There, that’s my excuse for falling off the blog-wagon for the past two months. Furthermore, I think ‘sorry, I’m creating life at the moment’ is a perfectly valid excuse when called for during those nine-and-a-half long months.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a self-righteous pregnant type. I just like using said excuse for the very important things in life, such as:
- delayed blog posts
- snorting cupcakes, and
- wearing leggings at all times.
Thankfully, I’m now out of the first trimester – the initial three-month period of pregnancy whereby the hormonal surges affect me differently to, say, someone like Kate Middleton. While we are both incredibly graceful, elegant, and athletic creatures (snort), Kate is one of those annoying types whose general characteristics continue throughout pregnancy, even when she’s hospitalised for throwing up every 30 seconds.
On the other hand, I develop an extreme case of The Four Ns. I’ll step you through them:
It’s num-num time! As I munched and crunched my way through the first 12 weeks, rest assured I had numerous moments wishing I was a bit (but only a BIT) like those pregnant women who say they can only lick crackers lest they spew.
Meanwhile, I was shovelling anything and everything into my gob and wondering why I’ve put on 5kgs by the 12 week mark. Again. *sob*
Now, in my second trimester wisdom, I’m trying to reduce my sugar intake* to give this baby half a chance of not resembling a Caramello Koala at birth.*Please note: I blame Sarah Wilson and her marvellous set of legs that were staring out at me from her I Quit Sugar book. Damn her, too.
If I wasn’t awake and eating, I was sleeping.
The tiredness experienced during my first trimester was extreme, and I became just like those commuters you see on the buses and trains. You know the ones? Drooping heads that snap back once a certain point of chin descent is hit? That’s me. Something about cells dividing triggered a powerful snooze button that hit at various points during the day.
Mr POW can personally attest to this one, as he bore the brunt of most narky-pants pregnancy moments. Although, I don’t know if he would call them ‘moments’; he’d probably prefer ‘months’ as a more accurate description.
It got to the point where, as soon as I woke up, he would ask me if I was expecting a crabby or happy day.
As you can imagine, hearing this would push me towards the first option quite quickly.
But, in all honestly; I couldn’t even deny it. Any ability to hold my tongue is lost and my mouth is permanently pursed to resemble a chook’s bum. A chook’s bum with lipstick, mind you.
Names on the brain
The day I bought I Quit Sugar, I was actually in the book store searching for yet another book of baby names, as I only have seven.
Naming a child is a BIG THING for me, and I like to have my boy and girl choices lined up and ready to go months in advance. Lists are made, suggestions are spoken… and are promptly shot down by Mr POW.
Like a lot of blokes he is very good at knowing names he doesn’t like, but has no forthcoming options. (If a man is reading this, please know this is incredibly irritating to your partner who is making a human inside her body – read, MAKING A HUMAN WHO NEEDS A NAME – and you deserve an appropriate snappy reaction.)
So, then I started getting desperate because we’ve only got six months to go and time is running out:
Edith – NO. Sybil – NO. Cora – NO. Bates – NO. (I heart Downton Abbey.)
Tyrian – NO. Jamie – NO. Sansa – NO. (Thank you, Game of Thrones.)
Brooke – NO. Thorn – NO. Prickle – NO. Bindi – NO. (Inspired by The Bold.)
Julia – NO. Malcolm – NO. Campbell – NO. Clover – NO. (We’ve got some good ones in politics!)
Rhett – NO. Gilbert – NO. Whatever the guy from Arrow’s name is – NO. (Swoonworthy male leads.)
At the moment, I’m back onto my preference for royal names, but if Kate Middleton STEALS my current fave there’ll be big trouble. I don’t care if she is a duchess married to a prince, or that she’s due four months before I am…it will be THEFT, I tells ya.
Anyway, here I am at 16 weeks having returned to blog land and in my very happy place of elasticised waists, slightly thicker hair, and with more and more blue veins visible on my chest everyday. Bliss.
Did any of The Four Ns hit you hard? Or did you have your own set of ‘special’ first trimester experiences? Share, please!