Tag: Pregnancy

A grain of rice

Posted on by Kilian Ateh

– 6:21 pm

On Thursday, your mother and I went in for your first scan, to make sure you were coming along OK. We left home at about half two-ish towards Oxford Circus, getting on the Victoria line from Vauxhall. I suggested we walk through Carnaby Street so I could see what shops had remained from my time working at Lee Jeans.

Most of them had left, probably bust with the free-falling economy. The COVID era has been a terrible time for people and businesses. Rich or poor, no one has been spared. I hear there’s a new variant now, Omicron. Blimey! I wonder if it will be talked about as much by the time you are able to read or formulate sentences. Either way, you should know it was a devastating historical event. I would know. I felt its impact directly, with your grandmother.

From being the birthplace of Swinging London in the 1960’s, the home of Mods, Skinheads, Punks and New Romantics to the street style tribes of today. Carnaby has and always will be the epicentre of culture and lifestyle in London’s West End.

That probably explains why Christmas decorations always looked better on Carnaby Street, artsier, than anywhere else in Central London. The same article says it gets its name from Karnaby House, the first house built on the street.

1665 was the year of The Great Plague. ‘Pesthouses’ were built for plague victims, the first one in London being on Carnaby Street.

We took a left before the end of the street and walked straight down, onto Berwick Street. We popped into a Clarks so I could “touch and feel” some Originals I’d seen online. It looked different in hand. We then went to Duck & Rice. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been there. Generally, if I’ve got time in the area, it’s a near must. We’d have to return after your scan however, the kitchen hadn’t re-opened post-lunch.

Your mother has been eating a lot lately. I suspect you might have something to do with that. So unsurprisingly, she was quite famished. We left to find a coffee shop and found a Gails. A friend of mine (whom I admittedly haven’t spoken to in a while) Imran, and I used to frequent the one just behind the Blue Fin building when we worked at HSBC. It’s probably still there.

Your mother ordered a quiche and some tea. I took a black decaf. Any milk or sugar would break my fast. We got a six doughnut box at Crosstown before deciding to walk to the clinic. Maps is quoting 18 mins.

The Portland Hospital gave us new face masks and had our temperatures taken when we got there. Liza had to fill in some paperwork before we could be seated. Not long after, her name came out the hallway and we were behind closed doors moments later.

I sat down quietly facing the screen as the doctor summoned her orchestra of tools and machines I’d never seen before. I observed passively, equally elated and amazed the entire time. We got to see you onscreen and hear your heartbeat. You were doing just fine. Granted you were no bigger than a grain of rice at this point, magnified about a million times bigger. It was a brief but very memorable encounter.

A few flights of stairs from there and we were in another doctor’s office, Dr Erskine. I was later told she’s half French. I tied that to the beautiful blouse she was wearing. Her office also had lime green walls which I surprisingly really liked. And I was mid-telling her how much I did when I noticed a piece of art on her wall, stunning. Behind me on the left were shelves of baby pictures, a tonne of them, probably (and hopefully) from happy parents. She has three kids herself. “I don’t even remember the third pregnancy,” she said, “it was all a haze”.

She explained the dos and don’ts of pregnancy, with a sonically calming tone. For the most part, I was again silent while she played tennis with your mother. Liza had a list of questions that were answered before they could be asked, bar a few. So the sit-down was shorter than I expected.

I remember “…you’re not out of the woods yet. At 6 weeks, a miscarriage is still possible and normal”. I also remember “Folic acid”. Liza has to take Folic acid. As you grow and develop, we’d have to come back for more tests and scans. If there are any pitfalls we can avoid, we’ll do our very best.

This is your first ultrasound

Jeans, it’s getting difficult

Posted on by Kilian Ateh

– 9:34 pm

Your mother is the type of person who wears shorts in January and winces about being cold, albeit indoors. Today she walked past in a shirt, a cardigan and no pants saying, “it’s getting difficult to wear jeans these days”. This time, however, I don’t think it’s got anything to do with the weather. You’re just getting bigger.

