Where's Helmut?

Since we’ve reached the halfway mark, it’s high time for a Helmut update!

 

There were long weeks of succumbing to persistent naps, indulging cravings for cream of wheat, snuffling, moaning about my hyper-sensitive tailbone and weaning myself off nighttime snacking, but by now I‘ve started to feel a bit more normal. I stay up until the evening. I sleep through the night. I go into town to see friends, and come back again still conscious enough to speak.

After a month of working from home, I finally decided it was time to make an appearance in the office this week. It was fairly exhausting, and I had to go to bed as soon as I got home in the afternoon, but it was also rejuvenating to see my friends after so long.  Apart from one day in January, I haven’t been in the office since around Christmas.

 

And all week long I could see people, despite themselves, constantly eying my stomach, first with interest, then with confusion. “Congratulations...um, right?”

So apparently I’m not showing quite as much as I thought I was. Looking down from my perspective, Helmut looks round, robust and (to put it in Piotrek’s words) a bit pointy (he/she seems to prefer my right side for now.) So I took an experimental photograph:

Helmut at 19 weeks/4.5 months

 

Maybe Helmut isn’t actually all that visible yet – especially under clothes – but he/she’s getting bigger all the time. I’m no longer waking up for midnight snacks, and I’ve been sleeping through the night quite a lot, but I’m also woken up often by my migrating organs as they move to make room for Helmut’s nightly ballet practice and spontaneous interior renovations. But in the battle between Helmut and my stomach muscles, the stomach muscles are still holding their ground.

When the doctor examined me a couple weeks ago, she exclaimed, “My goodness, your stomach is hard! Doesn’t it hurt?” Isn’t it supposed to? No, apparently not. I’ve been advised to take lots of magnesium and do relaxation exercises, and gradually accept the fact that losing my impeccable posture is in no way reprehensible. That’s going to take some getting used to.

And speaking of being examined, I finally went to that doctor recommended by Ania. Revelation! She obviously takes as much time as each patient needs – she was running an hour late when I arrived, and when my turn finally came, she spent nearly an hour with me. She was very thorough, easy to talk to, listened well and explained everything in great detail. She even did a quick ultrasound, although all that we could see was a partially-obscured bottom and an occasionally wandering hand.

Most importantly, I got the essential signed declaration to hand in at the office, making it even more official than the team announcement and ensuing gossip machine. Everyone at work seems super excited about this baby – almost as excited, I would dare to say, as my own mother (it’s their team baby, you understand).

I had a discussion with my line manager, and we’ve set a date for my maternity leave. Apparently, my yearly assessment and future salary will come out better for me if I don’t work for more than three months this year, since in that case they'll just base my 2014 assessment on my 2013 results. And since I’m not going to be able to take on any major projects this year, it’s been impressed on me that there’s not much point in hanging around and exhausting myself while achieving nothing exciting enough to record in my personal development plan. So my leave will start on 1 April, and I’ll just have to find something to do with myself for the three or so months until Helmut comes.

Beforehand, I did ask several colleagues what the “normal” timeframe is for starting maternity leave is. Two months before your due date? Oh, no, everyone vigorously shook their heads. Only so-and-so ever did that, and she was a little crazy. No, anyone in their right mind would take at least three, maybe four. Many people have asked me why I bother to come in to the office at all. Wouldn’t I prefer to stay at home? I mentioned I had started to miss being in the office, and people rolled their eyes, like I was telling a joke.

It came over me later that I have very little time left before I give up the daily struggle against the whims of over-entitled expats and the absurdities of the statistic-crunching projectmongers for the pleasures of home repairs, diaper stocking and long ponderings over subtle differences in shades of paint. It’s difficult, when it comes down to it, to feel too disappointed.