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.

White Food Racist Baby

my prawn only likes white food. my life revolves around pasta/potatos/bread. goddam carb head. who am I giving birth to? 1980's Jean Claude Van Damm?

my prawn is also younger than anticipated. typical. i bet prawn always pretends to be younger than prawn really is. rather than being in my 12th week this week, i'm half way through my 10th week, because my stupid ovaries ovulated late or something. honestly, what good are ovaries if you can't even trust them to release an egg on time.

I've decided to change hospitals because the one I originally booked into see, well i wouldn't trust them to deliver a pizza, let alone a baby. every time I went there there was a problem, a problem that was 'my fault' ie: there is no receptionist, and no one told me you were here, so we'll have to reschedule for next week, you should have said you were here. dicks.

the worst of my morning sickness is hopefully over, i still can't brush my teeth without dry heaving all over the place, but at least I can get out of bed. The worst of it was traveling around Barcelona during my 8th week. In a country where they don't speak english is not the country you want to be feeling like total shit in. The only thing I could eat was croissants and hot chocolate, and they managed to fuck up that even. The first time I went to Barcelona I got 3rd degree burns all over my legs because there is no fucking ozone layer in that stupid country, and the second time around I wanted to curl up in bed and be sick into a bucket the whole time. Needless to say - Barcelona can go jump.

I went in for my scan, but I was early because of my late ovaries, but I did get to see the floating prawn inside my belly. wtf is that all about? they glue up your belly and then boom there's a kid floating around on screen. technology! I think everything I've learnt about ultrasound scans from movies has been incorrect. In movies the would-be parents are always staring at some black and white meaningless shadows on a screen and the scanner has to actually point out what the hell everyone is looking at. The moment the screen appeared it was so obviously a baby. I like to think that it was because my bladder is nice and transparent that it made it easy.

I'd really like to not have to leave the house for the next 5 weeks.

Ways to get Free Stuff

It's always going to be weird when you have to tell your parents you're pregnant. You may as well be screaming in your father's face "I HAD SEX!!!!!!!! and LOTS of it!!!!!"........ awkward.

Due to a major coincidence my mum is actually travelling in London to see me, so I had to tell her my news. I decided to wait until the first day we had to spend together, rather than blurting it out then having to run to work at 7.30am and coming home at midnight leaving her to stew on that all day.

When we did have the day to ourselves I came across lots of places not to tell your mother you are pregnant;

in the off-licence.
in front of the banksy.
at the market where the guy is selling bootleg reggae CD's.
at the coffee shop surrounded by loud smokers.

basically, once that cat is out of the bag there's no putting it back in. maybe not telling your mother makes it less real, because making it real means OH MY GOD BROKEN VAGINA!!!!!!!.

I couldn''t think of any way to segue into that conversation either.

"i ate so much last night i gave birth to a food baby this morning!.. and also a real baby in 8 months time..."

scene: whilst squeezing avocado's at the fruit stall "imagine trying to squeeze a baby out the size of that! i'll be doing that for real pretty soon"

luckily none of those scenes came to pass.

instead it was more like like this:

scene: outside the cutesy baby boutique in Notting Hill
me: "I just need to get something from in here.."
- unfortunately there is a sign on the door saying 'back in 5'
instead of going inside we go to the Popcorn shop where I buy a giant tub of cheesy popcorn and eat it in the space of 30 seconds. Then we go to an art gallery and look at paintings of nude men for 5 minutes.
we go back to the shop which is now Open. We are the only people in the shop.
me: (picks up tiny little shirt) "i'm going to buy this"
mum: who for?
me: "me... cause i'm pregnant"
mum: "for real?"
me: "yes for real"
-cue mum crying in the change room, and the lady who runs the shop standing around awkwardly.
me: (takes little shirt to the check out) "i'll just buy this then..."
shopkeep: "consider it free, considering what I just witnessed"

so take this as my advice - make the scene as awkward as possible, because you might just get some free clothes out of it.

Pokerbump

I really think Lady Gaga is missing a trick in her global empire of stuff that she releases. We've got; music, filmclips, books, perfume.... but what is missing is a book about Pregnancy.

She could call it 'Lady Gaga's Guide to Little Monsters. Going Gaga for your Baby'.

She could release a CD/Pregnancy book with songs to go along to with the Chapter Titles.

Pokerface: ma ma pokerbump, ma ma pokerbump.
Judas: Mucas! Mu-ca-haas.. Mucas! Mu-ca-haas.
Lovegame: Let's have some fun, whilst you feel sick, go and have a pee on this pregnancy stick.
Fame: Pain! doing it for the Pain! doing it for the Pain, cause you've got a baby coming out of your vagina.
Alejandro: Epi-Epi-Dural, Epi-Epi-Dural.
Telephone: Stop Pushin, Stop Pushin, I don't want to push anymore! I'll give birth to my baby on the dancefloor.
Paparazzi: Baby you can cut me, hopefully I tear easily, Epi-Episiotomy.
Bad Romance: Whoa Whoa Whoa Whoa Whoa, caught in a Bad Contraction.

Then when they sew you up at the end of it, they give you the Lady Gaga Special.

Paranoid Innit

apparently my zygote is now the size of a tadpole, so i'm updating the nickname from Goaty, to Tad.

Tad. Sounds like a strapping young man who plays sports like Lacrosse and sleeps with the entire cheerleading team, but is actually secretly very gay and having a relationship with Tim the science lab nerd.....it also sounds like Tad hails from america. like Totally!

I'm coming up with names, and I want something retro. I'm thinking something like: Cassette. You know that by the time my babies generation grows up the cassette tape with be a footnote in history like the penny farthing, and the phonograph. I'll just tell them it's French for 'Girl With Music'.

It's early days, but I am paranoid about everything. I am being secretively extremely over the top about it too. For instance this morning I was having my morning glass of berocca when I had a thought mid-sip that you might not be able to drink Berocca when you're pregnant and I spat it all back into my glass. There's no explaining that to a room full of co-workers without sounding suspicious.

I'm also paranoid about;

Omega 3 Vitamins.
doing the photocopying.
using the binding machine.
going over speed bumps.
moisturiser.
cooking with wine.

but the most ridiculous thing I am doing is this: every time I start to feel a bit moist 'down there' I quickly run to the bathroom and stare at the crotch in my underpants. I stare at it at least 6 times a day. I never used to do that before.

My boobs aren't any bigger, but they've always been a talking point amongst my co-workers and friends, so I'm looking forward to being able to rest one boob on someone's head.

I Mourn My Jeans

I've done the incredibly hard pregnancy arithmetic, and I am now in my 6th week.  I am equal parts elated, laughing hysterically, and bursting into tears.

Being the major drama queen I am a hypochondriac, I am pretty sure that my jeans don't fit me anymore. I had to sit at my desk with one button undone today, which could either mean I was too fat for my jeans to begin with, or that little Goaty (that's what I choose to call my zygote) is actually growing at an alien rate and by my due date i'll be size of Susan Boyle P.W (pre-win).

I forgot what i'm doing when I'm doing it. At work today I made a million mistakes I wouldn't be surprised if they demoted me back to reception.

I'm really into Bon Jovi. I don't care who knows it. I can only deal with wholesome and heartfelt music, and something about the Lyrics to 'Always' are really striking some lame-deep seated need to listen to honest soft rock. I hope this is a symptom of pregnancy that wears off, or maybe one that I get instead of getting a facial rash or leaky boobs.

I was really looking forward to buying a new pair of jeans. My incredibly self-centred 'to-do' list only has about 3 things on it "buy eyeliner/buy more cardigans/buy new jeans" but now what's the point?the whole point of new jeans is to get a really tight and perfect fitting pair that makes your butt look amazing, and my butt is about to grow to the size of melons. I should write a new list to include; buy stretchy pants/buy more stretchy pants/buy bigger stretchy pants.

I really want to tell EVERYONE. But I know you're not supposed to tell anyone for another 6 weeks.. so I have told....9 people. Some of those people had only known me less than 4 hours, but sometimes news like that is better out than in. Otherwise i'm sure i'd come down with some illness caused by trying to keep a secret in for 12 weeks. Not Happening.

I feel nauseas, irritable, and crampy. The thought of runny eggs make me want to be sick. I will have to come up with some excuse for not eating all the eggs at work tomorrow - given we have the caterer coming in and everyone in my office knows me as "5 Eggs Girl" due to my greedy disposition for eating all the eggs on shoot days. What if they know something is up? maybe I'll have to just take the eggs anyway and hide them around my desk. Then i'll forget about them and someone will open my desk drawer - pull out the Positive Pregnancy Test and an old soft poached egg and then the jig will really be up!

I've only just realised how gross it is to have my pregnancy test still in my desk drawer at work. That means i've effectively put my urine enzymes all over everything in there. Oh i'm going to have a good snicker next time someone comes along and has the gall to open my drawer and steal my pen.

That will go down in history as the first Practical Joke Goaty ever played on anyone.

Hello You!

