Universe? Give me a fucking break.

Ah, just when we get to breathe again. This morning another bleed started. It started small. It didn’t stay that way.

And I was just calmly laying in bed, minding my own business.

I rang the ob and spoke to the midwife, explained it was more bright red bleeding, but relatively mild. She said she’d call the ob and get back to me.

Then I rang hub-in-boots at work. Needless to say it ruffled his feathers . And he answered the phone mid laugh with a colleague. Jo on the phone with bad news, again. I’m getting to hate my new job, the bearer of bad tidings. It sucks.

He offered to head home, but I told him to sit tight. Bit panicked he had footy training tonight, on my own til 9.

Rang and changed my “don’t worry about coming over” with mum, to a “yeah would be good to gave some company. The sub text: just in case I’m miscarrying in the toilet and unable to get to the phone. I waited til she drove here safely to tell.

Tried to sleep, listening to news radio. Almost got there. Was woken by the gushing feeling. Again . Rang back the ob. They advised me to sit tight, stay on the same progesterone. Stay in bed. Call or come in or head for casualty if the pain kicks in.

Updated hub-in-boots: the blood is now pissing out. Bad news bear.

I messaged captain complicated pregnancy, who’s such an understanding person, a nice calm voice in a storm , who’s been there, done that, got the t shirt when it comes to shit storms in pregnancy. She came over and stayed a while and broke up the mum time. Mums can be so irritating in a crisis .

I’ve finally plucked up the courage to get up and shower. Still bleeding, I think. Carrying a towel everywhere.

I don’t know what to think now. And I’m fucking over this .

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Quick update

Been to see the ob today. Bub is alive, growing on track, and still has a heart beat. The clot is still visible on ultrasound, but no worse.

We saw the nice midwife today, and the ob was a bit better. He actually made eye contact and cracked a couple of jokes. He may end up ok.

The fact that theres been no fresh bleeds is a good sign it may stabilise. If it does not go again before 16 weeks we should be ok. If we make 13 weeks we are still in a better position.

I’ve had a couple of moments the last three nights where I thought it was about to start again . I hope not.

We’re cancelling everything: the hospital check in, the glucose tol test, the endocrinologist. The only thing that goes ahead is week 12 screening next Monday . I’m back on my back, bed rest again all week . If we end up high risk + invasive tests next week, I’m to have a third week off.

The midwife said if I’m bleeding and need more tests due to risk I may be counselled by the ultrasound specialist to delay until amino if things are not stable Monday. But we’ll see. Maybe the universe will give us a break.

I’ll update this to a proper post later.

And on the 7th day, she rested.

Yep. Still on bedrest. It’s crazy luxury here right now, because I’m sitting up. Madness. Sometimes I sit up for two whole hours a day. I am just waiting for hub-in-boots to get home from his 3 day Australian Football League (Aussie Rules) conference, and as is pretty much standard for AFL things, the flights are delayed. And delayed.

I’ve had babysitters all weekend. The good kind. The kind that bring food and cook and bring giant harddrives full of downloaded TV shows and movies that do not want to be waited on. So I’m all movie’d up. I’ve watched Bad Teacher, I made it through an hour of Bridesmaids (seriously? hideous. And slow! Had to turn it off) and Horrible Bosses (cool). And Our idiot brother (liked it). Choosing all the heavy arthouse dramas, as you can see. And a large marathon of episodes of Modern Family.

It’s been nice having a variety of faces among the visitors, it’s made the time go quickly. It is funny how some friends / family are ‘do-ers”, that jump into action and make soup and cook, and deliver sources of entertainment. Others are empathisers, who are interested more in how I’m feeling than anything else. Others are distancers, kind of standing back and waiting til it passes. I can’t really predict who’ll be what. I guess you need all kinds to get through.

I’m sort of surprised there’s not been a murmur of support or thought from my workmates. It’s a bit weird.

Then there’s the cleaner carer. My sister today has cleaned the venetian blinds in our apartment. and washed clothes. And washed up. Friday she vacuumed. All the big jobs. (She’s also shopped and cooked). It’s weird laying on the lounge while other people cook and fetch and carry.

Still have had some tough days. Australia day (26th) was really hard. I felt really ill. Cramping all day, which sets off the panic and paranoia, which makes the cramping worse. Had some of it last night too, and this morning when I woke up. Sometimes it is kind of stretching pain, but sometimes it feels a bit more sinister. I feel like I can feel the site of the bleed, but it’s possibly just my imagination. Trouble is, too, the pain doesn’t come and go as much when you’re not really moving. It just stays. Spotting on and off and on and off, no real bleeding. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.

