Of matrons and matronas By Kate

Our midwife rocks - and believe me, after hearing a few stories about some of the other matronas in Madrid, it's a lottery and we're quids in. Or at least, euros in.

This morning we decided to drop in on Maite to seek advice about our, erm, little episode yesterday. I was still pretty certain there was nothing to worry about, but Theo wanted to be sure. Accordingly, we toddled off to the Centro de Salud in Ciudad Lineal to catch Maite at the end of her Thursday morning posparto session. When we arrived, the room where we have our pre-natal classes was a veritable buggy park of new babies, surrounded by attendant mums, dads and grandmas. We decided to wait outside until there was a bit more parking space.

While we waited, a senior senora spotted my bump and came over to ask us all about it. She nodded approvingly when we told her we were having a girl and said girls were "blessed". She then asked if we were going to raise our daughter with "beliefs". After puzzling over the translation of that for a moment, we realised she was talking about religion. Rather than answer her directly and get into an argument which our Spanish probably wasn't up to, I told her my grandparents and mother are all Catholics. But what about me, she wanted to know? I told her I had been baptised into the Church of England. Protestant, she inquired? I affirmed that this was so. It's just as good, she replied, clearly relieved that our daughter was in with at least a chance of a Christian upbringing.

One slightly unexpected side-effect of our wait in earshot of the new baby club was my reaction to the sound of the infants crying. In the past, the main emotions I've felt when hearing a baby bawling were sympathy for the parent and (it has to be said) a certain amount of irritation at the disturbance of my peace. This time, on hearing one newborn crying in serious distress, I started feeling twitchy, as if I should get up and offer comfort, then felt helpless and upset, then became teary. A tissue was needed to mop me up and if the baby hadn't mercifully calmed down, I think I would have been in a worse state than it was. That's pregnancy hormones for you, I guess. I think it's highly likely that I will react emotionally to our own ones cries at times, especially early on - but I sure hope I get to grips with it sooner rather than later, for everyone's sake.

Eventually, the room emptied of all but two babies and their mums and (in one case) gran so we went in to wait for Maite. We chatted with the assembly about our forthcoming happy event and how they were getting on with their own newborn nippers etc., until finally Maite made her appearance. To assess who she needed to see first she asked us and the two mums what we needed from her. Theo plunged straight in and mentioned that I had been bleeding. Maite looked startled and concerned until Theo described the circumstances (I'm not ashamed to say I blushed at this point) at which, her expression relaxed and she hooted with laughter and the other mothers broke into grins.
"It's normal, nothing to worry about!" she said, while I felt my cheeks start to cool down.

But to set our minds at rest, Maite ushered us into her consulting room, bade me to bare my bump and ran the fetal cardiomonitor over it. Fosbella's heartbeat rang out loud and clear, going like the proverbial clappers - just as it should be.

"All fine, no sign of fetal distress, relax", said Maite and smiled reassuringly. Phew, then. But I resolved to go out and buy nappies later in any case - there may be a month to go, but who knows what may happen? Time to get the nest ready, methinks.

Pregnant with desire by Kate

There will be no pornography in this post, but the fact I just wrote the word should at least garner our blog a few hundred more hits than usual. That and the word sex, which will be repeated several times in the course of the piece. Look away now if a) the combination of intercourse and pregnancy upsets you and b) if a few intimate-ish details about other people's carnality tends to give you indigestion. The brave, the curious and the prurient, read on!

Sex during pregnancy is generally encouraged by the experts - unless you're very miscarriage-prone (in which case, the advice is to leave off for the first few critical months), they see no reason why the hanky-panky shouldn't continue unabated. That's not to say the couple concerned doesn't have issues with the whole area of How's Your Father, of course. Morning sickness, over-tender boobs and exhaustion can all contribute to a low mojo in the recently impregnated woman. Meanwhile, men can find the concept of "something else up there" a bit of a performance-dampener and as the foetus gets bigger, there are concerns about accidentally squishing the future offspring in-utero in the throes of passion. Then there are the women who feel like big lumps of unattractively wobbling flesh as pregnancy enters its later stages and the men who involuntarily envisage the Fat Slags in Viz and can't help making unflattering and enshrinkening comparisons with their expectant partners.

I'm pleased to report that none of the above problems have affected Theo and me. In fact, the only thing that's prevented the frequency of our sex life being as high as previously has been late night fatigue, morning medical appointments and early Spanish lessons. If anything, pregnancy has enhanced the quality of our carnal relations, despite the necessary diminuendo in acrobatics and the restriction of positions for bump-avoidance reasons. I don't know whether it's the pregnancy hormones, the yoga (which includes a move aimed at "freeing and encouraging the flow of sexual energy") or simple practice, but achieving climax certainly seems to have become more effortless in recent months, which has got to be a bonus. Not that things in that department were ever bad, I hasten to add, but considerably more time and energy was required to get there previously and I'm only human.

I think we're also aware that the days of our - relatively - unfettered and spontaneous sex-life are now severely numbered, so here's to matrimonial bliss and tranquility while it lasts. Not to mention the rumpy pumpy.