Scans and broken legs

We returned to South Africa two days ago to be greeted by a humpback whale in Muizenberg bay and a selection of curious baboons whilst walking in Tokai.  Our three week tour of the UK took in Edinburgh, Manchester, London and Oxfordshire where we visited cousins, aunts, friends, parents and new babies. Busy, but good.

 No sooner had we come blinking and red eyed into Heathrow after a sleepless night-flight than the rioters spread their unseemly way through the majority of the cities we planned to visit. But neither the looting nor the rain detracted from how good it feels to be home after a long time, to see friends and family, and to have that mixture of familiarity and novelty at once again seeing swans and green parks and tasting the tepid meat of a Gregg’s pasty. The novelty part, however, was short lived and after about a day it felt like we had never left.  

TGP was delighted to be fussed and petted from all sides and squealed at cows and sheep as we drove through the countryside, having presumably forgotten such things existed.   Around six weeks ago he broke his leg by standing on an innocent looking toy car in our front room that zipped away from under him, and he had to all but learn to walk again during our UK visit, happily limping from house to house and soaking up attention as he went. I must say though that considering how many different places we stayed he behaved very well, which is fortunate for me as I have discovered that it is hard to discipline a child who is limping without looking and feeling entirely evil. For three weeks TGP wore an immobilising full-leg cast, which was horrific for all. After much red tape our medical insurance company (Discovery Healthcare) decided not to pay for the treatment as they said that the Emergency Room in a hospital is not part of the hospital itself.  Be thankful that you have not had to listen to the full version of that rant as many times as TGP or AA, but also please be thankful for free healthcare.

Starting with Edinburgh, in the full soggy throws of the festival, we worked our way down to London and back up again. The further South we got the younger the children TGP met, and therefore the gentler he was instructed to be. There were cousins between the ages of three months and nineteen years, second and first, ginger and otherwise, new and otherwise, finally culminating with a boxer dog on the way up through Manchester again. With relief TGP curled up on the rug next to the (jowly and unimpressed) boxer dog whilst he kept a safe distance from the smaller of the babies muttering ‘’Gentle, gentle” to himself under his breath, as a personal reminder. One night I even heard him telling himself to be gentle in his sleep. All good practice since, as some of you already know, he is to become a big brother next year.

So I can now reveal that whilst TGP was bum-sliding across the floor in his cast his Mummy was puking. And then puking some more. Many of you have already heard in vivid detail about how bad the puking has been this time around and those even less fortunate have actually seen it (Strangers have also seen it; the revellers of the Edinburgh festival, the residents of Muizenberg). So if you haven’t heard from me for a while it is because TGP was immobile, I was medicating my way through almost three months of self-pity and AA was in denial about the whole thing. Ordinarily it is harder for fathers to be in denial the second time around but AA seems to be pulling it off. To be fair TGP and I cannot have been the greatest company lately.

Tempting as it is I won’t say “that’s the hard part done” (because all the mothers reading this will snigger) but at 16 weeks I can tentatively say that the puking seems to have stopped, just as the bump is beginning to show, and things are looking a whole lot rosier. As I ease into the second trimester, and bigger clothes, AA can emerge from denial and we can all start to feel properly excited about the little mite due to be born on the 22^nd of Feb next year, a leap year incidentally. In the meantime we still need to find somewhere for us all to live when we leave this place in December and hopefully find a replacement for Dr Sinister, my current Gyny/Obstetrician, who I foolishly opted for without a recommendation. He ‘up-sells’ scans (sometimes as little as two weeks apart) and tells me horrific stories about his other patients.

We will also be finding out if it is to be a boy or girl at 20 weeks this time around, an option that wasn’t available with my first pregnancy.  In spite of my 100% failure rate at gender guessing (having been fairly sure that TGP was to be female) I have a feeling that this time I am carrying a girl. If I’m right  I have all the left over girls names from the first time around, and if I’m wrong I have all the left over clothes, so either way it’s all good.