Yesterday morning at the soul crumbling time of 5am my cherub son woke me up demanding Mr Maker on tv. Mr Maker comes on at 7am I do believe, but you can't reason with three year olds. Anyway, I fumbled through putting on a dvd and peanut buttering some toast to buy myself another half hour in bed and took a pit stop in the loo. Then I totally freaked out. Bright red blood on the paper sent me into a dizzy spin and by 6am I was in the emergency room.
By 9:30 I was having an ultrasound to see my little blob who was wriggling away happily with the same high heart rate as last week. It turns out I had a uterine bleed that could've been caused by any number of things, but generally speaking not taking it easy. I do believe I might have picked up a giant tv last week when rearranging my bedroom, or it might have been all those times Axel pretends to go limp when I lift him out of the bath. Either way, it was a nasty reminder that pregnant women aren't invincible.
I am so grateful that it's all ok, and that the staff at the emergency ward took my concerns seriously. I don't even mind that the doctor botched a drip and got blood all over my favourite skirt.