“Promise me, you will not spend so much time treading water and trying to keep your head above the waves that you forget, truly forget, how much you have always loved to swim.” – Tyler Knott Gregson

I know what you look like. I’ve seen you. I’ve held you. I know how real you are. I know you have little nails… fingers and toes that grab and curl. You can recognise my voice. You are perfectly created, but still too fragile to bear this world. Law only now recognises your existence.  Legally you are considered a ‘baby’, no longer “just a foetus”. I am 20 weeks. You are 20 weeks. Over the 20 weeks you’ve made me relive and withstand all the things I have wanted to drown. How much I have desperately wanted to drown. Next week I can officially say I’ve never been this pregnant before. Uncharted territory awaits. It’s you and me, kid. “I’m only 20 weeks”. If only they knew. I imagine holding you in my arms as you flutter in my belly. I know what you look like. I’ve seen you. I’ve held you. I’m going to have to remember how to swim. Maybe, Little One…maybe we can learn together.

 “Sometimes it’s ok if the only thing you did today was breathe”

“Sometimes the best thing that you can do is not think, not wonder, not imagine and not obsess. Just breathe and have faith that everything will work out for the best.”

Everything won’t stop growing. I’ve resorted to all my ‘stretchy’ clothes and have been on the shopping venture to purchase maternity bras. Oh my… that was definitely a venture! It took 4 stores and trying on every possible brand to find one that actually fit properly, and with help from the lovely shop assistant, I have left with a supported bust but an empty wallet. 

The next few weeks are going to be interesting. My morphology scan is scheduled and I know I’m only a few weeks from moving into uncharted territory. The morphology ultrasound is usually the ‘exciting’ scan conducted anywhere between 17-20 weeks. This is usually when couples have the ‘finding out gender’ debate. Time to work out your grand announcement! A reveal cake? “He or she? Open to see!” Or maybe a box filled with blue/pink balloons to release into the wilderness? It is also usually the last time a couple sees their baby on screen before they meet in person. 

I feel sick. Even though we’ve already had a ‘type’ of morphology ultrasound during the early anomaly scan, it still doesn’t feel any easier. Also, we already know we’re having a boy, so the anticipation doesn’t apply this time ’round. Despite all this, I keep finding myself replaying the eager discussion I had with hubby before the morphology scan last time; “A boy or a girl? How exciting! We can finally go shopping!” The predictions, the anticipation, the imagination that escaped us when thinking of who the little he or she would be and what we would do with them. I remember being asked if we were going to find out? Of course we are! I remember being asked if we had a preference. Huh? I’ve made predications, but a preference?

Umm… I’ll take the healthy one, thanks! Yeah, yeah… you’ve heard it a million times before, “I just want a healthy baby, that’s all that matters”. But truthfully now… what are you hoping for? Of course you want the healthy one. No one wishes for anything other than health, do they?… but do you want a boy first to protect his younger siblings? Or a girl first to mother her brothers and sisters to come? Do you want one of each? Or maybe girl, boy, girl, boy? Or maybe 2 boys and 1 girl like your family…?

Huh? No really. It sounds absurd but I’m sure you’ve heard these conversations countless times. We make, well what I thought, were light-hearted predictions, but the whole concept of gender preferences baffled me. People actually proactively trying to achieve a gender with the diets and positions and hopes for either a boy or a girl. The endless advice of doing it this way and eat this at that time. Some even going abroad to dabble in gender selection technologies. Each to their own, I guess. Actually, to be completely honest, I always thought couples that were so eager for a particular gender were just ungrateful.

 It wasn’t until I came across an article one day that brought some insight into this thing called “Gender Disappointment” or “Boy-Girl Blues” that I realised maybe this was actually a real thing and not just pretentious narcissists being precious. As I discreetly tucked my judges wig away, I actually feel extremely blessed to not be a victim of such feelings of resentment or disappointment. The truth is gender preference is actually the rule and not the exception. No amount of mummy shaming can change the fact that it is completely ‘normal’ to feel some form of hope that your offspring will be of a specific gender, which in turn can be followed by disappointment. The clause is, however, that such desires need to be recognised merely as ‘feelings’ and not a reality of true loss. Very deep, doctor man. Like all things, a root cause is always to blame for such disappointments regarding gender, and couples should “work to understand the source of their disappointment”. From what I’ve read, it seems that the first point of blame for such feelings is our wonderful imaginations. We let it run wild, dreaming of birth orders and what will make our family unit complete. Imagining baby boys and girls with brothers and sisters, frilly dresses and rockets ships, dance recitals and soccer matches.

It’s also said that preconceived notions about gender exacerbate disappointments, but who is to blame for that? Well, all of us, I guess. Maybe we all are the root cause for Gender Disappointment? The praise when mothers finally give birth to a boy after having all girls (or vice versa). The sighs of “another one” or “better luck next time” when ones blessed with all daughters or all sons. The comments of “you can stop now” when “lucky” couples have one of each. The pressures people feel to live up to family or personal expectations…

“…to carry the name”,

“…to have a sisters like I did”,

“…to have a relationship like I have with my mum”,

“…so I’ll be looked after in my old age”,

“…to complete our family”

“… to have a mate for life”

The amount of pressure to live up to both these societal and personal expectations is unfair (and this is without even diving into cultural pressures! That’s a thesis in itself). You would think that in this day and age we’d be at a place where we could truly say without any sway of biased hope, I just want a healthy one. Another smart doctor lady said, “The problem is we put too much stress on gender… Once the child is born, you will fall in love with the individual… sex doesn’t matter… because little boys and little girls all have varying attributes”. Amen, sister. We need to stop listening to those comments that “boys are a handful” and “girls are difficult” and imagine the attributes you want to see in your child. Why can’t a daughter go fishing or ride bikes with Dad? Why can’t a son be thoughtful and considerate? In the long run, it would be nice to have everything how we’ve imagined it, but does it really bother you to have a brood of healthy, active children, despite their gender…? Or are we really just being ungrateful? I know for sure, all I want is the healthy, living, breathing one.

