Panic rating: 7/10 – weirdly feel less scared about the birth than a few months ago…must be the hormones

Body image: Not great. In fact, get ready people because this is what this post is all about!

Cravings: Kinda hungry but not over the top. Food is one of the last pleasures I have left though so there’s still no holding back…

Average number of times per night where I need to get up and go wee: 1 – not bad, huh? It’s worse when I’m on my feet and gravity does the job of pushing the baby down onto my bladder

No. of days till due date: 26 – yep, don’t worry about trying to work it out – I’m due on the 27th April, but who knows if he’ll be early or late?

I’m going to start this post by saying yes know I haven’t updated for ages, and yes, this may very well be the last one any of us will read about my journey before I am a mummy. And once that”s happened, who knows when the next one will appear? I will say, however, that I am planning on continuing the blogging but in a new format as I will no longer be pregnant – stand by for a new link…

Despite the fact that (or indeed, obviously because) it has been weeks and weeks since my last post, much has occurred and developed, at least physically. I am now very very pregnant. In fact, it would appear that – according to Joe and Josephine Public (whom I have of course never met personally, or only the once) – I am now so pregnant as to be the merry and eternally grateful recipient of untold riches in pearls of unsolicited advice, observations about my appearance, shape, size and the subject of rude stares and sometime finger pointing. And no, I assure you that I am not being paranoid.

Oh, and of course friends, colleagues and acquaintances (the vast majority of whom, it must be acknowledged, are the faithful readers of this blog) are all very well-meaning and say what they say to me from a place of “love”, also have felt the need, nay the very compulsion to furnish me with advice and observations on state of said pregnancy. Please note, dear friends and readers that, far be it for me to criticize you or admonish and chastise your purest hearts for telling me what you think (after all, I think we all know I’ve never been shy of telling you my opinions), I really do welcome it. Especially those of you who have been generous and kind enough to pay me a compliment. Thank you, dearest loves for that, for although I do not really believe you in my own black heart, it is very nice to hear and simply shows me that you love me. To those of you who have been unable to prevent themselves from verbally ejaculating the phrase, “Oh my God!” upon sighting my gravid form for the first time in several weeks or perhaps even months, I say, don’t worry about it, it happens to everyone from time to time, and no, of course I don’t mind.

I’d like to parade before you now a very special selection of amusing bon mots and gems dripping with wisdom that have been so generously bestowed upon my very pregnant person over the last several weeks. I do hope you derive as much pleasure and joy from them as I did at the time, and continue to do so every single time I remember them:

• From an ex work colleague, on the occasion of my first visit to my last place of employ since my ignominious ejection (theirs, not mine): “Are you having twins, Flick?” (And this one really meant it, she wasn’t just being a mean cow, just a stupid one. I was 30 weeks at the time)
• “Oh *grimace* you are quite big aren’t you?! When I was pregnant with my first I just ate everything – have you been doing that, too?” Also from an ex colleague. I was 32 weeks
• From a complete stranger avec child in tow, yesterday, when I was browsing in Baby Gap and the proud inspiration for this very blog post: “When’s your baby due? Oh, four weeks you say? Well I hate to say it [she clearly didn't] but you’re carrying very high aren’t you? It’s definitely going to be later than that!” Yeah, cheers random lady
• From my own doctor (and no, I’m not kidding, I wish I was): “Oh I can see now where all that extra weight has gone to.” At the time she was about to examine me and I was on the table and had just hitched up my skirt to expose my hilariously over generous thighs. I was 28 weeks
• And this, from more than one well-meaning person: “I’ve heard that cats often like to jump into the baby’s cot and suffocate them. Yeah, they’re attracted to the smell of the milk or something.” As you can imagine, if you know me, you know how much I adore my cat. And yes of course I’ll be taking precautions! If you want to know more, read my column on Parent Dish inspired by this fantastic and ridiculous old wives’ tale. I’ll refrain from ranting about what I really think about it here and now as it would be unseemly