We’re getting ready for the airport, Gatwick. Your maternal grandmother is visiting so we’re going to pick her up.

Blech!

Posted on by Kilian Ateh

– 12:12 am

Your first Christmas was uneventful, nothing to report.

Tonight’s been tough for your mother though. She’s complaining about being nauseous and hungry, at the same time. What a bizarre predicament. I feel for her. She googled around and it seems a common symptom among other pregnancies. I found this thread on what to expect. And it checks out. Pretzels, dry cereal, ice-cold watermelons, and popsicles are recommended remedies. She just ordered some crackers on Amazon. I hope for her sake it helps. There’s nothing else I (or anyone) can do about it.

The end of carnivore road

Posted on by Kilian Ateh

– 9:54 pm

It’s official. There will be no more steaks in this house, not for a while. Your mother’s out-of-nowhere meat “allergy” has reached Everest. A descent isn’t imminent either, not any time soon. In addition, she now has the nose of a bloodhound. She can smell a t-bone in Mumbai. And it makes her want to puke. I just found out how bad.

Earlier today, I made sure to warn her I was seasoning a steak so she wouldn’t come downstairs until I was done. Hell, I even hid it in storage (under the stairs) with the hoover, tools and cleaning products so she wouldn’t be triggered by the sight of it. I did everything I could to mentally prepare her for it. But despite all that, she’s just tried to kill me for sizzling 450g of meat. I apparently don’t understand her. Lol!

It’s clearly not what she meant but her rant came across as though I was doing this on purpose, some narcissistic ploy to make her suffer. I didn’t like it. She wanted to know the ingredients I used – “What did you put on it?”, “Are you using butter or olive oil…?” And on and on.

Even though we’d been licking our fingers to salt and peppered steaks for years now, the five-minute process had eluded her and suddenly become a great unsolved mystery. I was bewildered. There are times I wish we had a second home. This was a reminder of that unaccomplished life goal.

I’ve since learned how to prevent a bush from burning. You simply douse the fire while it’s small and not yet out of your control. So I remained calm, understanding and level-toned. It shall be well. It’s just hormones. Just ride with it.

It’s been a while

Posted on by Kilian Ateh

– 6:27 am

I am recapping from seat 5A on a Brussels airline heading to Douala, Cameroon. From the corner of my eye, the aisle is silent but busy with people. Most of them head down into their boarding passes, and only looking up to find their seat numbers. The sun is bleeding in from the window on my left. It’s quite the picture.

My alarm went off at 3:30 am and I’ve been up ever since. Addison Lee bailed on me this morning. Not only did the driver not turn up without notice or warning, but they also charged me for the service they didn’t provide. I’ll have that fight when I get back. I don’t want to start today with a quibble.

Fortunately for me, I have a heroine by my side in your mother. Without asking, she was intuitively on Uber during my frustratingly unproductive conversation with Addison Lee’s customer support. Given our home address, I was fortunate she could find a taxi. I popped out to flag it down before he could get lost on our road (as they all seem to do).

07:06 – The plane is taking off. A man’s just been yelled at to “SIT DOWN” as he walked up to the hostess while we were still in “take-off” mode with the seatbelt signs brightly on. I’m trying to hold in the giggle. Sloppy dude. Sloppy.

Anyway, I threw both my “Africa bags” in the booth of the electric crowd carrier, an extended kiss goodbye to your teary-eyed mother and off into the Benz “bus”.

You are probably wondering what an “Africa bag” is. By my definition, it’s any large luggage, rigid and flexible enough to overpack and ram things in. It ranges from cheap to moderately priced. Inexpensive enough, such that there is neither regret nor disbelief when it comes out damaged at Baggage Claim. You should see how the cargo loaders fling them around. It’s luggage assault. My Eastpaks will be unrecognizable by the time I get back.

