So, how are you feeling?

Well, I’m still here. Littlespud decided to stay put for a while and let mummy, daddy and crazypixie enjoy all the wedding festivities. And enjoy them we did.

Except, for one small thing…….I seem to have been perceived as some kind of freak show.

I understand people mean well and ,in fairness, I am pretty huge at the moment and my mother has been telling everyone (random strangers included) that I’m due any minute and that they didn’t even think I’d make the wedding, but….there are a few phrases I must have heard a hundred times in the last two days.

These include:

‘How are you feeling?’ Long stress on the ‘feeeeling’, and usually accompanied by a hand on the shoulder and concerned stare. I tried the nonchalant ‘I’m feeling fine, how are you?’ and, after an hour or two, the slightly more concise, ‘Pregnant.’

‘When are you due?’ A few times I went with honesty and answered, ‘Yesterday,’ but the hoo-haa that elicited was often more than I was able for. Once I muttered ‘September,’ and I think that poor lady is still looking at me.

‘Still here?’ Another phrase spoken with a smile and usually repeated by the same person every time they passed and with increasing frequency in direct correlation to the amount of alcohol they had consumed. ‘Ho, ho, yes, still here,’ I reply again and again.

‘Not going to pop on us now are you?’ This was usually accompanied by a nod and a wink, a favourite of uncle-types! ‘Any moment now!’ I muttered through smiling teeth.

‘Aren’t you great to be here in your condition?’ This is one I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to but I went with ‘Ah, sure, I’m only pregnant.’ Because it’s not as if I’ve been let out of the hospice for the occasion or anything.

I’ve debated using (and might yet):

‘Oh, I had the baby.’

‘Pregnant, me? No, do I look fat?’

or...

‘I’m feeling f*cking hormonal, so back off.’

Again, let me reiterate, I know people mean well and that they just can’t help using what must be the most obvious conversation opener but I’ve never been good at small talk or been able to handle fuss (give me a Pc to hide behind any day), so for the next few days I think it may be better if I just turn off the phone, keep my virtual self offline and generally hibernate until littlespud decides its time to meet the world.

And then…….I will text everyone, blog about the birth and update my facebook profile accordingly….unless I’m too busy with all the new baby fuss, of course!

The indignity of it all.

So, I’m in my last month of pregnancy and it’s not pretty. Within an hour of getting up this morning I had done the ole pee-while-you-sneeze trick and my boobs had leaked everywhere. And it’s not as if I have that many spare changes of clothes - nothing fits!!!!

Not only do I look like I’ve swallowed my yoga ball but you should see the monstrosities that were once my boobs. I’m currently at an F-cup (sigh I miss my C’s) and if the last pregnancy is anything to go by I’ll be dragging out the H-cup scaffolding in a few weeks.

I’m also discovering the joys of haemorrhoids and chronic 24/7 indigestion. I fear this baby will be peppermint flavoured as I singlehandedly quadruple Gaviscon’s European sales figures. Not to mention the mood swings that turn me from sobbing wretch to eye-gouging demon and back, in a flash and for no particular reason.

And look at what I have to look forward to in labour: internal exams by the entire hospital staff, pooping all over the labour ward (himself thinks this part is hilarious and still slags me over the last time), and stitches that I’ll have to pee on!!!

'What did you expect?' You might ask…..
'You only had 6 months between pregnancies, surely you knew all about the upcoming discomforts?'

But here’s the thing…….

There is some fundamental wiring problem in the female brain when it comes to pregnancy. Once the birth is over and you are holding your little bundle of joy all memories of morning sickness, epic labours, stitches, piles and all the other wonders magically disappear.

Two months after giving birth to crazypixie I found myself gazing teary-eyed at pregnant women and muttering my to (ever-patient) himself, ‘I’d love to be pregnant again.’

Four months later, I’m pregnant, feeling crap and moaning (to slightly less patient) himself that this pregnancy is much worse than the last and that I don’t remember feeling so sick and hormonal. He replies, ‘it’s the same.’

At eight months I’m thinking maybe two kids will be plenty but every now and then I joke to himself (who’s trying to dredge up any remaining patience) ‘sure I could be pregnant again next Christmas!’

The reply?

‘Well, it won’t be mine!’

approach with caution

Being going through a real hormone rollercoaster lately, won’t bore you with the details (relief all round I hear), suffice to say I’ve had the attention span of a gold fish with a really short attention span, and I’ve been as irritable as a traffic warden in a hailstorm. A pleasure to be around, I’m sure.
Anyway, I just have to get on with things and that means choosing my college modules for next year. I’m debating between taking two or three -ah, the joys of mature studenting. Three will mean an increase in workload but a degree in less time. On the other hand my writing is now taking off, I’m actually getting articles published and writing poetry as well as the ole masterpiece. Well, I have another month or so to decide.

In the meantime it’s still pissing rain here. Hoping for a break in the weather tomorrow to take the boat out (ironic I know, but I’ve become a fair weather sailor). I hope the rain holds off for Elfenpants big day next week, I think we’ll have to invest in some bridal umbrellas just in case.