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.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Monday, January 14, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
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....
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....
Monday, January 7, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
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 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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)