The horrible thing is feeling like I’m on high alert a lot of them time. It is tiring. I have a consciousness now that this thing could turn on a dime, that I could be sitting surfing the net one minute, and in a casualty ward in another. That pregnancy can be taken away so bloody quickly. I don’t feel that I can relax into being pregnant again. And the IVF counsellor was right when she said that although we did not experience, at least yet, the pregnancy loss we had feared, we did lose the experience of a relaxed pregnancy. And that is a loss, and like all losses it generates a lot of complex emotions. I am wondering, if this continues ok, at what point I can be a pregnant woman, and buy baby clothes or nursery furniture, without fear of having to pack it away at some point after a loss. At what point can I think about my due date again? It is hard to be mentally prepared for both possibilities, especially without the outlet of exercise, or other activities, or even leaving the house.

I have these moments where I wish it would just happen. It sounds like a terrible thing to say, but I think if I’m going to miscarry, every extra day, every extra emotional investment in this outcome, makes the experience of loss harder. It is cruel. If it is going to end, I wish it would end, and stop wasting our hope. It would be nice to have a point and which I could breathe out again.

Tomorrow we go to the obstetrician again in the afternoon. We are 11 weeks and 1 day now. Tomorrow we find out if we still have a heartbeat, if gumby is still growing to plan, and if the blood clot has got better, got worse, or stayed the same. I’m hopeful, but the waiting isn’t always easy.

Mum’s the word

Well here goes bed rest, day 2. Day 1 wasn’t too bad, but the best thing was an amazing night’s sleep. I thought I may struggle to sleep, after doing sweet FA all day, but my body feels worn out and I slept better than I have in a week.

I tried to structure my day to make it more bearable. In the morning I jumped up (ok, maybe it was more like hobbled out) after Hub-in-boots left, having given me fruit and cereal in bed. I had a shower, got changed, got my lollies
(the progesterone pessaries are wrapped in pink foil, they look like an exciting sweet), and was back in bed In half an hour.

I then pissed about on my iPhone and read (Gabriel Garcia Marquez and I are still in a titanic struggle)and tried to nap when I got panicky, until just before 1. And then, crazy days, I moved to the couch. Oh the madness. I whacked the cricket on as background noise and lay there after my healthy lunch, and read.

Thankfully my sister and my niece came over with my nieces niece , a funny little three year old girl, to break up the afternoon, complete with my dictatorial sms’d shopping list. They wandered in and out of the place and fished off the jetty. Kept me amused. Wasn’t long after that that hub in boots got home.

Hub in boots came home, and brought me two sets of new pjs, that not only fit perfectly but were really comfy. Very very thoughtful. And flowers. He also cooked a lovely dinner. He still seems a bit overwhelmed, and I think he can’t figure out what to do about AFL this weekend. He has a 3 day away conference. I think his thing is, he really wants and needs to go, and he needs to escape from this situation for a while, but what if something really bad happens, and he’s not here? What happens is I go to hospital, and he gets a flight back. We can burn that bridge if we get to it.

Today I was supposed to go and see the counsellor at ivf. I made the appointment Monday , as I figured with the weekend’s events I’d need a debrief. I was planning on breaking curfew for it, and driving the 10 minutes over there, but yesterday decided that was a bad idea. I’ve changed it to a phone session now.

My head alternates between totally cool, really stressed and worried, and hopeful. When it’s stressed I have to work hard to distract myself quickly , or I get caught in a catastrophising loop (what’s that cramp? Oh geez we’re gonna miscarry. I know it. And now we’ve wasted four months. And we’ve lost the baby, and I liked the baby!. And I’m 40. I’ll be 41. And my fertility is dropping. And we’ll end up with no kids. And the frozen embryos won’t work. And we’ll have to go through all the waiting again. And I’ll end up with depression and…..). Yeah you get the picture.

This morning’s obsession is I need to change obstetricians . He’s an asshole. I trust him, medically, but he does not treat me as a person who wishes to be informed about my own care. I have decided to postpone this decision until after the week 12 screening tests, assuming we make it that far. After all, given its getting on in weeks, it may be that no one else can fit us in, anyway. I just want someone who sees me as a person, who acknowledges my emotional and intellectual experience of pregnancy as being part of the overall medical picture. But like I said, now is not the time to be shopping around, and postponing the worry is a pretty effective strategy usually.

