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.