storbarnsförälder

I had my regular aquanatal class (I love that word, aquanatal - it sounds like a brand name, like Teasmaid) yesterday, and there were over a dozen people there. Before the class, I spoke to one of the other women, while we were sitting at the edge waiting. She's one who swims without getting her hair or makeup wet.

She:I have seven weeks left, and I wish I knew when it was going to happen! Not knowing is driving me insane!
I:(laughing) Well, there's always elective C-section!
She: Yes, but when I said that to them, everyone acted as though I'd said something bad.
I:(stunned silence)

I don't think I've ever met someone who didn't want to avoid C-section at all costs before; the most pro-C-section I've encountered are people who are willing to concede that it might be medically necessary.

A while after the class had started, 12 women bobbing up and down astride u-shaped polystyrene floats of various colours, I noticed that we had a few less refined accents among us, and people were - godhelpus - conversing. Yes, you heard me, conversing. A gaggle of terribly well-arranged blonde-streaked hair women, with makeup, were talking about what a waste of time this class was and how unpleasant the pool was. A few more realistic looking women were remarking on how heavy / fat / tired / unfit they felt, and people commented on babies moving, legs aching, and the temperature of the pool. It was most un-British. I bet they wouldn't dare to do it on the Tube.

Then we had a couple of late arrivals - our first fat person (no surprise; thin people are far more likely to attend a semiclad exercise event, I imagine), and our first black person. This was good - the idea of a classfull of pregnant women in Reading, of all places, and everyone being white, was a bit weird. I was blaming it on antenatal exercise being such a middle-class thing, but I find it hard to believe that there aren't some middle-class black people too. I get nervous in homogenous groups when I know that outside in the street the mix is quite diverse. As far asI could tell, neither new arrival spoke to anyone. This didn't worry me unduly, as no-one spoke to me the first week I was there either; I made a point of saying goodbye to them both, though, since complete ostracism isn't encouraging.

My mother said "I hope you talked to her [the black woman]; you're both foreign, at least." I pointed out that I am, in fact, foreign, but the black woman is probably British for two or three generations if not longer. Of course, I'll talk to her anyway, even if she is British, because she is the only one without a Mothercare maternity swimsuit, which means she has found - da dadada DAAA - a source of clothing for bumpy people.

Yesterday evening, we went over to Janice's again to eat and sort of help packing. The baby woke up and went absolutely berserk at about nine-ish; it didn't settle down again until quite late. It really wants me to stop breathing.

And today, I called the doula people again; they are having trouble finding one in my area who is free to come in April. They are going to try Oxford-based people next, and if that doesn't work, they are running another course in February and may be able to get someone fresh off that course for me. The last option, I think, is that my midwife (all hail the mighty midwife, for she is kind and reassuring above and beyond what the medical profession generally has led me to expect!) knows someone who might do. I really would prefer to have a doula, because she won't panic the way me and Rob probably will.

I am also importing my mother for around the time of the due date, but I can't depend on her being here when the baby decides it's due, really. Plus I'd rather not have her observe the actual birth, for some reason which I could probably analyse if I thought it mattered a damn.

I have placed a bid for something on Ebay, since it's something we need anyway - a Moses basket. I have just enough money saved up to cover it, in the Baby Furnishings Fund, and yesterday the covers from my baby sister's Moses basket showed up; she had them at 12 days old, and they have been used by both my niblings since, and by a half-Swedish baby called Elva.

I'm Rhesus negative, in other words. So strictly speaking my blood has nothing to do with monkeys, but never mind. I have to go get the Anti-D injection (yes, the one that spread HepC all over Ireland a while ago) in 7 and 13 weeks. However, I am assured that there are no side effects whatsoever and that the blood is screened for everything. Plus, I know my blood type - it's O-, which is fab, because I didn't have one before.

I'm going to get the Anti-D because really the risks are very small and the risk of my antibodies rejecting my baby is slightly higher (though still about as much risk as that, say, I'm going to get trampled by a runaway elephant while on my way through Regent's Park in February). I'm also going to change my GP clinic; there's one local to me that is taking new NHS patients and my own clinic is awful beyond measure; it's possible that the only doctor there I haven't yet seen is perfectly good, but since the receptionists really hate letting me make appointments to see her (I didn't get to make a 16/17 week checkup appointment, for example), I can't find out.

Tomorrow I will go to the other clinic and fill in their forms and if possible make an appointment to see a GP in 4 weeks time. I hope they're better; I'd hate not to have found a decent GP by the time the little frog gets out.

We saw the frog again, by the way - the doctor who spoke to me about my RhNeg status and my history of depression had a scanner in her office and used it to check the heartbeat. It's beating :)

Cleaning, then - today I have, so far, cleaned the entire bathroom, except for washing the floor. I haven't washed the floor because I have to clean the kitchen first and then wash both floors together. What I did do was clean the windowsill, both mirrors, the bath (need to get some special spray-on-wipe-off bathcleaner; arms ache), the door, the tiles, the sink and the toilet. It took 35 minutes. I didn't time the bath seperately, but I bet if I had spray-on-wipe-off cleaner, it would knock the total down to 20 minutes. The bathroom, you see, is so small that it never needs to be tidied before cleaning. I wish I knew where to get more Ecover products; all my current supplier stocks is laundry detergent, washing up liquid, and toilet cleaner.

And as to health - my adorable midwife called, because she's wonderful, and told me that my blood tests are back and that I am immune to rubella. Oh, and I am also free from Hep C, Syphilis, and HIV, but I was pretty sure of those. She also told me that she has written to the consultant to see whether they need to speak to me about my history of depression. It's quite reassuring to know that someone will be keeping an eye on me from a distance, in case I miss the symptoms because the hormones make them sufficiently different.

And cleaning again - I'm drinking tea right now, because I am going to tidy the kitchen in chunks before cleaning it. I don't count tidying-time as cleaning-time, since washing up should in theory happen every day. Luckily the dining room and library will be a doddle.