To be fair, a lot has been going on. Although, to be equally fair, I have most definitely dropped the ball some in the blogging department.
Although while we're being fair, I dropped the ball because I got one hell of a shock during December, and it's very hard to keep holding the ball under those sorts of circumstances. Especially when I find it hard to hold the ball under normal circumstances, being quite the unco ginger.
Sometime around the time of my last post, we were making excellent inroads into the property and we were generally nose to it - chasing a 2 year old 24/7 (which incidentally feels more like 48/14, or even 96/28), trying to make visible progress on the property, working hard at our jobs and looking forward to the end of the year, holding our collective breath after what was possibly the worst year on record that things were quieting down some.
Yeah.
Then one day I noticed a couple of things ...
My strength was failing me when I tried to pick Cuinn up and carry him. He'd gotten suddenly ridiculously heavy.
I could hardly make it up the stairs without spending a few minutes trying to get my breath back once I made it to the top.
Chocolate made my eyes cross, and not in a good way.
My period was late.
Obviously a good 7 years down the track with a natural fertility more in the range of zero than anything else, I was just irritated that my body wasn't falling back into line after the embryo transfers rather than considering any other option. For about a week, and then it all started to get a bit long-winded and extra irritating. And I started feeling extra crap to go with it. And Fireman Sam made me cry. I'm not generally a person who cries, unless I'm chopping onions. It was very embarrassing. Thankfully the only witness to said blubbering was the little ginger who thinks crying is absolutely hilarious.
Several days later the husband decided that for goodness sake, we needed to do a pregnancy test so that we could book an obstetrician if one was needed.
Yeah, yeah, whatever.
It was a good couple of weeks down the track that I actually bought one and that was honestly because, literally, Christmas was coming. If the world had indeed turned on its head, I did in actual fact need to do something about booking an obstetrician.
Bless, thankfully I bought a 3 pack of the things because I did the first one upside down. Seriously. I triumphantly announced it to be negative (so THERE husband, it WAS a waste of money, I TOLD YOU SO) until I looked a bit more closely and noticed that there was no control line on the test either, and actually, the arrows for the test bit pointed at the opposite direction to the one I ... ah ... anointed? Bollocks.
No rush though. I left the box with the other two on the bench to do whenever, which from memory was either later that day or maybe even the next day. I was still very much not in the remotest bit invested in the possibility of being pregnant.
So, a day later say, I did the second test.
And hell-o.
And then, because I wasn't convinced, I drank half the Wellington water supply and did another one.
Definitely quite the pregnant ginger I was.
My first thought was ... actually best we skip my first thought because this is a family show and all. So, my second thought was that I was, officially, a cliche. Although, to be fair, it shoots right out of the water the theory that all one has to do to get pregnant is relax because, just harking back to possibly the worst year in the history of the ginger, we weren't 'specially relaxed I can tell ya.
Anywho, moving on, as you do, yesterday we went for our first obstetrician visit, without having done so much as a blood test to actually confirm the home pregnancy test results. Quite the novelty when pregnancy and trying to get pregnant in recent years has involved much blood taking, drugging, monitoring, counting of days, scans and wotnot. Of course, not having been through any of the processes I'm both used to and now quite comfortable with, it made it quite difficult to process, but yesterday there it was - a very wiggly little baby, measuring 11 weeks, 4 days, screwing around on the monitor (seriously, I'm pretty sure it gave us the fingers), with a lovely strong heartbeat, and our new obstetrician (who showed us the baby twice and said it was twins, the evil sod) won't be held to it, but is reasonably confident it's a girl.
And that, pals of mine, is why things have been quite of late. The husband and I have been far too busy starting blankly alternately at each other and at nothing in particular in a state of shock because, to be really honest, we were pretty sure we were a done family of three. And, of course, little gingers make me horribly, horribly ill. Horribly. Horrible little gingers. It's hard to blog when you're praying to the porcelain God day in, day out.
