Closing the circle

Casting my eye back over my blog I realised that I have never written about how I found out I was pregnant. Yesterday the story came full circle, so now seems an apt time to tell it.

I have always wanted to do something that is physically challenging (as if being pregnant isn't challenging enough). I toyed with the idea of rowing the Atlantic (too far and I get seasick), running a marathon (too dull and my knees wouldn't take it) but nothing had grabbed me. That is until a very good friend of mine, D, sent me an email about a crew who were going to paddle an outrigger canoe from Singapore to the equator. As he put in his email, I am one of the few people fit enough and mad enough to be able to do it. I was keen. I had discussed getting the time off with my boss, the Boy wasn't overly chuffed but understood why I wanted to do it and said I could go, I could afford it. I had told sufficient numbers of people I was going to do it, which is my sure fire way of making sure I don't back out. I just had to pay the deposit on Monday morning.

The Boy and I had been trying, a bit half heartedly, to get pregnant. I had come off the pill two months previously but that was about the extent of our efforts. I woke up on the Monday and thought it would be a terrible shame to pay the deposit and find out I was pregnant. So, preparing myself to pop back onto the pill until after the trip, I took a pregnancy test we had lying about in the bathroom from a false alarm a couple of years ago just in case. I didn't entertain the possibility I actually could be.

About 9 months later along came Eve.

I have always felt a bit short changed about the timing. The trip was, by all accounts and photos, amazing and I didn't get to undertake my mad challenge.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday I spent just shy of 5 hours of my life in a double scull with an incredibly good rower and all round top lass, A. We rowed the whole way around Hong Kong Island in the aptly named Around the Island Race - which happens once a year. To say we were ill prepared for this would be an understatement. Our training had all been for the 2k sprint the previous week and A had only been in an ocean rowing boat twice before, one on a one hour training row with me 2 weeks ago and once for a 15 min paddle. We had only thought about doing it at all 3 weeks ago and in our ignorance decided it would be fun to do. This is one of the toughest rowing races there is and we had done, well, no real training for it.

We rowed through one of the busiest harbours in the world (and nearly got hit by a jet powered ferry), surfed up and down 6 ft swells, and A was seasick for about an hour. However one looks at it, the whole thing was insanely stupid. I got out of the boat swearing I would never do it again.

However, today, although I can't really sit down and still have no intention of doing it again, I feel insanely proud. Firstly, proud of A for managing to push through the sea sickness - although I may have mentioned that she merely felt like I did for about 6 months of pregnancy. Proud that we did it with such good humour, in fact proud that we did it at all. Proud that we broke, nay, smashed the previous record for a boat of our class.

But I am most proud that I did this only 10 months after having a baby.

I also don't feel at all bad at missing the paddle trip anymore.

Mother's pride

Of course Eve, at her first Olympics, couldn't sit with the unwashed masses so the family found ourselves with tickets to the family and friends stand - where, as the name suggests, the athletes, their family, friends and rowers from various national associations (like ourselves) sat. It was lovely to be amongst people with a similar passion for rowing.

At one point Eve was doing her usual bouncing when a lovely American lady behind me said "She looks just like my daughter did, great strong legs". We got chatting about babies, breastfeeding (what else?!), and motherhood. She told me how watching Eve was like seeing her own daughter at that age, full of energy and always wanting to be moving. Her pride and love for her daughter was so evident that I found it really touching that not only did she share this with me, but also that she saw the same thing in me and my daughter.

Her daughter went on, the next day, to win a gold medal in the women's eights race.

Flags of our mothers

The Boy, Eve and I are just back from an amazing 4 days in Beijing at the Olympics. Everything you may have read or seen about how incredible the Olympics are in China is true, and more. It is a different city to the one I used to travel to for work 3 years ago, and the pace of change is quite incredible. I could write a long blog entry on the subject, but the blog is about Mummy-hood so I will refrain.

