I went for my regular scheduled ultrasound scan yesterday. It felt like I was going to the hospital to meet my baby. Though the baby is right with me all through, but the fact that you can actually see a black and white slightly pixelated moving image of your little kick-boxer, is thrilling. Yesterday, my little baby decided not to show me his/her (yeah I still don't know what I'm having) face.

My previous scan was on the 26th of July. That was the day when both amma and I got to spend quite some time looking at that little angelic face that was busy drinking some delicious amniotic fluid. The world of medicine has sure come a far cry from days where only palpation was used as a reliable guide, by the midwives. And for me, being able to see my little angel is nothing short of a miracle.

Planning ahead - in the mind

Hospitals in India have changed a lot and it sure is pleasant to see this. Gone are the days when a mom-to-be has to be on her own amidst a battalion of medical personnel to welcome her baby into this world. Today, she can choose to have her husband's support (providing he's willing) through the last leg of the nine month journey. This helps me plan all those delivery room little details in my mind. And to see how far they get executed... that will have to wait another 31 days.



I'll leave you with a snap taken during my seemandam/valaikappu (goud bharai).

the countdown...

35...

Pregnancy woes!

It was in the first month of pregnancy that my mood swings got quite out of hand. So much so that, I started to cry when a self-proclaimed artist in Bali constantly kept pestering us to buy a painting from him. Instead of shooing him away or just letting him know that we were not interested, I chose to weep and sob! I distinctly remember the exasperated yet crippled look on Kumar's face when he felt utterly helpless and confused as he asked, "Why are you crying?". Little did we know then, but it was the hormones playing havoc.

Soon it was the frequent runs to the wash room that was usually triggered by mornings, breakfast, onions, soap, the smell hot tamarind pulp, afternoons, lunch, tea, dinner and nights. Probably the only non-stimulant was a breath of fresh air. These symptoms only endorsed my conviction that it was just an ugly prolonged indigestion that I was having as a consequence of our disastrous gastronomical pursuit in Bali. I somehow managed to find console in that belief and decided to live with it till I could take it no more.

Now, with just another month to go, I'm growing exrtemely impatient. Everyone seems to be asking the same question "when's the due date?" for what feels like the umpteenth time, and that really gets on my nerves. I know that you'd be thinking 'but this is utterly silly to be flustered about'. Maybe for you, but just get to the end of the eighth month and you'll know what I mean. It was Sept 10, it is Sept 10, but what I don't know is if it 'will be' Sept 10! That is upto the little one to decide.


So, all those of you who have been a witness to my snappy behaviour of late, too bad, I'm in no mood to apologise.