My other worry is the week 12 glucose tolerance test. My appt with my endocrinologist is on the 7th of feb, so the test must be a few days before. I do not want to put my body and my baby thru the GTT at this point in time. It is, after all, a challenge test, designed to test limits. So I need to call his offices today and get that one sorted.

I’m still having spotting, off and on, and cramping, off and on, but it’s pretty muscular, not usually period pain like. Trying to ignore it all and not overanalyse.

Boring blog posts this week, I’m afraid, but I’m trying to avoid any more dramatic events, and emptying my head onto a page helps.

A shitty Multiple choice

So we saw the ob today, after yesterday’s insanity. The good news is gumby is still alive, waving arms around, and still has a heartbeat, loud and clear. Ultrasound was very clear, But we didn’t get the pictures.

The ob is pretty abrupt. Good, but abrupt. I don’t think I like him, but I do trust him. And maybe a clinical non empathic approach is easier to wear at the moment.

*there WILL be more bleeding
*the edge of the placenta is bleeding, and there’s a clot next to it
*if the bleeding has lots of period pain, it will be a miscarriage
*if the bleeding continues after 16 weeks (16-20) it is likely to lead to placental abruption and preterm labor
*i’m having two weeks off work, the first week not leaving the house, bed rest
*double the progesterone pessaries to stabilise the endometrium
*the placenta may grow and absorb the clot, leaving a scar, then everything should be ok
*the clot may bleed out, then it should be ok provided the placenta does not detach in the process
* sub chorionic haematoma risk factors =first pregnancy,maternal age, ivf, diabetes. So I’m 40, first pregnancy, ivf, and I have insulin resistance. Bugger.
*no exercise, no lifting
*any questions?

At this point I just sat with my mouth open. Stunned mullet. Ditto hub in boots. I’m really tired and drained, and I’m over analysing every little twinge and cramp. I am not sure what to do with myself.

Hub in boots, after running around for two hrs doing housework, is still googling prams. The steel craft surf is the flavour of the day….

Project Lazurus

Just imagine my surprise this morning in my sleepless blog posting, when I hit “post”, sat on the couch for a few minutes, then felt an amazing gushing. Not an emotional “oh aint it sweet”, oh no, a physical (sorry about the tmi) “what is happening in my pants”.

About 6 minutes and two pads later (yes really), we were armed with a towel and in the car on our way to Royal North Shore hospital Emergency. On the inside, I was kind of calm. I knew what was going on, I always knew it was a risk. It was pretty clear what was going on. I woke hub-in-boots up with such a start I had to sit him down before he dressed, as he leapt out of bed then turned white as a ghost.

On the outside, though, once I’d made it back to the car armed with towels I suddenly thought of, I started this amazing howling. It was like an old part of my brain kicked in and just wailed. Part of me was sitting there going “what the F*** are you doing? Wailing is not gonna fix this. We know what’s happening. Don’t be melodramatic. Be cool.” But the rational part could not stop this godawful noise. Old brain is tough. Hub in boots did very well keeping one hand on my knee and one on the steering wheel.

He dropped me off at the door and I hurried inside, clutching my old towel. The male nurse on triage was amazingly nice. Probably owing to the shocker reputation the hospital had for a while after nearly losing a woman in the toilets with a miscarriage. They could not have been nicer. I was seriously in a bed with a hot blanket, a loo and a buzzer within 5 minutes.

We were seen by a nurse, then waited a while for a doctor. Another trip to the loo, big clots. Not pretty. It was looking like a scene from Dexter. I couldn’t get enough fluid down my throat. Still can’t. I alternated between quiet crying, noisy crying and just staring into space. Hub in boots did lots of back rubbing. I just kept saying We were so bloody close. So close to 13 weeks. I don’t want to do this all over again. I don’t want to go back to the start, and do IVF, and wait for tests, and wait for the first scan, and wait, and wait and wait. I don’t WANT a different due date. I want THIS one.

I knew full well what was happening. I didn’t hold any hope at all. NOTHING could survive this level of bleeding and clotting. Seriously.

And we waited.

