bad weather last week resulted in leaks bursting forth everywhere and much warping of wood. Guess who’s having to spearhead the clean up / repair operation?

Yep.

I’m in me galoshes once again.

It’s non stop glamour, my life...

It’s A Boy. Probably.

Karen and I went for the 20 week scan at the hospital yesterday… or rather the 21 week scan in our case.

It was quite a nerve-racking ordeal as this was the point last year that we discovered the baby was dead. Hence we didn’t particularly have good associations with the process.

I’m glad to say, however, that all is very well in womb-land and baby is developing nicely. Good strong heartbeat and everything appears to be in order. Obviously there is still a way to go but so far things are looking good.

They also had a look to see if they could determine the gender (at our request). After a bit of nosying around they were pretty sure that 'baby' is a boy.

We’re dead chuffed. To tell the truth, boy or girl we don’t really care as long as they’re fit and healthy and have a penchant for winning the Lottery. Actually that last part is an optional extra. Fit and healthy will be rich enough for us.

Names… names…! Now that we know the sex we’ve been mulling over a few names.

We’ve unfortunately discounted Napoleon and Ludwig. And Anakin too, much to the chagrin of our boy, Ben.

Instead we’ve pretty much settled on Thomas Arthur. But hey, that could all change between now and October (the due date).

Enjoy the scan above. Tom wishes to say “hi”…

Blooming Marvellous

It’s midweek and despite feeling shattered I’m in a pretty good mood.

Karen paid a visit to the midwife yesterday. She’s making weekly visits now so that the midwife can listen to the baby’s heartbeat. I’m glad to say that a very strong, very regular whooshing noise could be heard and all indications are that the pregnancy is progressing well. Obviously after losing the baby last year we’re both experiencing frequent bouts of anxiety over this one and it’s nice to have such regular reassurances from the midwife.

Karen is certainly starting to look very pregnant now and is exhausted by her normal working day. By choice she’s continuing to work for a few more months and then will take off a good year or so after the baby is born to recover. It’s going to mean tight times ahead but it will undoubtedly be worth it.

On the novel front things are also progressing well. I’m now writing chapter 5 and am a healthy 24,812 words into it. My mate, Tris, thinks I’m making good progress from this statistic but having previously only written and published poetry I’m finding it hard to judge the novel’s development. I guess all I can do is plough ahead and try to write as best I can. Sounds a rather mawkish and overly simplified approach but it seems to be working so far.

I took the speculative step of getting some business cards printed up for my web design business this month too. I’ve now taken delivery of 500 self-designed business cards which I shall be releasing into the world forthwith. Hopefully some local computer retailers will see fit to display my sumptuously designed calling cards and then I can sit back and watch as a host of work offers don’t flood in...

And finally Karen and I have booked our summer holiday. We deliberated and cogitated over a week in Paris. We ummed and ahhed over renting a cottage not far from Nantes. But in the end decided on a week in Marazion in Cornwall and have rented a lovely little cottage overlooking the sea. France would have been nice but Karen will be heavily pregnant by then and not up to the discomfort of overnight ferry rides... and to ensure her comfort with a cabin inflated the price of the holiday way beyond the reach of our meagre budget. The train to Paris would have been better but in the end we decided we wanted a relaxing outdoor holiday as opposed to being swept up in the madness of a city. Albeit a very cultured and beautiful one.

So Cornwall it is and France can wait until next year. Or at least until my finances are healthy again!

In The Meantime…

Karen and I are absolutely cream-crackered after spending a glorious weekend just over the Welsh border in Monmouthshire. We have conquered The Great Skirrid and come away with sunburn and our souls replenished as a consequence.

Until I can summon up the energy to toss more wordage into the electronic ether please accept the scan picture below of the little ‘un taken last Monday as a token of my verbal esteem…

Nuchal News

You’ll all be pleased to hear that Karen’s nuchal scan went well on Monday – no sign of any abnormalities and the baby seems to be developing just fine. Nice strong heartbeat and a real wriggler to boot. The blood test results received yesterday evening also backed up all the positive indicators. In fact Karen’s blood test results were like those of a teenager which is pretty damn good going for a something-older-year old.

We also came away with a nice DVD of the scan which makes for amazing viewing – but then I am biased. It’s incredible how much can be seen even at the 12 week stage. Weirdly, spying on this “life-before-life” world felt a little invasive even as it was absolutely compelling. At one moment the baby seemed to cover its face with one of its hands as if to say “leave me alone, this is private”. It was quite humbling.

We have another scan next week and the midwife is going to make a point of regularly listening to the baby’s heartbeat. All this attention is very comforting to be sure and we’ll certainly be lapping up all that they throw at us. One lesson we’ve learned: you can’t be too careful...