I am constantly amazed at the brain’s ability to warp ideas and memories. Like how I just ate 5 chocolate hobnobs in one go, even though I knew it wouldn’t be a good idea. Or how every time I walk past a pregnant lady I feel nostalgic and just a little bit envious. I loved the time I was pregnant with Elfie.
Er, no I didn’t, I was sicker than a dog and didn’t have the energy to blow dry my hair (unheard of).
There is something about pregnancy that is so full of joy, no matter how rubbish the experience was. I can recall going from bed, to work, to bed (I ate as many meals as possible lying down) in my first trimester, eating only beige food for the first 18 weeks (plain rice, plain pasta, egg sandwiches and breadsticks) and developing a taste for flannels. Yes, the kind you wash your face with. I spent hours retching in my office toilet and excusing myself from meetings to deal with my nausea. I developed a supernatural sense of smell for bad breath and day-old booze (both made me heave). Yet I was so happy for 9 months.
The pregnant belly should come with a health warning: may encourage extreme and unexpected broodiness. Look away now.
10 weeks: where has that waist gone? Can I have it back please?
15 weeks: managed to paint my nails in a burst of pregnancy energy
Week 19: Baby’s first champagne – I stayed out til 4am. It nearly killed me.
Week 24: Exhaustion = unwashed hair + no makeup
Week 28: I’m wearing fake tan and actual clothes rather than pyjamas so at this point I obviously felt halfway decent.
Week 29: Ah, 29-33 were the 4 weeks of pregnancy when I didn’t feel like dying. I’d even blowdried my hair!
Week 30: In Greece and taking lots of naps
Week 32: obviously not bothering to dry my hair anymore
Week 35: Last day of work. Finally.
Week 38: Hot. Tired. Pregnant. Wedding ring round my neck as it wouldn’t fit on my finger.
Week 39: Baby imminent, pregnancy nearly over.
Week 39: bingo.
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