Believe you me, I remember and have catalogued in my savant’s brain each and every one of these encounters and conversations and can remember and repeat them word for word like a self aware parrot. It’s because I’ve got hang ups, see? Just think about the woman in  your life that you know best (or perhaps yourself?) and think about how she reacts (and obsesses) about every single comment people make to her face about her appearance. It’s really silly and unnecessary but it’s the way we’re built. I blame gender conditioning and the media – those convenient scapegoats. Just because I’m pregnant, doesn’t mean that I don’t get hurt and offended by people telling me I look big. Equally, of course I am feeling my way through, it’s my first pregnancy – I really have no idea what I am doing – a very difficult thing to deal with and admit when you’re as advanced a control freak as I am. Therefore hearing that my dearest pet could potentially kill my newborn baby doesn’t really go down too well with me – I hope you understand where I’m coming from. It’s from a place of love, yeah?

So I really meant what I said when I said thanks for every time you say  or have said that I look good. It means a lot! And, to reward you for your patience in listening to this self indulgent riff about my fragile and tattered body image, here’s a couple of (carefully edited and selected) pics of how I look now. But please don’t exclaim, “Oh my God” when you look at them because actually, it turns out that I do kind of mind.

Flickster. xx

Fresh out of the pool like a soft boiled egg

Hunger rating: 20/10 Yep – I’m still famished. It’s just that I can’t seem to put away as big servings as I want to (the trick is to wait 20 minutes and then recommence eating!)

Cravings: Avocadoes – meh. Give me sugar ALL the time

Body image: Generally ok, depending on if I spot or am shown a current photo of myself or not. I have definitely put on weight in places other than my belly and boobies (have gone from size 12 on a very good day to size 16 with size 18 knockin’ on that door). But my stomach is pleasingly round and I definitely look pregnant – there’s no mistaking that now. I’ve found the key to stopping my self esteem from plummeting too far is to dress properly every day – by that I mean planning and coordinating outfits, and always doing my hair and make up. Ah, the restorative power of a good slick of lippy

Average number of times per night where I need to get up and go wee: 3. It’s back with a vengeance – after a blissful 8 or so weeks of sleeping through the night, my bladder seems to have shrunk to the size of a pea. During the day it is worse – sometimes I’ll be visiting the loo 3 or 4 times an hour with only an extremely disappointing 10 ml dribble to show for it

Out of breath: More than usual – climbing a set of two flight stairs makes me tired and short of breath

So I’m now just over six months’ pregnant. Hooray, I’ve made it to the third trimester, but I’m now starting to realise that I’ve been coasting a bit. The second trimester I have to admit, I felt pretty great (despite the blog moaning, which of course was purely for entertainment and comic value for YOU, dear reader). I was able to get lots of sleep, enjoyed glowing skin, thick hair and long nails, with the thought of labour and that horrifying birth stuff a mere indiscernible speck in the distance.

Now, I’m sorry to say, things have changed a bit. Of course, I shouldn’t complain really – despite warnings from other women who have BEEN THROUGH IT, I still haven’t had any indigestion or constipation to speak of.* However, the first thing I have noticed to jump ship is my sleeping comfort (and I’m not talking about missing lying on my stomach either – we’re way past that now, people). I just cannot seem to get comfortable lying in bed. Turn to my left, turn to my right, try as I might, things just don’t seem to work anymore. So PD and I went out and bought a special pregnancy pillow for me. It’s called a DreamGenii and, I’m reliably informed, simply the pregnant woman’s sleep saviour. Just because it’s easier for me to show you what it looks like than describe its odd shape, here’s a pic for ya:

Anyway, I have used it a few times, but not every single night. This is because it has a tendency to make me very hot and therefore sweaty. You basically have to hug and straddle the thing as if it is your beloved ALL night. It’s made of synthetic foam for goodness sake, despite a 100% cotton cover. Turning over to the other side also necessitates waking oneself up and physically flipping the DreamGenii (accompanied by the beeping sounds of lorries reversing at the same time, given that hauling oneself to one’s knees at 3am when 6 months gravid generally feels like it requires you warn those in the immediate vicinity of large objects in motion). Of course, once the DreamGenii (DG from now on) has been reversed, you may as well get up properly and go to the toilet, seeing as you’re already awake and suddenly feel the urge like you might burst if you don’t go. Now that this has been accomplished, and, I’m sorry to say, by this point I have turned on the air conditioner on my way past the switch (amazing what sorts of things you can achieve in the middle of the night) PD has woken up due to the sound of its roar as it lumbers to life, and all the messing about and fussing on the other side of the bed with pillows and things, plus my accompanying groans and noises of effort. So, whilst I accept that the DG will probably be my best inanimate object friend in the coming months, I fear that the cosy haven that was once our marital bed will never be the same again. (Yes, I know it definitely won’t but I need to grieve for its loss).

The other thing that’s been keeping me awake and giving me sudden gasping intakes of breath when I think about it is the thought of the birth itself. In my mind, the words, THE BIRTH are in 40 foot high, three dimensional concrete letters (a bit like the way the title sequence of Python’s The Life of Brian appears), heralded by the opening choral bars of Orff’s O Fortuna

Yes, I know women have been doing it for all time, I’m not the first and I won’t be the last, but this baby in my belly is here now and its gotta come out somehow! Antenatal classes start next week and I’m seriously considering using hypnobirthing as a coping strategy. I’ll let you know how that goes in my next missive.

Until then…xx

*OK lads, this is my first disclaimer. It’s going to get more messy than this and even more frank from here on in. If you don’t like it, you feel squeamish or are just too weak to face the ugly truth of it – get off this blog. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Body image: Amazingly, not bad. Now I have a definite bump to show off I have convinced myself that it makes the rest of me look thinner. Apart from my boobies of course

Hunger rating: 52/10 I’m still troughing and lovin’ it! Unbelievably, have not gained an abnormal amount of weight or contracted gestational diabetes, despite my best efforts. Now pass me that Twix, please, I do not want to have to ask you twice

Missing booze: The occasional G&T or white wine spritzer has crossed my lips…but it’s just not the same any more

Missing fags: Oh jings, it’s been really bad. I think now that I’m feeling good in trimester two I just love the smell. Don’t worry though – no booze means there’s no, “F*ck it, I’ll just have one” attitude – which is my usual downfall when falling off the fags wagon

Classic clumsy preggers move of the month: Carrying a full mug of steaming tea in my left hand into the bathroom to accompany me in my morning ablutions, catching the left sleeve of my bathrobe on the long door handle and spilling the entire volume of hot beverage all over the stack of freshly laundered white towels stored beside the bathroom door. Not  a single drop was spilt on the floor – t’was all absorbed by the fluffy towels. At least I didn’t have to get the mop out

So now that I am officially halfway through my pregnancy (I know – scary, huh?), I thought I would make a list of things that are good about being pregnant. (I’ll list my current raft of complaints at the bottom for you as usual, so don’t worry). Some of you already-a-mummies out there my like to furnish me with some of your own.

Good things about being up the duff (just humour me, please)

1. No hangovers. It’s amazing waking up on a weekend morning after a big night and having loads of energy! To whit, we went for a (typical Dubai) brunch a couple of weeks ago and PD peaked a bit early. He was so “tired and emotional” by 4pm I had to put him in a cab home. I however, had the staying power to go out until 9pm (I know – party ANIMAL!). I went to bed at about 10pm and woke, fresh as the proverbial daisy at about 7am, feeling great! All PD wanted to do was continue sleeping off the ill-advised  lunchtime tequila and eat some bacon

2. Thicker hair (not that I need it, but still) and faster growing nails. I no longer need to weep and wail when I break a talon, knowing it will be back at least two weeks quicker than it would normally

3. People are super nice to you – it’s so weird! Strangers smile at you in the street (actually, maybe the men are only smiling because of the rack), people give up their seats, get out of your way in the supermarket (there’s no need to push people out of the way en route to the biscuit aisle anymore) and no one lets you lift ANYTHING

