Now that I have returned intact from the holiday mentioned below (where I waddled about attractively fanning myself and sighing heavily a lot) I bring you the the next part of my pregnancy tale. The bit where I start to tell people. Kids included.
I thought I’d wait until a bit later to tell the kids, but it happened organically off the back of a conversation in the car. And like a modern social media mum, I filmed the pregnancy reveal. I won’t subject you to the four minute version; but here’s the shorter one.
The neon pink ‘PREGNANT’ sign I was sure was floating above my head apparently wasn’t and no one had noticed me eating dry crackers out of a drawer. But I have pending appointments so I tell work. I’m starting to feel human. Everyone is lovely about it. I’m on a contract so I hope to continue working up until the point I cycle off to see a midwife about the contractions I’m having and then I’ll beg the state to please look upon me benevolently and pay some State Maternity Benefit.
Did I mention I threw everything away? Well my lovely friend and my lovely sister in law both donated large bags of maternity gear so now I have a whole new wardrobe which is 80% stripes. I’m fine with that, and breathe a sigh of relief figuratively and literally. A third-time-round bump pops out kinda early.
The six year old is obsessed with the fruit and veg size comparisons. Lemon baby!
As the general unwellness situation seems to have abated, I feel a whoosh of confidence about my ability to travel with the two madsers and enjoy a bit of sun. So we book a holiday for later in the summer. Not too long a flight, mobile home has air-con. Be grand.
It’s 26 degrees in Dublin. I’m completely melting. What was I thinking re: holiday? Sensibly, I decided my one-piece maternity swimwear will be too much in the sun so I order a hot pink maternity bikini in the Asos sale. I have never worn hot pink in my life and now I am going to do it at with a huge belly sticking out. Baby’s first tan.
At this point I can’t remember who I’ve told. I’ve kept quiet on social media but come out almost accidentally on Instagram, because when I go to take a selfie in front of Maser’s fabulous Repeal the 8th mural it seems only right to mention that bump is along for the ride.
I cry in Ikea. That could possibly be anyones experience in there but this is due to being evacuated while being separated from the kids who are playing in their supervised Smaland play area. I’m mostly tearing up with gratitude that in this country I do not have to worry about crazed gunman from one ideology or an other. It is a false alarm and the staff have kept them nice and chilled and we all meet up outside at the designated point. They might be brats, but they’re my brats.
to be continued…