January was miserable.
Cold and grey and wet and miserable. Busy and stressful and tiring and miserable. Constant-nausea-but-never-actually-sick miserable. Anna saw her doctor, who filled in a lot of forms; and she saw a midwife, who filled in some more forms and stuck a needle in her arm. The midwife was kind but brisk, and gave her a green set of notes and a folder with a book and a pile of leaflets.
She could usually manage to get through the work day okay but afterwards she was exhausted. It was dark when she left in the morning and dark when she got home in the evening. Everything either tasted wrong or felt weird in her mouth or made her stomach heave (or all three). But if she didn't eat, she felt worse.
The midwife told her the baby was due on the 11th of August. So winter, then spring, then almost all of summer before she would be not-pregnant. How did people do this. How did people do this, then voluntarily decide to do it again.
"It'll be worth it," Elsa said, one Saturday evening after Anna had spent the whole afternoon lying on the sofa leaning over a bucket. But she didn't sound particularly convinced.
January was also when Anna properly, officially met Kristoff's parents. They were invited round for Sunday lunch one weekend, and even though Anna was usually good with boyfriends' parents - well, she was generally good with new people - the stakes here felt unbelievably high. And she still felt a bit as though she was supposed to be in disgrace.
But Brenda and Cliff were nice, almost supernaturally nice (as was Kristoff's oldest sister, Katja, who Just Happened To Be Passing after lunch and ended up staying for half an hour). However his mum had been when she first heard the news, she had indeed come round, and was nothing but pleasant and welcoming. Afterwards Anna nearly cried with relief.
If one thing was odd, it was Kristoff. She was so used to seeing him alone. It was strange to see him as part of a bigger unit, chatting with his mum, helping his dad wash up, rolling his eyes at his sister. He was completely at ease with these people who were strangers to her. She wondered what it was like to feel that comfortable somewhere, to know exactly where you belonged.
And finally it was February. She'd been waiting for February.
"Anna Rendell?"
"OK, we're just through this door - have you got your notes? Lovely. Let me just take a look - you pop up there, your partner can sit on the chair - now, today is what we call your dating scan, we're mainly checking the size of the baby to make sure your due date is correct, and taking a few measurements. If you can just - excellent - this is a bit cold I'm afraid - let's have a look. OK - there we go. There's your baby."
"Oh," Anna said faintly. A hand reached out for hers and she held it tightly, not looking away from the screen. Obviously she'd known, but actually seeing it - she just kept thinking 'that's a baby.' Her baby.
"Nice strong heartbeat," the sonographer was saying now. "Everything looks fine, your dates are about right - I just need a few measurements for your notes," and she tapped at her keyboard. "Did you want a picture? They're four pounds, pay at the desk on your way out."
"Please," Anna said, and glanced sideways at Kristoff. He was still watching the screen, his mouth slightly open, running his thumb absentmindedly over her fingers.
The sonographer pressed the probe down at a different angle and the baby jumped and kicked its legs. Anna laughed. "This is so bizarre," she said. "Look, Kris, the baby's waving at you. Kris. Kristoff." She turned to look at him again. "If you're crying there're tissues in my handbag."