The deadliest, jelliest site ever. Brought to you by Niamh Shaw

Recently, many of my friends – mainly mothers from my playcentre and coffee groups – started being grievously afflicted with pregnancy again.

Of course I was thrilled for each of them, but I was surprised how hard I took it.

You see, I only ever wanted one child. Just one. I’m not greedy – unless we’re talking about profiteroles. And Finn is so much more than I ever wanted or dreamed of.

But I found myself assailed with regret that I’m so old and gnarly and limited of options; and nostalgia for Finn’s rapidly disappearing babyhood. It feels like just days ago a minutes-old miniature human was laid across my chest WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT WAS 18 MONTHS HAS THERE BEEN SOME CATACLYSMIC RUPTURE IN THE SPACE-TIME CONTINUUM?

But worst was the terrible, crushing grief that I would never again look into the eyes of my child for the first time, or have my newborn nestle into the crook of my neck, or nurse a baby in the still, enchanted hours when the rest of the world is asleep.

Husband finally noticed the inexplicable weeping – or the notable build-up of soggy tissues. “We could always try for another,” he suggested helplessly.

And perhaps if I were a decade younger and hadn’t been clinically infertile for most of those years, the conversation might have lasted longer than a croissant and cup of coffee.

I didn’t feel ‘trying for another’ was amongst my/our limited options.

Instead, I focused on the positives of having an only child – the freedom; never having to arbitrate arguments over who gets to sit in the passenger seat of the car – which was pretty effective. Also, I mercilessly tormented my pregnant friends about how their lives were effectively over.

So in May, when I found out I was with child, it was – to apply my gift for understatement – rather literally a shock to the system.

I hadn’t been feeling well: exhaustion and an inspecific nausea that came and never really went. ‘It feels almost like . . . morning sickness,’ I remarked to Her Goatiness, quickly appending ‘HAHAHA!’ to emphasize how outrageous the suggestion was.

If nothing else, I should have instantly recognized my pathological aversion to caffeine, since the only time that happened before was when pregnant with Finn. Yet it was only weeks later, when I checked my diary, that I considered gestation as a possible cause.

I felt entirely foolish buying a pregnancy test kit, and didn’t mention it to Andrew because, I mean, really. The whole notion was just so PREPOSTEROUS. I recalled reading a magazine once – probably Women’s Weekly – with an article titled: ‘I thought I was pregnant, but it turned out to be a uterine tumour!’, so I figured that was much more likely.

When two lines appeared on the pregnancy test stick, I had to revert to the instructions several times. Because no matter how many times I reread the sentence, ‘Double lines are an indication of pregnancy’, it still didn’t make any sense.

When it finally did, I toppled off the toilet seat. (Gave my head a nasty bang off the corner of the bath.)

Well I had to tell SOMEONE and figured it should probably be Andrew and since he was on a business trip, I Skyped him.

Me> I’ve got news. You should sit.

Andrew (warily but not half wary enough)> Oh yes?

Me> I want to show you something.

Andrew> Um . . . what . . . IS that?

Me> It’s a pregnancy test stick.

Andrew> Ok. Why are you showing it to me?

Me> Because it’s positive.

Andrew> Oh.

Andrew> Whose is it?

Me> Whose do you THINK? It’s MINE! I’m hardly going to be sitting in our living room holding someone else’s wee-soaked stick, am I?

Andrew> Wow.

Andrew> Woah.

Andrew> Hey, congratulations!


Comments on: "More options than you might think" (7)

  1. Tremendous news! Congratulations to you and Andrew! Just imagine all of the new opportunities to terrorize wee little folk! Very best wishes from Canada!

  2. Oh my word – this is wonderful news. Congratulations to you both. I’m really excited for you. Wow wow wow. Words are failing me. Once they return I’ll send a proper message.

  3. deadlyjelly said:

    Thank you! 😀 FG, I can’t tell you how much I relish what will hopefully be a banquet of new opportunities to terrorise wee folk. And old folk; I don’t like to discriminate.

    Cian, I was rendered speechless for about three weeks so I fully understand the words failure. I think I was kind of shell-shocked for about a month. We’re pretty excited about it now – well, Husband was pretty much thrilled with himself as soon as I broke the news – but realised the other day that I’d hit the 20 week mark and OMG BABY ALERT!


  4. Wow. Congratulations!

    You’ll be, I know, only marginally less thrilled to hear that my Other Half is in the same condition, albeit slightly more advanced, so I can continue to pull seniority on you as a parent.

    Enjoy pregnancy, again. Blog more often once you get your power of expression back.

  5. It just occurred to me. Poor Andrew will have to endure another round of ‘pregnancy brain’.

  6. deadlyjelly said:

    Aw Vet, big fat CONGRATULATIONS!!! to you and Susan, I’m so thrilled for you. Guess that explains the shortage of blog posts recently 🙂 Yes, yes, I know I’m hardly one to talk/write.

    FG – I don’t think I ever fully recovered from the pregnancy brain . . . I thought people were just being mean when they said it was a permanent condition. SUCKS.


  7. Anonymous said:

    Ah Niamh, this is a wonderful news. Congratulations to you and to Andrew. Second baby is a wonderful experience.

    We were blessed with our second child 2 and a half months ago.

    An old friend of your from Jinny days.

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

Tag Cloud

%d bloggers like this: