Following my 20 week scan I visited myobstetrician for a routine check up, clutching my scan results with pride and keen to tell him that we were having a girl!  He skimmed through the results and noted my low-lying placenta.  He says he needs to check this out.  I obediently hop on the bed and after having my belly prodded, poked, tapped and measured, he went into detail of the risks.  One of which is that I could possibly (only possibly) have a bleed and should this happen I am to go straight to the hospital.  What?  Why didn’t anyone tell me this before? “But we are going on holiday in a few weeks time”, I say, trying to convince myself that it is not that bad. “Not a good idea” he says matter of factly, “You need to be in the country within easy reach of the hospital”.

 

Oh.  I had not expected that!  We had planned this one last holiday pre arrival of the baby, to the South of France.  We found a beautiful boutique hotel on the beach, I had bought my St Tropez appropriate beachwear (beautiful petrol blue Amoralia two piece swimsuit, oversized sheer throw on shirt, Chloe thong sandals…), and I had started to apply L’oreal’s Nutri Summer Moisturising Lotion to build up a natural looking tan.  Disappointed, but not wanting to argue or disagree with the expert, we swiftly cancelled the flights and hotel.

 

What do we do now?  We haven’t had a holiday all year and we have booked two weeks off work!  We decided to take the two weeks off anyway and have the first week at home in London, organising baby stuff, researching cots and prams, finding a maternity nurse (proving impossible as none want to work anywhere near Christmas), researching local nursery schools etc etc.  This is what we started to do this week, although two days in and even as I write this, my husband is calling out from the other room.   “I am bored…this must be what retirement feels like” and threatening to go back to work tomorrow!
For the second week of our holiday we have booked into the beautiful South Sands Hotel in Devon. Granted, it is a four hour drive from St. Mary’s Hospital in London but at least we can just get in the car and go, should anything drastic happen.  The weather forecast for next week is hardly St Tropez like (rain, rain, rain), so it will be cosy beach walks in our wellies, hot chocolates and games of scrabble.   But for now, I need to go see to my fidgety husband, and somehow get him out of the house.

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