Another (now) routine Doppler scan falls on 35 weeks exactly and I fully expect the doctor to measure the flows and mutter once again about waiting a bit longer. He looks up at the ceiling for a long time, deep in thought, and then says abruptly, 'I'm booking you in for an induction on 36 weeks. It's time to get baby out of there.'
Now I know I should have been half expecting to hear that news, but in reality I wasn't. In SEVEN days time I'm going to be a mum? A mummy? A mother? How did this happen? Where did the time when I was just 'me' go....WOW. It feels like a loud countdown clock has begun tick-tocking away in my stomach, but that could easily be V gratefully giving me a kick to say 'let me out now please.'
Awkwardly the following seven days include Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day and on each day of the week I'm to come to one of the maternity wards for CTG monitoring of the baby at 8.30am.
If the cardio graphs pick up any distress from V, the induction will be brought forward, but as it stands she'll likely arrive on the planet shortly before New Year. Maybe even New Year's eve. That would be an ace birthday. The whole world setting off fireworks just for her.
Momentarily selfish I realise that I'll probably never have a lie in EVER again from this point on, as after these 7am starts, she'll be here and I doubt sleeping in will be on the agenda!
Worries then kick sharply in. The estimated delivery weight is a scary, tiny 4lbs. Will she be okay? Will she go to the Special Care Unit? What if there is something wrong with her? Do I try again to contact her father? What if something happens to her and he never has a chance to say hello and goodbye?