So, without Alfie, there wouldn’t be a blog. So, let me tell you about how he got here. (It’s a bumpy ride, I warn you now!)
Boys and girls. When a mummy loves a daddy…. JOKING!
I fell pregnant only a few short weeks after we got married. We knew we wanted a baby, but we weren’t panicking about it. We thought we’d just let nature take it’s course and it’ll happen when it happens. Turns out it happened pretty fast! I had only done a pregnancy test because I’d had a dream where I was pregnant, and woke up convinced that it was a sign… turns out it was. I was estimated at around 3 weeks gone, so early days. We told the people closest to us and began to let it sink in that in just 9 months, we’d be parents.
At 5 weeks pregnant, we had our first scare. I began to bleed. This was my first pregnancy and I made the awful mistake of turning to google for answers. Before I could even process the information I’d read, I was on the phone to 111, who kindly booked me a scan with the Early Pregnancy Unit in Swindon for the next day. We tried to keep busy, I went and got my hair done, Craig went to work, there wasn’t much else we COULD do.
The scan didn’t show much. We were told although the sac was there, they couldn’t tell if I was still carrying the baby. Fantastic, I thought. We were invited back in 2 weeks to check again. Problem was, we were due to fly to Italy the next week for a belated honeymoon. So off we went. The events of the week before playing on our mind, not knowing the future of our tiny little bean.
We were staying in Italy with my Auntie and Uncle. We relaxed in their villa and paddled in the pool, tried not to worry. Who am I kidding. It’s all we could think about. Unfortunately, whilst we were there, my Auntie was diagnosed with cancer. Emotions ran high as I sat and I cried with her over and over again. Life, at that moment, seemed incredibly unfair. I couldn’t make sense of the bad things that were happening and to top it off, on our last day there, I was incredibly sick. I was hugging the toilet for a good 7 hours before I could even sit up straight and it made the flight home particularly uncomfortable.
The next week, we were back at the hospital, waiting to find the fate of bean. The bleeding had stopped, but I didn’t really “feel” pregnant, until the sonographer said “Yep, we have a heart beat.” Craig and I looked at each other in amazement, in disbelief, in RELIEF. Bean had grown a little heart, and it had started beating. At 7 weeks pregnant, we saw the tiny beginnings of our baby.
So I went about being pregnant, we announced it at Halloween.
My Auntie had been flown back to the UK to have the best chance of beating the cancer, however we were told that she wasn’t strong enough for any treatment and that all they could do is keep her comfortable. She was moved into a hospice and we were preparing for her to not see Christmas day. I was 15 weeks pregnant. “I know what we have to do” I said to Craig.
£59 later, we were in Ower, near Romsey on a sunny Sunday afternoon, visiting Window To The Womb. Angie may not ever get to meet her Great Niece or Nephew, but she sure as hell will get to be part of bean’s life in one way or another. We had planned to visit her in the hospice on Tuesday, and we were going with one heck of a surprise.
That Tuesday was perfect. Out of a small gift bag, my still-beautiful Auntie pulled a tiny t-shirt out of a gift bag in front of my family. “It’s… It’s a boy!” she said, a smile spread across her face. Following lots of cheers and hugs, she proceeded to call every nurse in to her room to share the news. Everyone was incredibly happy. Angie called me to the bedside so she could talk to my tummy, and our little boy. “Angie,” I said, “We need help with the name…”
We gave her the options we had thought of, and before I’d even finished, she said simply “Alfie. Alfie George”. That was that. Alfie George Collins.
Angie died a week later, a few days before Christmas. That Tuesday was what she was holding on for.
The rest of the pregnancy was a little more rocky for me. I had another heavy bleed at 21 weeks pregnant and was hospitalised over night (which turned out to be a mass growing in my womb, which had ruptured.) I was told my body could try and prematurely “evacuate” the baby, but I crossed my legs hard, and asked to be discharged the next day so I could attend my Auntie’s funeral on the Friday.
At 30 weeks, I was in hospital AGAIN, with excruciating pains across my stomach. Baby was fine. Turns out, that was my first experience of Gall Stones, and I’m now waiting to have my gall bladder removed!
The last few weeks were the most straight forward. I enjoyed being pregnant, and watching my tummy grow.
And then *POP*! 37 weeks and one day into my pregnancy, little Alfie George Collins decided it was time…….
(You’ll have to read the next post for that!)