My black driver, late 30s or early 40s, had Captial FM on. “It’s the Weekender”, I heard the host say. With the near-miss I just had with not finding transport to the airport, I wasn’t about to complain about loud Techno that early in the morning.

He also seemed to whisper throughout the short conversation we had about electric cars. I couldn’t hear a thing. So for the most part, I responded with “yeah” and “Mmm”. It wasn’t a chatty ride. No complaints though from this sleep-deprived passenger either.

07:46 – Just landed in Brussels. It’s 08:46 here. O’look, it’s snowing! I’m going to get my shit together, text your mother and find my connecting flight. Brb.

I had to complete a Passenger Locator Form at baggage drop. Urgh! Another document to complete. Thank you, COVID! Your mother would’ve had this done before arriving at the airport though. She’s meticulous with travel paperwork.

From there, I went through Security without further fuss and grabbed a watered-down coffee an Americano at the lounge. I had a second one on the flight and here we are, at another lounge in Brussels. I just had a fascinating chat with an older gentleman who has a son a few years older than me. His business card says he’s the Founder and Co-President of the Africa Research Excellence Fund (AREF). I just intro’d him to your mother via email. Hopefully, their lines of work can intersect somehow to mutual benefit.

Plenty has changed since my last entry. At this point, you are days beyond 21 weeks old and kicking, quite literally. You are no longer shy about making your presence felt. I’ve felt it to know. You won’t sit still. Those may be my genes.

We had a scan last week and the sonographer said you were in “perfect health”. I’ve attended a few and been emotional on all occasions. It kills me your grandmother can’t witness this. This was her dream, not mine. She didn’t wish for anything else but to see my children. I can barely contain the desolation.

Other than that, your host is doing an outstanding job at keeping you safe and healthy. For a time, she had some pain around her lower back, and walking hurt her hips and pelvis. But Bruno (her PT), has been doing an even better job at keeping her pain-free.

Sometimes she has to hold my hand up a flight of stairs or pause to catch her breath but we’re told this is to be expected. I cannot overstate the amount of work she is putting in to ensure your wellbeing. When it comes to your health, you owe her a great deal. She’s risen to every challenge, sometimes with tears but risen nonetheless, face to face and eye to eye.

I do boxing chants when she has her hooded robe on in the mornings, “Ali, Ali, Ali”. It’s to let her know I’m in her corner, coaching and cheering her on.

Before boarding a plane to… just about anywhere now, you have to prove you don’t have COVID-19, with a negative test result. For Cameroon, I need a negative PCR test result, also known as a Fit to Fly certificate. I did the test in Kingston on Friday after work. Your mother came with, not only for the company but to ensure I was taking the right test. I listen to her on these matters.

Rather telepathically, we decided to grab a burger after. We walked to a place called Smok’d in Kingston. The burgers were good but honestly, we make better ones at home. Between mouthfuls, we talked about a natural birth versus a Caesarean. My ignorant perspective was, “Why would anyone want a natural birth?” It sounds agonizing. And I struggle to see the upside.

Reading the article your mother sent me later that evening, the body apparently learns from the first experience and is better equipped during the second coming (if you are insane enough to have more children).

C-sections seemed ill-advised and riskier. If I recall correctly, it read as though, a natural birth second time round from a C-section for the first birth, was more susceptible to complications. Caesareans were generally for people who medically couldn’t have the baby naturally. The matter is currently unsettled but I told your mother it’s (her body and thus) a personal decision. I will support either. However, given what I now know, I would lean towards a natural birth in lieu of a Caesarean.

13:24 – After “technical delays” and seemingly much ado about nothing, we’ve now been in the air for about twenty or so mins. I’d be drunk by now if I obliged to every booze offer from the hostesses. They put up this pleasant but astonished smile every time I decline and opt for water instead. Wine gives me headaches and coffees are a no-no beyond midday. I’ve also been given a landing form to fill which I better do before returning to this. Brb.

