Buck your ideas up! Bitch!....

Hello again,

This has been a particularly difficult week this week.  I've been feeling pretty blue. Its week 38 and with only 14 days until my due date it seems to be getting harder by the day. It's no secret by now that I haven't found pregnancy to be an easy pursuit. That I have been surprised by situations and scenarios that I had not even considered before getting pregnant. Don't get me wrong. I read all the books and took a really active interest in pregnancy and all the things that my body would go through and i was prepared. PREPARED. If a pregnancy quiz existed I would ace it. I knew my chosen subject so well that I take pride in the fact that I haven't pestered my midwife with every little twinge and ailment. Like she doesn't have enough to do.

Unfortunately for me there is a secret bonus round in the quiz that I didn't know about. I am the spotty teenager that only realises she should have turned her paper over for the second question ten minutes before the end of the exam. You see it doesn't matter how much you study the textbooks, no one tells you how much the comments and behaviour of others will affect you. There is no chapter on how to cope with the intrusion of others. Had there been, I perhaps wouldn't have been completely caught off guard and thus their observations and opinions would not have had a such a detrimental effect on me.

Some of the terminology that people choose to use during pregnancy is startling in it's inappropriateness. The word 'HUGE' is cast around by everyone you come across. When has it ever been OK to use that word when describing a women? Just because I'm pregnant. The one time in my life when I couldn't do anything about it even if I wanted to. My weight has always been pretty steady. I fluctuate between 9 1/2 and almost 11 stone depending on how active I am and I've never really had massive body hang ups apart from the odd 'fat days' and the frustrated 'I have nothing to wear' moments but who doesn't get them.

I have been hearing that word since I was 20 weeks which was back in June. At least if I was overweight people would keep their judgement behind my back but when you are pregnant they say it to your face. Human beings are judgemental. I just wish I didn't have to hear it for months on end.

So maybe I'm being over sensitive. Maybe i should just accept the things that people say and do.
Well here's a list of some of the things that people have said to me over the course of my pregnancy so you can be the judge.

"WOW! You are double the size my daughter was with her first baby" A really stupid thing to say when you think of how human beings come in all shapes and sizes. Pregnancy is no different. It would be weirder if my dimensions suddenly exactly mimicked hers considering I am not related to you in anyway??!!

"You're huge! Are you sure there's only one in there?" I've heard this about fifty times. Yes I'm sure. I've had scans. They check for that. You're a dumbass.

Person: "How long have you got to go?" a relatively innocent question but one which quickly turns sour.
Me: "__  weeks"
Person: now with a look of either confusion or horror on their face "Really? Are you sure? You look ready to pop/burst/drop/explode" This is so moronic. Yes I'm sure. You'd think if anybody would know how many weeks I have left of being an human incubator, IT WOULD BE ME!!!

"Your bump comes round the corner/enters the room about 5 mins before you do!" Again, I have heard this more than once and it stings.

"WOW! You literally get bigger every time I see you!" Really?! No shit Sherlock! That will continue to happen week by week until I give birth. That's what happens in pregnancy. Read a fucking book.

And my personal favourite...

Lady at drinks counter of an event that I went to recently: "I don't want anything else but there's a lady with a fat stomach here who probably wants a lemonade.."

If this seems a little too harsh to be true, I swear to god its word for word and those of you that know him can ask Mr X as he was standing in equally stunned silence next to me when this happened.

So it's inevitable that all of these comments have chipped away at me and them coupled with my daily assessment of my now swollen body has brought me to this point. I have amassed a generous amount of new cellulite during the last nine months. My once pert boobs are now swollen and veiny and leaking (ain't that a kick in the head) My clothes don't fit. Even my maternity clothes. My stomach is heavy and distended to an alarming level and the few tiny stretch marks that I thought I was getting away with have been joined by a little gang of secret ones that were hiding below my field of vision on the underside of my bump. I haven't seen my vagina for months, much less given her any kind of haircut until the other day. I'm pretty sure that the end result could have been better executed by a drunk Edward Scissorhands.