4. A quicker, faster and more even tan. Now I know that this is bad and all you “oh you must stay out of the sun or you will get cancer” Nazis will be gnashing your teeth and rending you clothes in frustration and disapproval but I promise you that I am NOT sunbathing. I happen to live in a desert climate and it would seem that 30 minutes every morning doing breaststroke laps in the pool in winter is enough to turn me a fetching shade of honey. And no, I’m not going to say whether or not I carefully slather on an SPF cream before I get in that pool all bleary eyed and dry mouthed. All I know is that I’m very pleased to suddenly not be the whitest honky at the pool for a change

5. A new wardrobe – when else in your life is the husband going to agree to you buying an entire season’s worth of clothes? Well maybe not an entire season, but at least when you come out of the bedroom wearing something new you don’t have to justify it!

6. You just feel special. Sounds like a corny thing for cynical me to say here, but it’s true. I continue to be amazed by the fact that I have a little human being growing inside of me, and that human being is exactly half me and half PD – the product of the two of us. It came out of nowhere, and when it arrives, it will be a new person – honestly, the miracle of life is quite staggering

Anyway, before we get too soppy, here’s a list of my latest complaints:

1. If I stand up too quickly, I get a stabbing cramp in my belly because I am wrenching something that is attached that was not there before. Thus, I now have to strategise my moves when I want to get off the sofa to go to the fridge

2. I have spots in annoying places like my neck, my chest and behind my right ear 

3. I can no longer sleep on my back (and I’ve only just gotten over the whole no-stomach-sleeping thing). If I do, I feel sick and, as time goes on, I endanger by mine and my baby’s circulation

4. People keep telling me what I cannot eat. GO AWAY. I am an educated person, I have done my reading, and if I have decided I will eat a peanut I will eat a damn peanut. I may even eat TWO! If my child is unlucky enough to be allergic to them in later life I will save my self-flagellation for then, thanks (sorry KB!)

5. As the permanent designated driver, you get to listen to your car companions’ drunken ramblings and maniacal laughter, smell their boozy breath and give in to their demands to stop at a garage for some cigarettes at 1am (but you also get to decide when it’s time to go home)

We had our 20-week scan at the hospital yesterday with our favourite straight-talkin’ Iranian stenographer. We were very relieved to hear that everything is normal – hurrah! We also had the sex confirmed and yes, she was right when she spilled the beans at week 12, we are going to have a boy!

Until next time. xx

Hello everyone! I still look a bit like an alien - let's hope THAT passes

Body image: Still rubbish but I’m getting used to it now

Hunger rating: 25/10 I could eat the WORLD about now and I’ve only just had a cup of tea and a biscuit

Missing booze: 3/10 Getting the taste for it again. Need to be careful…

Missing fags: Let’s just stop talking about it now shall we?

Average number of times per night where I need to get up and go wee: 2. Question: Why is it, that when I wake up at about 4am and stumble to the loo and get back into bed (all in the dark) that I find it hard to get back to sleep, only realising 20 mins later that I need to go AGAIN? Why doesn’t my body just get rid of it all on the first stop? Seems like a design fault to me.

Well, it would appear that my mind has been playing tricks on me. I went to my Ob Gyn last week for another check up and another battery of blood tests (as an aside, whilst I do feel like a pincushion, this constant drawing of blood seems to have significantly lowered my fear of having it done. My strategy of looking in the other direction for the whole process – and I mean not even seeing what the tourniquet, let alone the needle, looks like – has started to pay off).

Anyway, I digress. What was I saying? Oh yes – my mind and its pranks. I was weighed and had my blood pressure taken before I went in to see the doctor and was informed that I have only gained 1.1 kilograms since week 9. That’s apparently acceptable (especially here in the UAE, where those in pre-natal care are weight and diabetes obsessed). Well, yes, thanks that is acceptable! So how come I feel like such a fat giantess? PD says it’s maybe a bit like ‘redistribution’ of weight and with a lack of any other evidence I’m inclined to agree with him. Especially on the boobies, which are so large now that if they were filled with helium instead of flesh could carry a small child up into the atmosphere for a scenic tour of the immediate area. 

