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.........