The above was a comment from a restaurant owner to WW about me. ‘And prettier,’ was hastily added when she realized I had understood. Too little, too late lady.
A few hours earlier a 6 year old girl said ‘Miss Emz, why do you look different around here?’ signalling my tits/tummy area (the two (three?) monstrosities are merging into one, large, solid area).
The day before a 5 year old grinned at me and said, ‘You’re going to have a baby!’
So I guess I’m officially showing/looking porkier although older Thai ladies and little kids are the only ones brave enough to comment. I think most people would presume I just ate a shit load over Christmas. Which, incidentally, I did.
Ahh food. Currently a daily battle. After frightening cheese consumption and concurrent weight gain I decided to get pro active and investigate healthy pregnancy eating plans. I made WW trawl around a bunch of shops searching for everything whole grain we could lay our hands on. We bought 3 different kinds of fat free cheese. I tried to calculate my daily dozen (which I am having a hard time understanding because I can’t make the guidelines add up to 12). I even had WW whip up some
joy sugar free, ridiculously healthy ginger and lemon muffins.
As it turned out the eating plan got chucked in after 3 days. I’m eating whole grain bread but drowning it in so much butter it probably defeats the point. Fat free cheese is not actually cheese, it’s a food which has less taste than water. The muffins tasted like an old washing up sponges and had a texture to match. It was the first time in my life I haven’t finished a muffin. Lesson learned: if it sounds to good to be true, aka healthy yummy muffins, it probably is. But at least now I know what I should be eating and I can have small wins every day. Every day that WW doesn’t bake brownies, that is.
I went back to work on Monday which, apparently didn’t impress my body. I had a few close call vomity moments on and off all day and a nice headache not helped by screaming Kindergartners who weren’t ready for their mothers to leave them with scary. tall teachers who didn’t speak their language. It has been nice to see the kids but I wish I could teach from a hover sofa or something which required very little movement and ascension of stairs. But at least I get to come home and veg on the non-hovering sofa at 12.
We had our 12 week scan and officially graduated from the fertility clinic on Saturday. I had a little panicky wobble at the beginning because they lazy wee tyke wasn’t dancing anymore but a quick shuffle of the wand and we could see Squirt merrily kicking away at my uterus. Can’t wait to start feeling that. Everything looked good, all limbs were accounted for. The thing at the back of the neck which can signify Downs Syndrome looked normal. Two happy mummies.
Dr W offered us some genetic screening for 500 GBP but we declined, hoping that we’re low risk and we’ll be OK. He instead did a blood test which showed our chances of Downs Syndrome were 1 in 10,000 and everything else was good. I will miss Dr W, although I can’t picture him dealing with a vaginal birth as he is unable to use words like sperm and vagina without stammering and blushing. Bit weird when the guy has had his hand inside my snatch but OK.
I have told a few people at work and used the occasion to promote maternity wear in a desperate hope that it will catch on and I will be able to continue wearing my lovely, comfy, stretchy belly trousers after all of this is over. I feel a little like I’m swimming against the tide but I’ll keep battling. Emz- Trend Setter.
TMI ALERT: Can I just give a big ‘woohoo’ and ‘good riddance’ to the progesterone bullets. No longer will my minging dog be desperately trying to overturn the laundry basket to find some suppository residue in my underwear. But the Monster will find other ways to turn my stomach. WW stuck a rather mucky looking Monster in my face earlier so I could experience the perfume of the cat shit the Monster had been dining on in the garden. Thanks for sharing that experience with your nauseous wife, WW.
On that charming note I am signing off. A slightly clearer (but I’ll forgive you if you skip it) ultrasound can be found after the jump.