As the scan day arrives, everything is the same as last time, however, there is no quiet joy bouncing from the walls this time. There are no quiet feelings of excitement or wonder. There is just a despondent knowing that these next few weeks will either make me or break me. Please have mercy. Please be ok. Please be healthy.

The scan shows everything is well. Bub is still a boy and the doc feels it’s necessary to reprint a photo for proof. I guess this is the only appropriate time to be carrying around a photo of testicles? Get the blue ready, but don’t get it out quite yet. 

“Stop waiting for Friday, for Summer, for someone to fall in love with you, for life. Happiness is achieved when you stop waiting for it and make the most of the moment you are now in.”

*Smart doctor man= Dr. Joshua Coleman, Ph.D.

*Smart doctor lady= Dr. Ruth Wilf, CNM, Ph.D.

“We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for out journey” – Kenji Miyazawa

My over the top obsession with research has reared is head again, so much so I think I’m ready to write a thesis. Not only has “doctor google” managed to diagnose every little physical niggle with some ‘far out there’ condition, I have also revived my hunt for the best baby product currently available. I’ve already examined and sought the right advice on all my essential baby needs and have compiled a detailed list of my ‘must-haves’. Safety ratings for the top-end car seats, pram functionality and adaptability, along with all the latest safety studies on sleeping arrangements and gear. Never you mind, I haven’t forgotten about the smaller details either! My latest prey: belly balms.

Article after article I read glowing endorsements from stunning, unscarred, flawless celebrity mothers swearing by each and every product. Some have even designed their own specialty lines to take advantage of the outrages vulnerabilities of soon to be mothers. Seriously…? A tiny tub of belly balm promising to prevent any evidence of an overstretched belly is how much? I need the accompanying exfoliator too? It’s a joke, right? I sift through endless pages of lotions, creams and oils all promising that I too can look like Miranda. “The best way to avoid stretch marks is to use…” Ah, correction please. The BEST way to AVOID stretch marks is to AVOID a stretching stomach. End of discussion. 

Regardless, I know hydration (and genetics) is the key, and generally, it’s a good guide to stay clear from the highly marketed brands whom make their money by convincing the impressionable to pay up for the easily accessible ‘cheap and nasties’ (pie-o soil and charmers sound familiar?) With all those types out of the way, I’ve assembled a short list and now have to weigh up which products are worth the investment. Yes, an investment in the future ‘supple-ness’ of my post-baby skin (*Insert eccentric hysterical laugh here*) At the end of the day, I really don’t care if I look like a human zebra. I’m happy to join the belly stretched club, but it doesn’t mean I won’t give it a go to prevent it. C’mon, we all can be a little shallow sometimes. Luckily, water is free, and I drink copious amounts of it to satisfy my apparent unquenchable thirst. Hydration: tick. On the product front, the humble pantry coconut oil wins out (with a dabble in Bert’s Bee’s belly balm) and it’s been incorporated into my daily activities. Weet-Bix with preaches (think of the folate!), followed by my Pregnancy and Breastfeeding Multivitamin, accompanied with a thin layer of coconut oil rubbed onto the tum. Afternoon sees psyllium husk with liquid fish oil ending with a thick lather of coconut oil from neck to knee. What has my life become? I’m a high fibre, hydrated, oily ball.

Once this life altering decision has been made, I can now move onto the next thing on my list. It’s a never-ending cycle. You see, knowledge is power. The more power I have, the more control I can enforce. The more control I can enforce, the less likely anything can go wrong. It’s flawed logic, but it gets me through the days. You would think since the news has come out, that I now wouldn’t need to hold my breath, but I’m still starved of oxygen. Maybe I’ll catch my breath after the next scan? Maybe once I’ve reached 21 weeks? Maybe once he’s born? Maybe never?

It’s the 29^th January 2013. Today marks my official first day in my permanent role at work. Today marks my first public outing with my belly on full display. Today is my first practise of having it all together. Today marks the week a year ago when I told hubby I was pregnant the first time. Today marks my 26^th birthday. I never make birthday fuss and the greatest thing about your birthday falling on the first day of the school term is that no one remembers. But also, the worst thing about your birthday falling on the first day of term is that no one remembers. As I return home with my tiny violin playing on my left shoulder I don’t feel worthy of celebrating. I reopen my computer and I again resume my research … drown my sorrow with words… with information… with forums and discussions… drown out the fear, the disappointment.

I’m so alone… until… 

… that all so familiar feeling engulfs me. The little fluttering bubbles… a rolling tap that fills me with both dread and elation. Hello Little One. I lather my growing belly again in coconut oil. I smell delicious. Maybe I’m not so alone after all. 

 “For every woman unhappy with her postpartum marks, is another who wishes she had them”