This is the biggest I have ever been and the most I have ever weighed (although I haven't weighed myself since I found out I was pregnant. There really is no point knowing because I can't do anything about it) I look at myself in the mirror or in the photos that people insist on taking of me despite my desperate pleas that I don't want my photo taken and I hate what I see. I am so disgusted. I feel, for the first time since I was a teenager, that I have major body issues and I don't think its so surprising that I wouldn't want photo evidence of that. I am incapacitated and cant get off the sofa without assistance because my body is so achy and tender. I feel weak and like I'm not in charge of my own body anymore.

So when Mr X asked me what was wrong this week it was inevitable that the tears fell freely and before I knew it I was sobbing out all of the frustrations that I have felt and kept inside about the way I look at the moment. He listened as he always does with concern and offered words of encouragement and love. "You're doing so well honey", "It's not going to be for much longer", "You look beautiful" (bless his lying ass) "It must be so frustrating because you are still the same person but you can't move around or do the things you used to do"

And then it hit me like a fucking steam train.......

There is an end point to this and I shouldn't be so bloody self involved and self deprecating. My poor mum must have felt like this early on in her diagnosis. Like she still wanted to dance, sail, walk and run but that her body wasn't hers anymore. She was trapped inside a body that she no longer recognised and that behaved in a way she couldn't control.

How unbelievably selfish of me to complain about something that I should be celebrating. My chubby little body with all its faults and dry patches is doing something incredible. I get to meet my little hitchhiker in a matter of weeks and whatever the fallout from the birth is, whatever silhouette I am left with as a result should make me feel proud not shameful. I can believe that the comments have affected me, I am only human after all but I can't believe that I let it get me down to such a degree that I lost sight of the lessons that my mothers illness has taught me.

So, I have decided to stop being a whiny little bitch (channelling Jessie Pinkman a bit there) Pull myself together and realise that whatever I am feeling, it pales in comparison to what some people have to live with, without the knowledge of a happy ending or a resolution.

I am hardly a 'She Beast' after all.

annnnnnnnd breath.......

Booze politics are driving me crazy....

Well hello there,

Hopefully I've given you all enough time to get over my last post. Sorry if it was a bit intense. I'm back to my normal groaning and sarcastic self. Now the title of this post may lead you to think that I have surrendered and in an attempt to placate my feeling towards the symptoms of pregnancy have hit the bottle and guzzled as much shandy booze as I can get my hands on. Not so.

The booze politics refers to a 'slight disagreement' that I have been having with my husband. In order to protect his identity I promised to refer to him as Mr X (We laughed at that a lot) In fact, over lunch yesterday, I threatened to put him in this blog so that I could get some feedback and prove to him that I am right. (hopefully!)

Now, he also asked me to make this a balanced post and include some of his positive attributes before I reveal his dreadful behaviour, so that he doesn't come across as a total, utter swine! So, here is a short list of things he has done in the last seven months that were good.

• He made me dinner last night whilst I had an unscheduled nap with the cat. (although the cynical side of me thinks that this may have been as a direct result of the aforementioned threats at lunch. Hmmm....) 
• He picks up all the random 'dropped' items that I leave strewn about the house because I can no longer bend in the middle. My car keys, chunks of carrot, my toothbrush etc
• He does my buckle flip flops up for me. 
• He helps me get up off the sofa/floor (even if it is accompanied by a jovial exclamation of "HEAVE!")  
• He is reading his pregnancy book. So that we don't have a repeat of him saying things like "how am I supposed to check how dilated your cervix is" which was met with an understandable look of horror from me!
• He gave me a back massage and did not expect anything in return. I have been informed that this was particularly difficult and worth a huge amount of 'husband points'

OK. Gushy puke fest over. I hope that is enough, darling Mr X, to paint you in a positive light. Now for the dreadful behaviour I mentioned.

For the last decade Ja..I mean MR X and I have had a fairly balanced relationship. We don't bullshit each other. We don't hold grudges once an issue has been discussed and dealt with and we share our lives with each other as much as we can without pissing each other off. He puts the bins out. (I thought this happened magically) and I do the shopping list. Our chores are fairly evenly shared and we live in relative harmony.  

