First trimester, first plog

First published April 13 2016

I’m now at week 16 of my first pregnancy and feeling ready to reflect on just exactly what happened there. I am pregnant with what I’m pretty certain is a human baby and I’m going to blog about it because I surfed the web for literally hours and couldn’t find anyone blogging their pregnancy or motherhood and that to me said that we really are living in an oppressive patriarchy. So I’m standing up for all of those women who haven’t shat on and on for pages and pages about every tedious details of their experience of pregnancy like they’re the first woman to ever go through it and I’m going to be the World Wide Web’s first pregnant blogger. Plogger.

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We’re going to be parents! Shit!

I found out that I am pregnant by piddling into a little plastic cup in the bog at work, that I think was leftover from when we drank prosecco in the office at Christmas like we were in flippin Mad Men and then I put a pregnancy dipper into this piddle and then put it under my tongue for 10 seconds and, sure enough, my eyes went crossed. PREGNANT!

It’s odd but because I’ve never been pregnant before I sort of didn’t believe that the test could be correct. But after even more time on the web I realised that false positives are almost unheard of and it’s most likely you have hCG (the pregnancy hormone) in your body and that, mon amigo, means babino. Plus my tits were big and sore, my period was absent and I vomited on the way to work. So I did have my suspicions.

I did one of those ludicrously expensive tests that has a tiny telly on to find out how many weeks prego I was. The internet then told me that that many weeks is the about the size of a peppercorn and that is literally how I thought about it for the first fortnight, as a sweet little floating peppercorn in my stomach. Bless. To think that me and Dan made a little peppercorn just by bumping uglies and forgetting to go for a wee afterwards*. Magical really.

Fear and sadness

In pregnancy, much like in a Daniel Day Lewis film, There Will Probably Be Blood, but it doesn’t always spell disaster. When I wasn’t wigging out about raising a child who isn’t a weirdo, piling on weight, being able to breastfeed etc… my own body was delivering me little shocks to panic over on the reg. I’d never had piles before and the appearance of blood on the loo roll of a woman who is both newly pregnant and new to haemorrhoids is both confusing and upsetting. I worked it out eventually. There’re lots of things you just sort of work out.

The thing that put the willies up me the most though was the emotional impact. I couldn’t work this out, I wasn’t in control. I was sad. Like super sad. And not because I wasn’t happy and excited about being pregnant, I knew I was, but the hormones and the exhaustion and the having to fib to everyone – it all did a massive number on my ability to keep my chin up. Dan was very amazing through those weeks, forgiving every irrational outburst and moody response and just being so supportive it made me feel guilty too. I felt like I was ruining our good news by moping around like a gloomy goth. The nausea and extreme exhaustion didn’t help much to be fair. It’s a crumby old time. And you feel like you can’t tell anyone heaven forbid you do something awkward like miscarriage, which is a helluva lot of pressure on you and your partner. I ended up telling my mum the news fairly early, I needed her support too much, and I feel super lucky that I have a mum who can be equally as excited about becoming a grandparent and sympathetic to how low I was feeling.

But it did lift! That 12 week milestone passed and by about week 13 I was actually feeling pretty bloody good. And then…

*I know this isn’t how I got pregnant, silly. I got pregnant because the pill packet I was taking was 5 years out of date. Keep those medicine drawers tidy, ladies!

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