The night before the big London scan, I went out with my friends for Halloween. We dressed up as Kiss (minus Spaceman - she couldn't get it off work) and while we were standing in the queue to get into Chameleon, the group of boys behind us awkwardly tried to chat us up. One of them seemed to know Charlie and kept putting his arm round us, probably more to keep himself upright than anything else - he kept saying he was sober, but he could barely string a sentence together and practically fell on his arse when the queue moved forward and he lost his balance. Because he nearly fell into me, Heather and Charlie formed a cute protective barrier around me and told them to watch where they were going. Once they'd cottoned on I was pregnant, they stopped trying to impress us with their amazing wit and creative attempts at Halloween outfits (a ripped t shirt) and started shouting instead. "What's she doing in the queue?!" "That's gross" and my personal favourite, "I actually thought you were hot until I found that out", which was rich coming from a guy with acne of the entire head and 'Mug' written on his cheek in green felt tip.
Once we were inside, I spent all night with my hands firmly attached to my bump (except for when Gangnam Style was played), and although I still had a good time, I couldn't help worrying that I was going to do myself or the baby some kind of harm. By the time I was home, I was quite glad to be leaving that scene behind, at least for the rest of my pregnancy. I only really felt safe in the pub.
Work became increasingly difficult too, as I got bigger. I literally couldn't bend down to pick up a glass, so every time I served someone, I'd have to kind of slowly lower myself into a squat with all the grace of an elephant about to do a poo. I probably looked like I was pretending to be in an imaginary lift. I certainly got a few laughs, whether I wanted them or not (I didn't). The punters kept asking me whether I should even be working, and seemed surprised when I explained I was only 4 months pregnant. Apparently I looked bigger than that. Let me tell you, you never tire of hearing that...
Thankfully, the scan at Guys Hospital showed that the baby's heart was completely healthy. We didn't get to find out what we were having, as they didn't routinely check for the sex of the baby, but I doubt we would have got to find out anyway as the baby would absolutely not stop moving! The sonographer found it funny at first, chuckling at my wriggling stomach and calling it a cheeky little bubba, but after about 40 minutes of chasing it around while my tummy was bouncing up and down, I could tell she was losing her patience. Once she'd stopped swearing, she said everything was fine and the heart and surrounding valves looked normal, which was a big relief.
Then came the long awaited 21 week scan - the one that told us whether we were having a boy or a girl! I had my money on it being a little girl. Even though the odds strongly suggested we'd have a boy, since Ben and I both have 4 brothers and no sisters, I just kept picturing a baby girl in my arms. I was wrong, as usual! When the sonographer asked if we wanted to know the sex and we said yes, she replied "Oh, well there you go - he's flashing you! It's a boy, no mistake!". I wasn't prepared to feel so emotional. I don't think Ben was either, because we both looked at each other, laughed, said "Of course it is!" and started welling up. I was amazed. I absolutely fell in love with the tiny little boy on the sonogram. I could make out his head, arms and legs, and a dinky little bottom. I was ecstatic my baby had an identity now. Once I knew he was a boy, I felt like I'd really known all along. But maybe that's just because I don't like being wrong.
Christmas came pretty soon after that, and it was even more exciting than usual. I kept imagining what next Christmas would be like, with a little person in the family again, hysterically ripping up wrapping paper and bashing bits of roast dinner off of his highchair table. I pictured it being like how Christmasses were when I was a kid, except being old enough to also appreciate a glass of mulled wine/bucks fizz/ mint baileys (the only downside to being pregnant at Christmas - no alcohol) and having the joy of watching your own baby happily playing with their presents. Once Christmas was over, I went into serious countdown mode. 3 months and counting! I thought it'd fly by... again, I was wrong.
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