5 Star Island Paradise... with a 12 week old

Holiday!!!! Celebrate!! If we took a holiday, with a tiny baby, it would be, it would be so nice... - said a couple of naive newbie parents.

Back when I was in the throes of pregancy I thought it would be a fantastic idea to book a beachy holiday to take Alvie on when she was 12 weeks old... pah! what an idiot.

We decided to go away for 4 nights and stay in a 5 star Villa on a secluded peak in Mallorca in the Balaeric Islands... sounds lush! 

We learnt many many things on this trip: the Villa Rules

Dinner is only served from 8pm, which is far too late for a tiny baby who wants to be clean and sucking on the boob on the way to bed at this time of night. On the first night we went to the ridiculously expensive restaurant and ate our gastronomy meals within 5 meals. That wanky hake sure felt tasty on the way down burning my throat as Alvie sucked on my boob and the ageing snobs around us eyeballed each other and sent mental telepathy messages to each other (that's why we didn't have children).

If you want room service spaghetti you can only eat it in your room, not on the terrace, not in the garden, room only! I guess that's in case other people see you and realise they could be eating spaghetti too and forgo going to the exxy restaurant.

The only other food served on the terrace is Waffles. take it or leave it.

I guess next time we'll book a place where you can eat at a respectable hour, ie: 5pm. like normal people (normal people with babies)

Flying with babies - not so bad. Boarding planes and waiting for the plane to take off - bad.

Honestly, the whole boarding policy needs to be seriously revised; why would you put children on the plane first so that they then lose patience, start screaming and therefore epitomising the stereotype of why you shouldn't take babies/toddlers on planes. Board them last I say, then by the time they realise they hate wearing the seatbelt you've already cruised to a good altitude and the seatbelt light has switched off. 

Going to a beach with a baby.. interesting... bring about five bags of crap, use one towel for all three of you. She did love the sounds of the ocean though, it's the first time she's ever fallen asleep lying down on her own. Note to self: replicate the soothing sounds of the ocean in the bath somehow...

I guess what I learnt on this holiday is; holidays will never be the same again. Sure you can get dressed up and go to the restaurant but you'll be covered in spew before the complimentary bread arrives. Actually practically every meal will need to be eaten standing up, just try eating an omelette with a baby in a sling and see what looks you get.

One thing that was a bit of luck is that when we arrived my super sense of smell picked up on a musty funk, so I asked to change rooms, however the only other room available was the Handicapped room....and lets be honest with a baby you are kinda handicapped - swimming in the shallow end of the pool, sitting down to shower, needing rails around the room to help you stand up.

We did get about an hour to ourselves at the pool, I brought along a travel cot and set it up, sure we looked like freaks, but it allowed us to be 2 meters away frolicking on our own without feeling like we were setting ourselves for a Madeline McCanning. 

1 Month Down... 17 years and 11 months to go...

Well the first month is in the bag. What a learning curve. Talk about being totally clueless about babies.  I have discovered there are two types of styles in raising babies.. the 'structured style' - where you feed/sleep according to a strict structure.. or the 'winging it' style - where you sit on the couch for 10 hours surrounded by dirty nappies watching 3 seasons of Breaking Bad in a row.

Guess which one I fall into???

The first month is kee-raaazy. You are mental and it seems like your baby is mental. Together you make a cute couple. Neither of you speak the same language but you manage to get your point across in the end. 

If I had to sum up the first month I would say it is all about Problem Solving. Recovery from major surgery, Crying, Feeding, Sleeping, Deciding whether or not you will wash your face or eat breakfast during the 15 minutes you have when the baby is having a nap, and how do you contend with this little creature who relies solely on you for its survival and happiness??

C-Section Recovery: when I first got home I was pretty much confined to the bedroom for the first week. Getting out of bed took about 3 minutes, even moving to rearrange your position in the bed took ages.  I did everything in the bed - eat, sleep, feed Alvie, change nappies, and try to entertain her 'oh look it's the bed again! how exciting!' luckily they tell you babies are quite blind at this stage so the constant scenery of pillows and my tired head weren't doing her head in too much.  I discovered that laughter at this stage of recovery is NOT the best medicine. No laughing allowed. which means no watching Arrested Development or anything mildly amusing. My flat has about a million stairs which made it even harder to do things like get up and go to the bathroom. Going downstairs was a major feat in endurance, as was having a shower. In the first week I was so crippled in the shower I had to sit down on the edge and let the water fall on me down there..pathetic showering... Now it's been a month and things are pretty much normal. The only thing that concerns me is my scar and the scar tissue and how I will deal with these. Having never had an illness worse than a gastro virus, or a scar of any sort on my body coming to terms with this one hasn't been easy.  Plus you have to wear absolutely enormous underpants. Granny Panties. Huge Huge Huge Pants... so sexy.

Crying: there are a lot of tears this first month. All yours, considering babies don't have functional tear ducts till they are a bit older. They aren't tears of sadness as much as they are tears of dealing with the crazy hormones in your body. ie; bottle of shampoo accidentally falls on your head in the shower = tears.. accidentally make her bleed whilst trimming her tiny little nails  = tears .. thinking about how much you love her and if anything bad ever happened to her = tears. The day where there was the most tears was Day 3 when a whole range of things align to really screw you over.  If it were planets aligning they'd call it the 'Douchebag Eclipse'... first all your progesterone levels drop off - which was keeping you in a state of bliss whilst you were pregnant, secondly your boobs swell up to Pamela Anderson proportions and feel like bowing balls, they really hurt and you have no idea how you're going to fix them, and finally your baby goes feral because she can sense the milk feast that is about to ensue from your giant melons but has no way of getting to it - it'd be like living next to a Chicken Cottage that was opening soon. Ensue: tears of "I can't deal with this shit"... I found it's best dealt with by - showering and massaging your boobs to get the milk out, and then feeding all the time. Interestingly some girls in my Mothers Group did the uber trendy - make your placenta into tablets/smoothies and they had absolutely no tears or Day 3 dramas. 

Feeding: get used to feeding yourself with one hand, in fact get used to doing everything with one hand, or if you are really stuck with your toes. Alvie is only breastfed which means I spend pretty much all my time camped out in the loungeroom watching netflix. Luckily she is a good feeder, we never had any latch issues and my boobs never had any milk problems either. At first I needed a pile of pillows around me to get her into the right position, and now I can breastfeed her anywhere. When it comes to feeding I would say this the biggest concern next to sleeping - how often she feeds, how long she feeds for, some people have babies that feed every 4 hours  - Alvie was feeding every hour at the beginning, this means that you are really tied down. Now she is more like every 2 hours, but she does cluster feed in the afternoon every hour. If I want to leave the house I have to strategise her feeds - feed her up good before we leave and then make sure you are somewhere you can feed her if need be. Today I camped out in the romance section of the library as I was out in the street when she started screaming for food. It's a matter of sizing up all manner of buildings and open spaces when you are in public and thinking 'can I get my boobs out here?' 

Sleeping: personally I'm not exhausted from lack of sleep, which probably puts me in the minority, I wouldn't say we have a schedule but if we feed her late in the evening (10ish) before we go to bed, it's likely she will sleep till around 2ish, then I can feed her again in bed and then she will sleep till around 7 - 8am. My sleep problems arise from the fact that Alvie is a cuddly koala bear in that she is on me allllll the time. She won't sleep if you put her down so I have her attached to me at least 20 hours a day, either feeding her, her napping on me, or just needing to be held. Apparently this will pass and you have to look at the first 12 weeks as a kind of '4th trimester' and get used to having your baby still attached to you like she was in the womb. I really love when she sleeps on me. At night however I would prefer if she slept in her crib. We brought one that attaches to the bed which makes it easy to put her in there once you can trick her to sleep so she is always within arms reach to pat for some reassurance when she stirs in the night.. is this a good thing? probably not but I couldn't be bothered having to get up and go into another room to deal with a screaming child. I think my parenting term could be coined as 'lazy'... At any rate if we can trick her into her crib - WIN! - otherwise she sleeps in our bed cosied up in my armpit all night, makes it easy to feed and I know where she is in the bed. I do have to sleep with one eye open and I am constantly waking up having to check she's still alive. Alvie doesn't like to sleep on her back which is what all the SIDS guidelines tell you to put them in, and co-sleeping is frowned upon too, but she likes what she likes and i'd rather her be happy than have her scream all night. I think at one month she is too young to instigate a sleep routine, she sleeps when she sleeps and then I sleep when she sleeps. Timezones are a totally new thing for her, I can't expect her to sleep at night just because it's 'bedtime'.. but luckily she kinda does anyway. 

One of the hardest things to adjust to is lack of freedom, and i don't mean in a social 'going out for drinks and meeting up with friends' way, more of a 'I'd really like to throw that dirty nappy in the bin and get a drink but she's asleep on my chest and if I move she'll wake up so i'll just sit here annoyed at the mess and dying of thirst till she wakes up' way.  As I said she is really a clingy baby who isn't content to sit in a bouncy chair or lie in a cot and amuse herself kind of baby, she only started going into the bouncy chair at 5 weeks and even then she will only sit in it for 20 mins max - but that at least is 20 minutes to do something. One thing I feel bad about is all the neglect Lenny is getting, he went from being Number 1 to Number 2 pretty quickly.. I try and spend as much time with him and making him feel loved too, but unfortunately I have to be really picky with how I spend my baby free time. He has been really good with her and only ever hissed once and since then he keeps his distance but still likes to be around. Sometimes I think he is just tricking us with his good behaviour and I will come into the loungeroom one day to see him sitting on her face. During the first month I only had 4 things on my list of things to do: brush teeth, deoderant, wash face, get into new granny panties/pyjamas... I can't say we ticked all the things on the list each day. The highlight of my alone time during the day is the 25 minutes I get in the shower. Bliss. 

We've only just started going out and about which I think is important to try and do when you can, mainly because i'm sure she gets frustrated being cooped up inside all the time, unfortunately London had a 'heatwave' summer and going outside in 30 degrees was killing us - she hated it, and we were both covered in sweat from the sling I use to cart her around in. Now she is 5 weeks we have a pram and she is slowly coming to terms with that, but I still have to have the sling on standby - she loves it and I will put her in the sling/wrap when we are at home just to get her to sleep/give me two hands to do exciting things like vacuum and clean dishes!! (being an anal retentive clean freak and having no hands is hell I tell you!) The pram allows us to go further than the park at the end of the street and that's a nice change.

Now we are into the 2nd Month I can see how things are changing - she is interested in things besides boobs. I wouldn't say she is playing with toys but she has looked at them a couple of times and that is a milestone in my opinion. She smiles and laughs and likes to hang out and look at you and make noises. She's so adorable and growing so big! No more can she sleep on my chest in bed with her feet dangling in mid air and my nipple stuck in her ear. Now she has both feet planted firmly and her favourite place to put them is right in my caesarean scar. I love her so much that I just want to put her in a Rapunzel tower to keep anything bad away from her. Hopefully when she grows up there aren't stupid things like  texting your genitals to people and mean girls in high school. I'll learn her in the ways of making a biting comeback if there are..

The Graphic Truth

One of the worst things about being overdue is constantly being asked if you've 'popped' yet, because the euphemism 'popped' isn't even remotely accurate for how a baby comes out, unless 'popped' refers to something like your eyeballs or rectum from all the pain and straining that is yet to come.

I was 10 days overdue before I went into Labour - this is not a fun part of the pregnancy. You feel like you've come all this way and your body just isn't going to cooperate. Why is my body not doing what it's supposed to do? I did everything. Raspberry Leaf Tea, Pineapple, Sex, Walking, Spicy Food, Clary Sage, Reflexology, Hot Baths - and even tried to have two membrane sweeps at the hospital.

The sad part about going overdue is the realisation that your picture perfect 'birth plan' is probably going to be shoved out the window. I wasn't aware of this and nobody tells you but you can't give birth in a birthing centre if you a) go over 42 weeks, or if you have to be induced with prostaglandins. This was a disappointing revelation because I had planned on a birth centre birth and didn't want to have to give birth in a labour ward.

The first membrane sweep I had they weren't even able to get their fingers up there to sweep anything because my cervix was high and closed. Unfavourable. I was given a 47% chance of going in to labour spontaneously. These aren't percentages anyones wants to hear when they think their body is failing them of this one essential life experience.

The second membrane sweep was booked in for the 10th day of my overdue date on Sunday morning. Again they weren't able to do the sweep, so I was booked in for a prostaglandin induction on Wednesday. I left the hospital feeling pretty depressed about the whole thing. So rather than mope around at home eating pineapple whilst having sex and drinking raspberry tea I decided we should just get our minds off it and go see a film. We ended up seeing 'Man of Steel' - the new Superman movie which was totally shit, except for the scenes where Henry Cavill cavorts around shirtless and beardy on an oil rig, it was also the most ridiculously LOUD movie I have ever been do, there were almost no dialogue scenes but scene after scene of destruction and action. The baby was having a fit in my stomach and breakdanced the whole time. On the way home I brought some hair-dye because I figured may as well dye my hair tonight so it's a nice colour in a weeks time when the baby is induced out of me.

Around 6pm Sunday afternoon we went for a walk to the shops because my body had been leaking 'waters' but the midwives kept telling me my waters hadn't broken and that is was 'hindwater' whatever that is. I was going through a new pair of pants every hour, so we walked to the shops to buy some giant pads. On the walk home I started getting braxton hicks contractions. I had the craving to watch 'Breaking Dawn - Part 1' so we did that, and this is the movie where Bella falls pregnant and has a vampire baby in her and Edward has to gnaw it out of her body at the last second... during the movie I noticed my braxton hicks contractions were coming in at around 20 minutes apart. but still I didn't think it was real contractions. and didn't want to get my hopes up. They started becoming a bit more painful around 10pm, so we decided to try timing them on our 'contraction' timer on the iPhone. We also got out the TENS machine just to try it out - thinking the were probably Hicks and would be good practice for 'real labour'...

What can I say by midnight that night was in Real Labour. The contractions started coming every 10 minutes, then every 8 minutes, 7 minutes etc. The Tens machine was an incredible distraction during this period, the pain was moderate and having buttons to click and tingly vibrations certainly helped keep any worry about Labour pains out of my mind.

Between midnight and 9.30am the next morning I laboured at home. I went into a complete cave zone. I turned my bedroom into a pillow nest and dealt with the contractions in positions I had learnt in m NCT course. Lenny followed me around the apartment keeping an eye on me and generally being a calming influence. The thing about contractions and the pain of labour is that you can deal with them because they come at you in a wave, and by the time you are 30 seconds into it, its already peaked and you are coming out the other side of it.  Well it is bearable until it isn't anymore.

My doula Allie came around about 5am and by this time I wasn't really able to speak. I was unable to move during a contraction and was past the stage of 'breathing through the pain' and just screaming through the pain. The Tens machine worked, but even there comes a time when it stops being of any use. Around 8am I had vomited all over the place, was yelling at Mark to call a cab and get me to the Hospital. They called a cab and Allie guided me into the cab, putting a pillow over the backseat and telling me to ride backwards so I could breathe through the pain. All I could do was put my head in a pillow and breathe until we got there. By the time we got to the hospital I couldn't walk when having a contraction, but my method of dealing with it was to put my head against the wall in my pillow and stamp my feet and breath until the contraction past. They were coming in at 60 - 90 seconds every 4 minutes.

I was admitted into the midwives who gave me a quick examination because they won't let you into the birthing centre/labour ward until you are at least 4cms, and luckily I had dilated to exactly that. I can't describe the pain I was in during contractions, other than it was all encompassing, I had no other thoughts in my mind except to want to be away from the pain, and was highly agitated, and in panic mode. I begged for an epidural. Having been a staunch "anti-epidural" advocate I was surprised a caved so early, but the pain was not manageable for me.  My doula sensing I was making a rush decision based on panic and adrenaline reminded me that I wanted to go down the birth centre route and I shouldn't abandon that yet and to try the other options at my disposal before going down the epidural one - because once you do that there in no changing your mind.

I agreed with Allie, however the midwife informed me that the birth centre was full, and i've have to be admitted to the labour ward anyway, they said there was one room with a birth pool in it and they'd book me into that as soon as it became available. I was happy with that, and even moreso about there being imminent drugs in the room I was moving to.

They took me to Room 11, which was a plain room with a single bed, shit lighting, and no pool. The midwife informed me that procedure on the Labour Ward was to hook you up to a machine that constantly monitors you and the baby. I got really really angry about this because in the birth centre the midwives just monitor you with a handheld doppler occasionally, and here I was lying in a horrid hospital bed with two monitors strapped to my belly, and tubes and machines all around me. The midwife took the edge off me killing her by giving me the gas & air, which I have to say I felt was really weak as a pain killer, i felt off my face, woozy, light headed, a bit sick and still 100% aware of the pain of every contraction, which now felt worse because i was trapped in the bed with monitors and leads and wasn't allowed to stand up and stamp around or do any of the positions i'd been using at home for the past ten hours.. basically they were torturing me for the sake of 'regulations' and i ripped the monitors off, said i didn't want constant monitoring, i had a low risk pregnancy and if the birth centre wasn't full i wouldn't be putting up with this bullshit!! now get me into the birth pool or an epidural before i murder somebody.