The younger doctor, Kelly, came in. She was lovely, told me she understood how I felt, she’d been through one herself. Ran us through what they would do (possible drip, fluids, blood tests, referral to early pregnancy clinic for follow up later in the week). She put in a giant needle canula (apparently because of the blood loss in case they needed it later). It hurt like hell. And bled like hell! As if there wasn’t enough coming out! She said they probably would not do an ultrasound today (which was what we really wanted), but she’d talk to a registrar. Talked about the possibility of a curette at some point, but that they usually went the wait and see with threatened miscarriage. Showed hub-in-boots where to make a precious cup of tea. We were psyched for a miscarriage, a go home and wait it out, and a later visit to a clinic in the week.

Well halfway through my cup of tea, she came in and grabbed it, and said, “nope. You’re not having that. Spoke to my registrar and there’s a possibility of an ultrasound and maybe a curette today. Because you’re Dr M’s patient. And because of IVF so you could start again sooner. So no drink for a while.”

At this point, with surgery a real possibility, we realised it was time to ring family.

Next in line was the head ultrasound guy. He was lovely. Could not have been nicer. So empathic it was incredible. He was showing the young doctor how to do the ultrasound, and talked us through exactly what they were looking for, and what it could and couldn’t show. That is, we may see nothing no baby, but everything may be fine. We may see a heartbeat, but everything could be still about to go pear shaped. Ok.

And five seconds later, there was gumby. Not just alive, but clear as a bell. Waving it’s arms each with five little fingers around SO MUCH that he couldn’t get a fix on the heartrate. “Well um, your fetus is definitely alive.” Hub in boots could see, and I could not, but I could not care less. Because they were all smiling. I was just getting my head around a miscarriage. WHAT THE HELL am I supposed to feel now?

The heartbeat was a little fast at 170. Geez, there’s a surprise with freaked out mum on board with every bit of adrenaline pumping. A heartbeat? Are you guys serious? Neither of us could close our mouths. We were both stunned. They turned the screen around, and there was gumby. A little person. Clear as day. Doing a mexican wave, the arms going back and forth and back and forth.

They scanned all my organs, and they could see what’s called a subchorionic haematoma. It’s a bleed or haemorrhage adjacent to the gestational sac. In my case a small one. Well I’d hate to see the blood from a large one.

Next in line was the ONG person (I think that’s what they’re called. Obstetric, Neonatal, Gynaecological specialist). She took a full history and had a prod around my abdomen. Still absolutely no pain. Plenty of panic, though.

Fourth or fifth in line was the ONG registrar. Very reassuring. “I think you’re going to be fine. I’d be surprised if you got to 10 weeks and this caused a miscarriage. A clot can cause the placenta to come away from the uterine wall, and then a miscarriage will occur, but because you have lots of bleeding but no pain, and because you’re already 10 weeks, I think it’s going to be fine. I don’t want you do worry. Now don’t be a hero, if you get pain, if you get heavier or more bleeding you come straight back and see us. But I think this will just go away. The baby’s fine.”

Well bugger me.

Doctor 3 ONG came back, and she brought the speculum trolley. Oh joy. Hello lady, do you realise it’s kind of messy down there? She didn’t bat an eyelid. Had a look at my cervix, the final hurdle today, and it was long and closed. All good.

We waited out the blood test results (pretty ok I think), got the canula out, got our letter, and we were ok to go home.

TMI WARNING I was really thankful I’d read Kaz Cooke‘s brilliant “up the duff” book. She advised to keep anything you’d bled on for the doctors to look at and/or analyse. Gross!, I thought, at the time I read it. But it turns out, Exhibits A and B were pretty popular with the docs. Turns out, they prefer to make their own assessment of how heavy bleeding and clotting is, they don’t want to just rely on slightly hysterical first time mum. Which is fair. I have to say I was really glad I’d read it, and followed it, as “wrong” as it is. It seemed to help with their diagnosis. I was totally grossed out, they were really glad I’d thought of it. I only put it here because some time you might be with a friend in this situation. And I think it’s something women should know, and based on my experience, maybe it could help with the accuracy of diagnoses. It is another piece of information in the puzzle.

I’m also amazed at the difference having an Obs name and the IVF clinics name and being a private patient made. We were facing coming home to wait for days, so certain we’d lost the pregnancy, and instead came home after seeing 4 doctors, with still heavy levels of panic, BUT a visual imprint of the best thing I have EVER seen. Our supposedly “terminated fetus” waving it’s arms around wildly. Hello! I’m still in here!

