Murphy’s Law of Holidays

Hi guys yes it’s been ages no I’m not dead nor have I eloped with Johnny Depp or Jennifer Lawrence (or both) (yet).

I was in the south of France, which may sound exotic and fancy to those of you living in Rainy Tory Land aka One Or Another Of My Pals Is Gonna V For Vendetta Your Shit If This Carries On Much Longer (right after this cuppa + digestive). To me, South of France = where my parents live. Seperately. Which is for the best, I promise you.

It wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had visiting them, because we saw my grandparents. My grandma is now in a hospice with dementia brought on by a series of strokes plus brain tumour (now removed), while my granddad is spiralling into depression at the prospect of having to live without her. Still, at least I got to see them and tell them both in person that I’m pregnant, which news they’ve been waiting for for years. My grandma was overjoyed about it until she got distracted. Personally, after what I’d heard of her condition, I was just happy she recognised all of us.

Both my parents (who I can’t see ever growing old, never mind dying) were very happy to see me. My dad bought me one of those big pregnancy guides and a “my first…” baby book you can fill in. My mum took me shopping and got me some much-needed maternity shorts, pants and a swimming costume. My two little sisters competed fiercely as to who could fangirl the most over my belly. And I had no nausea except during the last two days.

Unfortunately, this was the week everyone back home in Belgium decided to ring us with urgent business (hence the title of this blog), so today so far has been pretty hectic. I’ve had a morphology scan, rung the creche to find out that yes we are on the waiting list, booked myself in for four prenatal info sessions (most of which seem to occur just after my gynocologist appointments, which is ok but I’ll have to prepare dinner for us to eat in the car between appointments), tried and failed to ring up for prenatal prep sessions, a social security appointment, and to tell the student loan people I’m no longer a student (what is it with people and working mornings only?), contacted an English friend for details as to when she’s coming over and this one girl off facebook who’s selling me some wool for really cheap, and I have another scan tonight, with my gynocologist this time. And that’s just MY to-do list. Bf is taking care of flat- and job-hunting, which are just two of the most time-consuming things in the world.

I think there’s also a Murphy’s Law of Echography Scans, which I will illustrate hence: this morning’s morphology scan was at the hospital where I’m supposedly going to give birth. The appointment was made well in advance, and the hospital in question is half an hour’s drive away. It was raining. There was a very slow truck in front of us. We were late, and stressed out. We needn’t have worried though because we still had to wait. During the twenty minute wait, my daughter woke up and started wriggling around, only to stop just before we were called into the room. When the doctor tried to scan her, we realised she’d put herself in the least practical position for the scan, lying across my womb with her hand in front of her face. We could see her spine and ribcage really well. Her heart and brain? Not so much. The doctor tried poking her (and me) repeatedly to get her to move, but she just turned her head, as though asking “what do YOU want?”

Stubborn as her parents.

Still, the doc’s not worried. We just have to come back in three weeks for another scan, and hope she’s in a better position. In the meantime, we have another scan (at my gynocologist’s appointment) this evening.

Oh, and she did move eventually. When we got home. T_T


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s