It came as a complete surprise to everyone having been a staunch anti-babe-ite my whole life, when on my 32nd Birthday I announced to a roomful of strung out friends, that this would be the year when I started trying for a baby. I don't think anyone really paid that much attention, because being the birthday girl, I was allowed free reign of the debauchery and was coming out with lots of poignant and stupid things that felt from the heart and needed a voicing.

I looked around the room and realised that this could be my life from now on. Friday nights spent taking recreational drugs, drinking everything in sight, and singing Karaoke till 4am.

This is what my life was looking like becoming on a full time basis.

It was fun. But I also had an urge to do crafts. I'd started buying tiny little kids t-shirts at Primark with pictures of Muppets on them and hiding them in my t-shirt drawer. I was terribly afraid of anyone finding them, they might find out my dirty secret. That I kinda wanted a little kid to dress them in.

So it was at the turn of my Birthday that I told my husband that we were now trying for a baby. And when i mean trying, i mean trying. I wanted to be pregnant now. I wanted the impulse purchase pregnancy. I am one of those people who buys a penlight, a cartoon book about cats, and a decorative iPhone holder (i don't even have an iPhone) when she gets to the checkout at Waterstones because they're bright and shiny and look fun and I have to have it now. Delayed gratification and myself do not mix.

Many nights that first month of trying ended with both of us arguing and sleeping in different rooms, i wanted impregnation immediately "you'd never be getting any more sex than this in your lifetime, so get a boner and do your husbandly duty!!".... apparently men don't like being Army corralled into performing a sexual act, nor feeling like a seed delivery van.

Eventually though, we sorted it out "Massaaaaaage?" became code for "baby making time?" and I got a shit tonne of massages. win for me. I went to the library and read every book about Pregnancy they had. I stopped drinking alcohol. I stopped eating mackerel, I stopped drinking tea and coffee, eating deli meats and soft cheeses! I love soft cheeses!! I was truly making a sacrifice.

I was living the life of someone already pregnant.

One problem however is that working in the industry I do, "drinking" and "all the time" go hand in hand. There were plenty of parties and events coming up and my choices were to be seen as a leper of society who doesn't drink (no more invites for you then!) or to lie and say I had some kind of south african parasite living in my guts/a stress induced stomach ulcer/or Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

Eventually a party came where I was weakened in my resolve to be "to-be-mother-of-the-year" it was free bar, and unlimited cosmopolitans. to say I went to town would be an understatement. by the time the starters were served I was already under the table.. I guess I put the 'i'm gonna be pregnant any day now" thoughts out of my mind because we had been trying and nothing had been happening. Maybe doing all the right things just weren't the right way for me.

One day at work, I decided to call a meeting with my boss. I demanded to be promoted. I have no idea where this came from, nor why I thought I deserved a promotion, but I can be pretty scary at times and my boss caved in. I was thinking "well if I can't be a mum i'm gonna be a career girl, and i'm going straight to the top"

So there I was with my 3 day hangover, my new impressive job title, my "new job" clothing. (I couldn't be seen in Production Assistant clothing, now that I was a Production Manager!) when I realised that any day now my period would be due. I noted the date down and went to boots and brought the most techno-savvy pregnancy test they had. I woke up on the morning my period was due and rushed downstairs to use my first "urine of the day" and peed all over my hands. The test came back as 'Not Pregnant'.

I was disappointed, but then I was doing ok. New Job. New Pants. Maybe I just wasn't supposed to be a mother? maybe it was just not my time yet. I went out a LOT over the next two weeks. Dinners, Parties, Beers after work. I went to see a nude burlesque show and drink fruity martini's till we ran out of money.

I looked in my calendar and my period has still not come to pass. But I knew that a cycle can last anything between 27 -37 days for me. I noted the dates down in my diary and started counting the days back and forth over and over again to make sure I had not miscounted. Eventually it got to way past a likely late period due date, and I once again made the trip down to Boots. This time however I wasn't going to fall into the old trap of peeing all over my hands at work. So I took a plastic cup and hid away in the upstairs bathroom. I put the test in the cup, and prepared to wait my 3 minutes.

The test showed up 'Pregnant' within 30 seconds.

Pregnant.

Oh.My.God.

This is what I had wanted, but now the thought of permanently ruining my vagina, and having to find a Doula in the area loomed in front of me.

I told my husband on ichat. He couldn't believe i was telling him on ichat. What was I supposed to do? I have a big important job now, I can't even leave my desk to make a phone call, and that was not a call I was going to make with the rest of the office listening in.

After work everyone went down to the pub, and I ordered a Lemonade. They all looked at me like I had lost my mind. I guess i'm going to have to really go to town with the story of the South African Parasite living inside me. For the next 12 weeks anyway.