Somehow, I’d even feel better about a miscarriage knowing that the fetus was so real and alive and there, that we’d done what we could.

We’ve waited out today either in bed or on the couch. I haven’t slept much; my head won’t shut up enough to really sleep. We’ve watched a bit of tennis. I ate twisties. I drank three cups of tea (unheard of in this pregnancy). I was careful to have a good breakfast and lunch. I cannot TELL you how many litres of water I’ve drunk. It must be 5, and I’m still thirsty. I’ve alternated between feeling like I could just expire, and feeling ok, then go back to almost expiring again. I feel washed out. Hub-in-boots is exhausted and stunned in equal measures. (He’s still googling cars).

We both know I’m now probably crazy high risk. We both know it could still go really wrong at any minute, the minute pain starts, or more gushing. I am going mental with every little twinge, but trying not to. And we’ll be lucky if we make another week. We know that. I’ve told work I probably won’t be in this week and I’m just staying in bed. I don’t care.

And now, here’s the list of ridiculous things that went through my head in hospital as being the cause of the miscarriage:

  • doing the nutbush at a 50th birthday party (ie dancing, thanks Tina Turner)
  • still going to boxercise.
  • sipping Stew’s wine once before we got our positive test
  • eating a buffet at a party on Friday
  • going out two nights in a row
  • eating Thai
  • Eating too much
  • Not eating enough
  • Not getting morning sickness
  • Not being relaxed enough
  • being 40
  • accidentally sampling brownie cake mix that had raw egg in it
  • wearing jeans (wtf?)
  • still taking medication my doctor told me to keep taking
  • telling people before I was 13 weeks against the clinic’s orders. This apparently makes you deserve a miscarriage, and people will go “yeah I knew she shouldn’t tell people before 13 weeks”.

Don’t know what the hell heads do, sometimes. Good to acknowledge it all as completely ridiculous.

Grover is sitting on the couch with Hub-in-boots wondering what all the fuss is about. Project Supergrover almost flew into a wall today. We’ve picked up my bed, and walked, and like Lazurus, we’re still kicking.

And waving our new little arms, and beating little hearts, and waiting.

Peekaboo

The sleeplessness is back again. Last night I lay in bed and wrestled with it for hours; tonight I promised myself if it came back I would do half an hour in bed then get up. Now I’m breaking the rules by having ‘screen time’ (it only enhances the wakefulness, apparently), but a book and I are just not going to agree right now. I’ve had four hours. Maybe my baby is trying to get me ready for what’s to come. I’m reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez‘s “Love in the time of Cholera“. It’s one of those classics that you know you should read, I love the characters, but it is it suitable for baby brain? The sentences are long and torturous for my new simplified mind, which is sometimes enjoyable in a novel, but in this case just interrupts the suspension of belief. It seems I am never just in the story but instead reading a piece of writing. Reading as a writer is often like that, but it is just not what I need right now.  Having read many extracts for courses over the years, I wonder how much is Marquez himself, and how much is translation. It’s a little like watching an Arnold Swarzenegger film with a dubbed voice. I mean, I’ve watched Arnie movies in spanish and korean, and I have to ask, are you really getting it?

We had thai with friends last night. I was busting for a nice meal out after two weeks away with “what’s the quickest road to dinner” farm cooking for most nights. Trouble is, it’s just sitting there. You’d want to make sure you REALLY want that meal when you’re pregnant. After all, you’re going to be tasting it 57 times. Broccoli was back on the acceptable list last night and tasted good, thai steak (crying tiger) and pork belly resulted in a run-out-of-the-restaurant reaction. It was even hard to sit at the table and smell it.

So enough about me, this post is actually about hub-in-boots. Blame the intro on 5am brain. When hub-in-boots first got the news, he seemed pretty disconnected, nonchalant even. He didn’t say a great deal beyond the initial reaction. A week or so later, he seemed to be spending an awfully long time on his computer. With men, this often only means one thing….but no, it was not internet porn, it was volvos. Hub-in-boots was processing the news in the only way he knew how : he was planning a change in car. He was a little furtive about this. I only realised when he’d left his laptop on and I need to look something up.

