I’m so not fussed about being pregnant

I’ve wanted to write about my pregnancy but I suffer from a “don’t-come-across-as-too-obsessed” paranoia. This is because I know there are people who are driven nuts by knocked-up lassies who won’t stop going on and on and on about it. “They don’t have lives anymore,” they say. “It’s so pathetic.” And they’re right. People should not be hogging facebook with ultrasound photos and up-the-duff status updates. Instead they should be writing about other fun things like getting trashed on the weekend or the latest season of True Blood. But unfortunately I think it’s too late for me. For some reason having a parasite growing inside of me has made me over-consumed, obsessed even. I try and go a day without thinking about it and I fail. Why? I’m telling you, it’s not my fault – it’s the parasite that’s taking all my nutrients, changing my hormones, and it’s growing bigger and stronger every moment. Aahhhh. Did you hear me? There’s a bloody parasite in my belly.

Calling a baby “parasite” is probably not the best way to describe an unborn child. So I’ve come up with babushka because it’s a person within a person. Get it? Or giraffe baby because it’s probably a ranga and it has long legs.  So here’s what’s been happening to giraffe baby and me, in a nutshell.

The trials and tribulations of the first trimester

I spent the first trimester hating bulimics. Random? Yes, yes it is. Now I’m in my second trimester I can see how unfair this bulimia-bigotry was.

It’s because I was puking every day (sometimes twice a day) for weeks and weeks. The sickness would hit me at any time, anywhere: back lanes, public toilets, hotel rooms, cafes, and restaurants. So while my head was in the loo (or in a gutter) I’d think of bulimics and how they do this to themselves on purpose. All I wanted was to be eating well and feeding babushka and here I was not able to keep anything down besides dry crackers and plain pasta. But did I hate my giraffe baby for doing this to me? Or my husband for getting me knocked up in the first place? Or myself? Of course not – I hated bulimics! Yeah, I’m a moron. Please forgive me bulimics – I know you’ve had a rough time.

I also became obsessed with watching movies with pregnant chicks in them. The sole reason: I wanted to see others in the first trimester pain I was going through. But funnily enough morning sickness does not feature in any movie – and I guess this makes sense. Really, who wants to watch films of women with puffy eyes and a pasty pallor puking their guts up? Well, me … that’s who. And after watching about 1000 minutes worth of rom com up-the-duff flicks there was only one scene that gave me the slightest sense of the schadenfreude I was seeking. You can watch it here.

Thank you Judd Apatow – I love you very very much.

Embracing the second trimester

I celebrated reaching week 14 with a G&T. It was poured into a tumbler glass with fresh lemon. When I’d take a sip I’d hear that comforting chink chink sound as the ice clicked against the glass edge and the noise reassured me that all is okay in the world. But it missed one thing – the gin.

I thought going without sushi would be the hardest change about pregnancy but who was I kidding? It’s alcohol.  Ah, sweet, lovely alcohol – how I miss you. A glass of red on a cold night. A glass of bubbly with the girls. A cider or beer on a sunny day. I know I’m supposed to say the thought of you makes me feel sick but it doesn’t. Never fear, my dear friend – we will be together again one day.

Overall the second trimester has been swell. The colour has come back to my cheeks and my eyes are no longer tiny, red slits. I’m not washed out or as tired either and I no longer smell like spew – yippeeee! So I raise my non-alcoholic glass in a toast to babuska and our last four and a half months together. Here’s to the next four and a half and may they be better than the first.


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