We spread our social life pretty evenly too. We try to see as many friends as possible and keep up with people. We both love going out and socialising and we get bored very easily. It's rare we spend a day doing nothing. (Unless of course we were hungover in which case you could find our grey pallid little bodies covered in bits of crisp and pizza cheese, quaffing glasses of 'fat' Coke and watching back to back movies on a duvet and pillow mountain we called 'the nest')

That was until in January of this year The Hitchhiker came on the scene. I immediately gave up all the lovely stuff that you are supposed to give up. The lovely booze. The lovely cigarettes. Coarse french duck liver pate, brie and Camembert, runny eggs (I'm starting to dribble) and anything I used to put on my face to stop the adolescent breakouts that I still get at the ripe old age of 30! *shakes fist* 

I would never expect Mr X to give up booze and going out because it is me that is carrying the baby and not him. Although, to his credit he also gave up the fagarillos! I get that in October he will be able to go out even less and so should enjoy himself within reason and his dreadfully boring hobby (golf) as much as possible.

HOWEVER..we also used to share the role of designated driver and take it in turns to drive when needed so that we each had a chance to have a drink. Something that my darling husband has not done for the last seven months. EVERY time we have gone out, either for a meal or to see friends I have ended up being the one who drives us home because I cant drink. I have become our chauffeur. In fact on several occasions this has included me waiting for him to stop drinking so that I can drive us the hour drive home. At midnight.   

The reason that this argument has reared its ugly head again is that we have two social events coming up where drinking will be involved and we are currently in negotiations as to who will drive us home.  I don't think it should automatically be presumed that I will drive. I'm seven months pregnant FFS! 

If the flip side of this was that for nine months following the birth he becomes 'DES' then fair enough. I will dutifully 'do my time' and not complain from this point on. However, Mr X laughed at this and as yet the two social events we have coming up are still being disputed. So which of us is right? Please enlighten me before I burst hulk like and give him a thorough thrashing.

AAAAARRRRGGGHHH!!! 

Annnnnnnd breath......

The mother load........

Hello again

I'm having a very reflective week this week. I've just passed my 27 week mark and pregnancy wise I'm actually feeling pretty... good. (Pick yourself up off the floor, it's not that shocking!)

So this week I'm going to talk about something that's not solely about being pregnant, although it is having a more profound affect on me because I'm pregnant. But first a warning. It's pretty deep shit and probably won't be all that funny so if you don't fancy killing five minutes reading something like that then go and watch some cats on YouTube and catch me on the next post instead.

In every day life I am a pretty strong cookie. I face things head on and deal with them. I don't EVER run from my problems. My attitude is 'head down and power through' but this week I'm faltering. This week I'm finding it difficult to be optimistic. Let me explain.

My mother has Primary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis, a neurological condition which affects around 100,000 people in the UK. Mostly women and most people are diagnosed between the ages of 20-40. In my mother's case it was when she was 45. Its a clusterfuck of a condition. For those of you who don't know what that is, its an old military term meaning a situation in which multiple things go wrong. (Let me just clarify that that is NOT a used medical term. For Christ sake don't start quoting that to your doctors!)

MS is a bitch because although diagnosed people can share some of the same symptoms as each other and there are some 'typical' traits it affects people at such different rates which means that some people can live with it, work with it and generally 'cope' with it but for some it is devastating. This is how it was for mum. As quick as we could get equipment into the house to suite her needs, sure enough months later she would outgrow it because her condition would progress. Before she had her diagnosis she was a nurse who ran two nursing homes and lived for her work. She is now paralysed from the neck down (apart from some movement in her right arm)

It wasn't all bloody doom and gloom. She has a wicked sense of humour which she has passed on to me. We have always tried to 'see the funny' in situations which would otherwise have been crushing. Like when she first got severe shakes in her hands that she couldn't control and she said "well at least we'll save money on batteries" (I'll let that sink in)

Or when we took her up and gave her a bath, a task that used to take three hours because we had two flights of stairs and upon draining the water we realised that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to use her new bath oil. She slipped around like a wet fish, my brother and I grabbing different parts of her anatomy to try and get her out. All of us laughing so much that we had no strength to lift. Days like that you have to laugh.