Eve had a lovely time. Being blue eyed and very smiley works wonders in China and everywhere we went Eve was the centre of attention and lapped it up. In Tiannamen square we got a China flag from a passing policeman who was handing them out to children (I kid you not - nationalism is the order of the day at the moment) and stuck it into Eve's carry rucksack thingy. This seemed to make her the most popular attraction in the square. The Forbidden City, Mao's mausoleum both had nothing on the appeal of a small bouncy, rather overheated blue-eyed child holding a China flag. The Boy had to ask one man to stop following us and taking photos, a few people asked if they could, and I am pretty sure Eve will be in some local newspaper or some such grinning like a loon and holding a China flag.

Not content with showing support for the land of her birth, by the time we had got to the rowing finals Eve had swapped for a GB flag (thanks to the Boy's rather boozy night out). We strolled into the venue, flag in hand, only to find she had grabbed the attention of the super yummy GB rower Ed Coode and even got a smile from the glorious multiple gold medal winning Matthew Pinsent.

While the Boy has always maintained that when he is out with Eve she acts as a chick magnet for pretty young Chinese girls I feel she works the same wonders for her Mummy on some seriously talented olympic rowers.

Gold medal mummies

Today I did my first race since I had Eve. It was in a double scull, racing over 2000m, and in stinking hot sun. I had been having a complete panic all week about it because I have not done anything resembling the type of effort required for a rowing race for well over a year and wasn't sure whether I would humiliate myself or even survive the course.

So, it was with some pride that myself and my doubles partner for the day, J, won rather convincingly. It was as we picked up our medals that we realised not only were we a fair few years older than our opposition, but also both had children.

When I got home Eve spent ages looking at the shiny gold medal, rolling it over in her hands and, almost unheard of, didn't try to shove it straight in her mouth. The Boy thinks this is a good sign for her (i.e. his) hopes for the 2024 Olympics.

Racing again

Seminal moment in my return-to-fitness-post-baby effort occurred yesterday, I did a race.

Well, sort of.

It was a time trial lasting about 50 minutes, in my least favourite class of boat (ocean going double scull - like rowing a tank through treacle), with the husband of a very good friend who was too injured to do the race in his outrigger canoe. Sadly the conditions and a couple of physical issues (like me having had a baby less than 4 months ago) were against us and we didn't perform to our full potential. In fact, I was a bit stroppy about the whole thing because given a bit more training and fitness I think we could win rather than coming half way down the pack.

But, it was my first race, and I was properly tired last night, and I have blisters on my hands today to prove it.

Now for some proper rowing...

One for Mummy

I went rowing at the weekend, for the first time since Eve came into my life, and a whole 8 weeks since I was last in a boat. It felt so good, although I had to remind myself what rowing without a bump is supposed to be and try to keep my legs closed as I no longer need to accommodate a large growth on my front.

Then, last night, I sat on the ergo next to LottieP and rowed, lots. When I looked in the mirror I was grinning like a loon, and was far happier on a rowing machine than anyone should be.

And on Saturday I went to a party, a proper party with beer and wine and people and music. Eve came too and gurgled and looked cute while everyone cuddled her, prior to falling asleep. I had a lot of proper adult conversations.

All of these made me very happy.

The home strait

With less than 4 weeks to go, I am finding life increasingly difficult. I need help now, for example, getting out of the car or off the sofa. Only about 3 items of clothing fit me, and they are all work clothes because when I was doing my Bump shopping I seemed to forget that I might spent a couple of weeks prior to the birth not at work and now don't think it is worth spending the money for a couple of weeks of use.

I am not sleeping, despite a fab bean bag sausage thing that S gave me to stick between my knees, and once a night I get cramps in my abdomen, throwing me into a panic about the fact I might be going into labour (as an aside, I read at the weekend that one shouldn't worry unless ones mucous plug has come out - and if you have no intention of ever having children, you don't want to know what that is).

