Pregnancy and how shit I am at it.

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I was so horrendously broody for ages. We got married in August last year and after waiting a decent four months decided to just go for it.

After all, with two already and a plethora of everyone else’s children in and out of the house all the time, we reckon we’re pretty much experts at this parenting lark, right?

The Rock God came into our lives when The Pie was three and The Boy was four, so he’s keen to do the baby thing for the first time. He is an absolutely fantastic parent, much better than me in fact. He is motivated and patient and laid back and fun. A good counterpoint to my Benign Neglect style of parenting.

So. It turns out we are massively fertile and after just one month of frantic shagging, the job is done and I am knocked up. Hurrah!

The vomiting started immediately. Oh the joy. And the fatigue kicked in soon after. All I did for the first couple of months was cry, sleep and puke. A bit like being a newborn myself really.

We consoled ourselves with the promise of the second trimester being the bit where I glow. Except the second trimester turned out to be the bit where the bone crushing agony of SPD/PGP kicked in.

Heard of it? I hadn’t, really. I’d had some niggles towards the end of my pregnancy with The Pie, and apparently that was the start of it. It gets worse with subsequent pregnancies. Oh joy. Basically my pelvis is splitting apart at the seams. It’s as much fun as it sounds, and judging by the packed out physio session I attended, it’s pretty common too.

As advised I invested in a support belt (useless), dutifully started the exercises they prescribed and bought a birthing ball to sit on. And got my head around the pain (sort of) and got on with it.

And now here we are at 35+5. I am so happy to be having a baby, really. We have been told he’s a boy, we’ve picked out names, we speak to him and sing to him. I’ve decorated and bought nursery equipment in a frenzy of nesting. The whole family sit with their hands on my tummy, feeling his MASSIVE kicks and punches and rumbles, which is lovely.

But I am secretly (well ok, not so secretly) SO miserable. I can’t sleep, I can barely walk, I am so tired I feel sick. I am ratty as hell. I can’t drink coffee (gone right off it) and even wine has lost its allure. The Rock God is pissing me off through no fault of his own on a daily basis, poor man, not to mention the kids (is it the end of the holidays yet?). The adorable kicks and punches FUCKING HURT. My pelvis feels like it’s made of glass and shattering slowly. I can’t turn over in bed without searing agony, and I’m sweating like a disgusting pig.

I told you I was moaning.

I’ll cheer up in a minute.

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About Just Some Stuff About Us

I live in West Sussex with three bonkers children and a Rock God for a husband. I'm somewhere in my thirties but I frequently have to count on my fingers to remember where exactly. I like to talk about myself and my chums. Some people like to read it.

3 responses »

  1. Ha. You need to send that post to secondary schools across the country. If that doesn't lower the rates of teenage pregnancies dramatically, I don't know what will. On a more positive note, you are almost there. Have you tried a chiropractor for your pain? I know they are on the woo side of medicine, but I went to one when I had terrible back/side/everything pain in my second pregnancy and he was fantastic. I went in barely able to walk and came out skipping. Well, as much as a 8 month pregnant hippo can skip.

  2. Congratulations for having a full belly, even if he is an aspiring breakdancer! Hopefully I'll have all this to look forward to sometime soon. I can't imagine even trying to function without coffee…

  3. I hear ya! I'm shit at being pg. MN is full of my whingy threads from both times. It's a major factor in not wanting another baby. Anyone who says "pregnancy's not an illness" gets a full list of symptoms I had which suggest the contrary.

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