Her condition and the dignified and astonishing way in which she copes with it has taught me a lot of things about how I should live my life. I have made my peace with a lot of inevitable changes over the last decade. She cannot do the things that normal mothers do. She cannot cook for me. We can't go on holiday together. She cannot stay at my house and spend the weekend. We cannot go shopping together or the movies because she gets so tired. I am ashamed to admit it but when i see my friends with their mothers doing normal things it physically makes me ache. And I suppose the most heartbreaking of all, although I have never said this to anyone, is that she has been unable to hug me for five years now.

The reason I am saying all this, apart from the fact that its a bloody sight cheaper than therapy, is that I am about to become a mother for the first time and although I may outwardly project an image that I have it all in hand, I would give anything to have her guidance. I know I'm talking like she's already gone but she is frequently having days where she cant speak and is very confused. I would give anything for her to be able to hold my baby. To be able to give my little hitchhiker to her for the afternoon. To have her see their first birthday. But it's not to be. Don't get me wrong I have incredible in-laws and a small group of the most amazingly supportive people around me who I am so lucky to have. But they aren't her.

Oh well. I will teach my little person who she was when they are older and tell them all about how tremendously brave one person can be. I will teach them that material things and money don't matter one bit and that all you need in life is a wicked sense of humour and lots of love.

Told you it was some heavy shit. Bet you wish you'd switched to funny YouTube cat videos now don't you. In fact I urge you to do that after this to cheer yourself up.

Lets end on a different note then. It wouldn't feel right not to have a bit of a moan about something.

I have slight OCD. I 'd rather refer to it as being slightly eccentric but whatever. I'm a bit pissed off that I can no longer drink Diet Coke because they now have names on all the bottles and if my name isn't available I don't feel I should have to walk around as a Brian or a Samantha.  The bloody bastards at Coca Cola are screwing with us!

And its hot.....and I'm pregnant....

annnnnnnnd breath..............

Size DOES matter apparently...

Hi there, back again huh? 

You mean I didn't scare you off with my first post? Well, It seems I have underestimated you and your tolerance for good old fashioned grumbling. Marvellous! Then shall we get on with it.

This week (today in fact) I had my 25 week appointment. This is the one where, among other things, they measure your bump for the first time. They measure you from the top of your uterus (at the moment by my belly button) down to your pelvic bone (lady garden area) Rule of thumb is that at 25 weeks I should measure around 25cm. 

Now, I knew from looking at pictures of my mother when she was pregnant with me and from what the good lady has told me herself that she carried 'big'. The poor thing is only 5ft 5 and I weighed 9lb 6 at birth. I have heard countless times how people would say how lovely it was that she was expecting a baby around Christmas and I wasn't due till May. I kind of guessed that because I am physically like my mother, although a little taller, I would show pretty early in my pregnancy and look very 'pregnant'. So when my bump started to develop at around 12 weeks I wasn't surprised.

Everyone else on the other hand seemed to be fucking blown away that my body was changing at a seemingly alarming rate. Once I actually revealed my bump at 12 weeks  people openly told me how "HUGE' my bump was. Isn't that something every women wants to hear? (there's that sarcasm again) and they continue to be surprised every time they see me and openly say how big my stomach is. JOY! 

OK, let me just clear something up then. Every week my bump will get a little bigger. I'm OK with this. I have made my peace with it. This is something that you are just going to have to learn to cope with. I am growing a human after all.  Just dial it down a bit perhaps and whilst I've got you here could you also dial down the bump rubbing.

We cant all go around grabbing the body parts of whoever we want now can we? This isn't the 60's for god sake. It would be inappropriate for me to combine my morning wave to the post lady with a firm grasp of her arse or to bump into an old friend in town that perhaps I haven't seen for a long time and jump at the chance to do a 'honka honka' boob grab! And before you say "well that's completely different to touching someones bump", let me enlighten you to the contrary. You are still invading my personal space. Christ! If I was from a different country and you rubbed my bump I'm pretty sure I would be within my legal rights to kill you. (That may not be true. I'd have to check)

The trouble is that when a lady gets pregnant her body is not her own any more. I am carrying around this little hitchhiker and we are quite accustomed to each other now. But, to have it invaded even further by the eager hands and probing fingers of, on more than one occasion, a distant acquaintance/stranger is a little too much for me. Call me uptight if you want, I don't care. Here's a handy diagram to help you. FYI me and 'The Hitchhiker' are firmly in the red zone :-)

I should state that if you are my friend/family member and I grasp hold of your hand and put it on my stomach when the little one kicks or when you have asked me then you may take that as a pretty good indication that I'm OK with it.