Liza’s birthday is March 10, her father’s the day after. So on March 8, we touched down in Venice. The trip marked your first holiday, your first time on a plane, a speed boat and a gondola. We’d never been either so it was the first time for the trio.

Liza & I in Venice

It’s a very unique city, built entirely on water. It takes time to wrap your head around the fact the primary mode of travel is by boat. You don’t have bus stops, you have boat stops. But all of that is probably normal to those who live here. As a consequence, the pace to life is a lot lot slower. And that is a great thing while on holiday.

Outside our hotel window, across a tiny canal, was a construction site, a renovation of sorts. I found myself thinking about how long it took to assemble all those raw materials by boat. Probably forever.

There are several monuments that speak to the city’s expansive history. The castles were stood up by wealthy families who had gondoliers to take them around. The colours the gondoliers wore was ID to say what house (or family) they came from. That’s the overly simplistic version, for dummies.

Turns out that buying a canoe doesn’t make you a gondolier. Each gondola takes about a year to build from scratch and entirely by hand. Only two places make them, all within Venice. It’s “unauthorized” if not from either of these places. The gondolier requires training for equally as long and needs to pass an exam set by the controlling body. A gondola can stay within a family, passed down from father to son across generations.

Our gondolier – and I will go further to say we had the best one – spoke of the job with so much pride, refusing to ever do anything else. He was joyous about being the first of his bloodline to become a gondolier. He bought his gondola off a retiring gondolier on the cheap and is paying it off slowly, at Venice pace.

We got to hear fascinating short stories paddling up to every landmark, key facts about every monument as he kicked from wall to wall with elegance, poise and extreme precision, never hitting another gondola, even around seemingly impossible bends and corners.

For such a small city, there are apparently over 400 bridges in Venice. But I can see how they got to that count. Some of them are no more than a couple of meters long. The word bridge is used very loosely here. Coupled with the stench of the canals made for a fun and memorable birthday activity.

I had breakfast once, on the first morning, to see if it was delicious enough to forego my fast. For the remainder of the holiday, I merely kept Liza company while she had breakfast. I regimented to a plain black coffee.

We walked a lot, from one end to the other. She’d be exhausted at the end of the day but thankfully without pain. We had some truly fantastic meals. The best of which was a six to eight-course set at Wisteria. It was by miles the best food we’ve had this year, or since Croatia which was about 6 months ago. Exceptional!

Food at Wisteria Pizza joint Speed boating Food at Wisteria

Bits and pieces

Posted on by Kilian Ateh

– 9:17 am

I woke up at about six this morning, and couldn’t get back to sleep. Nothing new. So I decided to start the Sunday early.

Work on the kitchen was completed Thursday. We spent that evening and bits of Friday putting things back into new homes. Good thing we’d boxed everything properly in the first place with clear labels etc. So the job was easy enough. They’ll install the worktop in a fortnight. For now, we have (temporary) thin boards across the kitchen top. But it renders the kitchen functional which we longed for. So we won’t be pernickety about it. (I learned that word from your mother. She’ll probably laugh if she gets to read this someday).
The fitter left a pile of trash in the “garden” which should be collected tomorrow.

I spent most of yesterday filling in the holes the previous kitchen shelf left in the wall. Once done, I painted off most of the stains in and around that area, especially around light switches. They had dirty fingers all over them. My last thought as I went off to bed was how visibly bumpy the filling had been. Annoying mini mountains on the wall. They’ll need a thorough sanding down.

So this morning, I bought a Bosch sander which should be delivered by ten this evening, as promised by Amazon. I love a Bosch product, got a couple already. (Your mother is obsessed with the TV series). I’ll work that wall till it’s smooth and unnoticeable.