They could see how mad I was and transferred me to the birth pool room which was much nicer, plus being in the pool would mean no monitors anywhere near me. I promptly stripped into the nude and jumped straight into the pool.. I was still able to have gas & air in the pool but I have to say it still didn't take the edge off as much as I was hoping. However I got into a rhythm of breathing the gas & air, being massaged, and using the water. I did this for a couple of hours - I even asked Mark to put some Lady Gaga on.. but in the end the contraction pain got worse and I just couldn't do it anymore and once again screamed for an epidural. The midwives thought I might be in transition in which case I should just power through because an epidural would effectively slow things down, so i agreed on an inspection where it was discovered I was still only 4cm's dilated... I couldn't deal with this much pain for god knows how long so I broke down and cried and screamed for the epidural, I had people come in and tell me that the anaesthesiologist was busy and i've have to wait. It was awful. Allie & Mark did what they could which was a lot of lower back massage to stave off me having a meltdown. By the time the anaesthesiologist arrived I was out of my brain. Shaking, crying, I couldn't concentrate on anything - i just screamed at them to stick it in. I could care less about the size of the needle, the drip, the spinal block - i just needed to be out of the pain. Once it was all administered I slowly felt the effects start to come over me and felt coherency for the first time in about 12 hours. It was magical. I became a much nicer person, and didn't want to kill the midwife anymore. I had a drink of coconut water and was 100% revitalised and happy and excited about giving birth.

I ended up having a nap or two, and after about 4 hours they assessed me again and I had only dilated to 5cm's. It was slow going so I consented to using the Oxytocin drip - another thing I was vehemently opposed to in my birth plan, but I was slowly realising that things in the birth plan go out the window pretty quickly when you are living the situation as opposed to planning it on a computer months beforehand.

They had to keep upping the oxytocin drip level because my cervix just wouldn't dilate. I did have the doctors come around and tell me that if the labour didn't progress we would have to discuss the caesarean option - which is not something I even wanted mentioned. I was not having a caesarean. The midwives and doctors were so amazing and understanding, they kept giving me more time, they helped me to move positions which might help dilation - i knew they wanted me to deliver the baby naturally and I was so thankful for that.

By now it was around 6am Tuesday morning and I'd spent10 hours of being on the oxytocin drip.... the baby wasn't in distress but my body was. The epidural was wearing off, it was called a 'low dose' epidural because you can still move your legs, but 10 hours of the stuff and I was practically paralysed. I had been in active labor for over 20 hours and i had reached the point of exhaustion. The doctor examined me one last time and I hadn't been able to dilate past 9cm's, despite the high dosage of drugs in my system, plus the baby had turned position and was now posterior - which would make delivery impossible.

I signed my consent to an emergency caesarean in a haze. I couldn't speak. I didn't even want to acknowledge the fact. I was so sad, so disappointed, so frightened.

They wheeled me out of the labour room and into the surgery room. I was terrified and freaking out. The midwives were really nice, but I was in a place where I never wanted to be, things were out of my control and I had 'given up' in a sense.

The anaesthesiologist came in to check my epidural to make sure it was fit for surgery, however when she did the freezing cold water spray test on my abdomen I could feel it, so I had to instead have a spinal block - meaning I would literally be paralysed from the neck down, for at least the next 4 hours. When they started performing the block I was bawling, uncontrollable heaving crying. The anaesthesiologist was like 'what's wrong?' .. wtf do you think is wrong? However everyone was like 'in a few minutes you'll be able to meet your baby!!' which is great except I won't be able to hold her because i'm now a quadriplegic. I did request however that when they did the surgery they let me and mark see what sex the baby is without announcing it. They began the surgery (painless) and within about 10 minutes they asked if i'd like the curtain dropped to "watch the birth".. are you fucking kidding me? no thanks. I declined, and they eventually got the baby out and they pulled it up over the curtain and I saw her little pink vagina and once again burst into tears saying 'it's Alvie! she's here!' - more uncontrollable crying on my part. They took her away and all I could hear were the midwives going "that is one giant baby!!" she was 9 pounds 3 ounces, 53 cm's tall, and totally adorable. She scored a 9 on the apgar test and was revealed to be a 100% healthy baby. Yay!! Although I still couldn't hold her or see her.

Over the next 30 minutes they sutured my wound closed and I recovered some feeling down to my boobs and arms. I was then wheeled into the recovery room where Allie & Mark were waiting with Alvie, they placed her on my chest for skin to skin time and she immediately latched onto my boob. Everyone was like 'would you look at that latch! that's textbook..' it was good to know that even if I couldn't deliver my baby, i could at least feed her. Then she wee'd on me. It was amazing.

We've been insperaable ever since. We spent a night on the delivery wing with other bruised and battered mothers. As soon as my spinal block had worn off I got out of bed, determined to go home at the earlist time possible. We were given the all clear on Wednesday afternoon and have been at home enjoying life together ever since.

She likes: boobs, being in the nude, sleeping in our bed, being super cute.
She dislikes: poo, and pyjamas.

Love her.

Fart Baby

The day before I was due I had a very busy day, first of all I went to see the Book of Mormon, thinking I would dislodge the baby through laughter. The show was very funny, but unfortunately I was sitting next to one of those incredibly over enthusiastic theatre go-ers who privately wants to actually be on stage, so what with all the arm waving and seated foot stomping I had to scowl through most of the show just to show that stupid guy that the show was funny but it wasn't that funny. Douche.

After the show we wandered around Soho and I had a spicy burrito (important to note that) and then we went to my work for a party.

this is the party:

Baby loves to Party

Afterwards I figured we would walk home, afterall it's only 3 miles and used to do twice that everyday before I was on maternity leave.

..... worst decision ever!!

Combine the effects of one spicy burrito, 3 miles of walking, and Mark saying ridiculous things to me and making me laugh made me keel over in pain for the entire duration of that walk.

I thought I had gone into labour.

But really it was just a fart. A giant fart combined with some Braxton Hicks. Never again!

A moment of respite on the Abbey Road crossing

Come Out and Play

One week to go. Crazy! It feels like only yesterday I was yelling at Mark to hurry up and get a boner so we could have sex and go to sleep, and to stop taking so long because i'm really not in the mood for all this sex.

How things have changed in the past 9 months.

1. Learning that pregnancy is technically 10 months. yeahhh no one tells you this in highschool.
2. Being trapped like an upside down beetle trying to roll over in bed.
3.  up the options of getting up off the couch to get the maltesers that rolled under there due to my lack of coordination. My Tip: Don't eat round balls of chocolate when you're 9 months pregnant.
4. Taking about a minute to bend over and pick up anything, compounded with hilarity when you have to pick something up in public.
5. I will not miss having to sleep like a rotisserie chicken, turning myself over every hour to give my aching hips a break - because see point 2: being trapped like an upside down beetle.

I just want our little prawn to come out into world..... without having to come out of my vagine or through abdominal surgery.. is there a way for this to happen? 21st Century advances in technology? We have a whole apartment full of stuff to play with and no baby.. lame.

see you soon kid.

National Awkwardness Trust

I've mentioned before the NCT - (National Childhood Trust) a charity that runs in England with the aims to give new mothers information and support during their first pregnancy. You pay £300 to essentially learn about episiotomys (traumatising) the stages of labour (endless) and carry around dolls that you pretend to breastfeed and bathe (weird) - but the true cost of the course goes to forming these 'baby mama communities' you're supposed to go out into the world & form friendships with these women who you have spent a total of 16 hours with...

I can work with someone for 18 months and not have ever had a lunch with them, however I am now expected to meet up with these ladies every friday and go for a coffee and then a romantic walk through the park.

I understand that having children means a whole new world of socialising with people you might not normally hang out with, but doing so when you don't even have children yet is just weird.

So of course I have missed the past 2 catch ups. For one they meet at 10am in the park, who does that? aren't we all still in our PJ's at 10am? Which is why I need to form a new group. The Mutiny Group.

