A New Life...
Several months later, and the news still hadn't really sunk in for me. Michele was positively glowing and could almost feel the first flutterings of a new life, as her insides changed to do what Nature intended.
But what for me? After telling friends, family and work colleagues that we were expecting, I found out something. Michele was about six weeks pregnant and, in my eagerness to spread the news, it hadn't occurred to me that things might not go to plan. Miscarriage was still a possibility with the horrible thought of us waking up one morning in a pool of blood...
We decided that we could do so much and leave the rest to fate, as it were. So, Michele cut back on her alcohol intake, began taking extra nutrients and suppliments, and I vowed to give up Chinese takeaways.
We also started to get as informed as possible and, together with the book on pregnancy that the GP gave us (along with a very comprehensive health pack), we went out and bought Dr Miriam Stoppard's book. It was funny - the lady I remember for her benignly smiling but otherwise expressionless face, and enormous shoulder pads, was now the author of what would become a Pregnancy Travel Guide for us.
It mentioned all sorts of things, and opened up a whole new vocabulary to me. It ran the whole gamut from conception, through pregancy, through birth and then that mysterious time after.
But that kind of pro-active response still left me lacking in one very important aspect in this pregnancy - any kind of sense of involvment beyond basic empathy. Michele could look forward (?) to feeling a new life grow inside her. I could only see her tummy grow. After several weeks, life pretty much returned to normal for me, and there was only so much enthusiam to be garnered from Dr Stoppard's book.
And then something happened which changed me, brought me into the whole experience. For the first time in weeks and weeks, I was given an inkling of the awesome responsibility to come.
We had the first scan, and I saw my baby for the first time.
But what for me? After telling friends, family and work colleagues that we were expecting, I found out something. Michele was about six weeks pregnant and, in my eagerness to spread the news, it hadn't occurred to me that things might not go to plan. Miscarriage was still a possibility with the horrible thought of us waking up one morning in a pool of blood...
We decided that we could do so much and leave the rest to fate, as it were. So, Michele cut back on her alcohol intake, began taking extra nutrients and suppliments, and I vowed to give up Chinese takeaways.
We also started to get as informed as possible and, together with the book on pregnancy that the GP gave us (along with a very comprehensive health pack), we went out and bought Dr Miriam Stoppard's book. It was funny - the lady I remember for her benignly smiling but otherwise expressionless face, and enormous shoulder pads, was now the author of what would become a Pregnancy Travel Guide for us.
It mentioned all sorts of things, and opened up a whole new vocabulary to me. It ran the whole gamut from conception, through pregancy, through birth and then that mysterious time after.
But that kind of pro-active response still left me lacking in one very important aspect in this pregnancy - any kind of sense of involvment beyond basic empathy. Michele could look forward (?) to feeling a new life grow inside her. I could only see her tummy grow. After several weeks, life pretty much returned to normal for me, and there was only so much enthusiam to be garnered from Dr Stoppard's book.
And then something happened which changed me, brought me into the whole experience. For the first time in weeks and weeks, I was given an inkling of the awesome responsibility to come.
We had the first scan, and I saw my baby for the first time.
posted by Mark Powell | 7:12 PM
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