First doctor's appointment was a bit of an anti-climax. In his inimitable brisk manner, my GP said: Yup, that would make you six and a half weeks pregnant. He waited to see that I was smiling before he issued his congratulations. (As you can imagine, he gets lots of terminations.) After telling me what I could not eat, drink and smoke, I was in and out of there in under 10 minutes. My appointment with the midwife happens at week 10, and at least that meeting will last a satisfying 60 minutes!
Spoke to Nanny B again last night with the official news. Unfortunately any time anything remotely medical enters into our conversation (which is often with pregnancy), she promptly reminds me that I am not a medical professional and don't have a clue what I'm talking about. Maybe so. But my worry is that the birthing suite may not be big enough for two nurses. And I could do without a cat fight there when, frankly, more important things are going on and calm is of the essence.
It goes without saying that pregnancy is the time when most women feel closest to their own mothers - assuming they are on speaking terms - wanting to learn and share what they are going through with the one who brought them into the world in much the same fashion. However, as with weddings (that other major milestone) the reality is rarely as rosy as the picture painted. Wanting only to help, many grannies-to-be have trouble not crossing that faint line between considered advice and all-out control. While I would be desperately disappointed if my mother wasn't by my side every step of the way, there will be times when she'll have to stand behind me as I make my own decisions and learn to become a wonderful mother in my own right.