In the Mutiny Group we meet at midday. We don't even have to meet at the park. We could meet at the cafe which is 5 minutes from our houses. We could stay at home and skype each other in our braless wonderlessness. To be honest I think a lot of people were into joining Mutiny Group. It only takes one person to stand up to the 'organiser' of the group (the one who volunteered for the organiser position whilst the rest of of us were thinkin 'aint nobody got time for that') and goddamit if the volunteer organiser isn't one of those over achieving women who is super nice, has perfect hair, is an architect and runs marathons in her spare time. She probably wanted to do park meets at 8am but thought she'd let us slackers sleep in a bit.

There's just something awkward about forcing 8 women and their respective partners to be friends immediately. Maybe i'm too suspicious. Maybe I don't play well with others. Maybe I need to set my alarm earlier.

I think the NCT is a good thing - London is a transient city, there isn't one person in the group who is from London. You got Americans, Chinese, Dutch, French, and Aussies. I guess the difference to back home is that you'd form your community out of friends with children, and family members. All we have in London is each other - each weird freak who you'd probably never speak to in normal circumstances, however being knocked up has put us all on the same page.

me and my preggers besties. we swap vagina stories despite knowing each other less than a month.

Can't wait for the awkwardness of bringing our newborns to the park on our romantic walks. If I can get out of bed that is.

Skive Leave

Well it has to be said, everyone loves a pregnant woman. I finished work last Thursday and it's the only time in my life i've ever left a place of employment on decent terms. Usually when I leave a job it's because a) I've quit because I hate the job/the people i'm working with - and you disappear like a fart in the wind the next day. or b) i've been fired and been asked not to come back - like that time I worked at Bakers Delight and used to sneeze all over the bread.

When you leave on Maternity Leave it's like a parade of fun and presents. My work got me a gift from Liberty's which is the shiz. I get more excited about seeing the plum purple of a Liberty's bag than I do about the turquoise of Tiffany's. I got cupcakes from the posh cupcake store. Helium Balloons. Flowers. I don't think i've been that spoilt since being a little kid.

Now i'm on Maternity Leave however.....

The Brilliance that is Kim-Li

I have been doing ante-natal classes the past few weeks, some of which have been run through the NCT (National Childhood Trust) these classes have been excellent, they expand on the class you have at the hospital and empower you with knowledge and confidence to go onto having a happy birth and a healthy baby.   The NCT classes however are mostly for meeting other pregnant women who live in your area who you can form friendships and communities of support with.

My group has about 10 women who are all due within 3 - 4 weeks of each other, they are all lovely ladies who I will hopefully have wonderful bonding experiences with once my child is born. It will be nice to ring someone up at at 5am "you awake?" "what colour is your poop?"

Amongst my group however is the most outstanding person I have come across in recent times. I would like to introduce you to Kim-Li.

Kim-Li is an over-acheiving asian, her partner is also an over-achieving asian - this makes them the most informed powerhouse of childbirth and control that I have ever witnessed.

I am no way mocking Kim-Li, I think she's brilliant. 

Kim-Li and her partner are having their baby at the Portland - which is where you go to have babies if you are either minted or have excellent medical insurance. Stella McCartney has her babies there. 

These are just a few things that Kim-Li is up to that I have to share. If there is ever a dock-comedy made about ante-natal classes I would hope that the producers would make a Kim-Li character.

First of all Kim-Li's partner is all about control. We had a discussion about midwives, the next day he books a £3000 private midwife. We had a discussion about when to go to the hospital when contractions are underway, the next class we have Kim-Li's partner shows up with his laptop to show us a very sophisticated and scientific graph that he has devised with contractions mapped out which will tell you the exact perfect time to go the hospital. Genius. Sometimes super smart over-achieving asians outdo themselves.

Now.. Kim-Li... Kim-Li and her partner live in a tiny immaculate minimalistic flat, so Kim-Li has gone out and brought............... see through baby stuff. So that way she won't notice it. Her birth ball - see through. Her baby bath? see through perspex. I have to wonder if they might invent through necessity the first see-through pram. 

I find myself becoming the sage of widsom and zen around Kim-Li. Kim-Li was going to work up until the first contraction and I told her that she might enjoy a week or two off beforehand in case she's tired/uncomfortable. Kim-Li has now booked this in, she has also not told anyone at her work about her pregnancy and has been hiding it under giant shirts because she doesn't want anyone giving her special pregnancy treatment. 

I told Kim-Li that I walk to and from work each day, which amounts to 6 miles a day. Now every time we see each other her ongoing joke is "ooooh you walking 6 miles today?" I told her when she is on maternity leave we could walk 6 miles together if she wanted. Kim-Li is very excited.

Thingy doesn't work here anymore

Technically I have 14 working days left at my job until my maternity leave starts.  To be honest I am pretty much on maternity leave anyway. In my head. Well it's the end of the financial year and that means that a lot of business has slowed down so this is how I spend my final days at work.

Reading Everything On the Internet: buzzfeed. news websites. stumble. why last week I stumbled across a website where I learnt that all capsicums are the same! it's just a matter of when they pick them. And all this time I've been thinking that green capsicums and red capsicums come from different plants. The knowledge I am gaining to pass onto my offspring is phenomenal.

Taking ages to eat food: sometimes I will take 30 minutes to eat an apple. multiple times a day.

Online shopping and reviewing products to purchase: there are loads of products people/books recommend you buy for a baby, but first you must read about 10 different forums regarding other people's experiences with said product, and then and only then can you scour the internet for the cheapest deal. It took me a full 8 hours of solid research to decide on the best sling to get. And that was Wednesday.

Not working even when there is work to do: oh you need me to do some actual work which involves calling someone and not scrolling through asos maternity clothing? not a problem. I just dial the last 3 digits of the number i'm supposed to call as *## and leave a pretend voicemail message so I don't have to actually speak to anyone. If it's that urgent, someone else will do it for me. suckers.

and I get in late and have naps and leave early.

Employee of the Year = Me.

stupid maternity pants

"short pants are so sexy" said no one. ever

I mean what more can I say about this situation?

Who is designing maternity clothes?
Why must maternity jeans come in only one size?
Why must you take a trip to the fashion wasteland when you've got one in ya?
What do supermodels wear when they are pregnant?
I bet Gisele Bundchen doesn't have to put up with this shit.

Rollercoaster Scariness

If I had to describe my state of mind at the moment it would be the following;

upside down and full of vomit

Remember when you were little and you'd go to a themepark and you'd wait in line for ages for that one scary ride, and the anticipation builds up the whole time until you're at the front and and the anxiety of going on the ride has actually overwhelmed you to the point where you don't want to go through with it anymore.

But you don't back out. You allow yourself to be strapped into the harness and thoughts of falling out and cracking your head open run through your mind. Maybe you even shed some secret tears as you realise you can't back out now.

Then then ride starts and you scream the whole time and have your eyes closed and pray to come out of the  other side alive. Then once it's all over you feel exhilerated and want to do it again.

That is what birth is like...... I assume. I haven't got to the front of the rollercoaster line yet.

Things people need to stop doing

yeah yeah i'm pregnant and it's obvious. that must mean that my brain has vacated the building and i am only capable of talking about babies. People just need to stop doing the following;

a) showing you random pictures of their babies, or other peoples babies. do i care? am I supposed to care? just because i'm pregnant am I supposed to get excited about every other baby on the planet? i'm not a baby person. i never have been. i like my friends babies and i'll love my own baby but showing me a pixelated photo on your phone of your cousins new baby doesn't thrill me. of course I have to act like it's the cutest goddam random baby i've ever seen.

b) telling what the sex of the baby is based on amateur guess work. baby kickin? that means a boy. ooh eating honey are we?? that's a girl. Hey thanks stranger, how about next time you just follow me into the ultra sound room and we can clear this mystery up once and for all.

c) telling me how tired they are and that you're life is about to come to and end. maybe it will, maybe it won't - i sure wouldn't go around telling someone their life was about to come to a poo stained end even if it was the truth. fuck off with your truth mongering and let me live in denial just a bit longer.

d) telling you how much you're going to fuck your children up based on the way you approach your pregnancy/lack of nursery decorating and plans for raising a child. Yes I have headphones strapped to my stomach, no it's not nursery rhymes its The Knife. no i'm not having a nursery, yes I brought a knitted breast for my kid to play with... does this mean it's going to be a serial killer? fuck off with your antiquated judgements.

e) poo-pooing all over the names you come up with. this is why you have to come up with fake names to tell people. "Yes Magina is what we're thinking of - it's a hybrid of Marge and Georgina"

Of course I assume after I have a baby i'm going to turn into 'that person' ... "hey stranger, check out my crap blurry photo of my baby! your boobs are enormous! that means girl. hahahhaa i haven't slept in 3 months - good luck with that. oh you're naming your kid that? i always associate that name with this fat ginger I knew in primary school who we used to bully to the point of suicide for being a fat ginger with a stupid name. you are glowing!!!!!!!!!"


