Confessions of a Pregnancy Novice

It’s been a while since my last blog, in which I bemoaned the loss of hockey in my life since I had become pregnant, and pondered the mood swings that were then afflicting me. Suffice to say, it hadn’t been a good week.

Being pregnant is an incredible phenomenon and a perfectly natural, everyday occurrence, all at the same time. Of the approximately 50% of the population who are able to experience it in their lives, 4 in 5 in the UK will choose to do so. So that’s 40% of the population of the UK who will go through pregnancy on one or more occasion in their lifetime. Not exactly a rare occurrence, then. And yet it’s quite something to experience it, especially for the first time. It seemed about time I put some of my experiences down on screen in order to remember them in years to come, offer help, advise or amusement to others in my situation, educate that other 50% of the population, should they wish for it, or merely just to relieve the burden of the many things going around in my head by splurging them out via the medium of keyboard. As is the nature of blogging, generally.

So here it is – at this point in time I’m a shade over halfway there, yet it feels I’ve been pregnant for-EVER. So I am sure there will be plenty of time for a number of instalments in this, my pregnancy blog.

I don’t even know where to start to be honest. Let’s see. The bewildering gamut of emotions I am experiencing on a daily basis? That could keep me busy for quite some time. Sometimes I feel as though I am already so completely devoted to the tiny creature currently growing inside of me, I don’t want to see, experience or feel anything other than that little life form in my arms, for the rest of my life. At yet other times, when I’m busy, stressed, or having a good time, I could almost forget it’s even there. Until I look at my emerging bump of course. Which I’m surprisingly proud of. As an exercise enthusiast, nay, obsessive, I had always imagined that losing my figure whilst pregnant would be a source of horror for me. Instead I find myself throwing down Thorntons chocolates by the handful, and indulging in around about nine or so meals a day with reckless abandon, blithely unconcerned by the fatty deposits gleefully layering themselves on and around my stomach, hips and bottom, suctioning themselves to me like soft, squishy limpets ready to come along on this wild ride with me.

Although it isn’t so wild after all. A social butterfly in my previous incarnation (as a NON-pregnant female), I have found that nothing, repeat NOTHING, is as good as curling up on my sofa at home, a good series on TV, husband at my side, cake in my hand. I am, quite simply, losing the will to socialise. Is it because I cannot indulge in my regular pint of Strongbow whilst at the pub? That probably has quite a lot to do with it. After a stormy initial few weeks of pregnancy where I battled with my very suddenly imposed ban on the booze – over Christmas, too! – I have since had little or no interest in alcohol – except for when out at the pub. Then I find myself a boring, tired version of my former self, unable, or unwilling, to maintain conversation with others around me who are riding the merry train to tipsy land. I’m just not on the same wavelength anymore. So why bother? It’s a bind. I know I will come out the other side, hopefully with some of my more patient friends remaining, but in the meantime, please accept my blanket apology for being tired, grumpy, boring, or otherwise engaged at any or all social functions. It's not my fault. I just rely on booze to make me interesting.

And exercise! My former pal, fitness! They tell you to do plenty of exercise when you’re pregnant. Ha! Pre-pregnancy I had always sworn to myself I’d be one of those pregnant women who worked out up until the day she dropped, all perfect round bump and not an ounce of fat anywhere else. Give me a break. Every time I stand up, I get a head rush to the point of falling over. Motivating myself to put on something vaguely sporty and actually execute a series of vigorous movements that might constitute a workout has become a mountainous challenge. During my first trimester, I awaited with anticipation the purported glow and energy rush of the second, when I was sure I’d be up at the crack of dawn to work out in the spring sunshine before heading off to work full of the joys of impending motherhood.

Pfft. That went well. Deep into the second trimester and aside from a few half-hearted stabs at the punchbag (mainly just to take out my angry pregnant lady frustrations) and sporadic unenthusiastic efforts at my regular street dance class, and I’m still as lethargic and unmotivated as I was before. Add to the equation my rapidly expanding girth and the complete lack of aforementioned spring sunshine and I’m fighting a losing battle. I used to be a keen swimmer but the thought of donning a one piece lycra costume and taking to the water terrifies me – in this weather? With PEOPLE around? Er, I’m good thanks.

Did I mention the fear? The cold, creeping awareness that I’ve bought a one-way ticket to PAIN. That however far away it seems, there will come a day in the now not-too-distant future in which I’m a sweating, writhing, wailing, bleeding, bloated mess of a woman. And that it will hurt. A LOT.

But let’s hold that thought for a moment (but, but… the PAIN?!) – NO – let’s hold that thought, in fact let’s tuck it away, locked down in that little box called denial, until some other day, one of those days when I feel like an all-conquering Earth mother who can do anything, squeezing out a tiny human just a blip on the radar of my greater purpose within the world (there will BE one of those days, right?). Yes, let’s shelve the images of myself in horrendous agony to ponder all the nice things about being pregnant. Because really, there are quite a few, that all too readily become lost amongst the reams of material online and in books about what not to do, what not to eat, how not to lie, what drugs not to take (ALL of them) and all the niggles, aches, itches and mood swings that accompany this joyful nine month hiatus from your normal life.

Good things about being pregnant:

1) The eating. Okay, I’m aware I’m in a very lucky minority to have not suffered with morning sickness, at any point thus far. But at one point or another during pregnancy, most women will find themselves past the sicky phase and ready for food. And I imagine they, like me, will tell you – food has never tasted better. Oh no. The delight with which I am enjoying simple things such as beans on toast, a cheese toastie, a jam doughnut… It’s fantastic, and as a body conscious person, this is one of the few times in my life I get to legitimately enjoy all the foods my body (and my hungry inhabitant’s body) desires. Cravings are there for a reason and when you’re pregnant it’s your right, nay, your DUTY to indulge them to the best of your ability. So pass me that cake, yes, why not, chuck me a chocolate bar, for they are full of energy, calcium, and the promise of tastebuds dancing, alive with flavour, one of the great pleasures in an otherwise mundane existence. Bring it on, baby. All of it. With icecream.

2) People. People are really nice to you. It could be construed as patronising if you were that way inclined, perhaps a little too independent or feminist to really appreciate it, but the concern shown to you by others is really quite touching. People go out of their way to carry a heavy bag for you, open a door, enquire as to your health, or generally smile and glow at you. I even received an apology for someone’s bad language the other day! Imagine! I can swear like a trooper myself but all of a sudden I seem to have unconsciously begun garnering the kind of respect you would reserve for a lady. A proper one too, not a pretend one like me who watches sport, drinks pints and wears a hoodie to work. It’s all rather lovely.

3) The baby. It’s what it’s all about and it may seem like an obvious one, but there’s something quite breath-taking about the first time you feel movements within that are most certainly not your own. And not even in a chest-protruding Alien sort of way. Now I’m almost 21 weeks and I know my baby’s routine – it has a lie in of a morning (like its Mum), becomes particularly active after some tasty food (like its Mum) and never much feels like settling down at night (er, this child is already disturbingly similar to me). I can already tell we’re going to get along great. The kicks, prods, stretches and wriggles that are going on inside me are precious, every last one, and remind me constantly what all this is for. It’s like having a little buddy travelling with you all the time. You can never feel alone when you’re pregnant.

Which of course leads you to the end product. The life-changing, earth-shattering moment when you see your child for the first time and realise that nothing in the world has mattered up until this point. The moment that makes the hours of pain (oh my god, horrendous pain) all worthwhile. In 19 weeks and one day, (if the baby were to come on its predicted due date – which it undoubtedly will not) I will be there. And I cannot wait.

I have been writing for some time now and realise I haven’t even scraped the surface. The conversations about names (conflict!), the vast, endless array of goods you are forced to start considering purchasing (bewildering!), the annoying need to get out of bed every single night to urinate (too much information!). These are topics on which I will impart wisdom, or lack of it, to you my dear reader, in the coming weeks and months. Please come back and find out exactly how fat I am, which part of my body I have injured in my new-found clumsiness and even which gender of child I have most recently been predicted to be bearing! See you soon.