Annnnnnnnd breath.............

(p.s. I measured 26cm. Hardly gargantuan proportions)

PLEASE tell me your birth stories....

Hi, I'm new to this pregnancy malarkey. Hence the name of this blog. I think I have to call myself an amateur until I've actually gone through the joys of labour and popped out a little person.

I'm also new to blogging. I have several friends who write brilliant and popular blogs about a variety of subjects and do so with such flair and success that I was happy to remain just an enthusiastic and supportive reader. Actually if I'm completely honest I didn't really have anything I felt I needed to write about. I have interests and passions like anyone else, but writing about them would eventually bore the shit out of ME, let alone other people. 

However, back in January of this year my husband and I discovered that we would be welcoming a little person into the world this in October. A planned little person who we are very excited to meet and who we talked about creating for a long time before the two weeks of trying resulted in a positive test. (yes...two weeks) I had been mentally preparing for that day for a number of years but nothing can really prepare you for the moment you see the word 'pregnant' pop up on the little screen. A fact further emphasised by the amount of times I say "holy shit!"  in the video I made of that exact moment. 

And so I finally found something to write about because there is no getting away from being pregnant. You cant have a day off. 

Now before you sigh deeply and switch your brain off, let me reassure you that this will not be one of those 'helpful' pregnancy blogs which talks about it being a miraculous journey. (puke) Don't get me wrong. I realise that I am very lucky to be pregnant and for it to have happened naturally and so quickly however, I should warn you up front about a few things. I am an adult which means that I do swear where I feel it is necessary. If you are below 18 or it offends you, then go get yourself a copy of Harry Potter instead. This blog is not for you.

I will also talk VERY openly and candidly about some of the joys of pregnancy. Off the top of my head constipation, pains, puking, lack of sleep and dreams of being invaded by an alien. If you are offended by this or you change the channel when 'Embarrassing Bodies' comes on the box the this blog is not for you. (I'm not planning to post any pictures of anything gross! Christ, nobody wants to see that!)

Now that that's out of the way I can start my first blog post. (As you can tell from the title I think that sarcasm passes for wit.)

I am 24 weeks + 4 days pregnant or six months if you prefer to think of it like that. In that 24 weeks I have learnt of an interesting (bloody annoying) phenomenon. When you get pregnant, women from all walks of life will openly and happily and in some cases forcibly tell you their 'birth story'. The story of what happened to them during the birth of each of their little people. It is never EVER a nice story because the nice "two hours and he was out" stories are apparently not worth telling. Although one would argue that those are probably the stories that a pregnant person would want to hear the most! 

Honestly it's a crazy thing that I perhaps naively didn't expect would happen. I have learnt of their episiotomy gone wrong,  exploding amniotic sacks and blood clots the size of grapefruits hitting doctors scrubs with a splat. All told with a strange and unnerving enthusiasm. I have been trapped in social situations where people chat contentedly around me whilst I am forced to listen to a good 45 minute tale with such delightful details. 

If you too have encountered such a phenomenon then you will know that what comes with it is a whole load of useful (never asked for) advice. Why I shouldn't EVER have an epidural. How I should only opt for unassisted home births because and I quote "fucking midwives don't have a clue" (someone actually said that to me) How NCT classes are not worth it or absolutely essential. How if I have pain relief I will burn in hell for all eternity!!! 

OK, so that last one might be a little bit fabricated but you get the idea. The truth is I don't want to bloody know! Please, PLEASE stop telling me your birth stories. You are sharing too much. Talk to me about the new Star Trek movie or what classic car you would buy if you won the lottery. These are things I am interested in. I am not JUST pregnant. 

Unless of course I ask you to tell me. In which case you may take that as a good indication that I want to know. 

Annnnnnnnd breath.........