Honest Pregnancy

Honest Pregnancy

AKA Knocked Up: the unasked-for week by week guide.

TL;DR: sometimes it’s wondrous, at other times it’s much more difficult than I had anticipated. Someone, somewhere should be honest about this. For the moment it’s me.

Weeks 1 – 4 Blissfully unaware! :Drinking! Laughing!

Week 5: Knocked Up: Took a test, wow. Announced to husband early one morning when he had a hangover. Reaction wasn’t exactly filmic. “Are you sure?”

Week 6: Sanctimonious cradling of non-existent bump: Walking around in a joyful haze, but start to feel a bit odd, a fearful trembling seized me.

Week 7:queasy, breezy cover girl: Those queasy moments, the odd feeling of a lingering hangover (without the fun the night before) morph into full-scale sickness.

Weeks 8 – 12: recreate scene from the Exorcist: We do not speak of this time. Being sick only 8 times counts as a good day. 15 times is the median. Weight is lost, along with sense of humour. On the bright side, I’m so thin. Probably not the direction I’m meant to be going in, but thin all the same.

Week 13: sense of smell! Kindly doctor proscribes drugs. This definitely takes the edge off. Sense of smell is incredible, this is what it’s like being a beagle. It’s hard work. Rubbish smells, let me tell you. As does lettuce.

Week 14: The drugs do work: The drugs do work. Moment of silence to revere the drugs. Word.

Week 15: nesting manifests itself in form of manic cleaning: In a pleasant drug haze, whilst creeping around the house like a knocked-up Miss Havisham, I tackle draws of junk, filing cabinets, recycling bins and clothing mounds. At least it’s productive and doesn’t involve throwing money around. My transition to conservative-soccer-“mom” is apparently complete, all I need now is the big hair, SUV and jeans.

Week 16: miss cardio for the first time in my life. Who am I? Just looking a bit fat now. Not obviously preggers. Just corpulent. Thigh circumference is vast.

Week 17: highs and lows. Still scared by thighs: Was that a flutter of movement? It was but also in the same week as peak vomit count per day: 35. Nothing, let me tell you, nothing breaks you down like vomiting in the street 17 times in the middle of the day. I crawl home to bed and weep. Yes, it’s self-pity.

Week 18: it’s aliiiiive! Yes it was, the quickening!

Week 19: False Food Friends: Fact: iced buns can suddenly turn against you, just when you thought it was safe to go back into the water…

Week 20: Finch visuals! More scans, the anatomy one, quite lovely to see the finch tumbling around and flexing her newly-grown limbs. Also, jetlag compounds morning sickness. Learn from my mistakes. Learn!

Week 21: Kindness of friends: I am often rendered speechless by the kindness and generosity of my friends, this week we were handed a batch of hand-me-down clothes and some frankly fantastic maternity clothes. Just as well I spent all that time frantically empyting drawers as I now have plenty of clothes to fill them up for the finch. Lovely.

Week 22: Unequivocally pregnant: Bump is now public and popular. Dog still likes to jump on it from time-to-time though. Should I be concerned? Ice cream for dinner. Chocolate digestives as a pre-breakfast treat. I eat like a 10 year-old boy.

Week 23: I’m not going down the earth mother road then: I have chosen to be amused by my own irritability. Dismayed to be asked by a nurse if I was pregnant. Observation people! Observation does wonders for inspiring confidence.

Week 24: It burns mother! It burns : ACID REFLUX. Do I share too much?

Week 25: folks are nice: Strangers wish me luck on the street, which, surprisingly, I quite like. When I lock eyes with another pregnant lady, a world weary look is exchanged. Silent collusion, a bit like being in the trenches.

Weeks 26 – 27: vast, now with calf cramps: Calf cramps hurt like the devil. However tiger balm > calf cramps. Also bananas apparently. One to eat, one to soothe on to affected area. Confusing the two not recommended.

Week 28: thanks flu shot! Pressured by doctor into having a flu shot. Now have a cold. Not impressed.

Week 29 – 30: le sads, I’m too sad to tell you: Weepy, wailing woman! Best avoided, strangely devastated by even the most trivial setbacks.

Weeks 31 – 33: I have become Travis Bickle. The only coat that still does up in these chilly times is my ex-army issue coat. The only boots I can still put on are also a bit biker boot in look. It’s all a bit militaristic. I look like a gun for hire. A gun for hire with a bump. It’s an interesting look. I scare children.

Weeks 34 – 35: Vast. Swollen. Uncomfortable. If this goes on for 42 weeks I’m withholding breastmilk. Yes, I said it.

Week 36: O happy day. Sometimes, you just need comfort food. It was a Friday, it was raining. Seamless web was rushing me some proper fish and chips, with fat, vinegar-y British chips and there I saw it, a mere afterthought on the menu… the deep-fried mars bar. The Scottish confection of urban legend. It was within my grasping fingers.
I had to have it.
It’s important to indulge in the 3rd trimester perks so here we were. Me, the mars bar. It had to happen. It was destiny. Also, clearly, it’s not the sort of thing I’d ever want to eat under normal circumstances. My foodie friends would stop taking my calls. So walk with me, through my rich, epicurean journey…
The first bite: like an angel crying on my tongue: the salty, warm batter, the sweet, sweet caramel. O joyous combination!


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