Speaking of the ‘fun’ bags, I had to relent and buy some non-underwired bras from M&S this week. The wires were just digging in too much. When I took my bra off at night I felt an inordinate sense of relief that was akin to stepping out of a pair of very tight, very high stillettos – not the ideal comfort situation that one wants in a bra. The problem is, if there is no underwire then the design has to compensate for that lack of support by adding what seems to be layers and yards of fabric to effectively cantilever your poor bosoms into place. This makes wearing V neck tops without a vest  a difficult sartorial challenge.

In other news this week, I keep forgetting the words for things, especially nouns. I’ll be there, having a normal conversation with a non-pregnant person and suddenly be stumped for the word ‘cheese’ or perhaps, ‘apartment’ or any other word that seem so utterly obvious to the other person that they will look at me like I am slightly crazy. Which I suppose I am anyway, pregnant or not, right?

Finally, I am absolutely obsessed with avocados. I have been since about week 10. PD and I have eaten quesadillas with cheese, guacamole and salsa for lunch oh, about 20 times in the last five weeks. No wonder I was surprised I’d only put on a damn kilo!

Until next week!

Flickster. xx

P.S. If you’re wondering about the evil twin fibroid well so am I. When we had the super scan the other week the stenographer said it had shrunk – let’s hope it stays that way huh!

Nausea rating: Nil. I am a very lucky mare who didn’t really get sick. Ha for me

Emotional roller coaster status: Happier than I’ve been in a long time

Medical professionals rating:  Good but now clearly different to what I’d expect on the NHS or Medicare

Body image: Rubbish

Aches and pains: None

Missing booze: 1/10

Missing fags: 2/10 Mercifully, I’ve stopped thinking about them every few minutes. Except now. Oh, one WOULD be so nice right now…why remind me? What’s WRONG with you?!

Missing sleeping on my stomach:  6/10 Getting better at dealing with sleeping on either of my sides

Oh Gawd, it’s started. I don’t even know why I’m surprised about how early it’s happened, given my body type and general personal image issues. 

As delightful and exciting the concept of ‘so far so good’ is – we had our 12 week scan last week (all great so far. More on that in a min) – it seems my brain has decided to become obsessed with the negative aspects of putting on pregnancy weight. I was expecting this of course, what woman doesn’t have a problem with the concept of weight gain, no matter how joyful the reason? My issue is that I have started looking really really porky, like NOW. My stomach has grown, sure, but other body parts have decided to try and keep up, too – the bum, thighs and waist being the worst offenders (Oh and the boobs too but that’s been happening since day one so they don’t count any more). Other women I know (and at the moment I know more than three girls who are up the duff, all several months ahead of me) seemed to keep their figures until around the fifth month, after which time they started to ‘show’ their perfect bumps which were akin to strapping a small ball onto one’s stomach.

I, on the other hand, just look like I ate all the pies and enjoyed licking the plates too, dammit! It’s gotten to the point where I am so conscious of the extra junk in my trunk that I am almost stopping random strangers in the mall to explain breathlessly, “Oh, it’s OK, don’t worry, I’m not this fat normally, I’m pregnant, you see!” Wow, THAT’S a worry isn’t it?

I suppose one of the most galling things about this is that I bought some really nice designer pregnancy jeans in about week seven (this shop in Dubai Mall buys the jeans from the designers as ‘normal’ then chops off the top and adds a belly band). They looked pretty hot five weeks ago with a longer top to hide the band and a pair of wedges. Except now, when I put them on, whilst they still kind of fit over my bum, I have two HUGE muffin tops on either side – a sure sign that your jeans are too small, ladies! And while I’m on the topic, the selection of maternity wear is a bit ‘thin’ (ha!) in Dubai. I went into Mothercare yesterday and I swear all the fat clothes in there looked like they came out of Next about ten years ago (I know, I’m a snob but my god, my body image is low enough without having to dress like Andy Pandy!). I constantly need to remind myself that just because it fits, it doesn’t make it right for me. So, it’s online I go, begging visiting friends and family from abroad and visiting friends of friends from overseas to carry a ‘few extra bits’ for me in their suitcase as a sort of levy for coming to stay.