Now Hub-in-boots drives an old Mazda (eunos) Mx-5 convertible, in bright blue. He is not a volvo kind of guy. I shudder at the thought. But apparently, if you’re a new expecting dad, this is what you should look up. Wtf? After laughing at him uproariously for several weeks, I’ve kind of got used to the obsesssive googling of car sites. I google “risks of spotting in early pregnancy”, he googles “volvo”. Men have simple worlds. I read housebrick sized What to Expect if you’re expecting, he reads articles on car safety. I think, just quietly, he’s trying to find the perfect vehicle that can meld his Clark Kent with his Superman. He wants to be the man about town in the funky vehicle with a life; he needs to be a man who is comfortable his newborn is safe. With no money, it’s not an easy ask.

I’ve tried to explain to him that my four door focus sedan is perfectly fine for gumby and associated paraphenalia, and that if I am breastfeeding there just aint gonna be much time that’s he’s off on his own with bubs for quite a while whilst I am out on the town shopping and laughing it up. So as long as we have one car that does the trick, he can keep pooncing about in his convertible. But no, new identity, new car. I think I’m finally getting it, after laughing at him for weeks.

Well this week we’ve had a development. Someone out there in marketing world is very clever. They’ve realised out of all the equipment and bits n bobs you buy for bub, the pram is most like a car. That’s why they have brands of pram that also come in formula one cars. You may not own a McClaren, but here’s a McLaren pram. You’re chasing the dream, mate.

And all of a sudden, up the farm on holidays, taking shelter from the heat outside at lunch, I start getting these funny comments from the table, as Gabriel Garcia Marquez and I struggle to get along on the couch:

“Have you seen these?”

“what?”

“Bugaboos. They’re really funky.”

“What?”  I know perfectly well what a Bugaboo is (I’ve never seen one), but I’m a little astounded we’re having this conversation. Yes. They’re a pram the price of an airfare to Venice. D at boxing was going to get one, and S at boxing said if he got the latte holder attachment, she’d never speak to him again. I think he got it.”

“No no, they’re not prams, they’re travel systems”

WTF? I am instantly texting my mum and sister. I have to share this hilarious and slightly out of body hub in boots moment.

“Oh, ok.”

“I can’t decide between the black and red, it’s really funky, and the black and tan. oooh. There’s yellow!”

what are we, fighting some kind of IRA war here? Black and tan? We’re down to colours? Yellow? That’s your ferrari you’re talking about, not your pram. That’s a ferrari yellow.

I really like this one, the Cameleon. Have a look. It’s really funky. It’s got that thing, that bassinet, so you can transfer gumby without waking them. It’s a good idea. Look, there’s a slide show. It shows you all the different configurations”  Like a convertible.

“Ok babe. Sounds good. They seem a bit cheaper on Ebay.”

“Yeah. I like em.”

I return to Gabriel Marcia Marquez, and he returns to Ebay. 15 minutes passes.

“Well that’s pretty cool”

“What’s that babe?”

“Toni Collette had one. A Cameleon. See, she got the red and black. I told you it was funky.’

So you’re telling me we care what Toni Collette had, pram wise. okaaaay. Who are you again?

Oh. But Naomi Watts had one. She STUNK in King Kong. Maybe we can’t get a Cameleon. Might have to be a different Bugaboo.” stunned silience. “OH well that ruins that plan. Claudia Schiffer had one. You know if she married Brains from the Thunderbirds, she’d be Claudia Schiffer-Brains?” hub in boots is back to bad jokes and laughing hysterically at his own humour. Sounds like he’s still in there.

“Have you got that other pregnancy magazine? See, this chick here got a Bugaboo, and she really rated it. Where did that other magazine go?”  ok this is getting really weird now. He’s on holidays, he has the latest edition of Octane, and he’s reading Cosmo pregnancy magazine. Seriously WTF?

The pram googling went on for several HOURS.

I think I’ve figured it out, though. I think for women, there’s a baby growing inside you. Sometimes you may not believe it’s real, but every burp, fart, stretching pain, dizziness, everything won’t let you forget it. So you read books about what is happening in there. There’s nothing to see, from the outside yet. Apart from weird boob and spots like a teenager (yuk).

But for men, in the early days, unless their holding hair back while the little woman is projectile vomiting, there’s not a lot going on. It’s not that real. The hearbeat, that’s real. The ultrasounds are a little “oh look at the freaky sea monkey, it has a tail”, it’s not that real. So maybe, just maybe, men make it real through the stuff they’re going to need. Comments such as yeah, that red and black one, I can see me pushing that, well I guess that’s hub-in-boots making the whole experience real.

Hilarious? Sure, Touching? You bet. But real.