Well slap my face with a wet nappy. Today I am a pre-dad with a twenty-week old foetus, if there is such a thing as a pre-dad. Today, I will be the proud receipient of a black and white grainy image of my future offspring, floating around blissfully unaware of our existence and anticipation. We also get one step closer to seeing if our bump has inherited his father’s nose and the rest of my dashing good looks.
However, it doesn’t seem possible that we are twenty weeks into this thing we call pregnancy. It seems like only yesterday that we did the whole wee on a stick thing. When I say we, I don’t mean me, I’m sure the results would have have been negatively conclusive if I’d volunteered.
‘Look love, this is how you pee on a stick.’
The pregnancy books I have read state that there are many stages to becoming a parent, and in fact, twenty weeks isn’t that far into the process, if you take into account the world-shattering aftermath, when that little bundle of joy enters this place called Earth. But, at the same time we could be half way through giving birth. It’s even more daunting to think we are over half way if junior decides to say hello to us a few days early.
It is a bit of a cliche, but time is running away with us right now. But it seems like an age ago that we had our ‘little secret’. As much as the temptation to tell the world gnawed away at me for the first twelve weeks, I will look back at the formative stages fondly. We had time to adjust to the idea, fully accept it and panic a little before we climbed the metaphorical mountain and screamed our news from the tallest peak. There was something exciting about keeping an element of our life secret, we would spend time thinking how family and friends would react when we told them the news. Towards the end of the twelve week period, it became almost unbearable. Lies upon lies, built up. My wife became an extremely shady character, hiding her secret, not accepting alcoholic beverages, turning down invites to shopping dates and social events, just in case she let slip.
As a couple, we decided to wait until the first scan had been completed before telling everybody. We wanted to make sure that our news would be joyous. Although we knew my wife was pregnant, it didn’t seem real, we demanded evidence. Well, we didn’t really demand, we got a letter through the post that told us to turn up for an appointment, so we did.
The anticipation leading up to the day of the scan was almost unbearable, we wanted to see our future son or daughter now. There was also a lot of anxiety on the day as we both hoped that the scan would run smoothly and we wouldn’t have any nasty surprises awaiting us.
Once we were ushered into the room for the scan to take place, my palms started to leak. I never do well in hospitals at the best of times, so I don’t know how my wife manages to work in one everyday. However, once the scan was under way, all my nerves and anxiety lifted. With a couple of strokes of the sonographer’s magic scanning wand, I was introduced to Master or Miss Carlton for the first time. I was amazed, stunned in fact. When I arrived at the hospital, I didn’t really know what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised when I was presented with a clear picture of my baby, with little tiny arms, long legs like its father and a luxurious mane of ginger hair. ( I made that last bit up) I couldn’t really work out if it looked like either of us, it was a little translucent at the time, and the last time I checked neither myself or my wife had see through skulls.
I was even more impressed when it started dancing and jumping around the screen, when I say dancing, I don’t mean Saturday Night Fever or breakdancing for example. It was just full of life. I didn’t expect to see it somersaulting, I imagined it to be quite a placid environment at these early stages.
Fully satisfied by the scan, the build up to the big announcement was immense. It was one of the most exciting moments of my life so far. It felt like Christmas day every time we told someone. All I needed to do was chop down the tree in the garden, hoist it up in the living room, stick some baby Jesus baubles on the branches, fill it full of chocolate coins because I like them, wear an inordinately thick rollneck jumper and put my wife in a big box, covered in wrapping paper.
‘Surprise, I’m pregnant.’
We would all drink mulled wine and celebrate, apart from my wife who is pregnant (I think I mentioned that she’s pregnant earlier on somewhere in this blog, use the search facility and you might find that particular paragraph.) It was just like Christmas.
Well, I must be off, the Turkey is just coming out the oven and the first glass of wine is being poured.
‘Till I have another grainy picture of my twenty week old baby. Ta Ta.