Magina Forever

You pregnant! No discount...........

The phrase 'babymoon' is one of those annoying middle class 21st Century-isms that really irks me. So I decided to go on one!!!!!! (what a jerk.)

Helloooooooooo Marrakech!!!!! Crazy Crazy Crazy Town. Step outside your Riad and get run over by 10 Motorbikes, a Donkey, and 20 homeless Cats... in the Riad however... Paradise!

This was probably the most relaxing holiday I have ever been on. Wake up in the morning, have Tea & Coffee and tiny biscuits in the room before heading up to the roof terrace for a 5 course breakfast, then laze around chasing sunbeams like a cat till 2pm and then maybe wander down to the Souks to look at cheap junk,  not buy anything, head back to the roof terrace for afternoon Orange Juice and Popcorn, have a nap, head downstairs to the courtyard for 4pm Macaroon Hour, go to the room for a pre-dinner shower, eat a 3 course meal in the restaurant, then head back to the room for a nice luxurious rose petal bath before getting into the king size bed for a solid nights sleep.

Repeat x 5

We did break up the routine of each day with a variety of extra curricular activities.

The unnecessary breast massage. 
the Riad we stayed in had an amazing spa so we decided to book massages. Mark is always the guinea pig for these things so he went first. When I saw Mark afterwards before heading into my own massage he gave me the heads up that it was "good.. but weird" ... I would have to wait until after my own bizarre massage to find out just how weird his was compared to mine.  I'm no stranger to massage, so I am pretty down with the acceptable clothing rules and protocol.

Enter Massage Area > Masseuse shows you where to lie down > Massesue hands you a towel and exits the room whilst you change out of your clothes and position yourself with your dignity intact.

In Marrakech they are more of the "get naked in front of me and get awkwardly onto the bed" well I assume that's what she wanted, what with the language barrier and all.  I mimed my best way through the whole "remember i'm pregnant so no belly rubbing for me please" which was clearly translated in her mind to "rub the hell out of my boobs for 45 minutes"

Now i'm not saying that I don't appreciate having all parts of the body worked on during the massage, but they really go in for every area when they are in the zone. I think they would have preferred it if I had taken all my clothes off including my underpants. If I hadn't waxed my bikini line before going on the trip it would have been really awkward when she was practically massaging my labia through my knickers.

Anyway - I was very relaxed afterwards, maybe even a little aroused what with all the nipple rubbing. I went upstairs to to see what Mark had meant by his "good but weird" comment and it turns out the masseuse had also worked his nether regions - getting her hands right in his underpants and loosening a testicle so that it was hanging out of it's underpant region and sticking to his leg with the massage oil. Good Thing we didn't go in for the Hammams, they probably get naked with you and scrub you down inside and and out.

Other than the weird massage whenever we went out walking on the streets the market sellers were quick to point out my belly, and then get us to look at their wares, and then not give us a discount.


We honestly spent most of our days on the roof getting sun and hanging by the pool.

One of us would be lookout for the breasty-testy masseuse so we could hide our faces when she walked past.

Marrakech for the win.

Fatso in Paradise

Being that it is generally colder than a witches tit in February, we have decided to get away and go to sunny Morocco for a bit of sun and relaxation. To be honest aside from the sunshine and warmth and weightlessness from floating around in a pool the thing I most looking forward to is freedom to fart at any given time of the day.

I work in a close knit office, and whilst we can talk about any subject amongst each other, sitting in the corner and farting all day is generally frowned upon. This is unfortunate because I am often so full and gassy that I feel my tits are going to explode.

It's really hard to decide what to pack for a holiday in a country where you have to dress for the local customs. Difficult for me because all my clothes can be defined as "culturally slutty" given the rules i've got to live by on my trip. To be fair, it's probably a better look to have your body swathed in a flowy dress rather than a micro mini like your normal self.

I have been putting on the pregnancy weight as per the norm, but that doesn't stop me from living in denial when someone mentions how big you look.. "I just ate a big lunch..." all my self denial was thrown in my face when I went to put on my nice slinky swimsuit to put together a lounging around the pool outfit... because by the time I got the swimsuit over the bump and extra skin the boob holders couldn't go any higher than my navel. Not a good look.

I'm just going to go in a bikini 2 sizes too small and live like dental floss.

I would also like to add that the definition of awkwardness & impossible should be defined as a 6 month pregnant woman trying to wax her own bikini line. For one: you can't see where you are putting that wax, and secondly you can't see where you pulling that wax. I don' think my crotch has ever been more angry with me. Lots of redness/swelling and bleeding. It looked like a 13 year old's first period down there. And for what? do you think people are going to look at the pregant woman in her dental floss bikini and judge her on her raging hairy sideburns creeping out her bikini line? no, if anything they would be horrified by the whiteness of my body and the non-pube like hair growing all over it. Pregnancy is like being injected with a slight Yeti Hormone.  Sexy.

Halfling

well i'm technically half way there. which means the following;

Nothing Fits: and not only does nothing fit, I am living in denial about it. I had the night of the 'packing things that don't fit away into a suitcase to hide under the bed for the next year'... which leaves me with about 2 skirts and 50 jumpers.

Enormous Underpants; and when I say nothing fits, NOTHING fits. I had to go and buy Bridget Jones size underpants. what a sad day. My boobs are much bigger though, so that's a plus. Unfortunately you can't get them out anywhere cos you'd look like a loose pregnant slut. No one wants to see my rockmelon tits at this stage in my life. what a waste.

Eat the World; Daily life goes like this.... I see it. I want it. I eat it. And that goes for all sightings. Say you're watching a David Attenborough documentary about mature chimpanzees who use tools to break into trees and eat honey... and you're thinking... "I could really go for some honey too right now".. then then you're watching a movie and an out of focus character in the background is eating something out of the freezer and you're like "I wonder what they're eating" and then..  "I need some mango gelato too!" .. there's a BBC documentary on about the poverty levels of underprivileged youth on tv and it cuts to a tragic scene of these youths lives going nowhere fast, and then there is a neighborhood lady who likes to cook fried chicken for all the homeless young lads and all you take from the program is "i wish i could cook fried chicken".. I have to carry  a list around with me which I put food on that I plan to eat in the future. I did a pregnancy yoga class and all I could think about the whole time I was supposed to be meditating and visualising the healing power of light or some other BS was "I could get a chicken burger on the walk home" and "a bag of maltesers would be amazing right now" then I realised I didn't have any money on me and that i'd have to go without.  I did a lot of angry squat thrusts after that realisation.

The great irony to all the food yearnings is that I don't have the stomach to fit anything in. My stomach has probably been squished up next to something else so I can usually only eat about 5 bites of something before needing to lie on the floor and digest.  The baby does love apples though. I could eat about 6 apples a day. It's a shame that twat Gwyneth named her baby 'Apple', I will have to go one further and name mine 'Jazz Apple' which is the prawn's apple of choice.

The Burmese Method

I went to a yoga pregnancy class on the weekend....... bunch of hippies. There are two types of Yoga People. people who think yoga is practical and good way to get into some deep stretching, and people who think that doing yoga makes you one with the earth.

I'm more of the practical stretching type.  I find it hard to visualise myself being rooted to the earth with my soul whilst standing on heated parquetry flooring in a posh loft. Don't get me wrong - I really enjoy the stretching of yoga and feeling quite good afterwards, however pregnancy yoga is defintely for those people who are planning natural childbirths in their owns homes.

I am not one of those people. Yes I find the thought of labour and childbirth quite terrifying, but i'm sure I will get through it like the millions of women who do it every year, my god if women can give birth in rice fields i'm sure I can give birth in a state of the art birthing suite.

The idea of bringing up the notion of taking drugs during labour would have definitely been frowned upon by the yoga crowd, so when asked what kind of birth I was planning to have I avoided the question and went into some uncoordinated stretches. Because the truth is my plan at the moment it to incorporate all the stretching and take the drugs as deemed necessary by my aching vagina. Maybe i'll be one of those people who can just breathe their way through it whilst sucking on pear drops, or maybe i'll be clawing the face off the midwife begging for the epidural, who knows? But I am prepared to do everything, the camel walk (yoga move), birthing pool, morphine, and should it come to it a mobile epidural.

