Another bunch of pricks by Kate

And so the ante-natal medical merry-go-round continues. On Monday morning I was back at the health centre in San Blas, sans breakfast (I'm beginning to associate that place with pangs of hunger) and clutching the number 129 as the patient counter beeped its way from number 40 upwards.

Mind you, this conveyor-belt type system they operate for blood tests may be a tad impersonal, but I've got to admit it's efficient. Patients were called to the testing room in batches of five, hobbling, shuffling and waddling their way to the door of the testing room, clutching their requisite medical forms to their chests. Because I didn't have to do a glucose test (thankfully) I waited with the general melee, rather than the other embarazadas and with the help of PG Wodehouse, the time passed fairly quickly.

By now, I knew the drill, so when 129 came up I took my place in the queue and handed my form to the white-coated staff at the desk who, much to my relief, only labelled six test-tubes for blood collection - half the amount of my previous visit. Buffy The Vampire Slayer must have been in town or something.

It was all over mercifully fast and I was soon back out the door with Theo, who'd collected more appointment forms for me - fortnightly checks with the Tocologia and one to go up to Hospital La Paz for some kind of fetal heart monitoring.

Next day was pre natal class - a "gym" session this time, so Theo was left at home. Despite my lack of detailed understanding of what was said, the time passed fairly pleasantly with me and my fellow embarazadas dutifully deep-breathing our way through the various birth-helping and pregnancy-relieving exercises. As we were re-donning shoes and coats, a woman I recognised from the previous cycle of pre-natal classes came in - with her newborn twins. The thought of having one baby is a pretty huge deal - but two?! We all gazed at her in admiration - not unmixed with a little sympathy. Exciting, yes - but blimey, hard work too.

Theo and I had a bit of a moment this morning. After a lazy lie-in together (let's enjoy them while we still can!!) and some - ahem - intimate couple time together, I suddenly produced a little blood. Our initial thought was that our exertions had dislodged the mucus plug in the cervix and this was "a show" (which can be an early indicater of the onset of labour). Then Theo did a bit of internet research (not always a good idea in these situations!) and worried that it might be a sign of something more serious and bade me to make an appointment with the ever-helpful (!) Dr P. I did some further research and, given my lack of any other worrying symptoms plus the colour and amount of the discharge in question, decided it was most likely to be some harmless spotting from the cervix, whose lining becomes thinner in later pregnancy. A very common thing after you-know-what, apparently. We'll double check with our midwife tomorrow.

Anyway, one result of that mini-drama was to galvanise us into action when it came to getting some pre-baby organisation done. The baby clothes which had been shoved in a bag in the corner waiting to be washed and aired are now clean, dry and have their own dedicated drawer with another shelf set aside for nappies and other items. We've re-arranged our bedside storage (and changed sides) in readiness for the baby's "cot" (which will either be improvised from a stack of tough PVC boxes lined with sheet and blankets or will take the form of our multi-purpose baby transport system, depending on which arrangement she and we prefer). Next thing will be laying in a stock of washable nappies, sorting out a few more bits of bedding, purchasing items like breast-pads and getting the hospital bag packed.

Okay, we've still got just over a month to go before the due date, but today's little episode reminded us that it doesn't do any harm to Be Prepared. My time as a girl guide has not been wasted.

The Kindness Of Strangers by Kate

So here we are back in Madrid and suddenly I've been promoted on the Metro. In the last few days complete strangers have been giving up their seats in crowded carriages and inviting me to have them instead. This is both touching and gratifying and one of the best bits so far about my abdomen sporting a now unmistakeable bump.

Spaniards - generally speaking - are very much in favour of children, babies and pregnancy and I'm just starting to appreciate that fact. It doesn't help us insert ourselves and our potential new Madrilena into the Spanish ante-natal system (they're chocka and trying to book ourselves to have our now overdue anomalies scan is proving to be a bit of a struggle) but it does bathe things like Metro journeys in a benevolent glow.

So back to the beginning for a quick recap. Theo and I abandon contraception at the beginning of the year and get on with business as usual. Just as the weather gets seriously hot I start feeling unusual. Alcohol and caffeine are suddenly unattractive to my taste buds, my breasts feel a bit strange and I keep getting ravenously hungry, but just don't fancy eating anything. I break out in the type of acne I only get when there is extra progesterone in my system (experience with previous contraception). I can't remember when my last period was, but I start feeling suspicious and report the symptoms to my experienced sister (four children). She admits they sound fairly classic, but counsels against any over excitement about the situation just yet. I don't actually feel excited anyway, just a tad queasy.

Theo has gone off to a residential camp for a week. On the phone I tell him about my suspicions. He forbids me to self-diagnose until he gets back. I pass the next six days feeling disinclined to eat or drink anything sweet. How did I get this virtuous?

Theo returns and we do the pee stick. The line flames up positive even before I have a chance to pull my knickers back up. Theo is very excited about the prospect of suddenly probable parenthood. I feel justified.

The next few weeks pass in a heat haze and Theo is highly solicitous, dealing patiently with my new found fussiness about food and giving me lots of back rubs and foot-massages. I milk it.

We get back to England to see friends and family, lie to the NHS about our current address and book ourselves in to see a midwife and radiographer in Bristol.

The first scan seems fine, as far as these things do. We suddenly realise there really is a living thing in my belly, not just a collection of physical symptoms. We also realise we're two weeks further on than we thought. A bump - still smallish - obediently appears below my midriff. I scour Bristol's charity shops for roomier clothes. The midwife takes lots of blood out of my arm and nods approvingly when I tell her I don't drink or smoke and I fully intend to breast-feed. Theo doesn't watch the blood extraction part.

First hitch when we are told we have a high risk of our foetus (now christianed Fosbury) having Downs Syndrome. This is upsetting news. I calm down a bit when I realise that a 1 in 65 risk still means it's less than 2 per cent. Nevertheless, we opt to have amniocentesis and thankfully that all goes fine.
“Look out for its feet!” says Theo at one point during the procedure.
“Oh, I've stuck loads of needles in babies, don't worry about it,” says the consultant cheerfully. He doesn't on this occasion, thankfully.

A few days later we are back in Spain and the initial news from the amnio is good. The three chromosomes which are affected if Downs Syndrome is present are normal. Phew. Two weeks later we learn that in fact, all the chromosomes are normal and we are growing a female. We change the foetus' name to Fosbella.

Which brings us up to date as, having registered with the Spanish health system, we wait for our next scan (although most possible anomalies were checked at 17 and a half weeks and nothing untoward was seen then, so we're not hugely anxious). Anyway, it seems like a good plan to get it done as soon as possible, so we are considering paying for a private scan or pulling strings to see if we can get one done when we are back in Bristol for a wedding.
Meanwhile, I am busy committing foetal-related words in Spanish to memory. Luckily, being medical, they are largely the same as their English equivalents, just pronounced in a more Spanish way. Disappointingly, “scan” is not “escano ultra-sono”, as we had hoped. Never mind. In the meantime, I will keep on enjoying my new Metro privileges.