Thursday 7th August 2014
Happy eight months our little Dutch shortbread! I thought my pregnancy was an endless procession of brilliant and upbeat days. Nothing compared to these fine days of playing Mumma to you, my NiNii!
As soon as we clapped eyes on your perfect face fourteen or so months ago, we were smitten. There you were, floating about, kicking hard usually, but sometimes you’d rest and it was the happy chance of finding you sleeping inside of me during a scan that caused even our delivery doctor to exclaim that you, little Seahorse, were indeed very handsome.
While merely days pregnant, your father and I attended a special wedding on the Palm Jumeira. Erroll played Best Man to one of his best friend’s wedding, and I played my best poker face; far too early to let even our family know that I was expecting. The best secret to hold onto was that you were growing inside of me.
Throughout those forty weeks of gestation I worked. A lot. Right up till the day before my waters broke. I remember working right through till 5:30PM on Thursday 5th December, limping home (sciatica was at this stage causing me untold discomfort), immersed myself into a bath and…just lay still. Literally 12 hours after getting home – at 6 Friday morning – my waters broke. The next day, on the 7th, our darling son was born.
Each day from 4 months through to two days before giving birth, I swam. Floating in water was the only remedy to alleviate the pain of two busted ribs (The Seahorse’s strong feet were wedged under my right ribs) and sciatica. Erroll and I took three staycations in the last four weeks of my pregnancy. I lived in bikinis.
Then the dreaded return to work when King was 4 months of age. Extremely fortunate to have my son come to the office sometimes twice a day for breastfeeding, here we are one afternoon at Emaar Square…
And four months later – I am still working an still breastfeeding…