This is how it used to be.
Mothers realised they were pregnant when they missed a period. They ate and drank as usual. They waited nine months, then gave birth at home with other women around. When the baby was born they discovered whether it was a boy or a girl. The community rallied round.
This is how things are now where I live:
We discovered we were pregnant using a test. I changed my eating habits around Christmas, and am now into calcium in a big way and right off all kinds of caffeine and processed foods. Sometimes I crave alcohol again, but not for long. In 5 days exactly I will see my first child for the first time, even though I will only have been pregnant for 14 weeks. (In fact, if there are twins I would find out then as well). A few weeks later they will be able to tell us whether we are having a boy or girl. I would like to know, but my husband doesn’t. Friends, family, classes, have all been cheered up by the news of our pregnancy and some even cheered and clapped. The medical attention so far has not been as encouraging, but I am determined not to be clinicalised in all of this. Part of me wants a home birth. The hospital may not be so keen. I do not want the screenings for Downs Syndrome. The midwife wrote ‘considering it’. I have had panic attacks. The duty doctor was not sympathetic or helpful and reminded me that babies die even after scans, so a scan won’t help me feel better.
One thing dad taught me by example was to always see the positive side of things and to believe the best about people, in order to love them and serve them. Actually my midwife is great, and had gone and found my lost referral at the hospital and hurried the process along. The doctor may have never had children or not understood how I was feeling both times I saw her.
My job has been advertised, and even though the chances of finding a maths teacher to cover me for September are slim I still believe in being positive and trusting God that a good solution will be found. It is just part of who I am.