Time for a change of subject. We had the 12 week scan last Wednesday. PD and I got to the hospital in good time, I had a blood test which seemed to take about three litres of blood, and I was then called into the ultrasound room. I was expecting the simple ‘jelly on the belly’ maneuver at this stage, only to be informed by the nurse that “…the doctor prefers to scan from “down there”" (!) Right. I asked the tiny Iranian stenographer why she felt that this was necessary, and she explained that it was better for seeing the foetus’ organs and bones. I had no choice but to capitulate at this point, as I’m starting to realise that one of the first sacrifices a mummy-to-be makes (apart from her figure of course!) is that of her comfort. 

Anyway, it turns out that scanning in this way at 12 weeks really does make a difference to how clear everything appears, and I soon forgot about the loss of dignity and became enthralled by images of the baby’s brain, kidneys, beating heart, lungs and little wee hands. It was at this point that some cultural differences with the stenographer became apparent. Whilst examining the bones in the foetus’ face, she brightly pointed out to us that we’d be pleased to know that our baby was “not a mongol”. A definite relief – but not one without a slightly politically incorrect pang. 

She also blurted out without any warning that she could see something dangling between the legs so it was “probably a boy”…wonderful news for us both but it kind of rained on PD’s parade as he’s been saying all along that he didn’t want to know. So much for that! However I should point out here that this is not necessarily definite and we shall find out for sure at the 20 week scan.

And here ‘he’ is.

Catch you next week! xx

Nausea rating: 2/10 (only when things set me off, like the bin in the kitchen, the cat’s litter tray, a full unwashed dishwasher etc)

Emotional roller coaster status: Mad Mouse

Medical professionals rating:  Fair to good. Receptionists/appointments booking: crappy

Body image: Becoming shaky. Already.

Aches and pains: Minimal

Missing booze: 1/10

Missing fags: 4/10

Missing sleeping on my stomach:  9/10

Hello hello – right, I really did intend to do this week by week but I’m already slipping – gah!

Anyhoo, we went on holiday a few weeks ago to Thailand which on paper was really lovely. In reality and in hindsight, I was a complete nightmare to be around – moody, fussy, paranoid and crabby – nice person to go on your big holiday of the year with, right?? Boo! Now we’ve been back for a bit and I feel significantly better than when we were there, I realise that a great deal of my party-pooper vibe was down to missing cigarettes. How awful. I won’t go into it any further here as the worst of that’s over now and I’ve apologised profusely to my dear friends who are thankfully still my friends.  

Last week I had a mini-scan with my potential ob-gyn. I say ‘potential’ because I still haven’t decided whom to entrust with my what is sure to be an interesting (at least to me and PD) pregnancy and childbirth. Having this scan was amazing, not least because PD and I got to see the little peanut (so it really DOES exist!) and also (and this was the exciting bit) hear its little heartbeat. 160 bpm and 4cm long the prawn was the right size with a normal heart rate. Phew.

Less exciting and more anxiety-inducing was the fact that the doctor thinks I have a ‘fibroid’ – a hideous name for a yukky (non-cancerous, thank the goddess) cyst thing sharing living space with the peanut. It’s also the same size as the prawn at 4cm wide so I’ve taken to calling it ‘evil twin’. The doctor says we can only watch it and make sure it doesn’t get too big. If it does then it may affect the baby being able to come out, necessitating a caesarian. Lets not get ahead of ourselves here though – I’m intending to devote an entire post to the whole natural birth versus caesarian debate later on – lucky you! More shall be revealed on the prawn and its evil twin this time next week when I have my proper 12-week scan and commence my battery of tests. Did you know that in the UAE not only do they do the usual NT scan, or ‘neucal scan’ – the one that checks for the liklihood of Down’s Syndrome and birth defects – they also test for HIV, AIDS, Toxoplasmosis and a load of others I can’t remember because I don’t have the sheet with me here in the coffee shop (where I’m drinking hot chocolate, thanks for asking). Suffice to say that I will feel like a pincushion by the time these over-prescribing, overly-cautious medical professionals with their eyes on the $ are done with me. I may be cynical already but I think it’s a symptom of bearing children in a country with no free medical care.

