So, as promised I’m here with the latest update on the spaghetti squash (yes, that’s what size it is now. No, I have no idea what that actually is).
Firstly though, I need to sincerely thank every one of you who commented with blog suggestions on the last update. They have enabled me to keep well clear of baby forums. Baby forums, for those of you who’ve not yet had the delight, make wedding forums look like shiny safe beacons of sanity and wisdom. Really. Yes, there may be long debates about the morality of the selfish-bridesmaid-who-went-on-holiday-three-weeks-before-your-wedding-and-got-herself-tanlines on wedding forums, but at least you don’t get threads like this – and I quote:
“Hello. I had implant taken out yday but we baby danced the niite before. He came twice and we havent had intercourse since. Wot are my chances of becoming pregnant do u rekon??” – xxxprincessmummy2bxxx
Seriously? What would ‘xxxprincessmummy2bxxx’ like me to respond to this? Should I begin mathematical calculations based on the fact that:
implant – 1 + (1babydance x 2ejaculation) = I haven’t the faintest
Believe me, I fully empathise with those who are trying for a baby, and I am no gynaecologist, but I do feel that at one day after stopping contraception, having not since had sex, it’s probably not the time to start peeing on sticks and worrying about fertility levels. Correct me if I’m wrong.
Now….in this post I had planned to give you pictures of, by popular request, The Bump. However, my computer is having a meltdown, and refusing to let me post them. So, I shall be back next week with bump pics. That is a promise.
In the meantime, I thought I would update you on the current pregnancy symptoms:
I now know that before being pregnant I had never actually experienced hunger. Yes, I’d really looked forward to meals, I’d had the odd stomach rumble here and there, I’d even declared myself starving at 2pm having not eaten since breakfast. Pregnancy hunger though, is a whole new kettle of fish . It has several stages which I will describe in chronological order:
1. Life is great. Everything is fine. You ate less than two hours ago so you are not in anyway hungry.
2. BAM. It hits. You are HUNGRY, and yes, the capitals are entirely necessary, because you Must. Eat. Now.
3. You frantically search for food in the immediate vicinity. To begin with, you are specific. It must be carbohydrate with salt.
4. As the minutes pass, you enlist others in the search. This enlisting is *not* voluntary, and in no way does anyone have any choice in joining you. They are given strict orders to not return empty handed.
5. Panic is rising, along with nausea. The specific requirement dissolves and you become focused on merely finding FOOD.
6. You direct your frustrations at all in the local area, including The Cat. At this point, *innocent* comments made by others can become the catalyst for the beginning of Pregnancy Rage (another symptom I will go into at a later date). Sense of humour is missing in action.
7. Six minutes later you give in and begin eating the two week old open pack of crackers that you found stuffed down the side of the sofa, or a hotdog from a decidedly dodgy looking street vendor who appears to have some sort of rash on his hands. You Just. Don’t. Care.
8. Satiated, you begin to relax, although it can take up to one hour for the sense of humour to return.
9. Life is great. Everything is fine. You ate less than two hours ago so you are not in anyway hungry. And so the cycle begins again.
There is hair where it shouldn’t be. I’m not going to say any more.
Yes, I know that people deny the existence of this and believe that there is no clinical evidence. Well, how else can you explain the moment when two weeks ago, I placed our lovingly cooked supper on the table, and as I turned around to walk away, chose not to lift my hand above the food, but instead, to drag my hand actually *through* Andy’s plate of Tomato, Aubergine and Mozzarella pasta and thus cause third degree burns to my left hand, and worse, drag the food across the table and onto the floor. This is not normal behaviour, and in my opinion, is all the clinical proof that they need to define this as a fully fledged symptom of pregnancy.
Or ‘Elephant Feet’ as Andy has so sweetly coined them. I actually have spectacularly scrawny feet and ankles in normal life. A sparrow would be embarassed to have ankles as pathetic as mine, and in fact, would probably refuse to go out for fear of being picked on by other more well-endowed-in-the-leg-department sparrows. It was therefore quite a surprise to wake one morning around 19 weeks in, to see that these ankles had been replaced with cankles that would make a shot putter proud. Normally, I would be overjoyed to no longer have to wear three pairs of leg warmers to make my boots fit my ankles, but I have to say, I’m not quite so keen on the fact that my feet look like those that you see on CSI when a body has been dragged from the lake after spending three weeks decomposing. In the winter this might not be so bad, but it is not a look that works well with knee length skirts and sandals.
But overall, you know, I can’t complain. The sickness has all but stopped, I have energy, and I am growing what all the experts tell me is a healthy baby. We went for the twenty week scan, and despite the baby’s apparent prediliction for lying on its head with its hands over its face and its legs crossed, they were able to discern that the feet were on the right way around, that it had lips, eyes and ears, and that the head was the correct size (which is a relief for all involved. I am not keen on the thought of an overly large head, for obvious reasons).