I would like to suggest a couple of other birthing practises that could help ease the pain of childbirth;

The Techno Birth: you have really loud Drum & Bass playing, whilst you jump around and scream your head off. It's an optional extra to have a dreadlocked white guy with fire twirling sticks in the room.

The Burmese Birth: you have a burmese cat in the room with you, kneading your back, purring on your stomach, generally using their calming cat vibes to mellow the mood. You can also request to have the burmese in the birthing pool with you, because let's face it - if you've got a wet angry cat in the bath with you your mind won't be thinking about broken vaginas.

First Kicks and Vague... something something

Well my baby either loves the Spice Girls or it hates the Spice Girls.

I went to see the Spice Girls Musical this weekend, and during one of the loud opening numbers I felt what could only be described as a completely alien movement coming my abdomen. All the baby books i've been reading say around now is the time when you'll start to feel kicks, but if you've never felt a kick before it's hard to tell what is a kick, what is fart build up, and what is your body stretching and aching.  However the weird bubble bursting sensation in my belly could only be described as movement. Of course there is no way to test weather or not the baby loves or hates the Spice Girls "kick once for like, kick twice for hates it" Maybe it just really loves or hates Musicals in general. Can't wait to find out in person.

Secondly in Badge of Power news, it turns out that the only people who will give up their seat for you on public transport are other women. Men won't even look up to acknowledge you, and when they do glance up at your baby bump, they quickly bury their heads in the sand so as to not have to involve themselves in any human interaction to do the right thing. assholes.

A lot of the baby books said that absentmindedness was a definite symptom of this part of pregnancy, and given my penchant for bullet lists and post it notes, I didn't think I would be one to suffer from such brain transgressions this soon into the baby brain period.

Example 1: my job is to be organised, I have to make sure that all the crew and equipment are booked for a commercial shoot, everything is my responsibility - from the extra lightbulbs the electrical department requires, to the specific brand of walkers crisps the client prefers. On  my last shoot it got to 7pm on a Friday when I realised I hadn't booked the DIT. The DIT being the computer techy person whose sole job it is to make sure the camera rushes are looked after and sent in a readable format to the Editors (a pretty effing important crew member) all the blood drained from my face and I ran from the studio in a panic when I realised that this major infraction had slipped my mind. Panicked doesn't begin to describe what I was feeling. In the end I found someone and was able to breathe again. Never again, Now I have post it's all over my desk at work from 'remember the runner has £20 petty cash' to 'do your pelvic floor exercises' and 'buy some cheese!'

Example 2: as previously mentioned around Christmas a big part of our life became the toasted sandwich maker. like we have had some variety of toasted sandwich everyday for the past 3 weeks. By now I am a pro. Earlier this week I decided to make a toasted sandwich when I got home from work, I also decided that I needed to organise my wardrobe into 'things that fit & things that don't fit' I got so caught up in putting all the not fitting things into a suitcase of clothes "see ya in a year!" that I completely forgot about my baked bean & cheese toastie. By the time I remembered my toastie was nothing more than a piece of cheese encrusted charcoal.

Example 3: I don't know how you normally go to the toilet, but my regime is like this: business-time, wipe, flush. I had an incident where it was more like; business-time, wipe, walk around the bathroom looking for a bin to put the TP into, realising what the f*ck am I doing?, leave the toilet in a rush of confusion, don't flush.

and something.. something.. burning toast....

Badge of Power

this is the most powerful item in the universe

It systematically breaks down barriers and allows one to make a load of selfish decisions without being judge by society.

that seat on the tube = mine
last piece of pizza = mine
5% discount at Boots even though I don't have a coupon = mine

I think people are just genuinely nicer to you when they know you're gestating. 

Over the weekend I had been using and abusing my Badge of Power, when a situation arose where the badge of power would have actually come in handy. We'd driven down to the South Coast for a weekend away, and we both woke up from a nap absolutely starving. Mark wolfed down a packet of the complimentary biscuits, to which I did the same thing, only one packet of complimentary biscuits was not enough for me. I still thought I was going to pass out and die if I didn't get more biscuits.

So I made Mark call reception and lie and tell them I had diabetes and needed more biscuits.. Why we chose to go with that story? Surely "my wife is pregnant and hungry and we need more of those free biscuits" would have been sufficient reason enough. I just wanted to make sure they understood the gravity of the situation. I needed biscuits NOW goddamit.

Then later that night at dinner I didn't eat all my dessert because a person who had diabetes woudn't eat the whole mango parfait and lime sorbet. It's all about staying in character really.

I did have dreams about fudge all night though, and no amount of flashing my badge around Eastbourne could produce directions to the fudge shop.

Twelve Days of Christmas Staycation

This year everyone told me to 'live it up' during my last childless Christmas, I guess they had pictures in their minds of two partying hard people who liked to get out and amongst it. Boy were they wrong.

My Christmas staycation began on the 22nd December, and so began the 12 days of my christmas pants & dressing gown. I lived in my christmas pants for a total of 5 days before I spent a cold few hours whilst my christmas attire was in the washing machine.

We left the house only to buy supplies. Putting big jackets on over our christmas pants and scurrying to the the corner shop to buy bread and milk with our hair unbrushed and an eyeball still fused together with sleep.

Christmas Day was a day of feasting. We unknowingly brought M&S rohypnol gravy and spent a good 4 hours passed out on the couch together, or maybe it was just that the Hobbit was such a boring film?

Our only Christmas present we brought was a toasted sandwich maker - and thus began the great Toasted Sandwich Marathon. At first we were pedestrian in our fillings, until a lack of food and an unwillingless to go outside proved our first creative culinary breakthrough. "what if we put artichokes and tomato soup in the toasties?" Consequent days were spent making exotic and weird toasted sandwiches that only the maker could love. We considered not going back to work and opening up a toasted sandwich shop instead, thus was the delusion one undergoes when they haven't seen the outdoors in a week.

By about the 5th day Mark decided to put on a dressing gown and hasn't looked back since. It was refreshing to be able to finally bond in my love of dressing gowns and teach him my  secrets "sometimes, you don't even have to put pyjamas on underneath the dressing gown" whilst I flashed my naked self in his direction.

There was a good 4 days after that where the two of us lazed around in our dressing gowns and watched about 15 movies. We spent a good amount of time discussing the merits of Amanda Seyfried, and what exactly has Jude Law been up to lately? In between films we'd occasionally get on the internet to see what other films the major star had been in so we could watch more of their great work.

There finally came a day when we both realised we needed to get out of the house. Leaving the house proved good for reasons of fresh air, but didn't cure our mental illness. We assumed new identities - identitites of people who leave the house ; Moki & Riki. We went to Richmond Park and looked for deer. I was so unused to wearing shoes that I got a bunion after about an hour of walking, we looked like drug addicts when we hobbled back to the tube station.

New Years Eve we dressed up a bit, i alternated with a different pair of Christmas Pants. I drank fizzy grape juice straight from the bottle and popped my pregnancy vitamins as though they were prescription pills. We gave the cat a bath, and that was the highlight of our day.

We started the New Year with a walk through Hampstead Heath, it was the biggest mudslide ever and there were many an occasion where Mark refused to walk and had a tantrum whilst I soldiered on through the mud and called him an an-adventurous wimp. Later when we got home that afternoon we discovered that you can wash boots in the washing machine.

Our last day of day of staycation pretty much revolved around the same formula as the others; dressing gowns, movies and toasted sandwiches. I'm not sure how i'll cope at work having to wear the constricting shackles of underpants and bra.

I'm pretty sure a baby will fit in nicely with this lifestyle.

My Norovirus Story

So apparently about 1 Million people have had the Norovirus. I've had it, Mark's had it. I often lie on the couch pondering weather an illness like this is the first sign of the Apocalyptic Outbreak to ruin us all, and would I give my husband up should the time come when the army cordons off the streets and asks us to hang white towels in our windows to removed the infected from inside.

He's in here! Take him!

I like to think that I wouldn't let them take my husband away, but you never know - depending on my mood and any unforgivable transgressions; like eating my last Cherry Ripe, and making me use the dodgy small crampy couch. Off to the death camp you go!

But the good news is that we've both had the virus now and are forever immune (in my head anyway). I can picture myself now, walking through the throngs of people lying on the street in their own puddles of diarrhea, and i'll be like "don't shit on my sneakers" whilst I go for a nice brisk walk in Hampstead Heath. I had the flu jab bitches! I am like Superman compared to this virus.

I wasn't anywhere near superman when I had the virus though.

The fact that I could get the virus in the first place perplexes me because I have such high standards of hand to mouth hygiene that Mark is constantly calling me the worlds biggest nerd for using my knuckles to put my PIN Code in at banks, and using my elbows to open doors.