We got to the Farmer’s Market around one. Late for a Saturday. Most of the stalls were closing and packing away. So there really wasn’t much to see beyond folding tables and things being thrown into vans. We got some a shit tonne of cheese and left. From home, we drove to Moat Farm to get Simon’s eggs and catch some air. While at it, we bought some grass-like plants to replace the dying ones at home. (Contrary to my advice, your grandmother bought a bunch of plants which have now died. Lavender, thyme, some flowery plants… RIP)

“Packing a hospital bag” was also on yesterday’s checklist. A couple of T-shirts, some underwear, a pair of shorts and chinos. Done. I also tossed in the Nintendo I never play. I bought it under the illusion I could fabricate some time or use it on long-haul flights. Or flights of any kind. Neither has happened. It’s more of a knick-knack now if I’m being truthful. But the dream lives on. Maybe I’ll get lucky when your mother’s giving birth. Even writing it now sounds absurd.

I just heard the curtains draw open. Liza’s up. And walking down the stairs. Time to hide this screen. I just kissed her bump you good morning. She requested some coffee which I just made. So now she’s trying to figure out her breakfast. Same as always I imagine –granola, yoghurt… I brought some honey back from Cameroon which she can’t part ways with. It goes into everything. It does taste great to be fair.

Last night, Liza complained about the fake contractions and the discomfort they bring. Unfortunately, the physical part of pregnancy is a solo ride. The rest of us can just observe and be present. It’s a silent, passive but equally important role in itself.

Summer creature that she is, this heat is fatiguing for her to be or walk in. The other day, the strap in her sandals snapped from her feet swelling so much. But we both agree to sunshine over Winter any day of the week.

Last week Dr Erskine repeated you’re nowhere near coming out. Friday gone made you 38 weeks.

Ah yeah, I bought a Dyson – the V11 Absolute Plus, brand new on eBay. A cordless vacuum cleaner, easy on the wrist and manoeuvrable. It’s by contrast something that doesn’t require you dragging out a hoover to clean small messes (like the ones created by babies). As is the case with most Dyson products, it’s multifunctional and extremely versatile.

However, it came with the wrong wall mount. So I spent more time than I would’ve liked to, trying to figure out why it didn’t fit before coming to that conclusion. This is after tinkering with the stand we bought for it and googling around helplessly for whys. Right after emailing the seller, I bought a replacement which should arrive Monday. Hopefully, he – could be she – refunds me enough to cover the replacement purchase. At least some of it.

Side note, I wonder what happened to the person we had to make an emergency landing for. I hope they’re OK.

Other tasks await. Must go. BBQ later. Ciao.

Straight from the oven

Posted on by Kilian Ateh

– 1:14 pm

I left the shower and came down to seven missed calls from your mother and a text, “Yo, I need to talk to you”. I just got off the phone with her. She has news hot off the press. You have outgrown her womb your home and are currently too big for it. So you need to come out this week, whether you want to or not. Dr Erskine has you booked to be induced on Sunday unless you play ball and come out willingly, with your hands in the air. You are currently surrounded, with nowhere else to go. And as part of the negotiations, you need to free your hostage and make sure no one is hurt in the process.

I’m cool with all the above. In fact, I much rather prefer a scheduled release birth than dealing with the unpredictability of when, how and being in the dark. But this way, we can drive to the hospital on Sunday morning and follow a plan of sorts. (Apparently, nothing about births go to plan. I wonder why they even bother with those birth plans). That’s assuming you choose the hard way out.

Your mother is on her way back now, in an Uber. She was going to take public transport but the checkup with Erskine was too painful. I am also too far out to drive to her. Her latest message says she’s having cramps again and if they persist she may just stay in Central. I’m assuming she means the hospital. By now she’s probably thinking, “I need to call my parents, book their flights, get a bunch of shit ready…” Or maybe I’m projecting and it’s my mind racing. I think I’m cool though. I feel settled. Everything is in place, nearly. But it’ll be fine.