SPD 2: cruise control*

My wife is now over fifteen weeks pregnant. Our new creation is apparently the size of an apple. But a big apple, like a cooking apple or a New York City. It's not really the size of a New York City. Can you imagine how uncomfortable that would be for her? The cooking apple is causing enough trouble as it is.

It's interesting to compare and contrast the effects of this pregnancy with the previous one. I think that, by this stage the last time around, the phenomenally unbearable itching had begun its assault on my wife's physical and psychological comfort. Mercifully, thus far, this ordeal has failed to present itself to her. I'd give my right arm to keep it that way. And I'm right-handed.

One symptom from which she is suffering once again is the propensity to fall asleep at about 9pm every day. This could, of course, be related to the infinitely energetic one year-old with whom she now spends most of her time - a factor which was absent from the prior gestation, being as it was the gestation of said one year-old, some time before she became a one year-old. The onus, then, is on me to step up the level of assistance I provide. I'm trying to do so, although one thing I have learned from a combination of parenthood and my instinctively lazy nature is that you can and should always try a bit harder. And I will.

The symptom whose return we feared the most has now, sadly, come back to haunt my wife's existence. Furthermore, it has embarked upon this haunting earlier than it did before. My understanding (assisted by Christine Hill at ivillage.co.uk) of SPD, or Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction is thus:

The human pelvis is actually made of three bones which meet at the front and sides, where they are held in 'fixed' joints (the one at the front called the symphysis pubis) by determined ligaments which create the illusion I always shared with most other people: that the pelvis is one, uninterrupted bone. Only pregnancy dispels this myth, when production of the hormone relaxin is increased to help these ligaments do some relaxin' in preparation for the birth. So far, so sensible. But the dysfunction occurs when the relaxin starts the relaxin' too early.

Imagine, if you will then, your pelvis splitting in two down the front, each half grinding on the other every time you put any weight on it. This is what my wife went through for several months when pregnant before, and now knows that she will suffer for even longer this time. By the time she was in labour with our daughter, she literally could not move for the pain the SPD caused her, rendering the hormone's name ironic at best. It is apparently normal for victims of this affliction to be struck again, and worse, during any subsequent pregnancy.

This normality offers no consolation. And with the aforementioned bundle of energy to chase around the house, I am frankly astounded by my wife's ability to not crumple in a small heap of despair in the corner. Opinion is divided as to any possible treatment for this affliction. Some say physiotherapy can help; others that there is nothing you can do whatsoever. We're going to try physiotherapy. In the meantime, as I have said, I need to up my game. On which note I'm off to clean the bathroom.

*I fully acknowledge that the "cruise control" element of this post's title is entirely inappropriate and quite possibly insensitive. But what sort of a man would turn down the opportunity to make a heavily contrived reference to such a landmark of modern cinema?

Trepidation

We're getting really close to the big day now. And - like on the morning of our wedding, when I woke up at 5 o'clock in the morning with diarrhoea - the tension is mounting. There's an almost tangible sense of excitement and trepidation in the air, the two of them battling for the honour of being our overriding collective emotion.

We've both been growing more impatient for a while now. Firstly because we're rather looking forward to seeing our daughter who, as a direct descendent of my favourite person and my wife's favourite person - decide for yourselves whether we are narcissists or a loving couple (it's the latter) - is bound to be worth meeting.

Secondly, my wife's adverse symptoms are piling up. The swelling is almost permanent, and affecting every extremity (by which I mean her hands and feet rather than anything untoward). Her SPD (extreme hip ache) is relentless in punishing her for any attempt to stand up for more than about five minutes a day. She has also developed carpal tunnel, which basically means her hands are constantly midway between numbness and the pins and needles which immediately follow numbness. And, as a result of our daughter being a typical girl and demanding a lot of space, and the consequent repositioning of my wife's stomach, acid indigestion is an almost constant foe.

All of which seems to get even worse at night, which means that sleep has been very hard to come by for my wife. And, despite her best efforts, my sweet dreams have also been disturbed. We keep telling ourselves with a kind of self-congratulatory irony that this is good practice for the inevitable sleepless nights to come. But a part of me thinks that it would be nice to get in as much slumber as possible now, to build up some sort of sleep credit, as it were. I'm not sure if it works like that, but I guess we'll never know.

Anyway, last night trumped all previous efforts. It seems that our daughter is making preparations to leave, and has made a move towards the exit. In real terms, this means acute lower backache for my wife, as well as various other symptoms which politeness prevents me from describing, but all of which can be grouped together under one general heading: labour pains.

Time and the cold light of day have revealed that they were not labour pains. The nice lady at the hospital has revealed (over the phone - we didn't actually go there) that they do, however, indicate that we can expect labour pains soon. That's not entirely accurate: they reveal that my wife can expect labour pains soon. Either way, the whole experience made it all seem very real and looming. And flippin' scary.

Also very exciting, of course. But trepidation is edging it at the moment.

Hip hip hooray.

Because I'm quite vain, I've been reading back over my previous posts on this blog, and I've realised that, because I'm quite vain, I've said a lot about how I feel, but not enough about the welfare of our main protagonist: my wife.

In my defence, some of her symptoms would have made unnecessary or unpleasant news. To mention them would have been cruel on either their victim or the reader. Or both. Also, so well has she coped with what is, after all, a massive physical ordeal, that I have been far less aware of her suffering than I expected. (That's supposed to be a compliment, as well as an excuse).

But in the last couple of weeks, my wife has started to suffer more noticeably. We have tentatively diagnosed her with SPD, which has nothing to do with a short-lived eighties political party, and everything to do with very, very achy hips. The cliche I expected to see manifested months ago - mother-to-be struggling to sit up, let alone stand or move, and then suffering for hours as a consequence of her efforts - has finally arrived. Or, as my wife puts it, she feels like a barbie doll who has had her legs pulled out and then put back wrong. Her sense of humour, mercifully, remains unaffected.

I think I know why she's suffering: our daughter's enormous. We had another scan the other day, during which they took more measurements than a hyperactive cartographer before estimating that she is already nearly 5lbs. With two months to go. That's going to trouble anybody's hips. And she does like to push her weight around. Another excellent example of maternal humour saw this described as "using my cervix as a trampoline." I did laugh. Apparently it's normal for a baby's size to double in the last month or so, which is why we really hope she emerges early.

I try to avoid gushing, physically or emotionally, but it would be rude not to acknowledge and praise my wife's effort and resilience for the cause. Thanks wife. You won't regret it.