And that leads me to the story of myself accidentally shitting on the Eurostar platform at Gare du Nord Paris.

All morning I had been feeling a tad 'queasy' but nothing that would warrant me not getting on the train to Paris to meet up with Mark. I wore a tiny dress and a flimsy ill-fitting g-string and was on my way! When I arrived in Paris, Mark's train was 'retard' (late) from Amsterdam so I had about an hour to kill by myself in the train station. I casually swanned around, listening in on the crazy conversations happening between the homeless frenchies who live in the train station. I eventually decided to go wait on the platform as Marks's train was due any minute. I felt the urge to fart so took the fart stance of one leg cocked slightly higher than the other, and let loose what was supposed to be a tiny elf like 'Poot' that would disintegrate after one-second of being airborne.

Instead I strained and due to the looseness of my g-string and the pressure in my bowels, rather than a lady like non-fart, a bit of poo flew out and landed underneath my feet on the platform.

I did what any normal person would do. I relocated myself to elsewhere on the platform. When Mark arrived I pointed out the poo like it was a Parisian Historical Hotspot "and that's where Marie Antoinette was arraigned, and that's where I shat on the platform"

Truth be told, I never let a little thing like accidental poopage ruin a good day out, so we did cultural parisian things like the Helmut Newton exhibition, and taking in the sights of the 11th Arrondissement, and then finally a quick trip to Jim Morrison's grave - it was in the graveyard that I told Mark I couldn't hold it in any longer was going shit on some holocaust survivors tomb if we didn't find a toilet soon. After that we went back to the hotel for our 'dirty weekend' which consisted of me shivering in a feverish haze, running to the bathroom every 30 seconds.

rockin the diarrhea look

Outrageously Ignorant Statements by the Childless

that is me! childless. for now anyway, because i don't think being 'with child' makes one an expert in all things parenting, I forget i'm pregnant half the time anyway and someone will have to interrupt me whilst i'm about to stuff my face with a rare beef burger to say "are you sure you can eat that whilst pregnant" and I have to pull the burger out of my jaws with a knowing "ahh i was just testing you" look on my face.

Truth be told, I know nothing about; pregnancy, childbirth, babies, or raising children. But that's not to say I don't have very strong held opinions about; pregnancy, childbirth, babies and raising children.

And one of my strong-held opinions is that people should shut the hell up 90% of the time.

Since telling my family that I am pregnant, every time I speak to a certain family member the first thing that comes out of their mouth is "are you fat yet?" what kind of stupid and rude question is that? do I ask them "are you completely bald yet?" or "you still an interminable bore yet?"

I would never ask a pregnant woman that, because they probably are fat and if they're anything like me are in strong denial about that fact. It's all water weight as far as I'm concerned, there is no way it's humanly possible to drink the amount of liquids I do and the very little peeing that eventuates from it, where is all the pee going? is my foetus swimming around in a giant pee pool?

I just think we need to let pregnant women do their own thing without making them homidical, which let's face it, everything makes me homidical these days. ie; Why would you think it's ok to eat an entire bag of pistachio nuts whilst sitting behind during a documentary about 3 ten year old boys who were murdered, and the 3 men who spent 18 years in prison wrongly convicted of the crime? this is not a movie for pistachio nut eating!!!!!!!!! Do you Tom Cruise's ugly mug anywhere on the screen?

And for that kindness in return I think that people with children should lay off the whole "my life is so much more fulfilling than yours" shtick.

I will never be one of those parents who laments at how her childless friends can never know the true meaning of happiness because only a child can bring true happiness into their fruitless and self-indulgent lives. True happiness for me is realising I have the entire series of Dawson's Creek on LoveFilm and I have 6 non-working days stretching ahead of me, whilst I sit without the bondages of underwear, stuffing my face with baked bean & cheese jaffles. Happiness!

The "Jolly" Season. Nope.

I think Tard the "Grumpy Cat Meme" pretty much sums up what it's like being pregnant at Christmastime.

This is normally the time of year for christmas parties, christmas dresses, and slinking into work at 11am with a hangover and a bacon and egg roll with your last night mascara goop fusing your eyelids shut.

Not for me.

Instead I have to remain sober, whilst all the other idiots who I can normally only put up with under the guise of alcohol have a fabulous time. At last year's christmas party we were so smashed we were all taken hostage at my friends house in Kentish Town. Spent an hour getting in and out of a cab because one of the group was too drunk to believe they were too drunk to function, and tried swimming across the floor of a Gordon Ramsey pub, and started a knife throwing competition at my desk at work. It was soooo much fun!!!!!!!

This year................ I was home by 6.20pm and watched 4 episodes of Downton Abbey.

Whhoooooooooppppp!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That's not even the worst part, because truth be told, I fecking love Downton Abbey. The worst part is being the sober person listening to drunk people ramble and not being able to ramble back at them.

Drunk people think its socially acceptable to put their hands all over your belly even though i'm hardly showing at all, and the only reason my belly is sticking out is because I ate 10 of the delicious mini-burgers that were being carried around by the snooty caterers. That's burger poo you're all rubbing! not baby!!!

Drunk people think it's acceptable to bring up a group conversation the topic of "so how fat are you going to get??" it's not fat!!!!! it's amniotic fluid!!!!!!!!! (i'm not in denial. you're in denial).

It ain't no fun at the christmas party.

Unreasonable Fits of Rage

It has been said that during pregnancy ones hormones go a bit crazy, that I can attest to given my incredibly short temper and regularly flying into out of proportionate expletive laden fits of rage at seemingly insignificant encounters.

Things that have sent me into a fit of rage recently;

Mark opening up the can of Milo. That's my Milo! I always have a glass of milo before work, British Milo is shit and can't compare to Australian Milo, you keep your thieving hands away from my Milo. What was most extraordinary about this outburst was that I was able to hear the can of milo being opened from literally the other end of the house.

The runner at work calling me a diva for not wanting to lift a 30kg hamper, and insulting the size of my bump. Let's just say he got a whole earful of FUCK YOU's!!!!!!!! before I calmed down, made him move the hamper, and then rubbed his shoulder in apology later that night.

Calling the runner at work a Tasteless Idiotic Moron for going out and buying the wrong Christmas cards to send out out with the said "Fuck You" Hampers. I made him him walk 10 minutes in the rain and send me pictures of christmas cards until I was satified he had found the right ones.

Mark interrupting movies we're watching to fill in pointless trivia that I don't care about - ie: in the Dark Knight Comic book, Batman has his back broken by Bane... ?? and?? could I give a shit?? It almost ruined the whole movie for me.

A young director walking into the office and telling me I am dressed like Zooey Deschanels character from Elf. I replied that he looked like a rapist and a murderer and the only reason he would dress like that of a morning is that he probably is a rapist and a murderer, and a little bit of a fisherman, with no mirror and bad eyesight. Truth be told I probably did look like Zooey Deschanels character from Elf, given I was dressed for the Christmas Party, wearing a stripey dress, red shoes and an Elf Hat.

At the work Christmas Party when someone on the other table asked me in a drunken rude way to give him the camera so that 'people at their table could take pictures too' (as if the table I was on, was taking a million fun photos of us having a better time than the other table) he barely caught the camera as I lobbed it at his head from across the room.

Being told at the chemist that they couldn't sell me Thrush Cream whilst pregnant- so I was faced with an never ending eternity of an itchy as hell weekend before I could see my GP and get a prescription. I had a mild meltdown at the cashier and practically grabbed the guy by the neck shoving him into the Nurofen stand screaming in his face "what the hell am I supposed to do now then huh!!!!!!!!!!!?!??"

Flying into a paranoid rage at the way someone had addressed an envelope to me "what point are they trying to prove addressing me as my full name on an envelope?!?! I'll call my child whatever I goddam want!"

The cleaners at work coming in and trying to spray and clean my desk whilst I was sitting and working at it. "are you trying to kill me with your toxic chemicals?!?!?!" and opening all the windows in the office even though its minus 2 degrees outside.


Ok, so some of those situations were a tad of an overreaction. Only 5 more months of this!! Lucky You ....World!!!!

The Flies and the Bees

There is one thing I wish for my child, and that is to grow up in a world with bees. Because let's face it - without bees there won't be a world to speak of.

I often sit at work discussing with other really busy collageues possible end of the world scenarios, and our plans to survive the impending apocalypse.

Meteor, Solar Storm, Virus Outbreak, Earthquake, Volcano.