You read in the books that the last month is the hardest, and never quite believe it while variously have your head over the loo (first trimester), loose all your balance and coordination (second trimester), or even when you start to get a bit tired (months 7 and 8). But, I can categorically say that the final month is the worst. You are huge, bored, everything hurts, and don’t get me started on the need to go to the loo every 30 minutes. I am also, to use an Americanism "so over" being kicked all the time, and am convinced that Bump is pretty bored with being stuck inside me as well. I am clearly now heavily pregnant and people at work are starting to look at me nervously as I walk into meetings looking ready to pop.

I was out at lunch with some of my most lovely and glam girlfriends on Sunday, and wished that I too could be drinking champagne, fit into normal sized clothes, and no longer have to do a funny wiggle to shuffle my chair backwards to get out from under the table.

I suppose this is why gestation is 9 months. You get prepared, you get bored, and then you get ready. Having her out will be immeasurably hard, challenging, and sleep deprived. However, I am ready for the next challenge now.

As an aside, I did manage to go rowing on Saturday, and Sunday, so life isn't all bad.

Back on the water

It has been a tough week with lots of uncertainty over my blood pressure, not drinking anything at all (horrid during the Christmas season and on your birthday), and not being able to exercise. So it was with some worry that I set off to Dr D yesterday to find out whether my bp had dropped. I was all prepared to be told it had gone up again and that I would need to go in and have her out before Christmas. I had convinced myself a c-section would be fine, and my sister in law had even called me to tell me how much easier she found the c-section with her second child than the natural birth of her first.

So, it was with some surprise for both me and Dr D that we found the pills have been working brilliantly and not only has my bp stabilised but it has actually fallen back down to the higher end of what is deemed acceptable.

Rather than asking Dr D any sensible questions such as the implications this may now have for the birth, what I should plan for, whether they still might take me in early, I asked the most important question - "Does that mean I can row this weekend then?"

The answer was yes, as long as I take it easy.

Mother's wise words

I am being increasingly convinced, watching more experienced Mums, that there is an unexplainable bond between mother and child (especially daughters) that kicks in at the most appropriate times, regardless of distance and time. How then, to explain the below extract from an email from my Mum, I think written before my posting yesterday?

"If you are wondering what to do with all that spare time after the birth can I remind you that - Jana Rawlinson won the world championships gold medal this year in August for the 400 m hurdles having given birth eight months previously, Liz McColgan won gold in Tokyo in 1991 nine months after first child's birth and Ingrid Kristiansen finished first in 1984 London Marathon, seven months post birthing. This means that we shall look forward to a single sculls attempt at Beijing, a mere 7 months following the birth, but we don't expect the medal necessarily to be a gold one."

Reality bites (or rather, she kicks)

I have been working some fairly long hours recently, and weekends. It's a busy time of year and I have a major project finishing this week, so I've been neglecting all manner of important things (hair, nails, small slave feeding me peeled grapes), but also the love of my life - sport.

So tonight I made it to the gym and have had a happy time flogging myself on the machines. It was lovely. I reminded myself what a rowing machine is, and scarily that I really rather like it, and stepped my way to heaven. Negotiating bump is, as always, amusing. I look something akin to a frog in a mating ritual on the rowing machine (think legs wide open and not at all flattering). Tonight, once she had found herself a comfortable position where she wouldn't get squished, bump happily kicked and jumped along with me while I exercised. It was all rather nice.

But then, as I was getting changed, a frightening thought hit me slap in the face. In 3 months time I won't be able to do this. No more working late and then flogging myself at the gym until I de-stress. No more Saturday mornings rowing then jumping on the motorbike and heading off for a two hour canoe on the sea. Will I ever see a sub 7.30 2k ergo test again (that's for the rowers amongst you)?

I know this might sound odd, and I know that I have had 6 months to get used to the idea of being pregnant and how much my life will change. I know that with the support of the Boy and the luxury of a full time nanny I will have much more of an independent life than most of my friends in other countries. But for some reason tonight, sweating after a session in the gym, it hit me.

Now I am very, very scared.