The effect of music.

We went to a festival recently with lots of people we don't see very often. For most of them, this is the first time they've seen us since finding out. For others, this is where they found out. The wife wore tight clothes to especially show off her state.

The best reaction was one person, who, once she realised, stood there, mouth open, pointing and saying Aaaaaaaaaaa!

Most people secretly wondered, but did not ask until we (or someone else) broached the issue. All of them had a story about a time they'd gotten it wrong and are now very reluctant to ask.

We went out to one club night. The music was good, but it might have been too loud. The little one started squirming quite a lot, so we decided to go home. No idea if the music was annoying, uncomfortable, or if the wee one was actually really enjoying it. I can live with a bit of short term resentment on the off chance it was actually enjoying it and dancing – I'm sure foetal grudges aren't too long.

We looked up the effects of loud music online afterwards and came to the conclusion that no one has the slightest idea. Great. There goes the ability to have guilt-free fun on nights out for the next few months. Then again there was little complaining from the little one during the actual gigs we saw – only the club night.

I've decided to make an in utero playlist of music to play up until birth. The genres range from classical to current pop. No children's music. We can play loads of that after the birth. This is all interesting sounding music, that, at best will give the wee one something to listen to and stimulate all those forming neurons. At worst, I’m hoping it'll install an a priori liking for music we like.

I'm still editing and trimming the list down to remove all the really fast music. I don't want it to come out a hyper little bunny.

Another discovery: before, conversation would orbit around baby and baby things. Now conversation pulls over a chair squarely into the middle of baby, sits down and makes itself comfortable, pausing only to fetch a footstool so it can go the long haul. I don't mind talking about the pregnancy, the forthcoming child, or anything of that sort. In fact I rather enjoy it. I've learned that parents seem to love gushing about their offspring, and I'm not an exception (though, to be honest, there's nothing to actually gush about yet, unless you consider the ability to wriggle gushworthy). All that said, I do like talking about other things. I am still me after all.