These would all be hard to survive. Especially when you factor zombies into the equation. Basically none of the upperclass would survive a technological breakdown of communication, electricity, and sanitation.

Take Mark Francis from Made in Chelsea. He's not going to survive ten seconds in a post-apocalyptic society. Your Butler might be able to make a nice platter of cheeses, but I doubt they know how to wield or discover any high end weaponry, nor would they be willing to eat out of the garbage, wheres I eat things out of my own garbage at least once a week, as long as it's still on the top and not covered by a dirty pad or anything.

Mark Francis - not surviving anything. He'd probably kill himself if he woke up and his hairdryer was broken.

Basically you need to know that you can without pain of conscious shoot the person sitting across from you right now. I could. If it was a matter of me eating the last of the tinned goods then i'm afraid you better kiss your ass goodbye.. (if anyone asked, i'd just say you looked a bit zombie-ish. no one wants to share their tinned goods with someone who might go zombie on them. what a waste.)

And whilst I definitely think that the world could one day be headed for some unforseen apocalypic event, the one thing that weighs on my mind a lot of the time are the Bees... or the lack of bees.

I'm sure by now most people have heard about the mysterious disappearance of bees over the past decade. It's quite disturbing. To think that we might not have them around to help polinate the planet is pretty pant shittingly terrifying.

To this end I've always been a friend to bees. If a bee wants to sting me then so be it. Sting away and thanks for the flowers man. However there isn't a lot of things one can do in the endeavour to help the bees except becoming a bee keeper. I have a window box and always encourage bees to hang out in it... like setting up a Pollen Bar and a Strip Bee. (not really).

I do like to watch the bees in my window box, but I think the season of the bee is over, as we now are heading into winter, and there will be no more polinsation this year.

or WILL THERE!!!

I witnessed some very interesting phenomenon this weekend, interesting, disturbing, and maybe life changing phenomenon.

I saw flies hanging out in my flower garden rubbing themselves all over my flowers!!!!!! Granted they didn't seem to know what they were doing, it's like they were copying the behaviour of bees, but not understand the full process.

Do you think that maybe flies are here to save us? I mean really what good is a fly anyway? Spreads disease, makes picnics unbearable, makes it hard to see africans through the fly-haze all over their faces.

Perhaps flies are the ultimate underdogs. Flies could be the answer to everything, they are essentially Bees in Emo outfits. Maybe we've been underestimating them this whole time. If a fly can carry faeces from a dog poo to a dinner plate, then surely they can carry some pollen from one flower in need to another.

So perhaps the next time you see a fly, nudge it towards the flowers and put the pesticide down, because that's what may have caused this bee-pocalypes in the first place.

FLIES FOR THE FUTURE!!!

Stretchy Pant Heaven

I generally don't like clothes shopping at the best of times, but given it's Christmas it just makes it ten thousand times worse. It's also no fun when you can't buy 99% of what is instore.

Glitter Hotpants -nope
Skinny Jeans - nope
More Hotpants - nope (what's with all the hotpants? it's winter?!)
Skintight Dresses - nope

nope nope nope, none of that, and the whole time I am assaulted in the ears by incessant Rihanna music blared far too loud to be anything other than torturous. I am here for one reason only, and I might just kill the next person who gets in the way of me getting what I want.

Stretchy Pants!!!!!!!

And not just any stretchy pants. I'm talking maternity stretchy pants. Pants that are disguised to look like pants, but have a stretchy waistband.

OOOOOOMMMMMMMMMGGGGGGGG

they are like the best invention in the world. ever.

I would even go so far as recommending them to my non pregnant friends.

Do you ever sit at your desk at work and have to undo a button when you've just wolfed down a lunch big enough for two? Not anymore. Stretchy Pants take away all that tight constricting guilt.

Do you ever wish you could wear your pyjamas to work? Stretchy pants are the second best thing.

I don't think i'll ever be able to give them up.

STRETCHY PANTS FOREVER!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fad Names

One of the first things everyone wants to know when they find out you're pregnant is
a) will you find out if it is a boy or girl? nope. as long as it's not ginger I don't care.
b) what names are you thinking of?

now, the problem with revealing your chosen names to people is you open yourself up to peoples opinions on said name, and no offense pal, but nobody around here cares about your opinions on my future baby name!!!!

I never tell people what I think of their shit names, to their face anyway.

Starr: future prostiute
Coco: that's what you name a chihuahua
Polo: what's the middle name gonna be? Shirt.

That's why i'm not telling anyone my chosen baby names, because someone is going to have some negative reference about it, like some fat chick in school called Amy who pulled your hair and pushed you into the dirt - which is why I could never name a child of mine Amy.

I have to wonder though, what sort of names are going to be all the rage this year? there was a epidemic of Lord of the Rings names in the mid 2000's, and whilst some of them are quite nice, there is no excuse for calling some kid Elrond, just think of all the extra money you'll have to save up to pay for the therapy they need in their mid to late teens.

I predict these names popping up in kindergartens all over the western world in 5 years time.

Twilight Names; Edward, Jacob, Bella... you could do a two part hyphenate .. "this is my daughter BJ".. (Bella-Jacob)

Hobbit Names: Bilbo

50 Shades of Grey Names: Blip, Christian, Anastasia.

This is why i'm naming my child after all the artistic greats, with no negative connotations to anyone.

"this is my child Michael Jackson Cher Madonna Britney Whitney Tim Burton Roald Dahl Wes Anderson Barrett"

Hey People! Guess What! Stretchy Pants.

This was the week that I was finalllly able to tell people the big secret. It's good to get it out there, specially with work so I'm not hiding out in the bushes being sick in private.  It also means that I don't have to pretend my jeans still fit me - whilst sitting with them completely undone at my desk. What this means is I can usher in the era of Stretchy Pants!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was a very hard secret to keep. Specially when you're spewing on people and their dogs.  I had a shoot which involved lots of driving around location scouting, and I was having a major case of motion sickness. I was stuck in the back of the car whilst the director and producer were in the front seat, with the directors dog jumping all over me in the backseat, when all of a sudden a giant burp of spew came out and landed on the dog's head.

Well, you don't want to be that person who just casually spews on someone's dog and pretends everything is normal. So I had to tell them. It made the job a lot easier let me tell you. You don't have to do anything when you're pregnant. "Can you help me move that washing machine" "nope".

Ninja Baby. No Laughing.

I had my scan today, it was hilarious.

We opted to go private for our scans because the NHS is like a creepy haunted house full of jerks. I swear it's the difference between the receptionist fucking up your appointment then telling you in a condescending voice that it's not her fault and it's somehow my fault, and being all dark and old and crap, and compared to having it is Jesus's waiting room in heaven.

Bright Lights. Opera Music. Posh Coffee Machine that we couldn't figure out how to use. This is more like it. I wish I could have my baby there. At this rate i'll have to rent a suite at the Dorchester and completely fuck it up with my amniotic fluid all over everything.

The one problem however with posh places, is posh people, specifically posh ultrasound technicians who are too busy and important for you to be having a giggling fit on the scan table.

The whole ultrasound experience is just absurd. It's science fiction on a whole other level. It's a life form inside my belly! wtf! My lifeform also happens to be a tiny ninja.

The ultrasound technician lubed up my belly then turned to his expensive panel of knobs, and started rendering and grading the new Hobbit movie... not really, but his equipment looked like state of the art editing technology. All those knobs!

My little ninja prawn was jumping all over the place. Not surprising. I won't even let Lenny sleep on my belly, and now some dude is jabbing and probing all over the place, and little ninja was not loving it.

He was doing all kinds of acrobatic moves. Embryo-Yoga. Circus Trapeze. He really would not stop jumping around all over the place, and I found this rather amusing... and I started giggling.

I was giggling so much that the ultrasound technician had to pause and give me a withering look of "are you settled now?" as in "can we get on with it you childish moron"......

Well, as soon as someone disapproves of your laughing, well that just makes it all the more funnier and I was crying with laughter. I couldn't look at anything. Mark had to be relegated to the naughty corner because just thinking of him going "It's jumping all over the place!" would set me off again.

Why is it that even when we choose to go private and pay exorbitant prices for procedures they're giving out for free at NHS Hospitals we still come out looking like the idiots?

I wish there was a Clown College, and you could go there and get Medical Degrees, and then those clowns would open up their own Hospital. I would find it so much more relaxing and rewarding to be scanned by someone who was going "what's the deal with placentas? stingrays of the ladyparts". and then in the labour ward when your kid slides out of you finally it falls on the doctors face and his giant fake nose goes HONK HONK. That's the kind of birth I want.