In other news, I am already starting to show a bit of a belly – seven weeks earlier than I should darn it – it’s the presence of the evil twin, not my recent fondness for mango frozen yoghurt and extra helpings of avocados in all forms, thank you very much! The byproducts of this are that I cannot bear wearing anything tight around my waist, and it is now no longer comfortable to sleep on my stomach. I’ll also add here that my boobies are conspiring with my belly by already being too big and tender for this preferred sleeping position – for several weeks I had been cleverly tucking them into my armpits but it appears that I have now been rumbled!!

Right, that’s enough from me – more next week, but in the meantime, I’ll leave you with a picture of the foetus. And don’t worry of you can’t really make it out because, let’s face it,  it’s a blob!

x

The second image is the heart rate measurement - 160 bpm - just like a little mouse!

Nausea rating: 8/10

Emotional roller coaster status: Space Mountain

Medical professionals rating: OK to fair

Body image: Stable

Aches and pains: Minimal

Missing booze: 4/10

Missing fags: 7/10

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

I need to rewind here a bit to bring you up to speed to where I am now, in my sixth week. There’s lots to say, so forgive me now if I go off on some tangents!

I found out I was preggers just over a week ago, though I did have some suspicions, namely, a late period when I’m normally clockwork, sore boobies and occasionally wanting to vomit (especially, weirdly, when brushing my teeth). Anyway, I was putting off pissing on the stick because at the time I was back in Australia with my family helping to arrange and attending the funeral of my dear grandma (known to me and my sis as “Gargie”). It was a really emotional time and although I suspected something was up, I thought I needed my fags ‘n booze too much that week to even consider checking. Plus, I wanted to be in the same country or even the same room as my husband PD when we found out (he was stuck at home in Dubai working).

This, however, was not to be. I had mentioned this in passing to my friend, S, who immediately became as excited as as an ADD afflicted kid who had drunk too much red cordial. When I turned up to her house for a visit two days before I was due to leave for Dubai, she shoved a pregnancy test in my hands and insisted I take it, NOW.So I did, and the result was positive. REALLY positive:

The line on the left in the middle indicates the presence of HCG, the pregnancy hormone

I have to admit to quite mixed feelings when I saw that line appear. Yes, we had been trying but we weren’t at the point where we were completely desperate or considering investigating problems or anything. (Note here – it could have gotten that far, we just weren’t at that point. I count us as being very lucky we didn’t have to go through the hell to conceive that some couples go through.) Ultimately, rather than being unhappy, I was excited and now I’ve had just over a week to get used to the idea, I am happy. I’m also pooing my pants over the thought of giving birth…

Anyway, because I was in Australia and PD in the UAE, as soon as I confirmed the test, I had to call him immediately. It was a Friday (a weekend day in Dubai) and the poor darling was having a lie-in when the phone rang and I reported what we had suspected all along. He was delighted, if a little shocked. In fact, his reaction mirrored mine almost exactly. Later on that evening when we spoke on Skype we were both a lot happier after having had time to digest it all and it was lovely to speculate together on what colour eyes we thought the baby would have, and exactly how curly its hair was going to be (poor mite – mine’s frizzy and his is just plain out of control, when its longer than 2mm- the little one will definitely be cursed with the kink!).

We have decided to tell a few people – that is, our families and some close friends. We know that the ‘done thing’ these days is to wait until the 12 week mark, but as a couple of my very wise girlfriends have put it, why not tell the ones you love? After all, if things do go wrong then you will be devastated and no one will be able to support you through it. 

So now, on the cusp of my seventh week, we’re going on holiday to Thailand with some friends. Not the backpacking, barefoot hostel sleeping kind of trip though – it will be at a resort at least. I just need to be careful regardless, since I’m in the first trimester ‘danger zone’. According to my GP, that means opening my own bottled water, eating plain food like rice (I hate rice), no seafood and making sure everything is cooked through. At this stage though I feel so damn sick that I just need to make sure I bring enough ginger tea bags to last me the week.